Rutherford, D. (1995), Leibniz and The Rational Order of Nature, Cambridge University Press PDF

Contents
Acknowledgments PaSe *x
A Note on Citations and Translations xi
Abbreviations xii
Introduction 1
Part I: Theodicy
1. The Vindication of Divine Justice 7
2. The Maximization of Perfection and Harmony 22
3. Happiness and Virtue in the Best of All Possible Worlds 46
Part II: First Philosophy

4. Metaphysics and Its Method 71
5. The Categories of Thought and Being 99
6. Substance 133
Part III: Nature

7. Modeling the Best of All Possible Worlds 177
8. Monads, Matter, and Organisms 212
9. Dynamics and the Reality of Matter 237
10. Corporeal Substance and the Union of Soul and Body 265
Conclusion 289
B ibliography 291
Index 297
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Introduction
A significant weakness of many modern studies of the philosophy of

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz has been the negligible role they have as-
signed to the project of theodicy: his celebrated defense of God's
justice as it is expressed in the creation of the best of all possible
worlds.1 The reasons for this neglect are not hard to find. Present
philosophical fashions inevitably dictate what we find to be of interest
in the writings of historical figures. In our own century, particularly
in the English-speaking world, an emphasis in philosophy on the
topics of logic and mathematics has led us to focus on those parts of
Leibniz's corpus (admittedly of the highest importance) that demon-
strate similar concerns. In doing so, we have tended proportionally to
neglect other aspects of his thought - most notably, his central theo-
logical commitments. We have all but forgotten that the only philo-
sophical book Leibniz published during his life was the Essays on The-
odicy. This tendency to overlook the doctrine of theodicy has been
reinforced by a significant distortion of its contents. More often than
not, Leibniz's position has come to be identified with the brand of
simple-minded optimism that is satirized so effectively in Voltaire's
Candide: Whatever happens, whatever evils may visit our lives, we may
always take comfort in the thought that this is the best of all possible
worlds. There is, however, little basis for this identification. Voltaire
was a late and not especially diligent student of Leibniz's writings; his
conception of optimism owes far more to Pope's Essay on Man than to
a careful reading of the Theodicy.2 It is unsurprising, then, that the
absurd apologies of his Pangloss have at most a tenuous connection to
Leibniz's doctrine of the best of all possible worlds.
In what follows, I hope to make progress in recovering the theodicy
as an essential part of Leibniz's philosophy. At the same time, I shall
be concerned with constructing a comprehensive interpretation of
Leibniz's metaphysical theories — particularly those of his late writings
— and with showing how theodicy and metaphysics inform each other
in his thought. These topics roughly delineate the three parts of the
book. Part I focuses on Leibniz's theodicy: his vindication of divine
justice, the character of the goods that make this the best of all pos-
sible worlds, and the special role assigned to rational minds as agents
within God's providential plan for the world. Part II establishes the
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2 INTRODUCTION
foundations of Leibniz's conception of metaphysics as a rational sci-

ence and explores his understanding of the fundamental category of
being, substance. Part III reconstructs the complex details of Leibniz's
late metaphysics - his system of monads, the preestablished harmony
of soul and body, his treatment of matter and organism — stressing
throughout the underlying unity of his theorizing.
A single overarching interpretation unites the discussion of Parts I—
III. It incorporates three related themes. The first and most general
concerns the relationship between the theodicy and Leibniz's meta-
physics. I urge a much more intimate connection between these two
areas of his thought than is usually acknowledged. In particular, I
seek to show the extent to which Leibniz's metaphysical theories are
designed to promote the goals of his theodicy by demonstrating the
manner in which this world is rightly characterized as the best of all
possible worlds, or the world of greatest perfection. The second
theme concerns Leibniz's underlying conception of how perfection
has been realized in the world. Drawing on the suggestions of earlier
writers, I argue that a principal measure of the world's perfection for
Leibniz is its "rational order," or the degree to which reason — in the
form of order and intelligibility - has been realized within the consti-
tution of created things. It follows on this reading that the perfection
God finds in the world is, at the most fundamental level, an intellec-
tual good: a state of affairs that is recognized to be of the highest
value by an omniscient intelligence. Given this, it should already be
clear that Leibniz's optimism is very different from that of Pangloss.
The ground of Leibniz's belief in the doctrine of the best of all pos-
sible worlds is a thoroughgoing faith in the governing power of rea-
son: reason as it directs the creative will of God, reason as it is subse-
quently realized in the intelligible order of the created world, and
reason as it helps human minds discern and appreciate that order. As
I try to show, this conception of the pervasiveness of reason is the
guiding force behind his theodicy, and the thread that connects it with
the detailed theories of his metaphysics. As constructions of reason
that purport to articulate the rational order of nature, Leibniz's meta-
physical theories are designed to support the aims of his theodicy by
showing exactly how this world can be conceived as that possible world
most pleasing to divine wisdom.
The final theme emphasized in the book is the way in which both
theodicy and metaphysics find their purposes for Leibniz in a moral
vision - one that stresses the possibility of human enlightenment and
the betterment of the human condition through the exercise of rea-
son. In Leibniz's view, the primary ends of human life — virtue and
happiness — are closely connected with theoretical inquiry. Through
our understanding of the nature of the soul and of the character of
INTRODUCTION 3
God's justice, we are motivated to imitate that justice ourselves and to

bring to fruition the perfection immanent in the created world. Our
happiness, in turn, follows from our ability to comprehend the per-
fection and harmony that mark this as the best of all possible worlds.
Since an intelligent being's pleasure is simply "the perception of beau-
ty, order and perfection," the contemplation of the world's rational
order forms the very basis of our happiness. And this order, in turn,
directs us back to its author, whose supreme perfection is the object of
our most complete love and contentment.
The Leibniz who emerges in this book is one for whom theoretical
and practical ends are inextricably linked. Although the greater part
of our discussion is concerned with unraveling the details of Leibniz's
metaphysical theories, it is important to keep in mind that these theo-
ries ultimately spring from the same source as his zeal for scientific
progress and his abiding concern for peace and social stability. "The
general good, insofar as we can contribute to it," he writes in a text
from the 1690s, "is the advancement toward perfection of men, as
much by enlightening them so that they can know the marvels of the
sovereign substance, as by helping them to remove the obstacles which
stop the progress of our enlightenment" (K X 11/R 105).
I envision this study as a systematic interpretation of Leibniz's meta-
physics. Given the growing methodological awareness of the discipline
of the history of philosophy, it will be helpful to indicate briefly the
orientation of this book. By a systematic interpretation, I understand
one that is sensitive both to the historical character and to the system-
atic designs (where these are present) of the author in question. The
present work is not primarily a study of the historical influences —
philosophical or otherwise — on Leibniz, although it does, wherever
possible, attempt to relate the context of seventeenth-century thought
that is relevant to an understanding of his views. A systematic inter-
pretation, as I understand it, takes an author on his own terms and
seeks to reconstruct a version of his doctrines that would be recogniz-
able to the author himself. At the same time, it seeks to highlight areas
of an author's thought where uncertainties or indeterminacies persist,
and to illuminate for a present-day readership those aspects of an
author's position that are most foreign to a twentieth-century philo-
sophical consciousness. In the case of Leibniz, more than any other
modern philosopher, this is a task of some urgency, for his corpus is
for the most part no more than a vast collection of philosophical
beginnings. Consequently, I have often seen my task as being as much
one of reconstruction and completion as of analysis and criticism.
It should be clear from this brief description that what I call a
systematic interpretation differs significantly from what some have
referred to as a "rational reconstruction" of the views of a past philos-
4 INTRODUCTION
opher. The present work does not aspire to translate Leibniz's views
into the terms of twentieth-century philosophy, or to evaluate his
position by the light of modern standards of significance. As a matter
of fact, many of the issues Leibniz confronts (the justification of evil,
the ultimate origin of the universe, the nature of substance, the rela-
tion of physics to metaphysics) continue to be of interest to philoso-
phers today; they may, indeed, be of perennial interest. What he has
to say about these issues may therefore be helpfully compared with
our own views - not least because the attempt to define how we differ
from a seventeenth-century thinker can be of great value in helping
us identify the presuppositions and possible shortcomings of our own
approach to a problem.3 For the most part, however, I urge that we
take Leibniz on his own terms: as a thinker responsive to the contro-
versies of seventeenth-century philosophy and to most of the major
movements of its preceding history, but most of all as a philosopher of
the highest originality and clarity who struggles throughout his life to
articulate the details of his distinctive metaphysical system.
Notes
1. Important exceptions are the groundbreaking works of Grua 1953 and
1956 and Heinekamp 1969. Among several recent studies in English that
pay close attention to the project of theodicy are G. Brown 1988, C. Wilson
1983, 1989, and Blumenfeld 1995. A volume gathering papers from a
1990 conference on Leibniz's doctrine of the best of all possible worlds
(Heinekamp and Robinet 1992) reached me too late to be included in this
study.
2. See Barber 1955.
3. For a development of this point, see Garber 1988.
1
The Vindication of Divine Justice
Leibniz's doctrine of theodicy is a modern response to an ancient

problem: how to reconcile the existence of evil - particularly unde-
served human suffering - with the assumption that the world has
been created by a God who is both infinitely powerful and infinitely
just. 1 As Epicurus suggests in his classic formulation of the problem,
the manifest presence of evil in the world appears to imply that any
divine creator must be either lacking in power or lacking in goodness:
God either wishes to take away evils and is unable; or he is able, and is
unwilling; or he is neither willing nor able; or he is both willing and able. If he
is willing and unable, he is feeble, which does not agree with the character of
God; if he is able and unwilling, he is malicious, which is equally at odds with
God; if he is neither willing nor able, he is both malicious and feeble and
therefore not God; if he is both willing and able, which is alone suitable to
God, from what source then come evils? or why does he not remove them?2
Early in his philosophical career, Leibniz arrived at an answer to
Epicurus's question that would remain an important part of his think-
ing until his death. As a supremely perfect being, he reasons, God is
naturally disposed to create the possible world of greatest perfection.
Nevertheless, however great its merits, a created being cannot possess
the absolute perfection of God.3 Therefore evil, in the form of imper-
fection, must be "involved in the best plan of the universe." From this
Leibniz concludes that God should be seen as merely "permitting" the
existence of evil as a defect intrinsic to even the best of all possible
worlds.4
Framed in this way, Leibniz's response to the problem of evil ap-
pears vulnerable from the start. One difficulty is how the presence of
any evil in the world is consistent with its creation by a supremely
good being. As we shall see, Leibniz's response to this question draws
heavily on Augustine's answer that evil arises from a lack or privation
of being, and that consequently God is not responsible for its produc-
tion.5 A different type of criticism threatens Leibniz's central claim
that God's justice is vindicated through the creation of the best of all
possible worlds. On the face of it, Leibniz seems simply to assume that
the present world is the best of all possible worlds, and goes on from
there to explain how evil might nevertheless be a part of it. Yet it is
surely legitimate to ask what grounds we have for this assumption.
8 THEODICY
Prima facie, we can conceive of any number of worlds better than our
own: worlds free of disease, starvation, and war; worlds in which each
gives according to his abilities and receives according to his needs. But
if it is possible to conceive of such worlds, then it cannot be claimed
that God has created the best of all possible worlds. Either we conclude
that God has some prior reason for creating a less than optimal world
or we cast into doubt the very idea that the world owes its existence to
a supremely perfect being.
Leibniz's definitive treatment of the question of God's justice is
contained in his Essays on Theodicy of 1710.6 At times in this work his
position seems defenseless against the challenge just noted. "It is true
that one can imagine possible worlds without sin and without unhap-
piness," he writes, "and one could even arrange them like novels,
Utopias, or Sevarambas; but these same worlds would still be very
inferior to ours in goodness." Of course, he continues, this cannot be
shown in detail, for a comparison of the goodness of possible worlds
involves considerations of infinity. Nevertheless, we can be certain of
this conclusion, "since God has chosen this world such as it is" (GP VI
108/H 129). As a reply to the objection that it is easy to imagine
worlds far better than our own, this seems simply to beg the question.
If the objection is seen as containing a charge that God cannot be the
supremely perfect creator he is supposed to be because he has allowed
the less perfect to prevail over the more perfect, then it can hardly be
answered by merely reasserting that this world has to be the best
because God has chosen it.
When we examine Leibniz's theodicy in more detail, we see that his
position in fact goes beyond this. Supporting the claim of divine jus-
tice are two complementary lines of argument, both aimed at estab-
lishing the closest possible connection between the created world and
God as its creator. The first of these approaches will occupy us
throughout this book. Confronted with the apparent lack of fit be-
tween the created world and God's supreme perfection, Leibniz at-
tempts to convince us that we have not adequately comprehended the
goods - metaphysical and moral - that God has realized in this world.
In its broad outlines Leibniz's philosophy is deeply indebted to Plato-
nism.7 If the perfection of the created world is not immediately ap-
parent to us, the problem lies not with the world but with us. The
mistake that critics of divine justice commonly make, Leibniz argues,
is to suppose that any part of a whole, taken in isolation, must be as
perfect as the whole itself. But this is not so: "[T]he part of the best
whole is not necessarily the best that could have been made of that
part" (Theodicy §213; GP VI 245/H 261). Wisdom demands that the
perfection of the part always be evaluated in relation to the perfec-
tion of the whole. Thus, although an isolated circumstance may ap-
DIVINE JUSTICE 9
pear to offer a counterexample to the superior perfection of the

universe, when returned to its proper context it can be seen to con-
tribute in an essential way to that perfection.8 For its full force to be
felt, this point must be supplemented by an explanation of our error.
Unlike many advocates of the argument from design, Leibniz does
not attempt to premise a proof of divine justice solely on our everyday
experience of the created world. Instead, he is inclined to grant the
point that to the untutored senses the world often seems a chaotic and
unintelligible place, and to argue on account of this that we can only
begin to appreciate the underlying perfection of the world once we
have transcended the senses and learned to use our reason in an
effort to understand reality as it is in itself.9 Consistent with this,
Leibniz's favored explanation of why some fail to perceive the superi-
or perfection of the world appeals to limitations in their cognitive
perspective: "We cannot see such an order so long as we do not enjoy
the correct point of view, just as a picture in perspective is best appre-
ciated only from certain standpoints and cannot be seen properly
from another angle" (BC II, 131/W 572). Saying just this does not
amount to a proof that ours is the best of all possible worlds, but it
does lay the basis for a response to the critic who claims it obviously is
not. Objections based on appearances cannot be decisive if those ap-
pearances are themselves deceptive. It is here that Leibniz calls on
metaphysics to bolster the claims of theodicy. Metaphysics lends
weight to the thesis of divine justice by showing how, from the proper
perspective, this world can be understood as the possible world of
greatest perfection.10
A second line of argument leads more directly to the conclusion
that whatever evils figure in this world, it must nevertheless be re-
garded as the best of all possible worlds. Conceived in its most basic
terms, Leibniz's response to the problem of evil begins with an argu-
ment concerning the conditions under which any world such as ours
could have come into existence. Leibniz's conclusion is that the only
cogent explanation of the "ultimate origination of things" is one that
attributes the source of all existence to a necessary being who is infi-
nitely powerful and infinitely intelligent, and whose principle of will-
ing is a consideration of the best. His argument is expressed concisely
in §7 of the Theodicy.11 Given that there is nothing in the world itself
that could render its existence necessary, he contends, "we must seek
the reason for the existence of the world, which is the whole assem-
blage of contingent things, and we must seek it in the substance which
carries the reason for its existence with it and which is of consequence
necessary and eternaV (GP VI 106/H 127).12 We may further infer that
this "cause of the world" must possess the attributes of intelligence,
will, and power. It must possess intelligence because it has to stand in a
1O THEODICY
relation to all possible worlds in order to determine one of them, and

"this relation of an existing substance to simple possibles can only be
as an understanding which has ideas of them." It must be endowed with
a will, for the determining of one of these possibles is "nothing other
than the act of a will" And it must have power because it is the power
of this substance that renders its will efficacious. Since Leibniz em-
braces the traditional view that the will is naturally inclined to choose
what the intellect judges to be good, he further maintains that this
efficacious will seeks to optimize the outcome of its choice.13 Finally,
he claims, this "intelligent cause must be infinite in every way and
absolutely perfect in power, in wisdom and in goodness, since it extends
to all that is possible" (GP VI 107/H 127-8).
When presented in these terms, Leibniz's theodicy is seen to be
more philosophical, and less narrowly apologetic, than many have
supposed. At bottom, he believes that philosophical argument alone is
sufficient to demonstrate the world's dependence on a first cause
possessing the attributes of infinite power, knowledge, and good-
ness.14 Underlying this argument is an assumption concerning the
unlimited scope of reason. Given the universal validity of the princi-
ple of sufficient reason, nihilfit sine ratione, it follows that there must
be a reason why this world — with its particular constituents and laws —
exists rather than some other very different but equally possible
world.15 In Leibniz's view, the only compelling account of this fact is in
terms of the selection of this world by God from among an infinity of
possible worlds as the best world for creation. As he writes in Theodicy
§187, "without God there would not even have been a reason for
existence, and still less for any particular existence of things" (GP VI
228/H 245).
It is against the background of this argument for divine creation as
the only convincing explanation of the origin of the universe that
Leibniz offers his account of the existence of evil. He begins by distin-
guishing three different species of evil: metaphysical evil, which con-
sists in mere imperfection or the limitation in essence of any finite
being; physical evil or suffering; and moral evil or sin.16 For our pres-
ent purposes, we may limit our attention to what Leibniz calls "meta-
physical evil," since he regards this type of evil as the most basic and
the ultimate source of both physical and moral evil.17 According to
Leibniz, metaphysical evil, or limitation of essence, is part of the idea
of any created being prior to God's willing its existence: Metaphysical
evil belongs to the "ideal nature of the creature, insofar as this nature
is contained in the eternal truths which are in the understanding of
God, independently of his will" (GP VI 114—15/H 135). In a sense,
therefore, we can say that the "ideal cause" of evil is God's under-
standing, the source of all essence or possibility. It is more accurate,
DIVINE JUSTICE 11
however, to say that "the formal character of evil has no efficient

cause," since it consists in mere privation, or in what the nature of any
being fails to include (GP VI 115/H 136). Because metaphysical evil
must belong to the concept of any possible world and "even the best of
all contains a measure thereof," it is unavoidable that God has permit-
ted evil to enter the world he selects for creation. Yet this does not
mean that God is responsible for willing the existence of evil. God's
"antecedent will" tends only toward the good, and he is inclined to
create a given world in proportion to its degree of goodness. What
results, the product of God's "consequent will," is the world that con-
tains the least metaphysical evil, or the best of all possible worlds.18
In bringing the present world into existence, Leibniz argues, God
acts neither out of metaphysical necessity, nor capriciously without a
sufficient reason for his action. In this respect, Leibniz opposes his
theodicy both to the necessitarian views of Hobbes and Spinoza, who
deny a role to God's free will in creation, and to voluntaristic positions
such as Descartes's, which seek to elevate God's freedom by making it
beholden to no determining reason. In contrast to both of these ex-
tremes, Leibniz insists that freedom of the will in general, and God's
freedom in particular, require that the will be presented with a variety
of alternatives (thus it is not limited by necessity to a single course of
action) and that it opt for the best. Since this is a point that is some-
times misunderstood, it is worth quoting Leibniz at length:
There is always a prevailing reason which prompts the will to its choice, and
for the maintenance of freedom of the will it suffices that this reason should
incline without necessitating. That is also the opinion of all the ancients, of
Plato, of Aristotle, of St. Augustine. The will is never prompted to action save
by the representation of the good, which prevails over the opposite represen-
tations. This is admitted even in relation to God, the good angels and souls in
bliss: and it is acknowledged that they are none the less free in consequence of
that. God fails not to choose the best, but he is not constrained to do so: no
more is there necessity in the object of God's choice, for another sequence of
things is equally possible. For that very reason the choice is free and indepen-
dent of necessity, because it is made between several possibles, and the will is
determined only by the preponderating goodness of the object. This is there-
fore not a defect where God and the saints are concerned: on the contrary, it
would be a great defect, or rather a manifest absurdity, were it otherwise,
even in men here on earth, and if they were capable of19acting without any
inclining reason. {Theodicy §45; GP VI 227-8/H 148)
According to Leibniz, an act of will is free just in case it is spontaneous
or self-initiated, chosen from among a plurality of alternatives, and
determined by the greatest reason, in that it aims for the greatest
good. Because there is no question of God's being mistaken as to the
identity of the greatest good, Leibniz concedes that God is bound by a
"moral necessity" to choose it. He insists throughout the Theodicy,
12 THEODICY
however, that this moral necessity is consistent with God's freedom.

"The decrees of God are always free, even though God is always
inclined to them by reasons which lie in the intention towards good; to
be necessitated morally by wisdom, to be bound by the consideration
of good, is to be free" (§237; GP VI 258-9/H 273).20 For a will to be
free is for its choice to be determined by a knowledge of the good.
Thus, God acts in a manner that is properly free only insofar as he
chooses to create what his wisdom recognizes as the best of all possible
worlds.
It is precisely here that Leibniz locates the justice of God's creation.
We may expect from a just being no more or no less than that it
should act so as to achieve what is objectively the best outcome. In this
sense, God's justice is defined as the product of his goodness acting in
conformity with his wisdom.21 On account of his infinite goodness,
God is incorruptibly inclined to choose the best. On account of his
infinite wisdom, God infallibly identifies that world which is the best
or contains the greatest perfection. The result is his creation of the
best of all possible worlds.22 A distinguishing feature of Leibniz's
theodicy is that God's wisdom is assigned the decisive role in explain-
ing the existence of this world as the best of all possible worlds.23
Although every will is naturally inclined to choose what appears to it
the best, only in the case of God is there a perfect match between what
appears to be the best and what is the best.24 This match is explained
by God's infinite wisdom: his capacity to recognize infallibly the pos-
sible world of greatest goodness. This characteristic of Leibniz's the-
odicy will be of considerable importance in what follows. It lays the
ground for the claim that the particular features that mark this world
as the best of all possible worlds are those, and only those, recognized
as objective goods by divine wisdom.
Accepting this point should not lead us to think of God as any less a
moral being. In Leibniz's view, the perfect goodness of God's will is
manifested in his inclination always to choose the good for its own
sake, and to choose from among a variety of alternatives solely on the
basis of their relative degrees of goodness.25 For this reason, he some-
times refers to God's justice as "the charity of the wise": God acts justly
in creation insofar as he is motivated exclusively by his charity, or
disinterested love of the good, to realize that possible world which his
wisdom finds to contain the greatest goodness.26
Goodness and the Best of All Possible Worlds

This schematic account of God's universal justice obviously needs fill-
ing in. Above all, we require a better understanding of the goodness
that God seeks to maximize in creation. Popular presentations of
DIVINE JUSTICE 13
Leibniz's theodicy often assume that when he speaks of this as the best
of all possible worlds he is primarily referring to that possible world
which contains the greatest human happiness. Even a cursory review
of his writings shows that this is at best an oversimplification. While
the happiness of human beings is one of the goods that God is dis-
posed to create, God is not concerned with human happiness alone:
It follows from the supreme perfection of God that in producing the universe
he chose the best possible plan, containing the greatest variety together with
the greatest order; the best arranged situation, place and time; the greatest
effect produced by the simplest means; the most power, the most knowledge,
the most happiness and goodness in created things of which the universe
admitted. (PNG §10; GP VI 603/P 200)
Topping Leibniz's list of the characteristics that make this the best of
all possible worlds is its construction according to a plan that accom-
modates the greatest variety of things together with the greatest or-
der. Within this initial description of the world's perfection, there is
no mention of the happiness of human beings. To be sure, Leibniz
goes on to claim that God also produces the most happiness and
goodness in created things "of which the universe admitted." It is not,
however, obvious that this is part of God's primary conception of the
world's perfection. Instead, that perfection is associated with the
world's realizing certain degrees of variety and order.
Evidence of this account can be found in Leibniz's earliest writings,
in an equation he establishes between the metaphysical concept of
"harmony" - defined as "unity in variety" or "diversity compensated
by identity" - and the pleasure an intelligent being derives from the
apprehension of such harmony:
Delight or pleasure is the perception of harmony. . . . The beautiful is that
whose harmony is clearly and distinctly understood; such alone is that which
is perceived infigures,numbers and motions. . . . Harmony is diversity com-
pensated by identity. . . . Variety delights, but only when it is reduced to a
unity, symmetrical, connected. Agreement delights, but only when it is new,
surprising, unexpected, and consequently either ominous or artificial. (A VI
i, 4 8 4 -5) 2 7
According to Leibniz, there is "neither delight without harmony,
nor harmony without variety" (A VI 1, 466). Or, as he puts it in the
slightly later Confessio Philosophi, "[H]appiness is the state of mind
most agreeable to it, and nothing is agreeable to a mind outside of
harmony" (Bel 30). The crucial step he now takes is to extend this
account of the relationship between harmony and the pleasure of a
mind to an explanation of the world's ultimate origin. "Every wise
being," he contends, "will be delighted by beauty and harmony" (A VI
1, 434-5). Hence this must be true also of God, the being of supreme
wisdom, since "God is the most perfect mind . . . it is impossible for
14 THEODICY
him not to be affected by the most perfect harmony" (A II 1, 117/L

146). We may therefore conclude that God chooses to create this
world rather than any other because it is the possible world of greatest
harmony: "God wills the things which he understands to be the best
and the most harmonious and selects them, as it were, from an infi-
nite number of possibilities" (ibid.). In this way, Leibniz arrived dur-
ing the early 1670s at a nascent version of his doctrine of theodicy.
There are important differences between this youthful position and
the position of the Theodicy, in particular his apparent readiness to
accept the necessitarianism that follows from the determination of
God's will by his intellect.28 Nevertheless, the basic structure of the
theory is in place. The existence of this world rather than any other
possible world is explained in terms of its selection by divine wisdom
as the world of greatest harmony.
In Leibniz's view, a proper appreciation of harmony requires the
exercise of reason. It is based on an understanding of the order by
which a variety of things is united in a pleasing whole, a whole whose
harmony, or well-ordered diversity, is judged by divine wisdom to be
an objective good in the construction of a world. Given this, it is
tempting to conclude that the justice God exercises in creation, which
Leibniz seeks to defend, is principally the justice of the craftsman who
chooses to build according to the most apt proportions, such that the
parts of the resulting whole harmonize in their mutual relations. Such
a construction conforms to what is objectively the optimal design of
that artifact and is accordingly that construction most satisfying to a
wisdom that judges according to the rules of correct proportion. It is,
in a phrase that recurs repeatedly in Leibniz's writings, the "most
fitting" (le plus convenable, convenientissimum) construction.
This conception of divine justice as "most fitting" construction is, I
argue, one of the cornerstones of Leibniz's theodicy. Nevertheless, it
omits an important part of his doctrine, which bears on the special
role of rational beings within the scheme of creation. This role is
explicitly acknowledged in the distinction Leibniz draws, parallel to
his division among the different types of evil, among three different
species of goodness: metaphysical goodness, or perfection, which he
attributes to all creatures, including those lacking intelligence; physical
goodness, or pleasure, which he ascribes only to intelligent creatures;
and moral goodness, or virtue, which likewise belongs only to crea-
tures with intelligence.29 The next chapter explores in detail the rela-
tionship between what Leibniz calls "metaphysical goodness" and the
concept of harmony. For now, we need only note the potential conflict
between these values, on the one hand, and physical and moral good-
ness, on the other. While Leibniz ascribes some measure of meta-
physical goodness to all created beings, physical and moral goodness
DIVINE JUSTICE 15
— happiness and virtue — are properties that belong exclusively to

beings endowed with intelligence. He thus introduces the possibility
that in selecting the world of greatest overall goodness God may be
called upon to make some choice between these values - favoring
either the perfection and harmony of the whole at the expense of the
happiness and virtue of minds, or vice versa.
We have already observed that Leibniz in fact seems to think that
God is able to avoid any such trade-off. He confidently asserts that the
best plan of the universe includes the realization of "the greatest
variety together with the greatest order" and "the most power, the
most knowledge, the most happiness and goodness in created things
of which the universe admitted" (GP VI 603/P 200). There is thus a
strong indication that he regards God as opting for a world that excels
both in terms of its fitting construction and in terms of the well-being
it offers rational creatures. At bottom, he seems to imply, there is no
real conflict between these ends. While God may be motivated in the
first place to create that possible world which contains the greatest
perfection and harmony, he is able through the very same act of
creation to realize the world of greatest happiness and virtue. For the
moment, this suggestion of a rapprochement between God's moral
and metaphysical ends must remain speculative. It will be substanti-
ated in Chapter 3.
Retributive Justice and the Kingdom of Minds
In his later writings, Leibniz distinguishes two dimensions in the jus-
tice God exhibits toward the world: on the one hand, a providence in
relation to creatures in general, such that all is arranged for the best;
on the other hand, a narrower notion of retributive justice, which
governs God's relations with creatures endowed with intelligence.30
Although the former conception of God's universal justice most con-
cerns us in what follows, the latter is also represented by Leibniz as an
essential feature of God's design of the best of all possible worlds, and
hence demands our attention.
Because of their capacity for reflection and understanding, Leibniz
argues, rational minds can be regarded as "images of the divinity
itself, or of the author of nature, capable of knowing the system of
nature, and of imitating something of it" (Mon §83; GP VI 621/P
192-3). For this reason, minds are able to enter into "a kind of society
with God," whose relation to them is "not only that of an inventor to
his machine (which is God's relation to the rest of creation), but also
that of a prince to his subjects, and even of a father to his children"
(Mon §84; GP VI 621/P 193). Unlike other creatures, minds are able
to know God through his works and to emulate him in their actions.
Accordingly, they are also subject to a type of retributive justice
l6 THEODICY
whereby they are rewarded and punished in proportion to how well

they fulfill the special duties they bear as citizens (and not merely
parts) of God's kingdom. The highest of these duties requires that
rational creatures be guided by the same concern for universal justice,
or love of the common good, as directs God's creative will: "the very
law of justice itself dictates that each should have a part in the perfec-
tions of the universe and in his own happiness in proportion to his
own virtue and to the extent to which his will is directed towards the
common good" (GP VII 307/P 143).31 We may therefore be confident
that in any world God chooses to create, virtue is rewarded with
proportionate happiness, and vice punished with proportionate suf-
fering. According to Leibniz, God administers this balance of reward
and punishment through the harmony he institutes between the
"kingdom of nature" and the "kingdom of grace":
God as Architect satisfies God as Lawgiver in everything, and thus sins carry
their punishment with them by the order of nature, and by virtue of the
mechanical structure of things itself. . . . [U]nder this perfect government
there will be no good action without reward, no evil action without punish-
ment, and everything must turn out for the good of the righteous. (Mon
§§89-90; GP VI 622/P 193-4)32
It is apparent from this brief summary that our earlier account of
God's providence, or universal justice, overlooked an important com-
ponent of Leibniz's theodicy. It is a central thesis of his doctrine that
with respect to rational minds God stands in the special relationship
of "monarch" and "lawgiver," with the result that there is instituted "a
moral world within the natural world." This "City of God" is even
described by him as "the most divine of God's works," in which "truly
consists his glory, for he could not be glorified if his greatness and
goodness were not known and wondered at by minds" (Mon §86; GP
VI 621—2/P 193)- The question that now arises is whether this compli-
cation alters the fundamental character of Leibniz's theodicy, to the
extent of undermining the claim that it is God's wisdom above all that
determines the selection of this world for existence.
In at least one passage, Leibniz appears to suggest that the retribu-
tive justice God observes with respect to intelligent creatures should
be seen as a product more of his supreme goodness than of his wis-
dom. In the Monadology, he writes that it is only in relation to the
"divine city" of minds that God "may properly be said to have good-
ness, whereas his wisdom and power are manifested everywhere"
(§86; GP VI 622/P 193) - a comment which suggests that justice in the
narrow sense is the special province of God's goodness, whereas di-
vine wisdom alone suffices for providence in general. Although this
view finds some support in the thought that it is specifically a moral
justice that God observes with respect to minds, and that such a justice
DIVINE JUSTICE 17
is directly owed to the goodness of a will, there is no evidence that
Leibniz systematically opts for such a position. Instead, he seems in-
tent on offering exactly parallel accounts of the origin of divine provi-
dence in general and of retributive justice in particular. In both cases,
we are to see divine wisdom as supplying essential guidance to the
underlying motive of goodness. God's goodness, he writes in Causa
Dei, is related
either to creatures in general or specifically to intelligent creatures. Joined to
greatness [i.e., wisdom and power], it constitutes, in the first case, providence
in the creation and government of the universe, and in the second case,
justice in ruling specifically over the substances endowed with reason. (§40;
GP VI445/S 122)
In addition to insisting on the pivotal role played by divine wisdom
in Leibniz's theodicy, I have stressed a further point concerning the
priorities of that wisdom in its assessment of the relative worth of
possible worlds. Whether the good in question concerns the abstract
construction of the universe or the well-being of rational minds, wis-
dom recognizes as optimal that arrangement of goods which best
evidences an order satisfying to reason. Just as wisdom is inclined to
favor that construction of an artifact in which there is realized a
certain proportion and harmony among its parts, so it is inclined to
favor that general order of things in which the distribution of plea-
sure and pain among minds is in strict proportion to their respective
degrees of virtue and vice:
[A]s to order and justice, I believe that there are universal rules which must
hold with respect to God and with respect to intelligent creatures. . . . It is
good to consider that order and harmony . . . have something mathematical
about them, which consists in certain proportions; and that since justice is
nothing but the order which is observed with regard to the evil and good of
intelligent substances, it follows that God who is the sovereign substance ob-
serves unchangingly the most perfect justice and order which could be ob-
served. (A I 13, 11)33
We may thus conclude that while Leibniz tailors his theodicy so as to
accommodate the existence of two distinct sources of goodness - on
the one hand, goods that pertain to creatures in general and to the
construction of the universe as a whole; on the other, goods that
belong exclusively to rational minds — the basic principles informing
his account of how God demonstrates justice in the creation of the
world are the same in both cases. Under the influence of his supreme
goodness, God is disposed to create the best of all possible worlds.
Under the instruction of his wisdom, which prizes evidence of order,
proportion, and harmony, God decides which of all possible worlds
satisfies this description. It is clearly critical to Leibniz's account that
without the capacity of divine wisdom to evaluate the relative worth —
l8 THEODICY
both metaphysical and moral - of different possible worlds, there

would be no justification for the claim that God exercises justice in his
choice of this world for creation. God's will naturally inclines toward
the good, but it is only under the guidance of his wisdom that he is
able to reach a decision as to which world is objectively the best.
We have reviewed in this chapter the main outlines of Leibniz's the-

odicy. In its most basic terms, theodicy is conceived as a defense of
God's justice - in particular, the consistency of that justice with God's
creation of a world in which some measure of evil unavoidably exists.
A critical moment in Leibniz's defense is its representation of divine
justice as a corollary of the only compelling account of the world's
"ultimate origination." In Leibniz's view, the only adequate way to
explain the existence of this world, as opposed to some other equally
possible world, is to regard it as the product of a creative act on the
part of a necessarily existing being. Such an act is reasonable in itself,
he maintains, insofar as it amounts to a choice of the best world from
among an infinity of possible worlds. Herein, for Leibniz, lies God's
universal justice: God acts justly in creation insofar as he is motivated
to select that possible world which his wisdom deems to contain the
greatest goodness. This account is complicated by Leibniz's readiness
to acknowledge several disparate species of goodness: on the one
hand, perfection and harmony, which belong to all creatures and to
the world as a whole; on the other hand, happiness and virtue, which
are the exclusive property of intelligent creatures. The next two chap-
ters further investigate the nature of these goods and their compati-
bility within Leibniz's scheme.
Notes
1. Although the problem is an ancient one, the term "theodicy" (theos —
God; dike = justice) was coined by Leibniz himself. See his letter to the
Jesuit theologian Bartholomew Des Bosses of 6 January 1712: "Bernard,
the editor of the French journal in Holland, has construed my Essais de
Theodicee as though I meant to say 'Essays of a Theodicean,' or had called
myself 'The Theodicean'; but it was my intention to call the doctrine
itself or the subject matter of the dissertation Theodicy,' insofar as the-
odicy is the doctrine of the right and justice [jure etjustitia] of God" (GP II
428).
2. The source for Epicurus's remark is Lactantius, De ira dei 13, 20—1.
3. Cf. Theodicy §§31, 200.
4. Leibniz reports having arrived at this insight by the early 1670s: "While in
France, I communicated to M. Arnauld a dialogue I had composed in
Latin [presumably the Confessio Philosophi] on the cause of evil and the
justice of God; this was not only before his disputes with the Reverend
Father Malebranche, but even before the book on The Search After Truth
DIVINE JUSTICE ig
had appeared. The principle which I uphold here, namely that sin had
been permitted because it had been involved in the best plan of the
universe, was already employed there" (Theodicy §211; GP VI 244/H 260).
See also the preface to the Theodicy (GP VI 43/H 67).
5. Concerning Augustine's treatment of evil, see Evans 1982.
6. In the original French, the complete title reads: Essais de Theodicee sur la
bonte de Dieu, la liberte de Vhomme et Vorigine du mal. For the background to
this book and its origin as a response to Pierre Bayle, see Barber 1955.
7. Leibniz is the first to recognize the importance of Plato for him. In a 1714
letter to the French courtier Nicolas Remond, he writes: "I have always
been most satisfied, from my very youth, with the ethics of Plato and in
some way with his metaphysics as well; these two sciences demand each
other" (GP III 632/L 659). For discussions of Leibniz's self-understanding
as a Platonic philosopher, and of the many points at which his doctrines
resonate with Platonic themes, see Vieillard-Baron 1979; C. Wilson 1989.
In emphasizing this element in Leibniz's thought, I do not mean to mini-
mize the importance of other philosophical influences. I accept the pic-
ture that Leibniz paints of himself as a borrower from, and synthesizer of,
a variety of philosophical traditions. On this, see in particular the conclu-
sion to his first (1698) reply to Bayle (GP IV 523-4/L 496), and his letters
to Remond of 10 January and 26 August 1714 (GP III 605/L 654-5; GP
III 624-5).
8. In his Latin summary of the Theodicy, Causa Dei asserta per justitiam ejus,
Leibniz writes, "For all things in the universe are in mutual harmony, and
the supremely wise will never decide without having taken all points of
view into consideration, nor therefore will his judgment bear on anything
but the whole" (Causa Dei §41; GP VI 445/S 122). Cf. GP III 635-6/L
659; GP VII 306/P 142.
9. "Thus, when something in the series of things displeases us, that arises
from a defect in our understanding. For it is not possible that every mind
should understand everything distinctly; and to those who observe only
some parts rather than others, the harmony of the whole cannot appear"
(A Resume of Metaphysics §19; C 535/P 147). Cf. GP VI 75/H 98-9; GP VII
306/P 141. The contrast between a "hidden and visible order" is stressed
by Catherine Wilson (1983, 777; 1989, 281-9), who sees the influence of
Malebranche as decisive here.
10. Cf. Theodicy §147; A 13, 11-12; GP VI 507/L 552.
11. See also On the Ultimate Origination of Things (GP VII 302—3/P 136—7); A
Specimen of Discoveries (GP VII 310/P 76-7); PNG §8.
12. Leibniz allows that the present argument presupposes the soundness of
the ontological argument: "A necessary being, if it is possible, exists. This
is the pinnacle of modal theory, and makes the transition from essences to
existence, from hypothetical truths to absolute truths, from ideas to the
world" (GP VII 310/P 76).
13. Cf. A Specimen of Discoveries: "[Ejvery act of will presupposes a judgment
of the intellect about goodness - unless by a change of names one trans-
fers all judgment from the intellect to the will" (GP VII 311/P 77).
14. This is consistent with his view that all true religion is founded on natural
theology, which he identifies with metaphysics. See Theodicyy "Preliminary
Discourse on the Conformity of Faith with Reason," §44: "Now we have no
need of revealed faith to know that there is some such unique principle of
all things, perfectly good and wise. Reason teaches us this through infal-
2O THEODICY
lible demonstrations; and as a consequence, all objections drawn from

the course of things, in which we observe imperfections, are only based
on false appearances" (GP VI 75/H 98).
15. See the opening of his Resume of Metaphysics: "There is a reason in Nature
why something exists rather than nothing. This is a consequence of the
great principle that nothing happens without a reason, and also that
there must be a reason why this thing exists rather than another" (C
533 / p !45)-
16. See Theodicy §21; Causa Dei §§30-2; GP III 31. Leibniz links his account
of metaphysical evil to Augustine's view of evil as a "privation of being" at
Theodicy §§29-30, 378.
17. See Theodicy §20: "For we must consider that there is an original imperfec-
tion in the creature before sin, because the creature is limited in its essence;
whence it follows that it cannot know all, and that it can deceive itself and
commit other errors" (GP VI 115/H 135). Cf. Theodicy §§33, 288.1 cannot
go into all the details of Leibniz's account of the relationship among
metaphysical, physical, and moral evil. As the passage just quoted sug-
gests, moral evil (malum culpae) is ascribed to an imperfection in the
creature - its lack of knowledge - which prompts it to will some inferior
good. Leibniz sees physical evil as arising naturally from moral evil. In
this case, the affliction may be that of the agent, who suffers punishment
for his sin (malum poenae), or that of his victim, whom God later affords
some suitable compensation (see Causa Dei §§32, 55). A further source of
the physical evil of human beings is the perfection of other creatures,
themselves equally integral to the design of the best of all possible worlds.
As discussed in Chapter 3, Leibniz does not regard the world as being
made for human beings alone; thus we often suffer for the sake of the
expression of the goodness of other creatures (e.g., the natural function-
ing of bacteria).
18. See Theodicy §§22-5; Causa Dei §§33-8.
19. Cf. Theodicy §§288-9.
20. Cf. Theodicy §§168, 227—40, 310, 344, 349; Observations on the Book Con-
cerning the Origin of Evil §2 (GP VI 401 /H 406).
21. In a letter to Des Bosses, Leibniz defines "theodicy" as "a kind of science,
namely the doctrine of the justice of God, that is, of his wisdom together
with his goodness" (GP II 437/L 601). See also PNG §9 and GP II 428,
quoted in note 1.
22. Cf. Theodicy §225, where Leibniz describes God's choice as "the choice of
the best, which wisdom makes in order to satisfy goodness completely"
(GP VI 252/H 268).
23. "The ultimate principle [regula] of justice is not the will, but the wisdom
of God" (G 252; cf. G 139). More fully, in his Meditation on the Common
Concept ofJustice, Leibniz writes: "Justice is nothing else than that which
conforms to wisdom and goodness combined: the end of goodness [bonte]
is the greatest good [bien], but to recognize it wisdom is needed, which is
nothing else than knowledge of the good" (Mo 48/R 50). See also Theodicy
§116; Observations on the Book Concerning the Origin of Evil §21 (GP VI
423/H 428).
24. See Causa Dei §18: "Just as wisdom or knowledge of truth is a perfection
of the understanding, so goodness or striving for the good is a perfection
of the will. All will, indeed, has as its object the good, be it but an appar-
ent good; but the divine will has no object which would not be both good
and true" (GP VI 441/S 117). Cf. GP III 31.
DIVINE JUSTICE 21
25. Thus, if there were no single best possible world, God would not have
created at all: "In my opinion, unless there were an optimal series, God
clearly would have created nothing, since he cannot act without a reason,
or prefer the less perfect to the more perfect alternative" (GP II 424—5).
26. For this definition of "justice," see GP II 136/M 171-2; D IV 295/R 171.
As we shall see in Chapter 3, Leibniz often reserves the term "charity" for
God's love of intelligent creatures, or those capable of happiness. At
times, however, he extends its scope to include God's positive inclination
toward goodness in general.
27. Elementa juris naturalis (1671). Cf. A II 1, 98; A VI 1, 475, 477, 479- The
definition of "harmony" that appears in this passage is repeated in sev-
eral texts. See his letter to Antoine Arnauld of November 1671 (A II 1,
174/GP I 73) and A VI 2, 283. In the Confessio Philosophic Leibniz defines
"harmony" as "similitude in variety, or diversity compensated by identity"
(Bel 30). In the later Elements of True Piety (ca. 1679), he restates this
condition as "unity in variety" (G 12).
28. In a note added to his copy of a 1671 letter to Magnus Wedderkopf,
Leibniz writes: "I later corrected this, for it is one thing for sins to happen
infallibly, another for them to happen necessarily" (A II 1, 118/L 147).
Another significant difference concerns the contribution made by ratio-
nal minds to the harmony of the universe. Contrary to the position he
takes in his mature writings, Leibniz claims in this period that minds
contribute to God's glory but not to the harmony of the world itself. See A
VI 1,438.
29. For statements of this division, see Causa Dei §§29—32; Theodicy §209; GP
III 32.
30. See Causa Dei §§40, 50. Although these passages appear to distinguish
providence from justice in the strict sense, the former also counts as a
species of divine justice because it results from the combination of God's
wisdom and goodness. Cf. Causa Dei §41: "From the fact that wisdom
directs the goodness of God in operating on created things in general, it
follows that divine providence is exhibited in the entire series of the uni-
verse; and it must be said that God, among the infinite possible series of
things, has chosen the best, and that consequently the best is the same as
that which in fact exists" (GP VI 445/S 122).
31. For Leibniz's fullest discussion of the objective status of this law, see
Meditation on the Common Concept ofJustice (Mo 41—70/R 45—64).
32. Cf. PNG §15.
33. Cf. Theodicy §§73-4, where Leibniz cites the balance of reward and pun-
ishment as an example of the "law of fitness" (principe de la convenance)
that God observes in creation (GP VI 142/H 162).
The Maximization of
Perfection and Harmony
Leibniz describes the best of all possible worlds as the world of great-
est perfection and greatest harmony. We saw in the preceding chapter
that these designations are closely associated with a notion of the
world's "most fitting" construction. As such, they point to features of
the best of all possible worlds that can be characterized independently
of any reference to the happiness and virtue of rational creatures.
The maximization of perfection and harmony are thus marks of this
world's metaphysical superiority over other possible worlds, as op-
posed to its moral superiority. This chapter examines the nature of
this metaphysical superiority and the relationship for Leibniz between
the concepts of perfection and harmony.
Optimization versus Maximization

According to Nicholas Rescher, when Leibniz speaks of this as the
possible world of greatest perfection, we should understand him as
claiming that it optimizes the combination of two crucial metaphysical
values: richness or variety of phenomena, and simplicity of laws.1 In
Rescher's view, neither factor is sufficient by itself. Stressing one at the
expense of the other would lead to a world that contained less overall
perfection. A world composed of a single element, for example,
would have much simpler laws than our own, but its lack of variety
would lower its degree of perfection. Similarly, a world might be
much richer in phenomena than our own is, yet the increased com-
plexity of the laws required to give order to its phenomena would
again decrease its total perfection. "It is the distinguishing feature of
this, the actual, and thus the best possible world," Rescher argues,
"that it manages to strike the best balance here."2 In contrast to "a
long series of monolithic summum bonum theories," he continues, Leib-
niz's metaphysics relies on a "conflict-admitting two-factor criterion"
of perfection.3 The hallmark of the best of all possible worlds is that it
balances the opposing tendencies of these two competing factors: It
contains neither the most variety nor the most simplicity but, rather,
the optimal combination of the two.
Rescher finds support for his interpretation in a number of Leib-
nizian texts. Representative is a well-known passage from §6 of Dis-
PERFECTION AND HARMONY 23
course on Metaphysics, in which Leibniz writes: "God has chosen the

most perfect world, that is the one which is at the same time the
simplest in hypotheses and the richest in phenomena" (Le 33/AG
3g).4 Several commentators have questioned, however, whether pas-
sages like this one actually bear Rescher's reading, or whether they are
instead best understood as asserting a maximization of both richness
of phenomena and simplicity of laws.5 Beyond this, Rescher's account
faces a challenge from other passages in Leibniz's own writings in
which he advances a quite different view of the world's perfection. In
the essay On the Ultimate Origination of Things, he asserts that the
perfection of a possible world is a direct function of the "quantity of
essence" it contains:
[A] 11 possible things, or things expressing essence or possible reality, tend with
equal right toward existence in proportion to the quantity of essence or
reality, or to the degree of perfection which they involve; for perfection is
nothing but quantity of essence.
Hence it is very clearly understood that out of the infinite combinations of
possibles and possible series, that one exists through which the most essence
or possibility is brought into existence. (GP VII 303/L 8 6
In the view of one supporter of Rescher's position, this formula for
perfection is incompatible with the optimization theory and should be
rejected in favor of it. According to Gale, this second formula places
excessive emphasis on the variety of nature, in the form of "quantity
of essence," at the expense of the simplicity of its order. Consequently,
it leads to less overall perfection.7 Rescher's reading of these texts is
less clear. He appears to believe that they are consistent with his inter-
pretation, yet at best approximations of the truth. He writes that
"[t]aken together, variety and order provide a measure of the quantity
of (potential) being or existence in reality that God seeks to maximize
in his creation choice." Nevertheless, he argues, "it would be mislead-
ing to think of the maximization process as addressing itself to a
single quantity ('quantity of essence') since this is itself a function of
several distinct parameters (specifically including variety and or-
der)."8 Rescher's position seems to be that as a consequence of opti-
mizing the combination of variety and simplicity, God also succeeds in
maximizing quantity of essence. However, he gives no indication of
how this relation is to be worked out in detail, or why we are obliged to
give precedence to the optimization formula over the maximization
formula.
My approach to this problem, to be developed in the next two
sections of this chapter, differs from that of Rescher at three points.
First, in contrast to him, I regard Leibniz's maximization of essence
formula as a more fundamental way of understanding his doctrine of
perfection than any account framed in terms of the variety and law-
24 THEODICY
fulness of phenomena. At bottom, I see Leibniz as advancing a type of

summum bonum theory based on a maximization of perfection or
"metaphysical goodness." Second, as regards the critical relationship
between order and variety, I see Leibniz as claiming not that these are
in a basic tension with each other but, rather, that order is the means
to the greatest perfection, in the form of a maximum variety of be-
ings. In Leibniz's view, then, variety does not have to be sacrificed for
the sake of greater order; instead, the best order makes possible the
realization of the greatest variety of things. Finally, against Rescher
and other commentators, I believe we must extend our understand-
ing of a world's order beyond a narrow notion of the "simplicity" of its
natural laws. Leibniz's mature understanding of the order God im-
parts to the world is much richer, and always favors the idea that
superior order (not to be confused with simpler order) is the means to
greater variety.
The Maximization of Perfection

According to Leibniz, God wills the good for its own sake, and the
most basic good he wills is "metaphysical goodness," which "consists in
the perfection . . . of all creatures, even those not endowed with intel-
ligence" (Causa Dei §30; GP VI 443/S 120). The notion of perfection
here invoked is one of the most important in Leibniz's philosophy,
and also unfortunately one that has been too frequently ignored or
misunderstood.9 According to its primary meaning, a "perfection" is
any "pure reality, or that which is positive and absolute in essence" (G
324).10 In this basic sense, perfections belong only to God, who as a
necessary being "must be incapable of being limited, and must contain
just as much reality as is possible." Thus, "it follows that God is abso-
lutely perfect, since perfection is nothing but magnitude of positive
reality, in the strict sense, setting aside the limits or bounds in things
which are limited. And where there are no bounds, that is to say in
God, perfection is absolutely infinite" (Mon §§40—1; GP VI 613/P
185). In describing God as an absolutely perfect being, Leibniz clearly
intends us to understand God as possessing all perfections, and even
an infinity of perfections. In practice, however, he concerns himself
almost exclusively with three perfections that play decisive roles in his
account of divine creation. These are the perfections of power, knowl-
edge, and will.11
In conceptualizing the act of creation, Leibniz appeals to these
perfections in two quite different ways. We have already seen how
they underwrite his explanation of the existence of the best of all
possible worlds. As he briefly summarizes his view in Monadology §55,
God knows the best through his wisdom, chooses it through his will,
and produces it through his power. More fully, Leibniz sees in the
attributes of power, knowledge, and will precisely those qualities nec-
essary to explain the voluntary actions of any intelligent being. There
is required, first, power or a source of activity; second, knowledge,
which is capable of comprehending the possibilities of action and
assessing the relative merit of ends according to their degrees of
goodness; and, third, will or the capacity to choose, which "causes
changes or productions according to the principle of what is best"
(Mon §48; GP VI 615/P 186).
Although it has been less widely recognized, the divine perfections
of power, knowledge, and will are invoked a second time by Leibniz in
explaining the specific character of the world God chooses to create.
Here his basic intuition is that God gives rise to finite substances
through a "diffusion" or "emanation" of his perfection. The chief
significance of this metaphor for Leibniz is its suggestion that in
bringing any substance into existence, God produces it as a finite
instantiation of his own unlimited perfections of power, knowledge,
and will.12 At the level of finite beings, therefore, perfections are
present as "intensions," or qualities possessing degrees, and we may
define the relative perfection of any finite substance in terms of the
degree to which it is less limited in the absolute perfections of God.13
In a revealing passage, Leibniz goes so far as to suggest that the
natures of created beings could be defined mathematically in terms of
the degree of limitation of God's primary perfections:
There are in [God] three primacies [primautes], power, knowledge and will;
and from these there results the operation or creature, which is varied ac-
cording to the different combinations of unity and zero, or rather of the
positive with the privative, for the privative is nothing but the limit and there
are everywhere limits in creatures. . . . However, the creature is something
more than limits, for it has received some perfection or power from God. (G
126) 14
When we conceive of creation in these terms, it is hard not to

conclude that in bringing into existence the best of all possible worlds,
God is first and foremost motivated to create that world which con-
tains the greatest metaphysical goodness, in the sense of the greatest
perfection or "quantity of essence." For Leibniz, this will also neces-
sarily be that world which contains the greatest variety of beings.15
This result follows given two further assumptions. The first is that
variety is only realized at a fundamental level through a varying of
degrees of perfection. To say that two things are different in kind is
just to say that they have different degrees of perfection.16 The
second assumption is that any given type of being, defined in terms of
a certain degree of perfection, can only be instantiated once in the
world.17 Accepting these points, we can see that to maximize perfec-
26 THEODICY
tion, God will be obliged to create as many different substances as

possible, each representing a unique degree of perfection.
Given God's commitment to these primary ends, Leibniz envisions
him as faced with what is, in effect, a simple engineering problem.
This is how to optimize the design of a world, such that the maximum
perfection and variety can be realized within it: "[A]ll in all that meth-
od of creating a world is chosen which involves more reality or perfec-
tion, and God acts like the greatest geometer, who prefers the best
construction of problems" (GP VII 310/P 75-6). 18 According to Leib-
niz, the solution of this problem requires that God ascertain the best
overall order for a series of existing things; for although any world
God conceives will be defined in terms of some order, different or-
ders will allow for the realization of more or less perfection.19 In this
respect, he compares God's plan for the universe to the most fitting
design of a building, or to the solution of a tiling problem, in which
the aim is to fill a given space in the most efficient manner possible:
[T]he time, the place, or (in a word) the receptivity or capacity of the world,
may here be taken to be the expenditure, or the ground on which a building is
to be raised in as fitting a manner as possible, while the variety of forms is
comparable to the fitness of the building and the number and elegance of its
rooms. . . . Similarly, once it has been granted that being prevails over non-
being, . . . the consequence is that there exists as much as is possible in
accordance with the capacity of time and place (or of the possible order of
existing) - in very much the same way as tiles are fitted together so that as
many as possible are contained in a given area. (GP VII 303-4/P 138)20
T h e implication of these remarks is that, pace Rescher, Leibniz does
not regard variety and order as competing factors in the design of a
world. Instead, he holds that a maximization of perfection presup-
poses God's choice of the optimal world order: an order that enables
the coexistence of the greatest possible variety of beings within the
confines of a single world. If this is correct, then one of the keys to
understanding Leibniz's position will be understanding better his con-
ception of the order of a world and of what makes some world orders
better than others.
The Optimization of Order

In a 1679 letter to Malebranche, Leibniz identifies the best of all
possible worlds with one whose order is determined by simple laws:
We must also say that God makes as many things as possible, and what obliges
him to seek simple laws is precisely the necessity to find place for as many
things as can be put together; if he made use of other laws, it would be like
trying to make a building with round stones, which makes us lose more space
than they occupy. (GP I 331/L 211)21
This passage is noteworthy for the explicitness of its statement that

rather than being in conflict with the maximum things, simple laws
are in fact the essential means to such a maximum. Nevertheless, I am
reluctant to accept it as a definitive statement of Leibniz's position.22
In general, I see Leibniz's terse remarks concerning the relation be-
tween variety and simplicity more as advertisements of a vexing prob-
lem in his theory - how God's choice of an optimal world order
enables his production of the maximum perfection — than as evi-
dence of its solution. Given the importance of this issue, it is worth
taking some time to consider the difficulties that arise here.
The first is that Leibniz's mature writings appear to link the sim-
plicity of the laws of nature most directly to the production of the
richest variety of phenomena, rather than the greatest perfection or
reality. While DM §6 equates the former circumstance with God's
choice of the "most perfect world," it is doubtful whether this expres-
sion is being used in its strict technical sense.23 As I have recon-
structed Leibniz's position, God is principally motivated to create the
world that contains the greatest metaphysical goodness: the collection
of substances that together realize the greatest sum of the perfections
of power, knowledge, and will that "flow" from God in creation. Ac-
cordingly, the production of the richest variety of phenomena is not
one of God's primary goals in creation. Thus, it remains unclear how
his choice of simple laws of nature, laws that enable the realization of
the greatest variety of phenomena, also promotes the more funda-
mental end of producing the greatest metaphysical goodness.
Second, Leibniz barely hints as to how we are to understand his
references to "simplicity" and how such simplicity can be conceived to
be productive of greater variety. There is little reason to think he
associates this simplicity with the mathematical form of the laws of
nature, for example with their being simpler in algebraic degree; nor
is it easy to see how such a notion of simplicity might lead to a greater
variety of phenomena. More promising is the idea that Leibniz equates
the simplicity of laws with their degree of universality, or freedom
from exceptions. On this reading, the simplest natural laws would be
those, like Newton's law of gravitation, applying to the greatest variety
of cases under the widest range of circumstances. Such laws could be
understood as more "productive" of phenomena insofar as a richer
variety of types of phenomena are subsumed under them. Newton's
law of gravitation applies both to phenomena of terrestrial free fall
and to those of planetary motion. As such, it is a simpler law than the
hypotheses of Ptolemaic astronomy, each of which charts the move-
ment of only a single celestial body.
This line of thought appears to track an important part of what
28 THEODICY
Leibniz understands by the "simplicity" of the laws of nature. 24 Nev-

ertheless, it is not completely satisfying as an account of this notion. In
the essay Tentamen Anagogicum, Leibniz claims that God's supreme
wisdom inclines him to choose those natural laws that are the
"simplest and most determined." As examples, he cites the laws of
reflection and refraction, which he argues are demonstrable on the
assumption that nature observes a "principal of determination." In
the case of both reflection and refraction, it is shown that a light ray
follows the "easiest" path through space. Strictly speaking, however, it
is not this fact that Leibniz associates with the laws' simplicity, or with
their being chosen by God as the best laws for nature; rather, it is that
they represent a unique means of realizing a maximum or minimum
outcome:
[W]e begin here to show that no other reason can be given for the laws of
nature than the assumption of an intelligent cause. Or, we show also that in
the investigation of final causes there are cases in which it is necessary to
consider the simplest and most determined, without distinguishing whether it
is the greatest or the least. (GP VII 270/L 8 5
This is unquestionably a different sense of "simplicity" than that can-

vassed above, and one that does not correlate in an obvious way with
the production of a greater variety of phenomena. 26 Yet it is directly
associated by Leibniz with the operation of God's wisdom in his choice
of the best of all possible worlds. Furthermore, as regards the crite-
rion of God's choice, it is not clear whether simplicity is even a neces-
sary condition for natural laws to be judged the "most fitting" laws for
a world. In the Principles of Nature and of Grace, Leibniz writes:
God's supreme wisdom has led him, above all, to choose laws of motion that are
the best adjusted and most suitable [les plus convenables] with respect to ab-
stract and metaphysical reasons. The same quantity of total and absolute
force, or of action, is preserved, the same quantity of respective force, or of
reaction; and finally, the same quantity of directive force. Furthermore, ac-
tion is always equal to reaction, and the whole effect is always equivalent to its
full cause. (GP VI 603/AG 210-11)
While there may be a way of interpreting God's preference for these
conservation laws in terms of yet another sense of "simplicity," there
appears to be no compelling reason for doing so. A more promising
course would be to allow that God may have "abstract and metaphysi-
cal reasons" for preferring natural laws that do not reduce to those
laws' simplicity. Thus, of the natural laws God selects for the best of all
possible worlds, some may be laws whose simplicity is productive of a
greater variety of phenomena, while others (such as the conservation
laws just cited) may merely be laws that answer to God's preference for
greater order and intelligibility. Indeed, it may well be the latter idea
that serves as our truest indicator of what makes for the best natural
order. What simplicity or universality, on the one hand, and efficiency
or determinateness, on the other, have in common is that they repre-
sent types of order that are especially satisfying to reason: orders in
which a single principle suffices to account for the widest possible
range of cases, or in which an outcome is determined through a
unique optimizing solution.
In my view, this is the right way to proceed in conceiving of God's
choice of an optimal natural order. Nevertheless, even if we accept
this hypothesis, we still face the deeper question of how God's selec-
tion of certain "most fitting" laws of nature helps to promote the
fundamental goal of creation: the maximization of perfection. If
Leibniz's account of the relationship between God's wisdom and his
selection of certain natural laws as the best laws for a world is to make
sense, some explanation of this point must be forthcoming. When
Leibniz writes that God chooses for this world "metaphysico-
mathematical laws of nature" which determine "the order that best
conforms to intelligence and reason" (GP III 72), we should be able to
understand God as preferring such laws precisely because they help
to promote at some level a maximization of metaphysical goodness.
For we have assumed that it is ultimately this alone which motivates
God's will.
Although we are not yet in a position to resolve this issue in a fully
satisfying way, we can gain considerable insight into Leibniz's under-
standing of the relationship between order and variety by examining
the use he makes of the principle of continuity. Leibniz describes the
principle of continuity as a "principle of general order," which obtains
in the actual world as a consequence of God's wisdom. He thus explic-
itly connects it with God's choice of the best of all possible worlds.27 In
the New Essays, he renders this principle informally as the claim that
"nature leaves no gaps in the orderings which she follows" (RB 307).28
As a consequence of God's selection of the principle of continuity as a
principle of order for the world, Leibniz argues, it is determined that
all natural series have a certain remarkable property. In general, the
movement from any one element of such a series to another must
always occur through the smallest possible increment, with no abrupt
changes of value. Changes of time, place, or motion are always "con-
tinuous," in the sense of occurring through an infinite series of small-
er gradations. 29 It is a related consequence of this principle that natu-
ral series are also as "full" as possible. To no such series governed by
the principle of continuity can any further elements be added: Suc-
cessive elements in a natural ordering are always so "intimately con-
3O THEODICY
nected that it is impossible to insert between two of them some other

intermediate kind which would enable us to pass from one to the
other by more imperceptible nuances" (BC II 558/W 186).
Like all of the central principles of Leibniz's philosophy, the princi-
ple of continuity functions at a number of different levels.30 For our
present purposes, what is most important is the role Leibniz assigns it
in God's deliberations concerning how best to realize the primary
ends of creation. Recognizing the principle of continuity as a princi-
ple of general order, he suggests, God orders the degrees of perfec-
tion of created beings in accordance with it:
I think I have good reasons for believing that all the different classes of beings
whose assemblage forms the universe are, in the ideas of God who knows
distinctly their essential gradations, only like so many ordinates of the same
curve whose unity does not allow us to place some other ordinates between
two of them because that would be a mark of disorder and imperfection. (BC
II 558/W 186-7)31
By observing the principle of continuity in his creation of the world,
God is able to realize the most complete series of beings possible: one
in which there are no gaps between successive degrees of perfection.
As a result, God is able to create both the greatest variety of beings
and the greatest total perfection or "quantity of essence." The princi-
ple of continuity thus functions in a transparent way as a principle of
optimal order: It suggests how to order created beings relative to one
another such that the greatest total variety can be realized in a world.
The design solution God favors is to actualize as many beings as can
be accommodated according to a continuous ordering of degrees of
perfection - an ordering to which nothing further can be added.
Now, it is unlikely that most of God's design decisions can be ren-
dered as transparent as this one. We have already dealt at length with
how to connect divine wisdom's preference for certain simple laws of
nature with the primary goal of maximizing perfection. Precisely be-
cause of this problem, the case of the principle of continuity is an
instructive one. Here, at the deepest level of Leibniz's theory, we can
understand why divine wisdom would select as the best of all possible
worlds a world in which the principle of continuity was observed.
Quite simply, a wisdom whose function was to guide God's will in its
choice of the world of greatest perfection would recognize in this
principle a necessary means to that end. It is significant in this context
that Leibniz also sees the principle of continuity as one intrinsically
satisfying to God's intelligence, that is, one with an attractiveness to
reason over and above its being a means to the production of the
greatest perfection:
This is the axiom that I use — no transition is made through a leap. I hold that this
follows from the law of order and rests upon the same reason by which every-
one knows that motion does not occur in a leap. . . . Experience teaches us
that this does not happen, but the principle of order proves it too, according
to which, the more we analyze things, the more they satisfy our intellect. This is not
true of leaps, for here analysis leads to mysteries. Thus I believe that the same
thing applies not only in transitions from place to place, but also in transitions
from one form to another or from one state to another. (GP II 168/L 515—6)
Leibniz implies that in series not governed by the principle of conti-
nuity there are not only gaps that could be filled with further ele-
ments but also gaps of intelligibility that hinder reason's comprehen-
sion of the series' progression. Again, the suggestion is that certain
orderings are in themselves more pleasing to reason, and that this
constitutes at least part of why divine wisdom favors the principle of
continuity as a principle of general order for the world.32
The results of this section make an important contribution to the
conception of divine wisdom sketched in Chapter 1. There I sug-
gested that divine wisdom is disposed to recognize as the best of all
possible worlds that world whose internal order is most satisfying to
reason, in the sense that it optimizes such things as the arrangement
of the world's parts and the distribution of goods within it. We now
see, however, that such an order is valued by wisdom not only for its
own sake as an order pleasing to reason, but also - and most funda-
mentally - because it is a necessary condition for the maximization of
perfection, or for the production of "the greatest possible amount of
essence or possibility" (GP VII 303/P 138). Although there may seem
to be a tension between wisdom's favoring certain types of order as a
means to the maximization of perfection and its favoring order as
pleasing in itself, Leibniz evidently believes that these two ends in
general support one another.
The Maximization of Harmony

While Leibniz appears to assign a theoretical priority in his mature
writings to God's maximization of metaphysical goodness or perfec-
tion, he also stresses God's intention to produce as much harmony as
possible in the universe.33 We must now consider the relationship
between these two goals.
We saw in Chapter 1 that Leibniz defines "harmony" as the product
of variety unified by order: "Harmony is unity in variety. . . . Harmo-
ny is when many things are reduced to some unity. For where there is
no variety, there is no harmony. . . . Conversely, where there is variety
without order, without proportion, there is no harmony" (G 12). On
this account, harmony is always a property of a "system" of things: a
plurality of distinct entities whose mutual order bestows on them a
type of collective unity. For harmony to exist, a variety of things must
"agree" with one another, or be found to coexist in a certain ordered
32 THEODICY
relationship. Understood in this way, the harmony of a system is a

function of both the variety of different beings that enter into its
constitution and the degree of relatedness or order that unites them.
Consequently, harmony is a property of which there can be more or
less in a system: "the greater the variety and the unity in variety, the
greater the harmony" (G12).
There is no doubt that Leibniz sees a close connection between
God's goal of maximizing perfection and the maximization of harmo-
ny. Given what we know about these two concepts, a simple argument
suggests how they might be related. In conceiving of creation as based
on a maximization of perfection, Leibniz assumes that there is there-
by also realized a maximum variety of things — a variety that arises at
the most fundamental level through a varying of degrees of perfec-
tion. He further maintains, however, that this end is only realized as a
consequence of God's choice of an optimal world order. Putting these
two ideas together, we may conclude that God maximizes perfection
by bringing into existence the greatest variety of things united by that
order which renders possible their coexistence in a single world. The
result is the creation of a world that at once contains the most perfec-
tion and the most harmony, or variety unified by order.
This line of reasoning establishes a simple connection between the
maximization of perfection and the maximization of harmony. Un-
fortunately, it is almost certainly too simple an account of their rela-
tion. By restricting our attention to the harmony resulting from the
variety produced by God's original creative act - the variety of beings
that flows directly from God's perfections - we are inevitably led to
too narrow a conception of the range of harmonies which God aims to
create in the world. As a consequence of his supreme wisdom, Leibniz
writes in the Theodicy, God's works are "the most harmonious it is
possible to conceive" (GP VI 137/H 157). And he clearly takes this to
imply that God aspires to produce multiple harmonies, at different
ontological levels. To this end, God not only realizes the greatest
variety of degrees of perfection in the beings that flow directly from
his essence, but also as much "ornament" as possible in the phenome-
na perceived by these beings.34 Likewise, God realizes as much order
as possible in the world - order that serves both to unite variety at
different ontological levels and to unite the different levels with one
another.35
This last claim is consistent with Leibniz's understanding of order as
one of the most general species of relation: "[O]rder is the relation of
several things, through which any one of them can be distinguished
from any other" (BH 124). According to this definition, for several
things to qualify as ordered is for there to exist an intelligible princi-
ple or ground (ratio), by which we can conceive distinctly the relation-
ship between them. 36 Put differently, for things to exist as ordered is

for them to be subsumed under a law, rule, or principle, according to
which they can be understood to be at once distinct and yet related. In
Leibniz's view, it is impossible for any world to be lacking in order
altogether. To qualify as a possible world it must be conceivable as a
world that God could create, and God's will never acts except in accor-
dance with rules or principles: "God could not fail to establish laws
and follow rules, since laws and rules are what make order and
beauty, and since to act without rules would be to act without reason"
{Theodicy §359; GP VI 328).37 Any variety God brings into existence,
or merely conceives of bringing into existence, must be variety that is
ordered by laws or principles. In considering which possible world to
create, therefore, God does not deliberate about whether or not the
world he creates should be ordered. Instead, he deliberates about
which world has both the best and the most order. God looks, on the
one hand, for principles, like the principle of continuity and "simple"
laws of nature, which are the most pleasing to reason and productive
of the greatest variety. At the same time, God ensures that such princi-
ples are instantiated as often as possible in the world, so that there is
present the greatest conceivable order and agreement.38 The result,
Leibniz writes in the Principles of Nature and of Grace, is God's creation
of the most harmonious of all possible worlds: "[Everything is regu-
lated in things once and for all, with as much order and agreement as
possible, since supreme wisdom and goodness cannot act without per-
fect harmony" (GP VI 604/P 201).39
If all of this is correct, then we are obliged to see the maximization
of harmony as one of God's central aims in creation, along with the
maximization of perfection. This, however, only makes more pressing
the question of the relationship between these two goals. Leibniz ex-
plicitly associates the maximization of harmony with the operation of
divine wisdom: God multiplies harmonies because they are recog-
nized by his wisdom as contributing to the design of the best of all
possible worlds. Yet what, precisely, is it about such harmonies that is
acknowledged by wisdom as a good? As noted in Chapter 1, in Leib-
niz's early writings his answer to this question is that God multiplies
harmonies because they are in themselves pleasing to reason. The
explanation for the maximization of harmony thus closely follows
that offered for God's selection of the most fitting laws of nature.
Order is intrinsically pleasing to reason. In creating the best of all
possible worlds, therefore, God will want to multiply as many times as
possible the best types of order, and for this purpose will be forced to
create as large a variety of things as possible to be ordered. Another
way of looking at the process by which God deliberates among pos-
sible worlds, then, is to see divine wisdom as preferring that world
34 THEODICY
which contains the greatest possible harmony, because it is the world

which offers the greatest opportunity for the exercise of reason.40 I
hasten to add that this explanation remains incomplete. Although
Leibniz often cites order and harmony as properties intrinsically
pleasing to reason, there is not initially a place for these properties
within his account of God's will. God wills goodness for its own sake,
which is to say metaphysical goodness, physical goodness, and moral
goodness. So if this explanation is to be fully compelling, some con-
nection between God's preference for order and harmony, on the one
hand, and the ultimate ends of creation, on the other, must still be
established.41
A discussion of the relationship between harmony and perfection
would not be complete without an examination of the one set of texts
in which Leibniz appears to argue for a direct identification of these
concepts. The texts are contained in several letters exchanged by
Leibniz near the end of his life with the philosopher Christian Wolff.
In response to Wolff's request in 1714 for a definition of the concept
of perfection, Leibniz writes: "The perfection about which you ask is
the degree of positive reality, or what comes to the same thing, the
degree of affirmative intelligibility, so that something more perfect is
something in which more things worthy of observation are found"
(GLW 161/AG 230). The first part of this definition is familiar to us.
What is not is the conclusion Leibniz draws in the second part, namely,
that the more perfect something is, the more there is in it "worthy of
observation [notatu dignu]" In a subsequent letter, Leibniz explains
that by things "worthy of observation" he means "general observa-
tions," or observations conforming to "general rules." Thus, the same
conclusion could be expressed by saying that "that which is more perfect
is that which is more regular, that is, that which admits of more
observations, namely, more general observations" (GLW 163/AG 231).
Given, however, that "general observations" represent an instance of
"agreement in variety," it must also follow that the "more there is
worthy of observation in a thing . . . the more harmony it contains."
Drawing together the threads of his argument in a third letter, Leib-
niz arrives at a final conclusion: "Perfection is the harmony of things,
or the state where everything is worthy of being observed, that is, the
state of agreement or identity in variety; you can even say that it is the
degree of contemplatibility [considerabilitas]" (GLW 172/AG 233—4).
There is no doubt that these passages claim a much closer relation-
ship between the concepts of perfection and harmony than we have so
far allowed. They support this claim by advancing an equation be-
tween degree of perfection, on the one hand, and quantity of "gener-
al observations," on the other. Granting that the latter amounts to a
kind of harmony, or ordered variety, it follows that the greater some-
thing's degree of perfection, the greater the quantity of general ob-

servations found in it and the greater its harmony. These conclusions
are by no means obvious ones. However, if we look closely at Leibniz's
letters we can, I think, extract a coherent argument from them. First,
it is reasonable to suppose that by "general observations" Leibniz
means those properties or effects of a being (or system of beings)
which conform to general rules. Thus, gold contains a certain variety
of general observations corresponding to its lawlike properties (its
dissolubility in aqua regia, its malleability, etc.). The critical premise
that Leibniz now interposes is that whatever lawlike properties a type
of being has, they must be properties that "flow from" its essence;
in other words, a thing's lawlike properties are not merely accidental
to it but serve to define what sort of being it is. From this he infers
that insofar as a being's essence is richer, or contains a greater degree
of perfection, more lawlike properties must follow from it; con-
sequently, that being must also contain a proportionally greater
quantity of "general observations" and greater harmony. This ap-
pears to be the position he affirms to Wolff in his letter of 18 May
1715*
The more there is worthy of observation in a thing, the more general proper-
ties, the more harmony it contains; therefore, it is the same to look for
perfection in an essence and in the properties that flow [fluunt] from the
essence. . . . Order, regularity, and harmony come to the same thing. You can
even say that it is the degree of essence, if essence is calculated from harmo-
nizing properties, which give essence weight and momentum, so to speak.
(GLW 170-2/AG 233-4)
The case made in these texts for the identification of harmony and
perfection hinges on the assumption that the significance of the meta-
physical notion of perfection can be fully captured in terms of the
"harmonizing properties" that "flow from" the essence of a being.
While this analysis is consistent with our thesis that harmony is princi-
pally prized by God for the contribution it makes to the "contem-
platibility" of the universe — that is, the opportunities offered by the
universe for the exercise of reason - there is little reason to think that
it is sufficient to account for the role played by perfection in Leibniz's
account of creation, or for the many and varied occurrences of the
notion of harmony throughout his metaphysics. Although the harmo-
ny of a being (or better, the harmony of the lawlike effects that follow
from it) may be directly correlated with its degree of perfection, it
would be going too far to see Leibniz as identifying these concepts.
Thus, while the Wolff letters provide further insight into his under-
standing of the relationship between harmony and perfection, they
do not supply a complete or definitive account of the function of
these concepts in his metaphysics.42
36 THEODICY
The System of Universal Harmony

Our discussion of Leibniz's concept of harmony has proceeded thus
far at a high level of abstraction. Before concluding this chapter it will
be helpful to return to specifics and to look briefly at the system of
universal harmony that Leibniz embraces as a basic model of the
universe throughout his career. At the heart of this system is a con-
ception of order distinctive to Leibniz's philosophy. This is what he
calls the order of connection: an order according to which every state
of the universe is united with every other, with the result, as he never
tires of proclaiming, that "the present is pregnant with the future; the
future can be read in the past; the distant is expressed in the proxi-
mate" (GP VI 604/AG 211). These heady claims are undoubtedly
rendered more mysterious than they actually are by Leibniz's poetic
style. As I understand it, the doctrine of universal connection finds its
feet in two separate theses: one concerning the principle of force that
defines the nature of any substantial being; the other concerning the
faculty of perception whereby each substance "expresses" the condi-
tion of everything else in its universe. We shall defer discussion of the
first of these theses until Chapter 6. In this section, we consider the
harmony arising as a result of the mutual expression of substances,
tracing the roots of this thesis to one of Leibniz's earliest and most
decisive philosophical influences.
Although the concept of harmony only acquires its full significance
in Leibniz's thought once it is wed to the doctrine of divine wisdom, it
appears that Leibniz was introduced to this idea some years before the
formulation of his theodicy. We know that during the mid-1660s he
read, and was greatly impressed by, the writings of the Herborn phi-
losopher Johann Heinrich Bisterfeld.43 On the title page of his copy
of Bisterfeld's Philosophiae Primae Seminarium (1657), he wrote: "a most
brilliant little book, whose equal in kind I have not seen" (A VI 1, 151).
We may surmise that one of the points that most impressed Leibniz
about this work was Bisterfeld's assertion of the "universal harmony"
of all beings:
No being in the entire nature of things is solitary; rather every being is
symbiotic or belongs to society. . . . [A]nd this connection of all of nature
reaffirms order and universal harmony [panharmonia]. From this follows the
ineffable communication, and the infinite union and communion of all
things.44
Bisterfeld depicts a world in which a universal harmony unites all
things. No being is solitary; each (be it real, mental, or linguistic) is
connected to every other through a primitive relation of "immea-
tion":
Real immeation is the intimate union of things in nature, and an ineffable

communion arising from this. This is the basis and norm for mental immea-
tion. Mental immeation is the ineffable and inexplicable penetration of
thoughts by which one concept prepares, feeds and augments another. . . .
From this arises the inexhaustible immeation and abundance of words. Gen-
eral immeation is that by which all things, even those at the greatest distance
from each other, agree [convenire] in at least some things.45
As Bisterfeld understands it, the relation of immeation that all things
bear to one another determines that no being exists independently of
all the rest. There is an "ineffable communion" among them all, such
that any change in the condition of one is simultaneously reflected in
the condition of all the others. He further explicates this universal
harmony in terms of a type of perception that all beings (including
inanimate ones) possess, whereby the state of any one being is neces-
sarily conditioned by the state of every other:
To perceive is to have within oneself, efficaciously, an intrinsic similitude or
disposition [habitudinem] proportional to the disposition of things, or a certain
intrinsic conformity. . . . Perceptivity is the disposition of a substance which
can produce the intrinsic similitude of a being: both belong to every sub-
stance; this the universal harmony and communication of things \panharmonia
et Catholica rerum communicatio] demonstrates for every being. . . . And from
this arises the connection of things - both of spiritual things among them-
selves, then of corporeal things, and finally of spiritual things and corporeal
things.46
Finally, Bisterfeld claims that this universal harmony demands that
every being possess an intrinsic activity:
Active power is a fully transcendental attribute of being. No being is so insig-
nificant or so abject that it does not also have its proportional operation.
Otherwise it would be indifferent and even pointless, nor could it engage in
any union or communion in the nature of things.47
As a condition of the harmony of all things, it is necessary that every
being be endowed with an active power, such that it is able to exercise
operations proportional to those of other beings. Only in this way can
it remain responsive to any change in their condition. Without such a
power, Leibniz observes in his reading notes on this passage, a thing
"would be a useless member of the republic of beings" (A VI 1, 155).
I have offered this brief summary of Bisterfeld's metaphysical views
less to argue for his direct influence on Leibniz, although I think this
claim is warranted, than to indicate a starting point for the interpreta-
tion of Leibniz's own understanding of universal harmony. There are
a number of places at which the correspondences between the views
of the two philosophers are striking. At a fundamental level, both see
universal harmony as involving three main claims:
38 THEODICY
(1) Within the world, there is a primitive connection between the states
of any one substance and those of every other substance.
(2) This connection is grounded in a substance's capacity to perceive
everything that happens within the world.
(3) It is a necessary condition for the maintenance of the world's har-
mony that every substance be endowed with an intrinsic activity.
At many points in his works, Leibniz advances the thesis that "all is
connected [tout est lie]" in the universe, or, as he sometimes says quot-
ing Hippocrates, that "all things sympathize."48 On its weakest inter-
pretation, this thesis might be thought to imply nothing more than
this: In conceiving of any collection of things as a world, God neces-
sarily conceives of them as they would exist related to each other in
that world. That is, God conceives of them as constituting a unified
whole and not simply a set of unrelated parts. Leibniz, however, has
something stronger than this in mind. God's prevision of a set of
possible beings as a world not only involves conceiving of them as they
would be related in that world; his conception of each one of these
beings as an individual comprehends its relatedness to everything else
which would exist with it in that world. Consequently, the relatedness
of any being to all the other members of its world forms part of the
nature of that being as it is conceived by God.49 As Leibniz develops
this idea in his metaphysics, he draws from it the conclusion that the
state of every being is conditioned by the state of every other being,
such that whenever a change occurs anywhere in the universe it must
be accompanied by a change in the internal state of every being.50 Like
Bisterfeld, then, he assumes a very strong sense of the universal con-
nection of things in a world (what Bisterfeld describes as their "im-
meation"). In Leibniz's terms, "every created individual substance ex-
ercises physical action on, and is acted on by all others. For if a change
is made in one, some corresponding change follows in all the others
since the denomination is changed" (C 521/P 90). Although pre-
sented in a more rigorous fashion, this is clearly of a spirit with Bister-
feld's assertion of "the ineffable communication, and the infinite
union and communion of all things."
Leibniz goes on to characterize this universal connection in terms of
the capacity of every created substance to express the entire universe.
He explains this concept in general as follows: "[I]t is sufficient for the
expression of one thing in another that there should be a certain
constant relational law, by which particulars in the one can be re-
ferred to corresponding particulars in the other" (C 15/P 176—7).51
Leibniz typically elaborates such statements with examples drawn from
mathematics. The paradigm of expression is the relationship between
two curves (e.g., two conic sections, such as a circle and an ellipse),
where there exists an exact one-to-one correspondence between their

points: given any point on one of the curves and the appropriate
function or law, there is determined a unique corresponding point on
the other curve. As a consequence of the universal connection of
things, Leibniz claims that a similar correspondence must hold be-
tween the states of all created substances: "[EJxpression occurs every-
where, because every substance is in harmony with every other and
undergoes some proportionate change which corresponds to the
smallest change occurring in the whole universe" (GP II 113/M 144).
Following Bisterfeld again, he interprets this correspondence, or mu-
tual expression, in terms of a type of perception that all created
substances possess. "Expression," he writes, "is common to all forms,
and it is a genus of which natural perception, animal sensation and
intellectual knowledge are all species" (GP II 112/M 144) 52 There are
complexities to Leibniz's doctrine of perception that we cannot enter
into at this point. Roughly, however, his position is that each substance
can be said to "express" the universe insofar as there exists an orderly
relation between the contents of its perceptions and those of the
perceptions of every other substance. Thus, for any change in the
perceptions of one substance, there must occur some corresponding
change in the perceptions of every other substance.
The final point on which Bisterfeld and Leibniz agree is that the
maintenance of the universal harmony of things requires that each
substance be endowed with an intrinsic power of acting, and that its
operations be "proportional" to those of other substances. Adding
this point to the previous ones, we arrive at the following description
of Leibniz's basic metaphysical scheme:
[S]ince all things have a connection with others, either mediately or imme-
diately, the consequence is that it is the nature of every substance to express
the whole universe by its power of acting and being acted on, that is by the
series of its own immanent operations. (GP VII 316—17/P 84-5)
There is no mistaking the strong overtones of Bisterfeld's doctrine of
immeation that linger in this view. Although Leibniz goes much fur-
ther in analyzing the nature of the beings that constitute the created
world and the character of their connection, the two philosophers
start from the shared vision of a universe in which all is connected
"with as much order and harmony as possible" (PNG §13). The princi-
pal difference between their positions is the relationship Leibniz es-
tablishes between the system of universal harmony and the doctrine
of theodicy. Thus, while it is for him a necessary feature of any pos-
sible world that "all is connected," and that each substance expresses
in its own way the entire universe, only in this world has God seen fit
to institute "the most perfect of harmonies" (GP VI 44/H 68). This he
4O THEODICY
does in part by ensuring an agreement or correspondence among the

perceptions of the largest possible variety of substances. As Leibniz
writes to Arnauld in 1687, "there is no hypothesis which acquaints one
better with God's wisdom than ours, according to which there exist
everywhere substances that indicate his perfection, and are as many
different mirrors of the beauty of the universe, since nothing remains
void, sterile, lacking cultivation and perception" (GP II 126/M 162).53
What we have before us at the moment is only the bare bones of
Leibniz's system of universal harmony. Nevertheless, it is enough to
give us a concrete sense of how he envisages God as maximizing the
order and agreement among the perceptions of the largest possible
variety of substances, so as to produce the greatest perfection and
harmony. Part III recounts the complicated story of how Leibniz de-
veloped this scheme within his late metaphysics. For now, however, we
continue our examination of his theodicy.
Notes
1. See Rescher 1979, 1981. Among those supporting his interpretation are
Gale 1974, 1976, and Brown 1987, 1988.
2. Rescher 1981, 4.
3. Rescher 1981, 10.
4. See also the heading to DM §5: "What the rules of the perfection of
divine conduct consist in, and that the simplicity of the ways is in balance
with the richness of the effects" (Le 31/AG 38).
5. See Okruhlik 1985; Roncaglia 1990; Blumenfeld 1995. I find this criti-
cism of Rescher's position compelling. It is worth noting that in the texts
most often cited on behalf of his view - e.g. DM §§5-6 and Theodicy §208
- Leibniz is clearly echoing Malebranche; and Malebranche himself be-
lieves that the simplest laws are also the most "fecund," or those produc-
tive of the richest variety of phenomena. Cf. Traite de la Nature et de la
Grace, I, xxvii-xix with Theodicy §§204 and 211: "I am not of the opinion
'that a more ordered [plus compose] and less abundant [fecond] plan would
be more capable of preventing irregularities.* Rules are general volitions:
the more one observes rules, the more regularity there is; simplicity and
fecundity are the aim of rules" (GP VI 244/H 260). The extent of Leib-
niz's debt to Malebranche in the area of theodicy is documented by Cath-
erine Wilson (1983, 1989).
6. Cf. Theodicy §201.
7. Gale 1976, 76—9.
8. Rescher 1981, 11.
9. Among the few extended discussions of this topic in the literature are
Grua 1953, chaps. 6—7, and Heinekamp 1969. Views similar to the one I
shall defend are briefly discussed by Parkinson (1965, 110-11) and Ron-
caglia (1990).
10. Cf. GP VI 383; GP VII 261.
11. As perfections, these correspond, respectively, to God's omnipotence,
omniscience, and omnibenevolence (the perfection of will being equated
with its unlimited goodness). In this context, it is obviously important to
be able to say exactly which properties count as divine perfections. In DM

§1, Leibniz offers the following criterion: "A fairly sure test for being a
perfection is that forms or natures that are not capable of a highest
degree are not perfections, as for example, the nature of number or
figure. For the greatest of all numbers (or even the number of all num-
bers), as well as the greatest of all figures, imply a contradiction, but the
greatest knowledge and omnipotence do not involve any impossibility.
Consequently, power and knowledge are perfections, and, insofar as they
belong to God, they do not have limits" (Le 25-6/AG 35). It is left unclear
in this text what other perfections God possesses in addition to those of
knowledge, power, and will. In a contemporary essay, Rationale Fidei Cath-
olicae, Leibniz writes that "to be, to act, to live, to know, to have power are
perfections, or concepts which can be predicated of God, for by their
nature they do not involve any limit, such as do [the properties of] being
destroyed, of being passive, of having figure, which do not belong to the
divine nature" (LH I 3, 7C, Bi. 1-4 [V 2534]).
12. In the Theodicy, Leibniz writes: "The perfections of God are those of our
souls, but he possesses them without limits; he is an ocean, of which we
have received only drops; there is in us some power, some knowledge,
some goodness, but in God they are all in their entirety" (GP VI 27). For
his use of the term "diffusion," see GP II 278; for "emanation," see DM
§14; GP III 72; GP III 430/L 633. Leibniz's employment of emanationist
vocabulary may appear to raise problems for his defense of divine free-
dom, since it is generally assumed that the doctrine of emanation regards
God as causing the existence of things through the necessity of his nature,
and that this is inconsistent with creation through free will (Kant 1978,
132-3). It should be clear from Chapter 1, however, that for Leibniz at
least these are not incompatible positions. God is bound by a moral neces-
sity to create the best of all possible worlds; yet he also chooses freely,
insofar as his volition is spontaneous, contingent, and determined by the
greatest reason. For Leibniz's attempt to finesse this issue, see Causa Dei
§§9, 12 (GP VI 440/S 115-16).
13. Cf. GP VII 303/P 138; G11. Chapter 7 develops this point in connection
with the theory of monads. As noted in Chapter 1, it is crucial to Leibniz's
account of evil that God is responsible for creating only what is positive in
the essence of a thing — God is "the sole cause of pure and absolute
realities or perfections" (GP VI 348) — but not its limitations or priva-
tions, since the latter represent its imperfection or metaphysical evil. See
Theodicy §392 and its "Excursus," published in the Memoires de Trevoux,
July 1712 (GP VI 347-50/H 389-92).
14. Cf. his letter to Johann Christian Schulenburg of 29 March 1698 (GM
VII 239).
15. See Mon §58; PNG §10.
16. See his letter to Sophie Charlotte of 8 May 1704: "[M]y great principle of
natural things is . . . that it is always and everywhere in all things exactly
like here. That is to say, nature is fundamentally [dans le fond des choses]
uniform, although there is variety in the greater and the lesser and in
degrees of perfection" (GP III 343; cf. 340). In the New Essays, The-
ophilus remarks that in the system of preestablished harmony, there is
found "an astonishing simplicity and uniformity, such that everything can
be said to be the same at all times and places except in degrees of perfec-
tion" (I, i; RB 71).
17. This is to commit Leibniz to the position that any two numerically non-
42 THEODICY
identical individuals must be distinguished by their degrees of perfec-

tion. This assumption is more speculative than the first, but it does have
textual support. In a manuscript fragment, Leibniz writes: "The essences
of things are like numbers. Just as two numbers are not equal to each
other, so no two essences are equally perfect" (BH 74).
18. Cf. DM §5; C 534/P 146; G 12; GP VII 304/P 139; and his famous
remark, inscribed in the margin of a 1677 dialogue, "Cum Deus calculat
et cogitationem exercet, fit mundus" ("When God calculates and exer-
cises thought, the world is made") (GP VII 191/L 185).
19. "For just as no line can be drawn, with however casual a hand, which is not
geometrical and has a certain constant nature, common to all its points, so
also no possible series of things and no way of creating the world can be
conceived which is so disordered that it does not have its own fixed and
determinate order and its law of progression — though as in the case of
lines, so also some series have more power and simplicity than others, and
so they provide more perfection with less equipment" (GP VII 312/P 78—
9). Cf. DM §6; Theodicy §8.
20. Cf. PNG §10: "[I]n producing the universe [God] chose the best possible
plan, containing the greatest variety together with the greatest order; the
best arranged situation, place and time" (GP VI 603/P 200).
21. See also his "Dialogue Between Theophile and Polidore" from the same
year: "[O]f all the possible ways of making the world, that one must be
preferred to all the others which brings about the most things, which
contains as it were a great deal of essence or variety in a small volume, and
which is, in a word, the simplest and the richest" (G 285). Cf. G 267.
22. Here I part company with Blumenfeld (1995), who reconstructs Leibniz's
doctrine of perfection around what he calls the "variety/simplicity crite-
rion," and with Gregory Brown, who defines the "perfection ratio" of a
world as the "ratio of the value measuring the richness of its phenomena
to the value measuring the complexity of its laws" (1988, 576).
23. Cf. Brown (1988, 576, 587), who assumes that this is Leibniz's primary
sense of "perfection."
24. This is reflective of the Malebranchean influence discussed in note 5. Cf.
Brown 1988, 583, n. 19.
25. Cf. DM §27.
26. Blumenfeld (1995) argues that such a relation can be established.
27. See his "Letter . . . on a General Principle Useful in Explaining the Laws
of Nature through a Consideration of Divine Wisdom," published in the
Nouvelles de la rtpublique des lettres, July 1687 (GP III 51-5/L 351—3). A
slightly different version of this text exists in Latin (GM VI 129—35).
28. Cf. GP II 169/L 515. In a 1699 letter to Burcher de Voider, Leibniz
writes: "[The] hypothesis of leaps [saltuum] cannot be refuted except by
the principle of order, with the support of the supreme reason, which
does everything in the most perfect way" (GP II 183/L 521).
29. See the preface to the New Essays (RB 56). Leibniz's formal statement of
the principle of continuity reads as follows: "When the difference be-
tween two instances in a given series, or that which is presupposed, can be
diminished until it becomes smaller than any given quantity whatever, the
corresponding difference in what is sought or in their results must of
necessity also be diminished or become less than any given quantity what-
ever" (GP III 52/L 351). In other words: For any ordered series governed
by the principle of continuity, and any two elements a and b from that
series, if the distance between a and b is made less than any specifiable
quantity, such that they are for all intents and purposes successive ele-
ments, then the difference between those of their properties that depend
on their places in the series must also be less than any specifiable differ-
ence. In short, the closer two elements are in a series, the smaller the
difference that is detectable between them. Cf. BC II 558/W 187.
30. The principle is best known for the role it plays in Leibniz's critique of
Cartesian physics. There it serves as a justification for his rejection of
Descartes's laws of collision on the grounds that they assume an asymme-
try of outcomes depending on whether a moving body is greater or
smaller than the body with which it collides. For a discussion of this point,
see Garber 1995, sec. 4.3.
31. Cf. NE III, vi, 12 (RB 307).
32. Cf. BH 69. Leibniz relies on this same argument in rejecting
metempsychosis in favor of his own doctrine of continuous organic
change: "As for metempsychosis, I believe that the universal order does
not permit it; it demands that everything should be explicable distinctly
and that nothing should take place in a leap. But the passage of the soul
from one body to another would be a strange and inexplicable leap. What
happens in an animal at present happens in it always; that is, the body is
in continuous change like a river, and what we call generation or death is
only a greater or quicker change than ordinary, as would be a waterfall or
cataract in ariver"(GP III 635/L 658).
33. See A II 1, 117/L 145; Theodicy, Preface, §§62, 91; Causa Dei §46; PNG
§13; GLW 171/AG 233; BH 63.
34. In a 1715 letter to Antonio Conti, Leibniz writes, "Nature, by concealing
final causes from souls and by presenting them with confused percep-
tions, created the appearance of so many new beings or new qualities,
which as Democritus said subsist by convention in the soul and not in
reality, but which are a marvelous ornament to the world. . . . Through
souls without number and their different points of view, nature has
found a way of infinitely multiplying the qualities or results of simple
reasons, i.e., the ornaments" (GB 267). For the moment, it is enough to
note that Leibniz sees God as committed to the production of additional
variety in the form of "ornament" over and above the variety of beings
that is the immediate product of creation. See also C 535/P 146.
35. Part III explores the nature of these levels and the relations of order that
unite them.
36. Cf. BH 70; and A Resume of Metaphysics: "Distinct cogitability gives order
to a thing. . . . For order is simply the distinctive relation of several
things. And confusion is when several things are indeed present but there
is no ground [ratio] for distinguishing one from another" (C 535/P 146).
37. Cf. Theodicy §337; GLW 163/AG 231; GM VI 133.
38. This concurs with the account of Blumenfeld 1995.
39. Cf. PNG §10; Mon §55; and GLW 171/AG 233: "Nothing is more regular
than the divine intellect, which is the source of all rules, and produces the
most regular, that is, the most perfect system of the world, the world that
is as harmonious as possible and thus contains the greatest number of
general observations."
40. We may also see this as the possible world in which the principle of
sufficient reason is most fully observed. This may serve to explain the
following comment, which appears in Leibniz's unpublished notes: "I
begin as a philosopher but end as a theologian. One of my great princi-
ples is that nothing happens without a reason. This is a principle of
44 THEODICY
philosophy; however at base it is nothing but the admission of divine
wisdom, although I do not speak of that at the outset" (BH 58).
41. I suggest in the next chapter how this can be done.
42. For a contrasting view of the importance of these texts, see Brown 1988,
88
43. Leibniz read Bisterfeld's work during his student days in Leipzig, i.e.,
between 1663 anc * 1666. The following account of Bisterfeld's views is
based on the texts supplied in A VI 1 and on the discussions of Kabitz
1909, Loemker 1961, and Mugnai 1973.
44. Bisterfeld, Philosophiae Primae Seminarium, Cap. Ill, Reg. V, pp. 35—6;
quoted at A VI 1, 153.
45. Bisterfeld, Logicae libri, III, pp. 17-8, in vol. I of the posthumous collec-
tion of his writings entitled Bisterfeldius Redivivus (The Hague, 1661).
Translation quoted from Loemker 1961, 328. Leibniz cites Bisterfeld's
doctrine of immeation as the inspiration for his own "art of combina-
tions." See De arte combinatoria, §85 (A VI 1, 199/GP IV 70), and Loemker
1
9^i, 334- In this regard, it is important to note the correspondence
Bisterfeld assumes between the immeation of real things and the immea-
tion of thoughts. In his view (and in Leibniz's), the immeation of things
provides the "basis and norm" for the immeation of thoughts and words,
i.e., for the establishment of significant and informative relations among
thoughts and words. Hence it makes possible the knowing of things via
thoughts and words. In the Philosophiae Primae Seminarium, Bisterfeld
writes that the "universal harmony of things to be known, of knowing
minds, and of human knowledge demonstrates that there can and must
be first philosophy" (p. 1; original quoted in Kabitz 1909, 7-8). On this
point, see Mugnai 1973, 55. For more on Leibniz's exploitation of this
idea, see Chapter 5.
46. Bisterfeld, Artificium Definiendi Catholicum, pp. 58-9, in Bisterfeldius Red-
ivivus, vol. I. Original passage quoted in Mugnai 1973, 56. There is a
partial translation in Loemker 1961, 329.
47. Bisterfeld, Philosophiae Primae Seminarium, Cap. V, Reg. VII, p. 65; quoted
at A VI 1, 155.
48. RB 227; C 8/P 133; GP VII 31 i/P 78; GP VI 627/AG 228.
49. To Michel Angelo Fardella he remarks: "[EJach thing is so connected to
the whole universe, and one mode of each thing contains such order and
consideration with respect to the individual modes of other things, that in
any given thing, indeed in each and every mode of any given thing, God
clearly and distinctly sees the universe as implied and inscribed" (FN
319/AG 103).
50. Here I am adumbrating a line of argument that can be put more precisely
in terms of Leibniz's assertion that there are "no purely extrinsic denomi-
nations." See C 8/P 133, C 521/P 90, and GP VII 311/P 78, where he
appeals to Hippocrates in support of the view that "all things conspire
and are sympathetic, i.e., that nothing happens in one creature of which
some corresponding effect does not reach all others"; and then adds:
"Nor are there any absolutely extrinsic denominations in things." I exam-
ine this argument in Chapter 6.
51. Cf. GP I 383; GP II 112/M 144; GP VII 263-4/L 207. For a detailed
discussion of the concept of expression, see Kulstad 1977.
52. Leibniz defines "perception" generally as the expression or representa-
tion of many things in one, or of a multitude in a unity. See Mon §14;
PNG §2.
53. We return to this theme in Chapter 7. It is worth noting that insofar as

perception involves the expression, or ordered relation, of a variety with-
in a unity, it too qualifies as a type of harmony. Thus, in creating as many
mutually perceiving substances as possible, God not only realizes the most
extensive harmony possible among those substances, but reduplicates this
harmony as many times over in their respective perceptions. Leibniz
makes this point explicitly in the Elements of True Piety (G 13). Cf. A VI 3,
474/L 158.
Happiness and Virtue in
the Best of All Possible Worlds
Many of Leibniz's writings represent the creation of rational minds as

the culmination of God's plan for the best of all possible worlds.
Minds, they suggest, are what God prizes most in the universe - the
rest is created merely as a means to their greatest happiness:
I put forward the great principle of metaphysics as well as of morality, that the
world is governed by the most perfect intelligence which is possible, which
means that one must consider it as a universal monarchy whose head is all-
powerful and sovereignly wise, and whose subjects are all minds, that is,
subjects capable of relations or society with God; and that all the rest is only
the instrument of the glory of God and of the happiness of minds, and that as
a result the entire universe is made for minds, such that it can contribute to
their happiness as much as possible. (K X 9-10/R 105)1
This conception of the universe as "made for" intelligent creatures
appears to stand in an uneasy tension with what we have so far identi-
fied as the primary end of creation: the maximization of metaphysical
goodness or perfection. To the extent that Leibniz champions the
latter as the fundamental value realized in creation, he seems to re-
serve no special place in the world for rational creatures; conversely,
to the extent that he represents the perfection of the rest of the
universe merely as a means to the greater happiness of minds, he
appears to reject the maximization of metaphysical goodness as the
primary end of creation.
In the view of some commentators, this tension is ultimately re-
solved by Leibniz's rejecting the maximization of happiness as a goal
of creation. Thus, when he speaks of this as the "best of all possible
worlds," we should understand him as referring solely to the world
that contains the greatest perfection or reality.2 Other authors have
maintained against this position that Leibniz in fact intends to uphold
both the metaphysical superiority of the world and its moral superi-
ority. At bottom, they argue, there is no conflict for him between these
criteria. Although God is motivated to create the possible world that
contains the greatest metaphysical goodness, Leibniz conceives of this
as also being the possible world that contains the greatest knowledge,
happiness, and virtue.3 In its broad outlines, I believe, this last inter-
pretation is the correct one. The matter is one of some subtlety, how-
ever, and it will repay our attention to pursue it in detail. To begin, we
must identify exactly where a conflict arises in Leibniz's theory.
HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE 47
A Conflict of Goods
According to Leibniz, the happiness and virtue of rational creatures
are to be regarded as species of goodness - what he designates as
"physical" and "moral" goodness, respectively.4 As such, he claims,
the divine will is as much motivated to realize these values as it is
metaphysical goodness: "God wills what is good per se, at least anteced-
ently. He wills in general the perfection of all things and particularly
the happiness and virtue of all intelligent substances; and he wills each
good according to its degree of goodness" (Causa Dei §33; GP VI
443/S 120). As forms of goodness proper to intelligent creatures,
happiness and virtue must be among the factors that God weighs in
deciding which possible world to create. Furthermore, it is clear that
these are not considerations which compete with the metaphysical
goodness of those same intelligent creatures. Instead, we should see it
as Leibniz's position that the physical and moral goodness of intel-
ligent creatures are exactly proportional to their respective degrees of
metaphysical goodness.
It is not difficult to locate the ground for the relationship between
these different forms of goodness as they pertain to intelligent crea-
tures. Metaphysical goodness is involved in the natures of all finite
things insofar as they express the perfections of power, knowledge,
and goodness. To the extent that a creature is conceived by God as
having more perfection, it will possess each of these qualities to a
greater degree. 5 Now, as we shall see shortly, Leibniz grounds the
virtue and happiness of intelligent creatures in their possession of
rational knowledge. (This is why these goods pertain only to intel-
ligent creatures.) To demonstrate moral goodness, or virtue, is to act
in accordance with the dictates of reason.6 And true happiness derives
solely from a mind's contemplation of perfection and order.7 Given
these commitments, it is evident that for creatures endowed with in-
telligence there can be no real conflict between moral and metaphysi-
cal perfection. Such creatures possess greater moral perfection only
to the extent that they possess greater metaphysical perfection - in
particular, a more developed intellect, which serves as the foundation
for both virtue and happiness. In the case of minds at least, we may
affirm with Leibniz that "God, possessing supreme and infinite wis-
dom, acts in the most perfect manner, not only metaphysically, but
also morally speaking" (Le 26/AG 35).8
The situation is more complicated when we consider the position of
intelligent beings vis-a-vis the rest of creation. In the Theodicy, Leibniz
makes it clear that he does not regard the happiness of intelligent
beings as God's sole aim in choosing a world for existence, or even his
highest aim. Instead, Leibniz claims only that God makes human
beings as happy as they could be "in this system," leaving open the
48 THEODICY
possibility that a broader set of considerations - namely, those bear-

ing on the perfection and harmony of the whole - have entered into
the decision to create this world rather than some other possible
world.9 He defends this position without qualification in Theodicy
§119: "The happiness of rational creatures is one of the aims [God]
has in view; but it is not his whole aim, nor even his ultimate aim" (GP
VI 169-70/H 189).10 Leibniz makes much the same point in §124
concerning the moral goodness, or virtue, of human beings. For the
sake of the perfection of the whole (namely, the variety of different
beings entering into the world's composition) the virtue of human
beings may be sacrificed:
Virtue is the noblest quality of created things, but it is not the only good
quality of creatures. There are innumerable others which attract the inclina-
tion of God: from all these inclinations there results the most possible good,
and it turns out that if there were only virtue, if there were only rational
creatures, there would be less good. (GP VI 178-9/H 198)11
The conclusion to be drawn from this is that the harmony between the
metaphysical and moral ends of God is not quite so simple or so
obvious as might be imagined. Leibniz maintains that the primary
value maximized in creation is metaphysical goodness, and that this
value can at least in principle come into conflict with the maximiza-
tion of the physical and moral goodness of intelligent creatures.
While God seeks to make human beings as happy as possible relative
to the perfection of the whole, he is not responsible for maximizing
happiness or virtue unconditionally. The crucial question at this point
is whether Leibniz thinks that God is in fact successful in avoiding the
potential for conflict between the maximization of perfection and
harmony, on the one hand, and the maximization of the happiness
and virtue of intelligent beings, on the other. That is, does Leibniz
regard the actual world as being one in which these objectives are
successfully reconciled, or does he think that in realizing one of them
(we may assume the former) God is forced to sacrifice the others, with
the result that there are possible worlds in which, absolutely speaking,
intelligent beings would enjoy more happiness and virtue than in the
present world?12
As I read Leibniz, he holds that God's metaphysical and moral ends
are indeed reconciled in the best of all possible worlds, and that this
world is consequently one that contains both the greatest perfection
and the greatest happiness and virtue. The case he makes for this
position, however, is by no means straightforward. In general, Leibniz
appears to attribute the following strategy to God in creation. Assum-
ing that rational creatures represent as a group the most perfect of all
created beings, then it is plausible to think that a necessary condition
for the maximization of perfection will be the production of as many

different rational creatures as possible, each characterized by the
highest possible degree of perfection. Thus, in aiming for the greatest
total perfection, God necessarily also creates that collection of minds
with the greatest potential for happiness and virtue. At the same time,
however, God understands these qualities in such a way that the great-
est happiness and virtue can only be actualized in minds under the
condition that they inhabit the possible world of greatest perfection
and harmony, for only under this circumstance will there be realized
the objective conditions that make possible the knowledge on which
happiness and virtue depend. It follows, therefore, that the perfec-
tion of the whole cannot be sacrificed for the sake of the happiness
and virtue of minds, for the former is itself a necessary condition for
the latter. Putting these two claims together, we arrive at the conclu-
sion that neither the greatest perfection nor the greatest happiness
and virtue are realizable without the other. The maximization of per-
fection in a world requires that it contain minds possessing (both
individually and collectively) the greatest happiness and virtue. Yet
such minds can only realize these levels of perfection on the condition
that the world as a whole is - in itself and not simply as it involves
minds — the possible world of greatest perfection and harmony.
Broadly speaking, this is, I believe, Leibniz's conception of how
God's moral and metaphysical ends are reconciled. Obviously much
work still needs to be done to make this outline compelling. The next
section concentrates on Leibniz's account of the relationship between
perfection and happiness. Following that, we consider how the virtu-
ous life is to be factored into this equation.
The Happiness of Rational Creatures

Leibniz's primary formula for the reconciliation of the maximum
perfection with the maximum happiness is stated succinctly in §23 of
his Resume of Metaphysics: "The first cause is of the highest possible
goodness, for while it produces as much perfection as possible in
things, at the same time it bestows on minds as much pleasure as
possible, since pleasure consists in the perception of perfection" (GP
VII 291/P 147). Given that Leibniz defines "happiness" as "a lasting
state of pleasure" (G 579/R 83), it seems to follow that in creating as
much perfection as possible in the world, God also produces the
greatest possible happiness for minds. However, without some further
explanation of what he means by the "perception of perfection," it is
hard to proceed beyond this.
We can gain some assistance here from the New Essays, where Leib-
niz's spokesman Theophilus remarks that "fundamentally pleasure is
5° THEODICY
a sense of perfection, and pain a sense of imperfection, each being

notable enough for one to become aware of it" (RB 194). Identifying
pleasures as "inclinations or propensities" to affirm the perfection
that arouses them, he goes on to distinguish two different varieties of
pleasure: confused inclinations, which arise in sensation and involve
no knowledge of the constitution of their objects; and distinct inclina-
tions, which arise from reason and do involve such knowledge. There
is no doubt that Leibniz places a much higher value on the latter
variety. "Pleasures of this kind," he writes, "which occur in the knowl-
edge and production of order and harmony, are the most valuable"
(RB 194).13 While some sensory pleasures, such as those of symmetry
and music, can approximate pleasures of reason, pleasures of sense
are for the most part better avoided:
The confused perception of some perfection constitutes the pleasure of
sense, but this pleasure can be [productive] of greater imperfections, as a
fruit with a good taste and a good odor can conceal a poison. This is why one
must shun the pleasures of sense, as one shuns a stranger, or, sooner, a
flattering enemy. (G 579-80/R 83)
The pleasures of sense have two principal drawbacks. First, they often
deceive us: What appears good because it is pleasurable often turns
out not to be. Second, they are inconstant: Pleasures produced
through sensation or appetite are no sooner felt than they must be
renewed; they are by their very nature transient pleasures. For this
reason, they cannot sustain our happiness. In the New Essays, The-
ophilus argues that "happiness is a pathway through pleasures and
that pleasure is only a single step" (RB 194). The problem with senso-
ry pleasures is that we all too easily lose our way along this pathway, or
leave it altogether. Only the exercise of reason can guarantee a steady
and constant progress in pleasure, such as is required for true happi-
ness.
Accepting that the best sort of pleasure is derived through the
distinct perception of perfection, or perception by means of reason
or intellect, we must now look more closely at what this involves. We
may begin by recalling our earlier identification of the "perfection" of
a being with its "degree of reality" or "quantity of essence." As Leibniz
sees it, in creating a world of beings, or creatures endowed with es-
sence, God necessarily creates a world intelligible to reason. Indeed,
"being," on his definition, is simply what is "distinctly conceivable"
(GP VII 219/L 363). Accordingly, there is from the start a sense in
which reason is immanent in all created things. As Couturat remarks,
"reality is completely penetrable by reason, because it is penetrated
with reason."14 It is in these terms that Leibniz speaks of a mind's
pleasure as its distinct "perception of perfection." At bottom, this is
nothing more or less than reason's apprehension of the intelligible
content of reality, which, we may suppose, is an intrinsically pleasur-

able activity. Given this, we can take a first step toward explaining the
coincidence in the best of all possible worlds of the greatest perfection
and the greatest happiness. In Leibniz's scheme, the more perfection
God is able to realize in a world, the greater the variety of intelligible
beings it will contain. Consequently, in creating the best of all possible
worlds, God necessarily creates the world that contains "the most
reality, the most perfection, the most intelligibility" (GP VI 236); or, as
Leibniz writes elsewhere, "the greatest amount of what is distinctly
thinkable" (C 535/P 146).15 It follows that in maximizing perfection,
God ipso facto maximizes the objective conditions for the happiness
of rational minds, for no other possible world contains as much of the
perfection from whose perception minds derive their pleasure.16
We saw in the last chapter, however, that Leibniz conceives of God's
creation as going beyond the production of the greatest sum of per-
fection. In addition, God creates "a cosmos, full of ornament" (C
535/P 146), whose manifold levels of variety and order promote the
realization of the greatest possible harmony and afford the greatest
opportunity for the exercise of reason in the contemplation of this
harmony. This too contributes to the pleasure that is available to
minds.17 We can locate at least two arguments on behalf of this thesis.
Equating perfection and harmony as he does in the Wolff correspon-
dence, Leibniz sometimes claims simply that the distinct perception
of harmony in any of its forms is the immediate source of an intel-
ligent being's pleasure.18 In addition, he offers a rather more interest-
ing argument. Because rational knowledge is itself a perfection, we
may assume that an increased comprehension of the harmony of the
universe entails an increase in a mind's degree of perfection. If this is
so, then Leibniz can maintain that the pleasure a rational creature
derives from the distinct perception of harmony is actually the prod-
uct of its perceiving reflexively its own increase in perfection.19 These
two arguments are not mutually exclusive, and it is likely that Leibniz
would in fact want to affirm both of them. Although they approach
the issue from different directions, both support the thesis that in
creating the world of greatest harmony God further contributes to
the objective conditions that make for the happiness of intelligent
beings. We can therefore frame the following general conclusion:
Accepting Leibniz's definition of pleasure as the perception of perfec-
tion, and his definition of happiness as a lasting state of pleasure
sustained through the exercise of reason, we can see God's creation of
the world of greatest perfection and harmony as satisfying a neces-
sary condition for the maximization of happiness. At the very least,
we can infer that in no other possible world would the objective condi-
tions for the happiness of minds be as propitious.
52 THEODICY
In sketching earlier the strategy that Leibniz ascribes to God in

creation, I suggested that the goal of a maximization of perfection
would be most obviously met were God to produce as many rational
minds as possible, each characterized by the highest possible degree of
perfection. Given that knowledge is itself a perfection, this is tanta-
mount to claiming that in maximizing perfection God would be in-
clined to create as much knowledge as possible in minds, and hence as
much of the happiness that depends upon such knowledge. Leibniz is
clear, however, that he does not see God as realizing this goal simply
by creating minds that know from the outset as much as they could
know (consistent with the perfection of the whole). Instead, God finds
intrinsic value in the process of gradual enlightenment through the
acquisition of ever more knowledge. Thus, in producing the world of
greatest perfection, God is inclined to create minds which have the
greatest potential for knowledge, reserving their final enlightenment,
and the final perfection of the universe as a whole, for some distant
future. Although this thesis remains slightly speculative in Leibniz's
writings,20 we can see it as a consistent development of his explana-
tion of the concept of happiness. In the New Essays, he describes
happiness as "a lasting state of pleasure, which cannot occur without a
continual progress to new pleasures" (RB 194). Assuming that these
pleasures are to be had through the acquisition of knowledge, we may
infer that minds can only persist in a state of happiness if their en-
lightenment is progressive. Indeed, in the same passage Leibniz goes
so far as to suggest that the process of intellectual enlightenment may
proceed indefinitely - tending not of course to omniscience, but rath-
er asymptotically to the maximum degree of perfection of which a
given creature is capable. As Theophilus comments: "I am inclined to
believe that [pleasure] can increase ad infinitum, for we do not know
how far our knowledge and our organs can be developed in the
course of the eternity which lies before us" (RB 194).
Developing this line of reasoning, we are able to understand better
the intimate connection between the attention God pays to guarantee-
ing the metaphysical superiority of the universe as a whole and the
special concern he has for producing rational minds that are individ-
ually capable of the greatest possible perfection. Once again, it is
reasonable to think that the latter objective can only be realized on the
condition that the former is: Only under the circumstance of maxi-
mum perfection and maximum harmony will the universe itself be
such as to allow the most elevated minds indefinite progress in knowl-
edge and happiness. No matter how much they learn about the infi-
nite harmony of the universe, there will always be more to know.
Conversely, we may expect that the universe as a whole can only
realize the greatest perfection possible for a world on the condition
that there exist within it minds with the potential to realize individu-
ally the highest degrees of perfection accessible to finite beings.21
The exposure of this complex interplay between the perfection of
minds and that of the universe as a whole points us toward the resolu-
tion of a problem left outstanding in the last chapter. This was the
question of the relationship between, on the one hand, God's concern
to create that world which is in itself most satisfying to reason insofar
as it contains the greatest order and harmony, and on the other, God's
primary goal of maximizing perfection. We are now in a position to
suggest the following answer: Given that knowledge is conceived by
Leibniz as a perfection, and that as a rational mind comes to under-
stand better the order and harmony of the universe it grows in perfec-
tion, it is plausible to think that God's realization of the greatest pos-
sible order and harmony is in fact a precondition for his creation of
the greatest perfection. In brief, we can expect the maximum perfec-
tion to be realized only if the world as a whole is such that certain of
the beings God creates, rational minds, can anticipate indefinite in-
creases in their degrees of perfection through the acquisition of ever
more knowledge. For this to be possible, however, the world itself
must be as orderly and as harmonious as any world could be. In this, I
believe, we find the deepest explanation of the relationship between
harmony and perfection. In Leibniz's view, only under the condition
of maximum harmony can as much perfection as possible be realized
among the most enlightened minds. Assuming that such minds deter-
mine the upper limit of perfection among created beings, and that
God can only realize the maximum perfection in a world if this upper
limit is set as high as possible, we may surmise that a maximization of
harmony will be required for the realization of this end. 22
We are in a position to conclude that the maximization of perfec-
tion and harmony is a necessary and sufficient condition for the maxi-
mization of happiness. The maximization of perfection and harmony
is necessary for the maximization of happiness, since only in a world
in which there exists as much perfection and harmony as possible can
rational minds attain their greatest possible happiness - a happiness
that is derived from their perception of these qualities. However, the
world of greatest perfection can itself only be realized if God creates
as many rational minds as possible, each with the potential for the
highest possible degree of perfection. Because the happiness of
minds is strictly correlated with their degree of perfection, these crea-
tures will enjoy, collectively, the greatest happiness that can be real-
ized in a world. In sum, any world in which perfection is maximized
must also be one in which the happiness of rational creatures is maxi-
mized, and vice versa.23 What is revealed most clearly in this result is
the primacy of the metaphysical standpoint in Leibniz's theodicy.
54 THEODICY
While the present world is optimistically judged by him to be the

possible world of greatest happiness, it only acquires this status under
a very special interpretation of what human happiness involves. Prop-
erly understood, the maximization of perfection provides a complete
explanation for the maximization of happiness, insofar as it entails
both a maximization of the objective conditions for happiness (in-
telligibility, order, harmony) and a maximization of the potential
of minds to draw pleasure from the contemplation of these condi-
tions.
Having settled on these grounds the rightful claim of this world to
be regarded as the possible world of greatest happiness, Leibniz cau-
tions us to be modest in our expectations for our individual exis-
tences. We are best off admiring our lives not for what they offer us
now, but for their potential for ever greater means of fulfillment. As
finite beings, "our happiness will never consist, and ought not to
consist, in a complete enjoyment, in which there would be nothing left
to desire, and which would make our mind dull, but in a perpetual
progress to new pleasures and new perfections" (PNG §19; GP VI
606/P 203-4). 24 We must accordingly take our comfort in the thought
that while all minds are limited by nature in the happiness they are
capable of experiencing, the world itself is such that however enlight-
ened it is our destiny to become, there will always be new levels of
order in which we may delight.25
Virtue and the Life of Piety

We saw in Chapter 1 that as a consequence of the special justice God
observes with respect to rational minds, physical goodness and evil —
pleasure and suffering — are bestowed on minds in strict proportion
to their respective degrees of moral goodness or evil, that is, their
virtue or vice. This conception of God's retributive justice requires
that we extend the account we have so far developed of the place of
human happiness in the best of all possible worlds so as to include the
critical relationship between virtue and happiness.
Leibniz defines "virtue" as "the habit of acting according to wis-
dom" (G 579/R 83). Because wisdom is itself identified with the
knowledge of goodness in all its forms, including physical goodness or
pleasure, the virtuous person will in general act wherever possible to
promote goodness and prevent evil.26 By far the most important of
the virtues for Leibniz is that ofjustice, which he defines as "charity or
a habit of loving conforming to wisdom" (G 579/R 83). We can here
immediately note an important connection between his moral philos-
ophy and the doctrine of theodicy. We observed in Chapter 1 that
Leibniz identifies God's universal justice, or providential concern for
all creatures, as the "charity of the wise." In placing the same concept
at the center of his moral philosophy, Leibniz takes for granted the
univocacy of the notion of moral goodness at the divine and created
levels. Whether we are speaking of the actions of God or the actions
of human beings, the paradigm of virtue is justice, understood as the
"charity of the wise." The difference between the two cases lies solely
in the fact that for God justice is a moral necessity: It would imply an
imperfection in God were he not to act justly, whereas in created
beings justice entails only an obligation that may not be met.27
While this conception of justice as "charity conforming to wisdom"
serves as the foundation for Leibniz's moral philosophy, in his politi-
cal writings he often offers a broader interpretation of justice based
on the Roman tradition of natural law or "natural right" (jus naturae).
In this context, he depicts justice as having three grades or degrees,
corresponding to the principles neminem laedere ("harm no one"), suum
cuique tribuere ("render to each his due"), and honeste vivere ("live hon-
orably").28 The lowest grade of justice, which Leibniz associates with
the notion of "strict right" (jus strictum), does not involve the idea of
charity or love. It requires merely that one forbear from harming
others, since in this way one avoids giving others any claim (legal or
otherwise) against one in return. The motive for this type of justice is
thus purely prudential: One acts justly, in this minimal sense, so as to
avoid harm to oneself.
In contrast to this, the middle degree of justice, "equity" or "distrib-
utive justice," does suggest a kind of charity. As Leibniz interprets it,
obviously with some liberty, the principle "render to each his due" is to
be understood as meaning "do good to everybody; but only so far as
befits each one or as much as each deserves" (GP III 387-8/R 172). To
act with equity requires that one's actions demonstrate universal be-
nevolence or a concern for the welfare of all human beings. One does
not act equitably, however, simply by being as generous as possible; in
addition, it is necessary to ensure that the good one renders others is
in strict proportion to their merits. From a formal point of view,
equity incorporates what we earlier found to be the two main compo-
nents of divine justice: an impartial concern for the perfection of all
creatures, modulated by a notion of desert. Yet despite this similarity,
Leibniz regards equity as falling short of justice in the fullest sense.
While the equitable person mimics the just person in his concern for
the common good, it does not follow that his actions are motivated by
the charity that is definitive of justice. They may instead again merely
be the product of prudence: in responding to the needs and desires
of others, one may reasonably hope that one's own needs and desires
will be more likely to be met in the future. For this reason, Leibniz
regards equity as a distinctly human form of justice (Mo 56-8, 64/R
56—7, 60). Insofar as it may not be motivated by pure charity, it is to be
contrasted with the perfect justice that God exercises. Equity also falls
56 THEODICY
short of justice in the fullest sense on account of its essential incom-

pleteness. To the extent that its purview is limited to the sphere of
human actions, there can be no guarantee that virtue will always be
rewarded with happiness or vice punished with suffering. On the
contrary, it seems all too obvious that many virtuous acts go unre-
warded and many sinful ones remain unpunished. Thus, however
closely it approaches true justice in its formal character, equity re-
mains something less.
According to Leibniz, the highest degree of justice is expressed in
the formula "live honorably" (honeste vivere), or as he prefers to phrase
it, "live piously." The pious person is principally defined by the effort
he makes to identify his will with the divine will, that is, a will moti-
vated by goodness alone:
[God's] goodness would not be supreme, if he did not aim at the good and at
perfection so far as possible. But what will one say, if I show that this same
motive has a place in truly virtuous and generous men, whose supreme func-
tion is to imitate divinity, insofar as human nature is capable of it? (Mo 60/R
57-8)
As someone who wills the good wherever possible, the pious person is
a representative of perfect charity. For charity is "a universal benevo-
lence, and benevolence the habit of loving or of esteeming [diligendi]"
(D IV 295/R 171). Again, however, piety requires more than charity
alone. It also demands that charity be exercised in accordance with
the dictates of wisdom. This entails both that the pious person always
seeks the greatest overall good, sacrificing particular goods for the
sake of the whole, and that goodness is distributed in a reasonable
manner, which is to say in proportion to desert. Thus, Leibniz writes,
"when one is inclined to justice, one tries to procure good for every-
body, so far as one can, reasonably, but in proportion to the needs and
merits of each; and even if one is obliged sometimes to punish evil
persons, it is for the general good" (G 579/R 83).
The most important element in Leibniz's account of piety is his
concept of "disinterested love." One is motivated to act justly, in the
fullest sense, because of the love felt for others; and it is this love in
turn which guarantees that just action is experienced as intrinsically
pleasing. We find in Leibniz's writings several different formulations
of his definition of "love":
To love is to find pleasure in the perfection of another. (G 579/R 83)
To love or to esteem is to find pleasure in the happiness of another, or, what is
the same thing, to adopt [adsciscere] the happiness of another as one's own. (D
iv 295/R
Love is that act or active state of the soul which makes us find our pleasure in
the happiness or satisfaction of others. (E 789/W 564)
To love truly and in a disinterested manner is nothing else than to be led to

find pleasure in the perfection or in the happiness of the object, and conse-
quently to experience grief in what is contrary to these perfections. (E 791/W
566)
What all of these statements have in common is their representation
of love as both intrinsically pleasing and essentially disinterested. To
love is to find pleasure in the perfection or happiness of the beloved,
and this for its own sake and not for any advantage that might accrue
from it. Nevertheless, love is not conceived as being wholly selfless or
contrary to the lover's own good, for it is experienced as an act pleas-
ing in itself. With this account, Leibniz aims to counter the arguments
of those who maintain that all human action is at bottom motivated by
self-interest alone. "It is apparent from the notion of love which we
have just given," he writes in a 1697 letter to Claude Nicaise,
how we seek at the same time our good for ourselves and the good of the
beloved object for itself, when the good of this object is immediately, ulti-
mately and in itself our end, our pleasure and our good, as happens with
regard to all the things wished for because they are pleasing to us in them-
selves, and are consequently good of themselves, even without regard to
consequences; these are ends and not means. (E 790/W 6 ) 2 9
To appreciate fully the basis of Leibniz's theory of love, it is neces-
sary to interpret it in terms of the account of pleasure developed in
the last section. Pleasure, we have seen, is derived from the percep-
tion of perfection. As such, it may be produced either through intel-
lection, when we come to understand the nature and order of things,
or through sensation, when we merely apprehend in a confused way
the perfection or harmony of some object. To this point, we have
tacitly assumed that the objects of our pleasure will be inanimate ones:
works of art or the constitutions of natural things. But this is in no
way necessary, or even desirable, for the most perfect creatures that
God produces are rational minds. Here, then, is the first component
of Leibniz's conception of disinterested love: to love is to find pleasure
in the perfection of another. We have seen, however, that the perfec-
tion of rational creatures is directly correlated with their happiness:
to grow in perfection through, for instance, the acquisition of knowl-
edge is to become happier. Thus, when Leibniz writes that to love is to
find pleasure in the perfection or happiness of the beloved, we should
not read him as claiming two different things. Instead, he is simply
specifying that, in the case of rational beings, happiness is the exter-
nal sign of perfection; consequently, the person who loves in a disin-
terested manner finds immediate pleasure in the happiness of others.
Although this notion of love is characterized by Leibniz in affective
terms, there is no reason to see it as being at odds with his intellectual-
ist account of happiness. Just as happiness itself is more surely gained
58 THEODICY
through the acquisition of rational knowledge, so the appreciation of

the happiness of others will be most complete when we share the basis
of their happiness, that is, when we share in their understanding of
the things that give them happiness. Conversely, just as there are
lesser sensory pleasures, so there are lesser loves, founded on our
apprehension of the image of perfection or harmony in the form of
the beloved.
We must not leave the impression, though, that disinterested love is
merely a passive admiration of the perfection or happiness of the
beloved. On the contrary, Leibniz explicitly refers to it as an "act or
active state" (E 789/W 564). Love is therefore essentially concerned
not just with contemplating the happiness of others, but also with
actively willing or promoting that happiness, so far as it lies within our
power. The reason for this is not hard to find. Insofar as love is
founded on our "adopting" the happiness of another as our own, the
lover will be disposed to will the beloved's happiness as his own and
will experience any consequent increase in the beloved's happiness as
an increase in his own happiness. In this dynamic relationship, we
find an explanation for one further critical point. Leibniz expressly
maintains that although "some resemblance of [love] is found with
regard to objects which have perfections without awareness [senti-
ments], as for example a beautiful painting," nevertheless, "love prop-
erly has for its object subjects susceptible of happiness" (E 791/W
566). This is so because it is only in the case of such objects, minds,
that we are capable of fully embracing their perfection (i.e., their
knowledge) as a part of our own, and of experiencing any increase in
that perfection as an increase in our own happiness. Lesser examples
of this type of relationship occur in connection with what are, broadly
speaking, works of art (scientific theories, symphonies, gardens). In
creating a work of art, we will an increase in the perfection of the
world and experience that increase, if it occurs, as pleasurable. Yet
our relationship to a work of art can be no more than a simulacrum of
the true loving relationships that exist between rational minds.30
With this background in place, we may return to Leibniz's account
of piety as the highest degree of justice. As a representative of perfect
justice, the pious person makes every effort to realize the ideal of
charity: the disinterested love of all rational creatures. He thus finds
immediate pleasure in the perfection and happiness of others, and
seeks wherever possible to promote an increase in these qualities.
Because true happiness is closely associated by Leibniz with intellec-
tual enlightenment, and in particular with an increased appreciation
of the perfection and harmony of the universe, the pious person is
especially interested in willing the conditions that make possible the
gradual enlightenment of human beings, and hence their progress in
perfection and happiness. Progress in perfection, however, does not

occur exclusively through intellectual enlightenment. Justice itself
presupposes the perfections of will and intellect (goodness and wis-
dom); hence, the pious person is also motivated to inculcate as much
virtue as possible in others, amplifying, as it were, his own efforts to
increase the perfection of all rational creatures.31 In both of these
ways, the pious person strives to identify his will with the divine will.
In seeking to promote the perfection, and hence the happiness and
virtue, of his fellow rational beings, the pious person emulates God's
concern to maximize goodness in all its forms (metaphysical, physical,
moral). Finally, acknowledging the relationship wisdom observes be-
tween physical and moral goodness, the pious person wills the happi-
ness of others in proportion to their respective virtue. With God he
recognizes virtue as a precondition for a creature's being worthy of
happiness; hence, the pious person only promotes the happiness of
those whose wills also exhibit an inclination toward greater perfec-
tion.
In Leibniz's view, the recognition of God as a just creator offers the
pious person more than a paradigm of moral perfection. Without the
conviction that virtue must always be rewarded with happiness, and
vice punished with suffering, the motive to pursue goodness for its
own sake would constantly risk being weakened. For this reason, piety
presupposes a belief in God's retributive justice and in the immor-
tality of the soul, whence we may be assured that if God's accounts are
not settled in this life they will be in the next:
In order truly to establish by a universal demonstration that everything hon-
orable is useful and everything base damned, one must assume the immor-
tality of the soul, and God as ruler of the universe. In this way we can think of
all men as living in the most perfect state, under a monarch who can neither
be deceived in his wisdom nor eluded in his power. . . . The divine provi-
dence and power cause all right to become fact, and [assure that] no one is
injured except by himself, that no good action goes unrewarded, and no sin
unpunished. (D IV 296/R 173-4) 32
Within creation, God regulates the economy of reward and punish-
ment through the harmony he institutes between the kingdom of
nature and the kingdom of grace.33 Since in willing the happiness of
others the just person thereby also wills his own happiness, it is in
general enough that God allows virtue to garner its natural reward.
However, as the case of Job testifies, the virtuous person is sometimes
visited by undeserved suffering; conversely, the wicked person some-
times enjoys unearned pleasures. What the harmony of the kingdoms
of nature and grace guarantees is that in the long run, God always
finds a way of rectifying such injustices through the order of natural
events. Because it is assumed that the soul is immortal (although it
60 THEODICY
may undergo any number of changes in the distinctness of its percep-

tions as the condition of its body is transformed), we may be confident
that over the course of creation, at least, the balance between virtue
and happiness will be maintained in the case of every individual.34 As
Leibniz concludes in a passage we have already quoted: "The very law
of justice itself dictates that each should have a part in the perfection
of the universe and in his own happiness in proportion to his own
virtue and to the extent to which his will is directed towards the
common good" (GP VII 307/P 143).
In order to reach its fulfillment, the pious person's relationship to
God must advance through one final stage. In the end, Leibniz effec-
tively equates the pious person with one who accepts that his most
complete happiness is to be found only in the love of God. This
emerges as a consistent development of his account of the connection
between perfection, love, and happiness. Whoever is inclined by love
to find his pleasure in the perfection and happiness of others, cannot
help but find in God the source of his own greatest happiness:
Since God is the most perfect and happiest, and consequently, the substance
most worthy of love, and since genuinely pure love consists in the state that
allows one to take pleasure in the perfections and happiness of the beloved,
this love must give us the greatest pleasure of which we are capable whenever
God is its object. (PNG §16; GP VI 605/AG 212)35
Neither the highest degree ofjustice nor the highest degree of happi-
ness is attainable by human beings without a redirection of their
attention and love toward the supreme perfection of God. This recog-
nition of God's perfection, and our consequent love of him, depends
chiefly on our appreciating fully how his power, knowledge, and
goodness are simultaneously expressed in the creation of the best of
all possible worlds.36 The pious person need not claim, and cannot
honestly claim, to be witness to God's creation of an earthly paradise;
he can readily admit that there is much that is wrong with the world,
much of it traceable to the moral evil of human beings. What the
pious person must believe, however, is: first, that no better world than
this could have been created by God; second, that in the course of
creation God guarantees that virtue is consistently rewarded and sin
punished; third, and most interestingly, that an integral part of God's
plan for the best of all possible worlds is his creation of rational minds
capable in principle of indefinite increases in their degree of perfec-
tion. Because the knowledge, happiness, and virtue of rational crea-
tures are directly correlated with their degree of perfection, this last
point can also be expressed by saying that God has seen fit to create
minds capable of indefinite progress in these qualities. We have al-
ready considered Leibniz's defense of one part of this claim. Assum-
ing that God has created that possible world which contains the great-
HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE 6l
est perfection and harmony, he must also have created that world
which offers the greatest opportunity for rational knowledge and that
collection of minds with the greatest potential for the attainment of
happiness through the acquisition of knowledge. But God has also
created beings who are capable of justice, or the charity of the wise,
and who, as part of the expression of their virtue, attempt to inculcate
this same virtue in others. Virtue thus grows through the practice of
virtue, and with it grows happiness, which the pious person experi-
ences as a natural consequence of his exercise of virtue.
This last consideration strongly suggests that although the pious
person necessarily orients himself with respect to God, loving God as
the supreme source of his happiness, his life will not be a purely
contemplative one. The pious person instead demonstrates his knowl-
edge and love of God by executing to his fullest ability what he under-
stands to be God's plan for the best of all possible worlds: a plan in
which the greatest possible perfection is achieved through the pro-
gressive enlightenment of minds, and their continued growth in
knowledge, happiness, and virtue. To this end, the pious person will
seek to understand the order and harmony of nature, for this activity
is pleasing in itself and confirms us in our belief in God's wisdom; and
he will seek to improve the common welfare of human beings through
their intellectual and moral development, for this too is pleasing in
itself and serves as the engine which drives the increased perfection
of the universe as a whole:
[E]very enlightened person must judge that the true means of guaranteeing
forever his own individual happiness is to seek his satisfaction in occupations
which tend toward the general good; for the love of God, above all, and the
necessary enlightenment, will not be denied to a mind that is animated in this
way. . . . Now this general good, insofar as we can contribute to it, is the
advancement toward perfection of men, as much by enlightening them so
that they can know the marvels of the sovereign substance, as by helping them
to remove the obstacles which stop the progress of our enlightenment. (K X
10-11/R 105)37
In Leibniz's view, recognizing this world as the best of all possible

worlds should lead to neither self-satisfaction nor resignation. In-
stead, our acceptance of this fact should manifest itself in an active,
progressive attitude, in which we apprehend the world's inherent
tendency toward an ever greater perfection and accept our own role
in it as minds capable of replicating in our works and deeds the
characteristics of divine wisdom and of encouraging a similar attitude
in others. In this way, we add both to our own good and to the
common good; we become active participants in the increasing per-
fection of the world and the happy witnesses of our progress. In this
alone consists true piety:
62 THEODICY
Our perfection consisting in the knowledge and love of God, it follows that
one is advanced in perfection to the extent that one penetrates into the
eternal truths and is zealous for the general good. Thus, those who are truly
enlightened and well-intentioned work with all their power on behalf of their
own instruction and the good of others; and if they have the means to do so,
they strive to further the growth of the enlightenment of mankind, of Chris-
tian virtue, and of public happiness. This is the mark of true piety. (A I 13,
232)
From Theodicy to Metaphysics

The culmination of God's plan for the best of all possible worlds is the
creation of rational creatures who evidence their piety in their knowl-
edge and love of God, and in their understanding of this as the world
of greatest possible perfection. Such creatures work tirelessly to gain
knowledge of the infinite harmony of the universe and to promote
the common good, and they encourage the same zeal for enlighten-
ment and justice in others. In this way, they help to promote the
realization of their own greatest happiness and virtue, the greatest
happiness and virtue of other rational beings, and the greatest perfec-
tion of the universe as a whole.
We find in this scheme a complete and consistent reconciliation of
God's metaphysical and moral ends, as these are understood by Leib-
niz. God creates the world of greatest possible perfection; yet he does
so in part by creating minds capable of comprehending his design for
the universe and of fulfilling it through the production of ever more
perfection. At the same time, such minds achieve their own greatest
perfection and happiness through their knowledge of God's plan and
the consequent love they feel for God as its architect: "One is happy
when he loves God, and God, who has done everything perfectly,
cannot fail to arrange everything in such a way as to elevate created
beings to the perfection of which they are capable through union with
him, which can subsist only through the spirit" (G 580/R 84). Leibniz
is careful to distinguish the spiritual "union" which minds enter into
with God from the all-encompassing intoxication with the divine that
characterizes mystical or quietist philosophies.38 It is not the goal of
enlightened minds to lose their identity in the oneness of God; rather,
they seek to fulfill their promise of citizenship in that perfect state of
which God is the sovereign ruler and minds his loving subjects. To
enter into such a society with God is to recognize him as a supremely
perfect sovereign, who rules over rational beings with unfailing jus-
tice.39 Our spiritual union with God is consequently no more or no
less than our enlightenment as to the essential nature of his perfec-
tions: his unlimited power, wisdom, and goodness.
As Leibniz understands it, the path to enlightenment, and hence to
citizenship in the City of God, necessarily lies through metaphysics.

Not only does this science supply the basic knowledge - of divine
justice and the immortality of the soul — that makes possible true
piety; but, more importantly, metaphysics is identified as the very
means by which we come to know as much as we can know of God's
perfections. Typically, Leibniz divides this knowledge into two parts:
[O]ne cannot love God without knowing his perfections, or his beauty. And
since we can know him only in his emanations, there are two means of seeing
his beauty, namely in the knowledge of eternal truths (which explain [their
own] reasons in themselves), and in the knowledge of the harmony of the
universe (in applying reasons to facts). That is to say, one must know the
marvels of reason and the marvels of nature. (G 580/R 84)40
According to Leibniz, we come to know God's perfections in two
distinct ways: through knowledge of necessary or eternal truths, and
through knowledge of the harmony of the universe. In the first way,
we become acquainted with God's perfection by sharing in his reason
or intellect, a fact that accounts for our own capacity for rational
understanding. In the second way, we apply this capacity in an effort
to comprehend how God's supreme power, goodness, and above all
his wisdom, have been expressed in his creation of the best of all
possible worlds.
This two-part division of metaphysics into, on the one hand, a
science of divine intellect or understanding, and on the other, a sci-
ence of divine wisdom, will serve as a guide for the remainder of this
book.41 In Part II, we temporarily leave behind the doctrine of the
best of all possible worlds and concentrate on those results, pertaining
to the necessary order of being and knowledge, which Leibniz claims
to achieve through the exercise of reason alone. In Part III, we return
to examine in detail his mature theory of the order and harmony of
the created world.
Notes
1. Memoir for Enlightened Persons of Good Intention, §9. In what follows, I

translate Leibniz's felicitas and felicite consistently as "happiness."
2. See Couturat 1901, 230-7; Russell 1937, 199; Gale 1976.
3. See Grua 1953, 338-9; Parkinson 1965, 114-15; Hostler 1975, chap. 8;
Brown 1988; Blumenfeld 1995. In this chapter, I cover much of the same
ground as the latter two authors, both of whose works I have found
valuable. Our accounts differ significantly, though, at a number of points.
4. Strictly speaking, he identifies physical goodness with "pleasure" (plaisir,
delectatio). Because happiness is itself "a lasting state of pleasure" (G
579/R 83), however, this difference need not trouble us for the moment.
5. I am here discounting the possibility that God could create a being more
perfect in one of these attributes but not in the others (e.g., a being of
64 THEODICY
great intelligence and a corrupt will). I offer an explanation of this in

Chapter 7.
6. Cf. New Essays I, ii, 19 (RB 98); II, xxviii, 5 (RB 250).
7. Cf. A Resume of Metaphysics §18 (C 535/P 146); On Wisdom (GP VII 88/L
426).
8. Cf. GP VII 306/P 141.
9. See PNG § 10; and Observations on the Book Concerning the Origin of Evil §22:
"God chooses not only to create men, but to create men as happy as it is
possible to be in this system" (GP VI 426/H 431). David Blumenfeld
(1995) argues that a shift occurs here between Leibniz's earlier and later
writings, with the former stressing the primacy of human welfare over all
other sources of goodness and the latter subordinating human happiness
to the perfection of the whole.
10. See also Theodicy §118: "I grant that the happiness of intelligent creatures
is the principal part of God's design, for they are most like him; neverthe-
less I do not see how one can prove that to be his sole aim. . . . [T]here is
no reason to suppose that God, for the sake of some lessening of moral
evil, would reverse the whole order of nature. Each perfection or imper-
fection in the creature has its value, but there is none that has an infinite
value. Thus the moral or physical good and evil of rational creatures does
not infinitely exceed the good and evil which is simply metaphysical,
namely that which lies in the perfection of other creatures" (GP VI 168-
9/H 188-9).
11. Cf. Theodicy §118, as quoted in note 10.
12. Skepticism about whether these goals can be reconciled in Leibniz's sys-
tem is expressed by Rescher (1979, 156-7) and C. Wilson (1983, 776).
Leibniz might be seen as suggesting that there exist worlds happier than
our own at Theodicy §353 (GP VI 324/H 336-7), but a careful reading
shows that he only states that there may be "earths" or planets happier
than ours — a statement consistent with the universe as a whole (i.e.,
including all of its planets, solar systems, etc.) being the world of greatest
happiness. Huggard obscures this point by translating terres as "worlds."
13. Cf. GP VII 88/L 426; Brown 1988, 578.
14. Couturat 1901, xi.
15. In a letter to Bourget, Leibniz links this prevalence of intelligibility to a
prevalence of order: "To be possible, it is enough to be intelligible; but for
existence there must be a prevalence of intelligibility or order; for there is
order to the degree that there is more to distinguish in a multitude" (GP
i n 558).
16. It is important to note that this does not by itself entail a maximization of
happiness, since other worlds might have more minds, or minds with a
greater potential for happiness.
17. See Resume of Metaphysics § 17: "It also follows in general that the world is a
cosmos, full of ornament; that is, that it is made in such a way that it gives
the greatest satisfaction to an intelligent being" (C 535/P 146).
18. In the preface to the Theodicy, he writes: "Order, proportions, harmony
delight us; painting and music are samples of these. God is all order, he
always observes the exactness of proportions, he creates universal harmo-
ny. All beauty is an effusion of his rays" (GP VI 27/H 51). Cf. RB 1Q4.
19. "Pleasure is a knowledge or feeling of perfection, not only in ourselves,
but also in others, for in this way some further perfection is aroused in
us" (G 579/R 83). Cf. GP VII 88-9/L 426-7. In the next section, we shall
find evidence of a third argument. Ascribing to an enlightened mind a
recognition of the connection between the world's harmony and the op-
eration of divine wisdom, Leibniz contends that the pleasure of such a
mind is augmented by its perception of the supreme perfections of God.
See Brown 1988, 579—81.
20. I add this caution, because in one set of texts in which Leibniz addresses
the question of whether the world's total perfection should be viewed as
increasing over time, he refuses to endorse this position categorically. See
the series of late letters to Bourguet at GP III 582-3/L 664-5; G p ^
589; GP III 591-2. Other texts explicitly affirm the thesis of continual
progress: GP VII 88/L 426; GP VII 308/L 490-1.
21. Cf. DM §36: "Indeed, minds are the most perfectible substances. . . .
Whence it obviously follows that God, who always aims for the greatest
perfection in general, will pay the greatest attention to minds and will
give them the greatest perfection that universal harmony can allow, not
only in general, but to each of them in particular" (Le 91/AG 67).
22. This argument further suggests why neither the greatest perfection nor
the greatest happiness could have been achieved had God chosen to
create a world composed only of rational minds (even more minds than
exist in the actual world), sacrificing for them all lower orders of exis-
tence. In Leibniz's view, a world composed solely of minds would not
contain more happiness than the present world, for without the manifold
dimensions of order that define this world and the infinite variety of
beings that populate that order, the potential for happiness, attained
through the exercise of reason, would be far less than in the present
world. See Theodicy §118, and §124: "Nature has need of animals, plants,
inanimate bodies; there are in these creatures, devoid of reason, marvels
which serve for the exercise of reason. What would an intelligent creature
think of, if there were neither movement, nor matter, nor sense?" (GP VI
179/H 198).
23. In a number of texts, Leibniz asserts that the actual world involves a
maximization of both perfection and happiness: PNG §§10, 15; Observa-
tions on the Book Concerning the Origin of Evil §22 (GP VI 426/H 431); On
the Ultimate Origination of Things (GP VII 306/P 141). In his study of this
topic, Gregory Brown concurs that "on Leibniz's account of pleasure,
happiness and knowledge, it is a condition both necessary and sufficient
for the maximization of pleasure, knowledge, and happiness of a given
set of creatures that their world be maximally harmonious" (1988, 589-
90). He reaches this conclusion, however, by a different route than I have,
primarily because of the different reading he gives to the notion of per-
fection. See also Blumenfeld (1994), who briefly sketches a strategy closer
to my own.
24. Cf. GLW 43.
25. "Since nature brings everything in order, he who stands closest to that
order already can most easily arrive at an orderly contemplation or or-
derly conception, that is, at a felt satisfaction, precisely because there can
be no higher satisfaction than to consider and see how good everything is
and that nothing possibly better is to be wished" (BC II 133/W 574). Cf.
GP VI 508/L 552-3.
26. In many of his ethical and political writings, Leibniz defines "wisdom"
more narrowly as "the science [i.e., the systematic knowledge] of happi-
ness." Cf. G 579/R 83; GP VII 86/L 425.
27. See Meditation on the Common Concept ofJustice (Mo 45—6/R 48—9).
28. See Riley's introduction to his edition of Leibniz's political writings (R19-
66 THEODICY
22), as well as Grua 1956; Hostler 1975. For Leibniz's presentation of

these distinctions, see his preface to the Codex Juris Gentium, 1693 (GP III
386—9/R 170-4) and Meditation on the Common Concept ofJustice (Mo 5 3 -
65/R 53-60).
29. Although we have not commented on it thus far, it is evident that Leibniz
places considerable emphasis on the definition of philosophical terms.
His definition of "love" is only one example of this, but it is illuminating
to observe the consequences he draws from it: "And through this defini-
tion we can resolve that great question of how genuine love can be disin-
terested, although it is true that we do nothing that is not for our own
good. The fact is that all the things that we desire in themselves and
without any view to their interest are of such a nature as to give us
pleasure by their excellent qualities, with the result that the happiness of
the beloved object enters into our own. Thus you see, Sir, that the defini-
tion ends the debate in a few words, and this is what I love" (letter to
Thomas Burnett, 8/18 May 1697; GP III 207). Cf. Couturat 1901, 567-
70. We return to this point in Chapter 4.
30. See NE II, xx, 5 (RB 163). Leibniz acknowledges the role of minds as
creators of perfection, in the form of knowledge that can be enjoyed by
themselves and others, at Mon §83 and PNG §14: "The mind not only has
a perception of God's works, but is even capable of producing something
that resembles them, although on a small scale. . . . [I]n discovering the
sciences according to which God has regulated things (by weight, measure,
number, etc.), it imitates in its realm and in the small world in which it is
allowed to work, what God does in the large world" (GP VI 604-5/AG
211-12).
31. See Memoir for Enlightened Persons of Good Intention, §12: "To contribute
truly to the happiness of men, one must enlighten their understanding;
one must fortify their will in the exercise of virtues, that is, in the habit of
acting according to reason; and one must, finally, try to remove the ob-
stacles which keep them from finding truth and following true goods"
(K X 11/R 105). Cf. Brown 1988, 586-7.
32. Preface to the Codex Juris Gentium. See also Memoir for Enlightened Persons
of Good Intention, §10 (K X 10/R 105). In the New Essays, Leibniz elabo-
rates on what he regards as the fundamental importance of metaphysics
for morality: "It should also be understood that metaphysics relates to
true moral philosophy as theory to practice. That is because of the depen-
dence on the doctrine of substances in general of that knowledge about
spirits — and especially about .God and the soul — which gives to justice
and to virtue their proper extent. For, as I have remarked elsewhere, if
there were neither providence nor an after-life, the wise man's practice of
virtue would be more restricted, since he would refer everything only to
his present satisfaction; and even that satisfaction . . . would not always
be as well grounded, in the absence of those broad and beautiful perspec-
tives which are opened up to us by the order and harmony of the uni-
verse, extending to an unlimited future; for without them the soul's tran-
quility would amount merely to resignation" (IV, viii, 9; RB 432).
33. Cf. Mon §§89-90; PNG §15.
34. Presupposed here is Leibniz's view that physical death represents merely
the "enfolding and diminution" of an organic creature, and a "state of
stupor," which is eventually followed by its rebirth as a new life-form. See
Mon §73; PNG §12.
35. Cf. Meditation on the Common Concept ofJustice: "One cannot know God as
one ought without loving him above all things, and one cannot love him
thus without willing what he wills. His perfections are infinite and cannot
end, and this is why the pleasure which consists in the feeling of his
perfections is the greatest and most durable which can exist. That is, the
greatest happiness, which causes one to love him, causes one to be happy
and virtuous at the same time" (Mo 62—3/R 59). See also D IV 295/R 171;
E 790/W 565.
36. Cf. his 1702 letter to Queen Sophie Charlotte, often titled "On What Is
Independent of Sense and Matter": "But a consideration of the perfec-
tion of things, or what amounts to the same thing, of the sovereign
power, wisdom, and goodness of God, who does everything for the best,
that is, for the greatest order, is enough to make all reasonable people
content and to convince us that our contentment should be the greater in
the measure in which we are inclined to follow order and reason" (GP VI
508/L 553).
37. Memoir for Enlightened Persons of Good Intention, §11. As its title suggests,
this piece is designed as an encomium of the life of public virtue. Cf. Mon
§90.
38. Leibniz's hostility to this sort of position comes out clearly in a 1697 letter
to Nicaise: "[T]o wish to sever one's self from one's self and from its good
is to play with words; or if one wishes to go into the effects, it is to fall into
an extravagant quietism, it is to desire a stupid, or rather affected and
simulated inaction in which under the pretext of resignation and the
annihilation of the soul swallowed up in God, one may go to libertinism in
practice, or at least to a hidden speculative atheism, such as that of Aver-
roes and of others more ancient, who held that our soul finally lost itself
in the universal spirit, and that this is perfect union with God" (E 790/W
566). See also his letter to Hansch of 25 July 1707 (D II 1, 225/L 594-5).
39. See PNG §15; Mon §§83-4.
40. See Meditation on the Common Concept of Justice: God makes "himself
known to the human race . . . through the eternal light of reason which
he has given us, and through the wonderful effects of his power, of his
wisdom and of his infinite goodness, which he has placed before our
eyes. . . . This knowledge should make us envisage God as the sovereign
monarch of the universe whose government is the most perfect State that
one can conceive" (Mo 61/R 58).
41. As noted in Chapter 1, of all his perfections, it is God's wisdom which has
the closest relation to this world's status as the best of all possible worlds.
While God's power is required for his creation of any world, and his
goodness determines him to create whichever world involves the greatest
possible goodness, it is his wisdom that leads him to select this world, with
its specific marks of perfection, order, and harmony, as the best world for
creation. Consequently, a metaphysical account of the order and harmo-
ny of created beings is most appropriately described as a "science of
divine wisdom." Cf. GP II 562: "the consideration of divine wisdom in
the order of things, which in my view must be the highest aim of philoso-
phy." See also A I 13, 524; BH 63; GP IV 339; GP VI 236/H 252.
4
Metaphysics and Its Method
Leibniz offers several definitions of the science of metaphysics. In one

work he describes it simply as the "science of intelligibles" (C 556).l In
another he identifies it as the "science which has being, and conse-
quently God, the source of being, for its object" (GP VI 227/H 243-
4). In a third he characterizes "real metaphysics" as involving "impor-
tant general truths based on reason and confirmed by experience,
which hold for substances in general" (RB 431). In a fourth, finally, he
says that metaphysics is "the science which discusses the causes of
things using the principle that nothing happens without reason."2
Although there are significant variations among these definitions,
they converge on a common conception. In the first place, meta-
physics is the science of "intelligibles": concepts that owe nothing to
sense but are derived solely from reason or intellect. What is distinctly
conceivable by the intellect, however, is "being" or possibility, whose
reality Leibniz grounds in the ideas of the divine understanding.
Thus, insofar as metaphysics is the science of intelligibles, it is also the
science of being and the science of divine understanding. Foremost
among the intelligible concepts that form the object of metaphysical
knowledge is that of substance, or self-subsistent being; hence, truths
about "substances in general" form a central part of metaphysics.
Finally, to the extent that metaphysics aims at complete knowledge of
the nature of beings, it aims at knowledge that is sufficient to explain
why everything is the way it is for such beings. Consequently, meta-
physics is intimately connected with the principle of sufficient reason:
To engage in metaphysical inquiry is to act on the assumption that the
causes of things can in general be understood through knowledge of
their natures.
One of the most important sources historically for Leibniz's under-
standing of metaphysics is Suarez's groundbreaking reinterpretation
of Aristotle.3 In the Disputationes Metaphysicae (1597), Suarez defines
metaphysics as the science whose proper object is "being inasmuch as
it is real being [ens in quantum ens reale]" (I, i, 26). Because the defining
mark of real being is its intelligibility per se (LI V, 1), or the absence of
contradiction (II, iv, 7), metaphysics includes within its purview God
and all those finite things (actual or possible) that can be brought into
existence through God's power (II, iv, 11-12). Metaphysics thus deals
72 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
with real being in all its forms: the infinite and the finite, the imma-
terial and the material, the substantial and the accidental (I, i, 26). In
both his understanding of the concept of being, and in his account of
the range of beings that constitute the subject matter of metaphysical
inquiry, Leibniz closely follows Suarez's lead. In its most basic sense,
metaphysics is that science which embraces the totality of real or intel-
ligible being.
Although Suarez defines the broad outlines of Leibniz's conception
of metaphysics, there remain significant differences in how they see
these outlines as being filled in. Leibniz does not himself, in philo-
sophical style or temperament, incline toward scholasticism. Even if
some of his disparagement of the "vague notions and verbal distinc-
tions" (RB 431) of the schools can be dismissed as conventional pos-
ing, there is an impatience to his thinking, an eagerness for new
discoveries and results, that leaves him fundamentally opposed to the
mode of scholastic philosophy. Furthermore, while Leibniz praises
Suarez as one of the "deeper scholastics," and claims to have read his
writings already as a youth "as easily as the Milesian fables or ro-
mances,"4 it is likely that he experienced the influence of the Spanish
philosopher largely indirectly, by way of the tradition of Protestant
scholastic philosophy in which he was educated.5 As such what he
received was anything but pure Suarez. Although the Protestant tra-
dition was itself significantly shaped in the seventeenth century
through the reception of the Disputationes Metaphysicae, Suarez
formed only one part of a rich philosophical ferment that included
elements of Lutheran and Calvinist theology, Ramism, Lullism, Neo-
platonism, the secular Aristotelianism of the Italian universities and,
eventually, mechanism. In one way or another, all of these philosophi-
cal movements left their stamp on Leibniz's understanding of meta-
physics.6
Because we are not engaged primarily in a study of the sources of
Leibniz's thought, I shall not attempt to tease out these influences in
any detail. I suggest, however, that as a result of these other forces
Leibniz was led to formulate a conception of metaphysics that ex-
tended Suarez's science of real being in two crucial ways. First, under
the influence of his Jena teacher Erhard Weigel, he embraces the idea
that metaphysics can be given the form of a demonstrative science,
whose propositions can in principle be proved with a certainty rivaling
that of geometry.7 Within this framework, the provision of adequate
definitions for metaphysical concepts becomes all-important.8 Not
only do such definitions serve as marks of consistency, and hence of
real being, but because Leibniz conceives of demonstration itself as
founded on the substitution of definitions, the technique of defini-
tion also holds the key to the construction of demonstrations in meta-
METAPHYSICS AND ITS METHOD 73
physics. What emerges is a conception of metaphysics as an a priori

science every bit as rigorous as the science of geometry. This discipline
supplies the basis for what I described at the end of Chapter 3 as a
science of divine understanding.
Although primary for Leibniz, this conception of metaphysics as an
a priori science does not exhaust its scope. Significantly, there is also a
sense for him — and this is the second place at which his position takes
a novel turn - in which at least one branch of metaphysics cannot
escape the phenomena of the senses. This is because, as the science of
being or intelligible reality, metaphysics is concerned not only with
being as it is realized within the realm of possibility, the divine under-
standing, but also as it is realized within the realm of existence or
actuality. Yet Leibniz maintains that as finite minds our only means of
apprehending existing things is as the objects of sense perception.
Consequently, metaphysics must assume the task of attempting to
comprehend the reality of existing things through the phenomena of
our senses. As we shall see in Part III, it is this second branch of
metaphysics which offers the hope of a science of divine wisdom: a
science devoted to understanding the harmony of the universe through
an application of the intelligible ideas of reason to the facts of expe-
rience.
The rest of this chapter explores more fully Leibniz's conception of
the method of metaphysics. In the next section, we examine his theo-
ry of definition and how it supports the notion of metaphysics as a
demonstrative science. We then turn to the distinction he draws be-
tween the senses and the intellect as two independent sources of
knowledge — one of essence or possibility, the other of existence or
actuality. Finally, we look briefly at Leibniz's view of how we come to
understand the being of existing things by applying the ideas of the
intellect to the interpretation of sense experience.
Metaphysics as a Demonstrative Science

One of Leibniz's most persistent criticisms of past philosophers is that
they embarked on exercises of theory building without a sufficient
awareness of philosophy's true method. He extends this charge almost
without exception: The scholastics, Descartes, Malebranche, Locke,
the supporters of materialist and vitalist philosophies of nature - all
stumbled in their attempts at theorizing because of their failure to
appreciate that philosophical truths are, at bottom, conceptual truths
and hence can only be demonstrated once satisfactory definitions of
their terms have been established.9 The tendency of previous philoso-
phers to neglect this point accounts for both the obscurity of meta-
physics and the repugnance many feel toward it:
74 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
I find that most people who take pleasure in the mathematical sciences shrink
away from metaphysics, because they find light in the former but darkness in
the latter. The most important reason for this, I believe, is that the general
concepts which are thought to be very well known to everyone have become
ambiguous and obscure through the carelessness and changeableness of hu-
man thinking and that the definitions commonly given to these concepts are
not even nominal definitions and in fact explain nothing. . . . Yet by a sort of
necessity men continue to use metaphysical terms and, flattering themselves,
believe that they understand the words they have learned to say. It is obvious
that the true and fruitful concepts, not only of substance, but of cause, action,
relation, similarity, and many other general terms as well, are hidden from
popular understanding. (GP IV 468/L 432)
Leibniz's definitive response to this problem, which he elsewhere con-
demns as "the abuse of the way of ideas," is found in his short essay
Meditations on Knowledge, Truth, and Ideas of 1684. 10 In the Meditations
and later works, he repeatedly stresses the importance of subjecting
our ideas or concepts to analysis, with the aim of resolving them into
their simpler components.11 When carried to completion, such an
analysis would reveal whether a concept involves any internal contra-
diction. If it is shown to be consistent, the analysis provides what
Leibniz calls a "real definition," or a proof of the possibility of what-
ever the concept expresses. He contrasts this sort of definition with a
merely "nominal" definition, which analyzes a concept into other con-
cepts through which it can be conceived, but does not give a proof of
its possibility.12 Real definitions are crucial for metaphysics, he ar-
gues, because only they demonstrate a genuine possibility or, what is
equivalent, the essence of a type of being:
Essence is fundamentally nothing but the possibility of a thing under consid-
eration. Something which is thought possible is expressed by a definition; but
if this definition does not at the same time express this possibility then it is
merely nominal, since in this case we can wonder whether the definition
expresses anything real - that is, possible - until experience comes to our aid
by acquainting us a posteriori with the reality (when the thing actually occurs in
the world). (NE III, iii, 15; RB 293-4)
Leibniz's insistence on the need for real definitions in metaphysics
can only be fully appreciated against the background of a prior as-
sumption he makes about the objects of metaphysical knowledge.
With Suarez, he holds that the primary theoretical notion of meta-
physics is that of "being" [ens], defined as that "whose concept involves
something positive or that which can be conceived by us provided that
what we conceive is possible or involves no contradiction" (GP VII
319/L 363). As this definition suggests, when we characterize some-
thing as a being, we say nothing about its actual existence. To desig-
nate something as a being is to say only that it has a distinctly conceiv-
able (or noncontradictory) concept, and that consequently when we
comprehend that concept we conceive of something that is possible or

that could exist.13 To the extent that real definitions establish the
identity of types of being, or the possibilities of existence, Leibniz
regards them as saying something about reality. At the same time,
though, he claims that we are only justified in accepting such possi-
bilities as real if they are themselves grounded in some existing thing;
for without such a ground it could fairly be objected that "possibilities
or essences, whether prior to or abstracted from existence, are imag-
inary or fictitious" (GP VII 305/L 488). This is an objection that
Leibniz firmly rejects; nevertheless, he believes that it can only be
successfully turned back, if essences are grounded in the prior reality
of the divine understanding:
[N]either these essences nor the so-called eternal truths about them are ficti-
tious, rather they exist in a certain region of Ideas, if I may so call it, namely
in God himself, who is the source of all essence. . . . [Tjhrough [God] those
possibilities that would otherwise be imaginary are (to use an outlandish but
expressive word) realized [realisentur]. (GP VII 305/L 488)14
The reality of the metaphysically possible is thus closely tied to the
notion of a divine understanding: a "region of Ideas," expressing the
essence of every possible being. From this region of ideas, God selects
those things he brings into existence; and they are created exactly as
he conceives them, with a nature identical to that expressed in the
corresponding divine idea.15
Complementing this assumption about the objects of metaphysical
knowledge is a second important claim about how human beings are
capable of knowing anything about the reality that metaphysics de-
scribes. According to Leibniz, as rational minds, human beings have
been granted a significant share in the intelligible reality represented
by the divine understanding: "The intelligible world of which the
ancients speak so much is in God and in some way also in us" (GP IV
571/L 585). He thus assumes that the human mind possesses ideas
that correspond in both structure and content to the divine ideas that
ground metaphysical possibility.16 All metaphysical knowledge is ac-
cordingly predicated on our capacity to comprehend the eternal and
immutable ideas constitutive of the divine understanding. Because of
this capacity we are able to embark on an inquiry aimed at defining
those concepts which express the fundamental types and categories of
being.17
Leibniz's theory of definition leads us naturally to his theory of
truth. His basic understanding of truth is articulated in his "predicate
in subject principle" (PSP). According to the PSP, a necessary and
sufficient condition for the truth of any affirmative, subject-
predicate proposition is that the concept expressed by its predicate
76 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
term be "contained in" the concept expressed by its subject term. This
notion of concept containment is best explained in terms of the no-
tion of conceptual analysis. If, as Leibniz believes, the subject and
predicate terms of a proposition always express concepts that are in
principle analyzable into simpler elements, then a proposition will be
true, according to the PSP, just in case the simpler concepts obtained
by analyzing its predicate term are among those obtained by analyzing
its subject term. 18
Leibniz's account of truth raises a number of interesting points. It is
important, first, to recognize the connection he establishes between
this theory and what he describes in the Monadology as the "two great
principles" of his reasoning: the principle of contradiction and the
principle of sufficient reason (GP VI 612/P 184). The principle of
contradiction (or principle of identity) asserts the fundamental axiom
of the logic of truth: Every identical proposition is true and its contra-
dictory false (GP VII 309/P 75).19 The principle of sufficient reason,
on the other hand, is associated with an explanation of the ground or
basis (ratio) of truth. 20 In its informal expression, the principle of
sufficient reason states that "no fact can be real or existing and no
proposition can be true unless there is a sufficient reason why it
should be thus and not otherwise, even though in most cases these
reasons cannot be known to us" (GP VI 612/P 184). In Leibniz's opin-
ion, one of his principal contributions to philosophy is his transforma-
tion of this general demand for reason into the PSP, a condition that
guarantees a reason for the truth of any proposition in the connec-
tion between its subject and predicate terms:
The fundamental principle of reasoning is that there is nothing without a reason;
or, to explain the matter more distinctly, there is no truth for which a reason
does not subsist. The reason for a truth consists in the connection of the
predicate with the subject; that is, the predicate is in the subject. (C 1 I / P 172)
Instead of claiming simply that there is a reason why everything is as it
is and not otherwise, Leibniz's PSP explains each proposition's being
either true or false in terms of the containment or noncontainment of
its predicate term in its subject term. In two ways, this represents a
significant advance. First, the PSP crystallizes an assumption common
to Leibniz and many other metaphysicians about the logical form of
reality: In seeking a reason for a given fact or state of affairs, one is, in
effect, asking for an account of why a particular predicate is truly
asserted of a particular subject. This explanation is provided by the
PSP. The second advantage of the PSP is that, in conjunction with the
doctrine of real definition, it suggests the means for offering both a
complete enumeration and a priori demonstration of every truth as-
sertable of a given subject. This is so because the properties truly
predicable of a subject will be just those contained in its concept,
which is to say just those which a real definition reveals to be involved

in that concept.21 It is evident from this last point how the PSP sup-
ports Leibniz in his deeply held belief in the possibility of a complete
rational knowledge of reality. If understanding what any being is, and
all that is potentially true of it, can be reduced to an analysis of the
essence or defining concept of that being, then we in principle possess
the means for comprehending everything there is to know about the
world, through our knowledge of the beings that constitute the
world.22
Leibniz's doctrine of truth draws heavily on the same assumptions
as his theory of definition. In one essay, he describes the PSP as
requiring that for any true proposition there be "some connection
between the notions of the terms, i.e. there should be an objective [a
parte rei] foundation from which the reason for the proposition can be
given, or an a priori proof can be found" (C 402/P 93).23 According to
Leibniz, what determines whether a given proposition is objectively
true is not that this relation holds among any one person's concepts,
or even among any human concepts. An objective ground for truth
exists only if there is the appropriate relation among ideas expressed
in the intellect of God. The PSP thus asserts that for any true proposi-
tion, there is a real reason why it is true: an intelligible relation among
the divine ideas that are the archetypes of human thought. It follows
that the truths we are aware of, insofar as they are truths, are neces-
sarily ones we share with God:
It would be better to assign truth to the relationships among the objects of
ideas, by virtue of which one idea is or is not included within another. That
does not depend on languages, and is something that we have in common
with God and the angels. And when God displays a truth to us, we come to
possess the truth which is in his understanding, for although his ideas are
infinitely more perfect and extensive than ours, they still have the same
relationship that ours do. (NE IV, v, 2; RB 397)
We are now in a position to summarize Leibniz's conception of
metaphysics as a science, or a system of demonstrative knowledge. We
have seen that the ultimate objects of metaphysical knowledge are the
essences of beings (actual or possible), which are expressed in the
eternal ideas of the divine understanding and in intelligible concepts
of the human mind. Combinations of these concepts, in turn, form
propositions that assert necessary relations among the essences of
different types of being. By a demonstrative science of metaphysics,
therefore, we mean just this: a system of deductively related proposi-
tions that together articulate the conceptual dependence of the prin-
cipal types of being. Now, it is Leibniz's often repeated belief that
metaphysics can in fact be forged into such a demonstrative science, a
science that would rival in rigor the paradigmatic science of geometry.
78 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
This belief has two main sources. First, given his theory of truth,
metaphysics has access to a well-defined notion of valid inference. In
general, one metaphysical proposition will follow from another if,
and only if, the former can be obtained from the latter via a finite
number of substitutions of definitionally equivalent terms.24 There
can thus be no objection to the claim that metaphysics can in principle
assume the form of a demonstrative science. Second, Leibniz is
among the first to recognize that the unparalleled success of sciences
like geometry is largely due to their development of suitable forms of
symbolic representation, such that valid inferences can be reduced to
mechanical procedures in which there is no latitude for errors of
reasoning. In his view, there is no reason why the same symbolic
method cannot be extended to metaphysics, in which case this science
could acquire a certainty equal to that of geometry.25
It has recently been argued that this picture of Leibniz as an advo-
cate of a deductivist conception of metaphysics is at odds with the
evidence of his best-known writings. In works such as the New System
and the Monadology, it is claimed, we see a Leibniz who is unconcerned
with the demonstrative certainty of his doctrines and instead ad-
vances his views as hypotheses whose test of adequacy is limited to
their capacity to resolve outstanding metaphysical problems.26
Though consistent with the evidence of most of his published writ-
ings, this revisionist reading goes too far in suggesting that Leibniz
eventually abandons the view that metaphysics can, and should, take
the form of a demonstrative science. Such a reading fails to tally with
his own explicit description of such works as the New System, as well as
unpublished essays including the Monadology and the Principles of Na-
ture and of Grace, as popular presentations of his doctrines, designed
to suit the needs of general audiences.27 Whether he in fact remained
unable to offer convincing demonstrations of his most important
metaphysical doctrines, or whether he merely felt it prudent to pre-
sent them as hypotheses that could easily be withdrawn in the face of
hostile criticism, the fact remains that until the end of his life Leibniz
continued to express the belief that his central doctrines could be
advanced in the form of demonstrations.28
Throughout Leibniz's career, his underlying conception of meta-
physics is that of a scientia, or a system of demonstrative knowledge.
Metaphysics is a science that potentially yields results possessing the
certainty of geometrical theorems. Its truths are demonstrable in ex-
actly the same way, provided that the formal method which has served
so well in mathematics can be extended to this higher science. Fur-
thermore, Leibniz clearly takes himself to have had some success in
this regard. Writings from the decade leading up to the composition
of the Discourse on Metaphysics reveal the extent to which he was ab-
sorbed with the work of analyzing and defining the concepts required
for the demonstration of metaphysical truths. 29 By the time of the
New Essays, twenty years later, he could confidently report that he
hardly needed to think about such matters anymore. With the funda-
mental notions of metaphysics satisfactorily defined, that science
could be rendered as solidly demonstrative as geometry.30
Two Sources of Knowledge

The doctrines outlined in the previous section provide the basis for
Leibniz's understanding of the science of metaphysics. We must now
turn to his efforts to integrate this understanding into a theory of
human knowledge. Although epistemological issues are not at the
heart of Leibniz's concerns, his account of the cognitive capacity of
finite minds is of considerable importance for an appreciation of his
metaphysics.
Since Kant, the charge has often been repeated that Leibniz con-
founds the distinct functions of the senses and the intellect, making
the difference between the two merely one of degree rather than of
kind. One critic has even claimed that Leibniz, in common with most
pre-Kantian philosophers, makes
the mistake of just overlooking the difference between sense-data and
thoughts about sense-data, e.g. between being in a state as though one were
seeing something green and, on the other hand, thinking about being in such
a state. With that chasm bridged by a sheer failure to notice it, Leibniz can
then put the thought of seeming to see something green on a continuum with
less directly sense-linked thoughts such as the thought of an active force, or a
rational number, or space, or God.31
It is beyond the scope of this study to attempt to assess the validity of
Kant's critique of Leibniz on the relation of sense and intellect. It will
become apparent in what follows that Leibniz is guilty of at least one
cardinal Kantian sin: the attempt to offer an analysis of sense experi-
ence as an intelligible representation of reality. Granting this point,
however, in no way convicts Leibniz of the more facile charge that he
simply overlooks the difference between sensation and thought, or
between the sensory and the intellectual. As several authors have
recently argued, sense perception and intellect are two separate facul-
ties for Leibniz and the sources of two distinct types of knowledge.32
For Leibniz, perception is an essential characteristic of all created
substances, from the simplest soullike forms, through plant and ani-
mal life, up to the rational minds of human beings and higher intel-
ligences.33 He stresses, though, that it is necessary to distinguish this
perception from "awareness" and "reflection":
80 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
[A]t every moment there is in us an infinity of perceptions, unaccompanied

by awareness or reflection; that is, of alterations in the soul itself, of which we
are unaware because these impressions are either too minute and too numer-
ous, 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 a while, that we pay no heed to it. (NE, Preface; RB 53)34
As a result of the universal connection of things, all substances at
every moment are endowed with an infinity of petites perceptions. In the
least elevated forms, and in higher souls during periods of sleep or
unconsciousness, almost all of these minute perceptions go unreg-
istered. However, even when we are wide-awake and sensitive to our
surroundings, "there are countless inconspicuous perceptions, which
do not stand out enough for one to be aware of or to remember them
but which manifest themselves through their inevitable conse-
quences" (RB 112).35 In Leibniz's terminology, our perceptions are
more or less distinct to the extent that we are aware of differences
among them. 36 Consistent with this, he maintains that all sensory
perceptions are in some measure confused, for they give us the im-
pression of being homogeneous when in fact they are composed of an
infinity of petites perceptions.
According to Leibniz, created substances are differentiated from
one another on the basis of the relative distinctness of their percep-
tions: The most elevated minds possess the most distinct perceptions,
the lowest soullike forms the least.37 In addition to this, however, he
indicates a further important difference between the perceptions of
animal souls (and all lower forms) and those of intelligent creatures.
Even the most distinct perceptions of animals occur without any ele-
ment of self-awareness, since animals lack a faculty of "reflection" (or
"apperception").38 This does not preclude animals from "noticing" or
"paying heed" to varying degrees of detail in their perceptions. Al-
though lacking reflection, animals "have the faculty for awareness of
the more conspicuous and outstanding impressions - as when a wild
boar is aware of someone who is shouting at it, and goes straight at
that person, having previously had only a bare perception of him"
(NE II, xxi, 5; RB 173). Nevertheless, only in the case of human
beings (and angels) are perceptions "accompanied by the power to
reflect, which turns into actual reflection when there are the means
for it" (NE II, ix, 13-14; RB 139).
Leibniz describes perceptions that are accompanied by reflection as
"thoughts."39 Thoughts are thus themselves a type of perception, of
which we are reflectively aware. By itself, the term "thought" carries
no implication of intelligence or understanding. Although only crea-
tures capable of reflection (and hence thought) are capable of under-
METAPHYSICS AND ITS METHOD 8l
standing, it does not follow that every thought is also an act of under-
standing:
We are aware of many things, within ourselves, which we do not under-
stand. . . . "[Understanding" in my sense is what in Latin is called intellectus,
and the exercise of this faculty is called "intellection," which is a distinct
perception combined with a faculty of reflection, which the beasts do not
have. Any perception which is combined with this faculty is a thought, and I
do not allow thought to beasts any more than I do understanding. So one can
say that intellection occurs when the thought is distinct. (NE II, xxi, 5; RB
173)
For human beings endowed with a faculty of reflection (but not for
animals, which lack this faculty) there can be both confused thoughts
and distinct thoughts, depending on the type of perception reflected
upon. Intellection presupposes the combination of reflection and dis-
tinct perception.
Here, if anywhere, we might seem to find support for the charge
that Leibniz confounds the sensory and the intellectual. If intellection
is equated with the having of distinct perceptions (of which we are
reflectively aware), and sensation with the having of confused percep-
tions, then is he not clearly guilty of turning the distinction between
the two into a purely formal or logical one? That is, does he not
support the position that sensations are just "confused thoughts," and
that distinct thoughts differ from confused thoughts in degree rather
than in kind? The evidence in favor of this conclusion seems strong.
Leibniz himself writes: "It has been believed that confused thoughts
differ toto genere from distinct ones; in fact, however, they are merely
less distinct and less developed, by virtue of their multiplicity" (GP IV
563)-40
Despite what Leibniz says here, there is reason to believe that sensa-
tions and thoughts - both confused and distinct - must differ for him
in both origin and kind. Confused perceptions arise as a result of a
finite creature's representation of the infinite.41 As we have seen,
what is confused about these perceptions is that they are composed of
an infinity of minute perceptions, the totality of which we are unable
to discern individually. Some of these perceptions, to be sure, are
more distinct than others. A sensation, he says, is a perception that is
"distinguished and heightened," and "accompanied by memory — a
perception, to wit, of which a certain echo long remains to make itself
heard on occasion" (GP VI 599/P 196—7). Within the domain of the
sensory, then, we can establish a continuous scale of distinctness,
based on the degree to which sensations faithfully convey the infinite
detail of the universe. Yet even the most distinct sensory perceptions
are still inherently confused, since like all representations of the uni-
verse they involve infinity.
82 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
In minds endowed with the capacity for reflection, sensory percep-

tions supply the basis for confused thoughts. Yet it would be wrong to
see Leibniz as equating the two. Confused thoughts are distinguished
from sensations by the fact that they involve reflection on the qualities
represented in sensory perceptions.42 This by itself suggests that con-
fused thoughts cannot be located on the same scale of relative dis-
tinctness as sensory perceptions, and that Leibniz is innocent of the
charge of simply overlooking the difference between having a sensa-
tion and thinking about a sensory quality. A second point to note is
that Leibniz recognizes another source of thoughts altogether, over
and above those which derive from reflection on sensory qualities.
These are distinct intellectual thoughts, which originate in a mind's
reflective awareness of its own nature and properties as opposed to its
representations of external things.43 Like sensations, intellectual
thoughts are distinct insofar as we are aware of them individually;
they are nonetheless categorically different from both sensations and
thoughts of sensory qualities in that they are distinct in and of them-
selves and orginate in a completely different source.
In sum, sensation and intellection can be distinguished on three
grounds: (1) Whereas sensation has no necessary connection to re-
flective awareness, intellection, as a species of thought, requires re-
flection; (2) all sensory perceptions are in some measure confused,
intellectual thoughts are wholly distinct; (3) sensory perceptions (and
thoughts of sensory qualities) depend on a mind's representation of
the external world; intellectual thoughts, on its reflective awareness of
its own nature and properties. Nowhere is there any suggestion by
Leibniz that sensations are just confused thoughts, or that distinct
thoughts originally arise as the result of analyzing our sensory percep-
tions. Nor is there any indication that confused thoughts (or sensa-
tions) can in principle be rendered wholly distinct through analysis.
Between sensations and confused thoughts, on the one hand, and
distinct intellectual thoughts, on the other, there is a difference in
kind founded on a difference in origin.44
This conclusion can be strengthened by examining Leibniz's treat-
ment of ideas. From a cognitive standpoint, ideas are on a par with
thoughts in that they both assume a capacity for reflection. Ideas,
however, cannot be identified with thoughts, or with the "forms" of
thoughts. Since the latter are transitory mental states, when one
thought had been replaced by another, the idea would vanish with it.
Against this position, Leibniz argues that ideas are enduring mental
states, which remain even when we are not aware of them. Ideas, he
says, are "the inner objects of thoughts, and as such they can persist"
(NE II, 10, 2; RB 140).45 He expresses his view more fully when he
refers to ideas as "dispositions" or "potentialities" for thought, which
are realized in actions of the soul: actual thoughts. To have an idea of

x is to be disposed to think of x under certain conditions.46
The most important division Leibniz marks among our ideas is
between those that are "distinct," and those that are "clear" but "con-
fused." In a letter to Thomas Burnett, he describes this difference as
follows:
I call an idea "clear" when it suffices for recognizing a thing, as when I recall a
color well enough to recognize it when it is presented to me. But I call an idea
"distinct" when I conceive its conditions or requisites, in a word, when I have
a definition of it, if it has one. (GP III 247)
The commonest examples of ideas that are clear but not distinct are
those of sensory qualities, such as colors, smells, and tastes. Although
we generally have no difficulty in identifying instances of these quali-
ties, it is impossible to explain the content of, or give a definition of,
our idea of red or sweetness. Consequently, we are "often obliged to
say that it is a je ne sais quoi that [we] sense so clearly" (GP III 247X47
Distinct ideas, by contrast, such as those of mathematics or meta-
physics, possess a structure that makes them amenable to analysis. As
Leibniz remarks to Burnett, an idea is distinct to the extent that it is
conceivable through simpler ideas, its "conditions" or "requisites." As
such, a distinct idea is intelligible, or graspable by the mind.48
Thus, Leibniz's main principle for the division between distinct and
confused ideas is the possibility of analysis: Distinct ideas can be re-
solved into simpler components, their requisites; confused ideas are
those for which we lack an analysis. A second principle, however, is
also at work. Leibniz asserts the confused—distinct division as one that
is, in addition, based upon the origin of our ideas. Confused ideas are
derived from sense perceptions, which are themselves inherently con-
fused. Distinct ideas, by contrast, derive from the intellect alone, in-
dependently of the senses.49 Leibniz thus roundly rejects the empiri-
cist's claim that the soul is a tabula rasa, containing no innate ideas of
its own:
[RJeflection is nothing but attention to what is within us, and the senses do
not give us what we carry with us already. In view of this, can it be denied that
there is a great deal that is innate in our minds, since we are innate to
ourselves, so to speak, and since we include Being, Unity, Substance, Dura-
tion, Change, Action, Perception, Pleasure, and hosts of other objects of our
intellectual ideas? And since these objects are immediately related to our
understanding and always present to it (although our distractions and needs
prevent us being always aware of them), is it any wonder that we say that these
ideas, along with what depends on them, are innate in us? (NE, Preface; RB
51-2)^0
Leibniz's division between distinct and confused ideas on the basis of

their origin is again at odds with the charge that he confounds the
84 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
senses and the intellect. Far from denying the sensory—intellectual

distinction, Leibniz heartily affirms it. From sense perception, we
derive ideas of sensory qualities. From another source altogether —
the mind's reflective awareness of its own nature and properties - we
arrive at distinct intellectual ideas, such as substance, action, one and
many:
[A]cts of reflection . . . make us think of what is called the self, and consider
that this or that is within us. And it is thus that in thinking of ourselves, we
think of being, of substance, of the simple and the compound, of the imma-
terial and of God himself, conceiving that what is limited in us, in him is
limitless. And these acts of reflection provide the chief objects of our reason-
ings. (Mon §30; GP VI 612/P 183-4)51
In Leibniz's view, there are two independent "sources of our knowl-
edge, the senses and reflection" (NE, Preface; RB 53). And these two
sources provide us with two different types of knowledge, that of facts
or existence and that of possibility or essence: "There are two sorts of
knowledge: that of facts, which is called perception, and that of reasons,
which is called intelligence. Perception is of singular things, intelligence
has for its objects universals or eternal truths" (G 583). Through our
senses we are apprised of the existence of particular things; through
intellection we come to understand the eternal possibilities of exis-
tence (the essences of things), and the necessary relations among
these possibilities (eternal truths). As we have seen, it is characteristic
of intellectual ideas to be distinct in and of themselves, and thus
subject to analysis and definition. It is precisely because they can in
principle be given a complete analysis and definition that such ideas
are expressive of essence, or the possibility of existence: "Essence is
fundamentally nothing but the possibility of a thing under consider-
ation. Something which is thought possible is expressed by a defini-
tion" (NE III, iii; RB 293-4). This characteristic is not shared by ideas
derived from sense perception. Although such ideas "express the
power which produces the sensation," Leibniz writes, "they do not
fully express it; or at any rate we cannot know that they do" (NE II,
xxxi; RB 266). Sensations provide evidence of the existence of partic-
ular things, but they do not provide what we need in order to under-
stand what those things are — their underlying essence. Only insofar as
we rely on distinct ideas derived from the intellect are we guaranteed
knowledge of the essences of things. We thus reach the somewhat
paradoxical conclusion that we are only able to understand reality, or
the objective possibilities of existence, through reflection on our own
minds:
[T]he nature of things and the nature of the mind work together. . . . [Q]uite
often a "consideration of the nature of things" is nothing but the knowledge
of the nature of our mind and of these innate ideas, and there is no reason to
look for them outside oneself. (NE, Preface; RB 84)52
If we were "little Gods," we might be blessed with a life that con-
sisted of nothing but pure thought, a life spent contemplating the
essences of things and the eternal truths of reason. Leibniz insists,
however, that intellection wholly divorced from sensation is impossi-
ble for human beings:
The situation is that our [specifically human] needs have forced us to aban-
don the natural order of ideas, for that order would be common to angels and
men and to intelligences in general, and would be the one for us to follow if
we had no concern for our own interests. However, we have had to hold fast to
the order which was provided by the incidents and accidents to which our
species is subject; this order represents the history of our discoveries, as it
were, rather than the origin of notions. (NE II, i, 5; RB 276)33
As finite minds, our reflections necessarily begin with thoughts in
which the sensory and intellectual are intermingled. We arrive at pure
intellectual ideas by abstracting from thought those constants which
reflect the mind's own underlying nature and properties. At this
point, metaphysics reenters the picture. Distinct ideas of the under-
standing, expressing the primary types of being, are the subject mat-
ter of metaphysics. It is thus the task of this science to extract ideas of
substance, unity, cause, and the like from thought, and to subject
them to analysis, with the aim of providing adequate definitions of
them. 54
The Analysis of Sensory Phenomena

The account we have so far offered of the method of Leibniz's meta-
physics remains in one important respect incomplete. Although Leib-
niz assigns a secondary status to sensory knowledge, a significant part
of his metaphysics is devoted to the project of reinterpreting the
phenomena of our senses such that they become intelligible as the
appearances of reality. Given his view that we only acquire knowledge
of the existence of created things through the evidence of our senses,
the need for such a project — one dedicated to revealing the reality
underlying sensory appearances - is evident. The results of the last
section, however, seem to have raised an obstacle to any inquiry of this
kind. If, in Leibniz's view, only distinct intellectual ideas express being
or essence, how can we hope to investigate the reality of existing
things, beginning with the phenomena of our senses? How can we
justify asserting these phenomena as the appearances of reality?
Leibniz's answer to this question begins with the observation that
sensory perceptions are never (for human minds, at least) wholly
86 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
confused, and that insofar as they are distinct they express the es-
sence or reality of existing things: "Before everything in the mind
there seems to occur the matter of some positive concept or reality or
essence, in which agrees everything at all which is perceived by us.
And in this way we call something a being [ens], thing [res], or subject"
(LH IV 7C Bi. 105 [V 1300]). Perceived or apparent things qualify as
instances of being, Leibniz maintains, provided we can understand
them as having an intelligible essence. When we experience the move-
ments and actions of bodies, for example, we identify them as in-
stances of matter and ascribe to them certain essential properties. In
this case, the mind does not simply isolate the distinct ideas of the
intellect from the confused ideas of sense; instead, it applies the for-
mer in the interpretation of sense experience in order to identify the
intelligible content expressed within it.55
We can best illustrate this approach by looking more closely at Leib-
niz's analysis of corporeal properties. He suggests that the sensible
properties of bodies can be divided into two types: the confused and
the prima facie distinct or intelligible.56 "Confused attributes," he
writes, "are those which are indeed composite in themselves . . . but
are simple to the senses and whose definition therefore cannot be
explained" (V 636/L 285). Examples of such attributes are so-called
secondary qualities, such as heat, color, and taste. The distinct attri-
butes of body, on the other hand, are those subject to definition, or
resolvable into simpler properties, through which they can be under-
stood.57 These again can be divided into those (like fusability) resolv-
able only into confused attributes (heat), and those (like rectilinear
motion) resolvable into other distinct attributes (distance and time) (V
636/L 285—6).58 To the last kind of attribute — exemplified by the
mechanical properties of size, shape, and motion — Leibniz assigns a
special importance. What is unique about mechanical properties is
that of all the sensible properties of bodies, they alone are conceivable
entirely in terms of distinct ideas: notably, mathematical notions of
order and quantity, which are innate to the mind. For this reason,
mechanical descriptions offer both a more adequate understanding
of material things (an understanding in terms of essence) and one
that lends itself more readily to definition and demonstration.59
Leibniz is thus in agreement with the main current of seventeenth-
century natural philosophy in holding that the phenomena of material
things can only be satisfactorily explained in terms of the mechanical
properties of size, shape, and motion.60 Given this commitment, he
also confronts the central methodological question for seventeenth-
century mechanists: how to give mechanical explanations of phenome-
na (e.g., evaporation or gravitation) that are initially known to us only
in a confused way through sense perception. As we have seen, he
denies that we can move directly from confused ideas to distinct ideas
via conceptual analysis; in characterizing an idea as "confused" this is
precisely what is ruled out. How, then, is an investigation of such
phenomena to proceed? Leibniz's answer is the conventional one: by
doing experiments that help to suggest distinct ideas that are closely
correlated with our confused ideas of a phenomenon and explain its
salient features. The success of natural science in understanding the
spectrum of colors, for example, depends on our establishing a cor-
relation between our ideas of sensory qualities and ideas graspable by
the intellect - those of different wavelengths of light. "This method,"
he comments, "provides a starting point for analysis" (NE IV, ii, 16; RB
382-3). 61
Despite this broad ground of agreement with mechanists, Leibniz
parts company with their position at a crucial point. Although he
accepts their assumption that material phenomena can be adequately
explained only in terms of the mechanical properties of size, shape,
and motion, he rejects their further conclusion that these notions
provide us with an accurate knowledge of reality. His insistence on this
point stems from a combination of claims concerning, on the one
hand, the infinite complexity of matter and, on the other, the limited
cognitive capacity of human minds. Although Leibniz's doctrine of
matter falls outside our present concerns, its intimate relation to his
account of the possibilities of human knowledge requires that we
touch on it briefly. For a variety of reasons connected with his under-
standing of divine wisdom, Leibniz maintains that all existing matter
is divided into parts in infinitum.62 As a consequence, he argues, it is
impossible for any finite mind to comprehend fully the character of a
particular material thing.63 In conceiving of a body as a being with a
determinate size, shape and motion, we necessarily overlook its infi-
nite complexity and assume precise limits or bounds where none in
fact exist: "our senses do not recognize and our understanding con-
ceals an infinity of little inequalities" (GP VII 563). The mechanical
properties we assign to material things are thus only prima facie dis-
tinct; in common with all properties apprehended through sense,
they have something confused about them: "[EJxtension, figure and
motion include something imaginary and apparent; and although
one conceives of them more distinctly than color or heat, nevertheless
when one pushes the analysis as far as I have done, one finds that
these notions are still somewhat confused" (GP I 391-2). 64
Although Leibniz himself does not always highlight it, an important
distinction should be noted between the mechanical properties of bod-
ies and the distinct ideas we employ in conceiving of these properties.
We have seen that Leibniz grants rational minds access to a variety of
distinct intellectual ideas, among which are the mathematical notions
88 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
employed in the construction of physical theory.65 By relying on these

concepts we are able to interpret sense experience: We form distinct
conceptions of the beings presented in sensation and of the laws
governing their effects. In Leibniz's view, however, it is essential that
we be clear on the status of these theoretical representations of na-
ture. Mathematical concepts, he says, are merely "ideal." They do not
accurately express the true complexity of existing matter (thus the
mechanical properties we ascribe to bodies are only prima facie dis-
tinct). Mathematical concepts represent finite or limited essences
(geometrical figures, determinate quantities), whereas nature is un-
limited in its forms:
There are . . . divisions and actual variations in the masses of existing bodies
to whatever limits one should go. It is our imperfection and the defect of our
senses which make us conceive physical things as mathematical beings, in
which there is something undetermined. And one can demonstrate that there
is no line or figure in nature which gives exactly and keeps uniformly through
the least space and time the properties of a straight line or circle, or anything
else whose definition can be comprehended by a finite mind. . . . Nature
cannot and divine wisdom does not wish to trace exactly these figures of
limited essence which presuppose something undetermined and consequent-
ly imperfect in the works of God. (GP VII 563)
In applying mathematical ideas to the interpretation of nature we
necessarily rely on abstractions.66 And for this reason, mathematical
physics can offer no more than an approximate understanding of
reality. "The eternal truths founded on limited mathematical ideas"
are sufficient in practice, "insofar as it is permissible to abstract from
very small inequalities" (GP VII 563); however, they are inadequate as
representations of the infinite complexity of matter.
Leibniz thus rejects the claim of mechanists to have provided an
accurate picture of reality. He does not, however, rest content with this
negative result. Although he is convinced that it is impossible for
human minds to comprehend the full complexity of the matter they
perceive — what he describes in the New Essays as "the jumble of
effects of the surrounding infinity" (RB 57) - he nonetheless holds
out promise of our making further progress in our understanding of
the nature of matter through an analysis of the mechanical laws that
govern corporeal phenomena. What is especially significant about this
final stage of analysis is that it leads us, in Leibniz's view, from the
sensory phenomena of material things to their ground in an intelligi-
ble reality of substances:
[I]n the final analysis, it is discovered that physics cannot be isolated from
metaphysical principles. For although it can be, or ought to be, reduced to
mechanics (this we fully concede to the corpuscular philosophers), there is
nevertheless, besides geometry and numbers, something metaphysical in the
primary laws of mechanics themselves, concerning cause, effect, power and

resistance, change and time, similitude and determination, through which a
passage is given from mathematical things to real substances. . . . Rightly,
therefore, it must be taught that although all physical things can be reduced
to mechanics, the deeper origins and first laws of mechanics can in no way be
explained without reference to metaphysical principles and unextended sub-
stances. (C 341—2)67
We must leave the details of this final stage of analysis to a later
chapter. Two points, however, should be noted here. First, as sug-
gested in this passage, an analysis of the "primary laws of mechanics"
will necessarily implicate such metaphysical concepts as substance,
cause, and power. Consequently, it presupposes that these have been
isolated and defined as distinct ideas of the understanding in the
manner described earlier. Second, in opposition to Kant's injunction,
Leibniz maintains that it is in principle possible to undertake an analy-
sis of the concept of matter that reveals phenomenal things to be
grounded in a supersensible reality. Bodies, which appear to the
senses as extended objects related in space and time, are understood
by the intellect as something quite different: pluralities of unex-
tended soullike substances. With this said, it is important to keep in
mind that Leibniz also imposes a significant limitation on our capacity
for knowledge. Under no circumstances are we capable of fully com-
prehending the complexity of any particular material thing. At most,
we can aspire to an understanding of the nature of matter in general
- one which indirectly demonstrates material things to be very differ-
ent from what they seem. All in all, then, Leibniz draws both a positive
and a negative conclusion concerning the possibilities of human
knowledge. Our comprehension of the "general laws of nature" shows
that "we have all the distinct ideas that are needed for a knowledge of
bodies." Nevertheless, as finite minds we are subject to an irremedia-
ble ignorance concerning the infinite complexity of nature: The dis-
tinct ideas of our understanding do not provide us with knowledge of
the "full detail of the phenomena," and our senses are not "penetrat-
ing enough to sort out the confused ideas or comprehensive enough
to perceive them all" (NE IV, iii, 27; RB 38g).68 As regards our knowl-
edge of existence, it is this difference that separates us from God:
[O]nly the Supreme Reason, who overlooks nothing, can distinctly grasp the
entire infinite and see all the causes and all the results. All we can do with
infinities is to know them confusedly and at least to know distinctly that they
are there. Otherwise we shall not only judge wrongly as to the beauty and
grandeur of the universe, but will be unable to have a sound natural science
which explains the nature of things in general, still less a sound pneumatol-
ogy, comprising knowledge of God, souls and simple substances in general.
(NE, Preface; RB 57)
go FIRST PHILOSOPHY
In the preceding few pages we jumped far ahead in our presen-
tation of Leibniz's philosophy in order to give a full account of his
conception of metaphysics. This chapter has uncovered grounds for
attributing to Leibniz a twofold understanding of the method of
metaphysics. On the one hand, metaphysics is driven by the demand
to provide adequate definitions of the intelligible concepts of the
understanding: concepts such as substance and cause, which express
the primary categories of being. On the other hand, it is also charged
with interpreting sensory phenomena or rendering them intelligible
as the appearances of reality. In this context, it is the method of meta-
physics to apply distinct concepts of the understanding in an analysis
of the content of sensory experience. Part III looks in detail at the
results Leibniz achieves using this latter method. In the next two
chapters, we survey his treatment of the concepts of the understanding.
Notes
1. Cf. C 348.
2. Ad Christophori Stegmanni Metaphysicam Unitariorum, ca. 1708 (LH IV I 9,
Bl. 1-7). The original text is found in Jolley 1975, 179; the translation is
quoted from Jolley 1984, 196.
3. Concerning Suarez's accomplishment, see Lohr 1988. For a discussion of
some of the subtleties of his doctrine of being, see Doyle 1967. On the
relationship of Leibniz to Suarez, see Robinet, 1981.
4. RB431; P G I 4, 168.
5. For an example of this indirect influence, see his marginalia to Daniel
Stahl's 1655 Compendium Metaphysicae (A VI 1, 21-41). On Stahl, see Pe-
tersen 1921, 292-3. The impact of Suarez's Disputationes Metaphysicae on
the development of Protestant scholastic philosophy has been well docu-
mented. See Beck (1969, 123, 516-7) and Lohr (1988, 620-38), both of
whom give extensive references to the earlier literature.
6. On the complexity of the Protestant intellectual background, see Beck
1969, chaps. 6—9; concerning its impact on Leibniz, see Kabitz 1909.
7. On the influence of Weigel, see Kabitz 1909, 10-12; Moll 1978; Aiton
1985, 15—16. Cf. Projet etEssais . . . pour avancer Vart d'inventer: "There is a
very clever professor at Jena named Weigel who has published a fine
work entitled Analysis Euclidea [Analysis Aristotelica ex Euclide restituta,
1658], in which there are many beautiful ideas for perfecting logic and
for giving demonstrations in philosophy" (C 179).
8. As we shall see in Chapter 5, Leibniz's theory of definition is also impor-
tantly influenced by the currents of Ramist and Lullist thinking, which
pervade early-seventeenth-century German philosophy.
9. See his letter to Bourguet of 22 March 1714: "It is true, Sir, that the
excellent modern authors of the Art of Thinking, of The Search After Truth,
and of the Essay Concerning [Human] Understanding are not inclined to fix
their ideas through definitions; in this they have followed too closely the
example of M. Descartes, who scorned the definition of familiar terms
which everyone, in his view, understands, and which are indeed ordi-
METAPHYSICS AND ITS METHOD Cjl
narily defined through terms equally obscure. But my method of defini-

tion is quite different" (GP III 569).
10. GP IV 422-6/L 291-5. Cf. "Reflexions sur la secunde Replique de
Locke" (A VI 6, 29—30): "However, one must confess that M. Stillingfleet
was right to complain of the abuse of the way of ideas. . . . I have also
spoken of this abuse, albeit more clearly, in the Leipzig Ada of November
1684." See also his letter to Hesse-Rheinfels of 29 December 1684 (A II
*' 5 4 4 ) <
11. "In fact, reasoning is nothing other than an analysis of ideas or notions,
conceptions, [or] terms, as philosophers called them before the word
'idea' began to be so much used" (GP III 224).
12. See DM §24; On Universal Synthesis and Analysis (GP VII 293-5/P 12-14);
and A Specimen of Discoveries: "A real definition is one by which it is
established that that which is defined is possible and does not involve a
contradiction" (GP VII 310/P 76). Given Leibniz's assertion elsewhere
that the human mind is incapable of giving a complete analysis of any
concept into its primitive components, it is unclear whether we can actu-
ally construct any real definitions, for no matter how far we carry
through the analysis of a concept a hidden contradiction might remain.
Cf. On an Organon or Ars Magna of Thinking (ca. 1679): "Since, however, it
is not in our power to demonstrate the possibility of things in a perfectly a
priori way, . . . it will be sufficient to reduce their immense multitude to a
few, whose possibility can either be supposed and postulated, or proved
by experience" (C 431/P 3). We return to this point in Chapter 5.
13. "I call 'possible' everything which is perfectly conceivable and which con-
sequently has an essence, an idea" (GP VII 573-4).
14. Cf. Causa Dei §8: "The very possibility of things, when they do not actually
exist, has a reality grounded in the divine existence: for if God should not
exist, there would be no possibility, and possible things are from eternity
in the ideas of the divine intellect" (GP VI 440). See also A Specimen of
Discoveries (GP VII 311/P 77); Theodicy §184.
15. Cf. Theodicy §52. For a discussion of the work done by the doctrine of
divine ideas in the medieval tradition, see Jordan 1984.
16. "[A] 11 the ideas of the intellect have their archetypes in the eternal possi-
bility of things" (NE IV, iv, 5; RB 392). "For ideas are in God from all
eternity, and they are in us, too, before we actually think of them" (NE II,
iv, 17; RB 300). Leibniz emphasizes here his Neoplatonic sympathies:
"[A]s Plotinus has rightly said, every mind contains a kind of intelligible
world within itself. . . . Meanwhile, it can be said that because of the
divine concourse which continuously confers upon each creature what-
ever perfection there is in it, the external object of the soul is God alone,
and that in this sense God is to the mind what light is to the eye. This is
that divine truth which shines forth in us, about which Augustine says so
much and on which Malebranche follows him" (D II 1, 224—5/L 592—3).
For more on the Neoplatonic strains in Leibniz's thought, see Politella
1938; Ross 1983; C. Wilson 1989.
17. Leibniz is seldom careful about such distinctions. At issue are the most
general metaphysical concepts, such as substance, cause, and matter, as well
as more specific ones, such as perception, justice, and happiness. In each
case, Leibniz assumes that the concept in question can be given a real
definition and that it expresses the essence of a type of being. Thus,
92 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
substance and cause, generally understood as categories of being, are also

for Leibniz concepts expressing being, since they are distinctly conceiv-
able notions and represent possibilities of existence. We return to his
treatment of the categories of being in Chapter 5.
18. Whether Leibniz can consistently uphold this position, while supporting
the contingency of claims about existing things and their properties, is a
much debated topic. In the case of necessary or eternal truths, the PSP
can be applied straightforwardly. All necessary truths are in effect analyt-
ic truths, i.e., they "follow from ideas alone or from definitions of univer-
sal ideas" (C 402/P 94). Leibniz, however, maintains that the PSP is also
valid for contingent truths, which assert particular matters of fact. If the
PSP applies to factual propositions in exactly the same way, it is difficult
to avoid the conclusion that all factual propositions are analytic, and
hence necessary, although this is a result Leibniz wants to avoid at all
costs. During the 1680s, he arrived at a position he believed resolved this
problem while upholding the validity of the PSP. For our purposes it is
enough to accept the following: Leibniz holds that any necessary or eter-
nal truth can be demonstrated through a finite analysis of its terms. For
any contingent truth or particular matter of fact, on the other hand, this
is not possible; hence, such a truth cannot be given an a priori demonstra-
tion by a human mind. Whether it is coherent to suppose that God is
capable of demonstrating such a truth (through an infinite analysis) with-
out its thereby being rendered analytically true — and thus necessary — is
a disputed point. Leibniz's considered position seems to be that in the
case of contingent truths the validity of the PSP can be maintained with-
out requiring a demonstration of their truth even of God: "[I]n the case
of contingent truths, even though the predicate is in the subject, this can
never be demonstrated of it, nor can the proposition ever be reduced to
an equation of identity. Instead the analysis proceeds to infinity, God
alone seeing — not, indeed, the end of the analysis, since it has no end —
but the connection of terms or the inclusion of the predicate in the
subject, for he sees whatever is in the series; indeed this very same truth
has arisen in part from his own intellect and in part from his will, and
expresses in its own way his infinite perfection and the harmony of the
whole series of things" (C 211/P 109). Cf. FN 178-85/P 108; C 17-18/P
97-8; C 402/P 94. For further discussion of Leibniz's treatment of contin-
gent truth, see Adams 1977; Blumenfeld 1985; Sleigh 1983, 1990.
19. At times, Leibniz packs even more than this into what he calls the "princi-
ple of contradiction." For example: "[E] very proposition is either true or false.
That is false which is the contradictory of the true; those propositions are
contradictory which differ only in that one of them is affirmative and the
other negative" (C 401/P 93). Cf. GP VII 299/L 225.
20. Cf. GP VI 413-4/H 419.
21. Cf. On Universal Synthesis and Analysis: "Whatever can be demonstrated
from the definition of a thing can be predicted of that thing" (GP VII
294/P 13). Leibniz first develops this theme in his discussion of "inventive
logic" in the 1666 essay On the Art of Combinations §§71-82 (A VI 1,
195-8/PL5).
22. This method is closely associated by Leibniz with the project of an ency-
clopedia, or universal compendium of human knowledge. We examine
this project in Chapter 5.
23. Cf. GP II 56/M 63-4; GP VII 300/L 226.
24. Cf. Hacking 1973. According to the PSP, a proposition asserting the
dependence of two types of being will be true just in case the concept of
one is contained in the concept of the other. If so, then any proposition
obtained from a true proposition by replacing every instance of a given
concept with a definitionally equivalent concept will also be true.
25. This theme begins to appear prominently in Leibniz's correspondence
during his Paris period (1672—76), although there are already signs of it
in On the Art of Combinations. In 1677, he writes to Galloys: "If we had [the
characteristic] such as I imagine it, we could reason in metaphysics and in
ethics more or less as in geometry and analysis, since the characters would
fix our vague and ephemeral thoughts in these matters, in which the
imagination offers us no help except by means of characters" (A II 1,
380—1). See also his letters to Tschirnhaus (May 1678; GM IV 461),
Foucher (1687; GP I 390-1), and Arnauld (4/14 January 1688; GP II
134/M 168). This idea continued to occupy Leibniz until the end of his
life, as is testified by a letter to Biber from March 1716: "My great histori-
cal work prevents me from carrying out the idea I have of displaying
philosophy in the form of demonstrations . . . for I see that it is possible
to invent a general characteristic, which could do in all inquiries capable
of certainty what algebra does in mathematics" (BB 15-16). For more on
this topic, see Couturat 1901, Chap. 4; Rutherford 1995a.
26. S. Brown 1984, 63. For a reply to this reading, which follows somewhat
different lines from my own, see Parkinson 1990.
27. In 1704, he writes to Fontenelle: "The true metaphysics or philosophy, if
you will, appears to me no less important than geometry, especially if
there is a way of also introducing into it demonstrations, which until now
have been unduly banished from it, along with the calculus that will be
necessary in order to give them all the entry they need. However, it is
necessary to prepare readers for this through exoteric writings. The
journals have served me until now" (F 234). Following the publication of
the New System in 1695, Leibniz wrote a number of letters in which he
stresses this point. Cf. A I 12, 625—6, 751; A I 13, 554-5, 657; NE'II,
xxix, 12 (RB 260—1); and his letter to Thomas Burnett of 14 December
1705, quoted in note 30.
28. Leibniz's hesitation on this point never goes deeper than the cautious
remark that "what is not yet ready to be defended by rigorous demonstra-
tion will meanwhile commend itself as a hypothesis which is clear and
beautifully consistent with itself and with the phenomena" (1699; GP II
168/L 515). During the latter part of his life, his letters are full of com-
plaints about his lack of time due to other burdensome duties — in partic-
ular, his work on the history of the House of Brunswick-Luneberg. Less
than two years after the publication of the New System, he writes to Gilles
Des Billettes: "I still hope to explain demonstratively the nature and
properties of substance in general, and in particular of souls. I have
already begun to propose something in journals in the form of a hypothe-
sis, but I believe that I have said nothing about it that might not be
demonstrated" (A I 13, 657). See also his letters to Bossuet (1694; A I 10,
143), De Voider (1706; GP II 282/L 539), Bourguet (1714; GP III 569),
and Remond (1714; GP III 605/L 654). On Leibniz's many time-
consuming "distractions," see Couturat 1901, 574-6.
29. These works are discussed in Chapter 5.
30. During the composition of the New Essays, he remarked to Jacquelot:
94 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
"You will perhaps be surprised, Sir, to see me write that I have been
working on it as if on a work which demands no attention. But this is
because I ruled decisively on these general philosophical matters a long
time ago, in a way that I believe is demonstrative or not far from it, with
the result that I have hardly any need of new meditations on them" (GP
III 474). Cf. his letters to Thomas Burnett of 8/18 May 1697 (GP II 205),
and 14 December 1705: "I never write anything in philosophy that I do
not treat by definitions and axioms, although I do not always give it that
mathematical air which repels people, for it is necessary to speak famil-
iarly in order to be read by ordinary persons. . . . I would even dare to
say that I have established sufficiently in all matters of thought what is
most fundamental to them, and that I no longer have any need to reason
about them. Thus what you wish that I should do was already done a long
time ago. I have quite satisfied myself on nearly all general matters of
reasoning" (GP III 302-3).
31. Bennett 1974, 12.
32. See McRae 1976, 126-9; M. Wilson 1977; Parkinson 1982; C. Wilson
1989, 315—18. I take the main target of Kant's criticism of Leibniz to be
the thesis that appearances are confused representations of things in
themselves, and that conceptual analysis is sufficient to reveal the
grounding of the former in the latter (see Critique of Pure Reason, A 264/B
320; A 270—I/B 326—7). As discussed later in this chapter, and at greater
length in Chapters 8 and 9, a version of this thesis can be found in
Leibniz's writings. This is not to say, however, that he is guilty of every
charge brought against him. According to Kant, "The philosophy of
Leibniz and Wolff, in . . . treating the difference between the sensible and
the intelligible as merely logical, has given a completely wrong direction
to all investigations into the nature and origin of our knowledge. . . .
[This difference] does not merely concern their form, as being either
clear or confused. It concerns their origin and content" (A 44/B 61-2).
Although there is, I think, a way of reading this as an accurate diagnosis
of Leibniz's "error," some commentators have exaggerated the sense in
which there is a merely "logical" or "formal" difference between the
sensible and the intelligible, taking this to imply that Leibniz identifies
sensations with confused thoughts or concepts (see note 44).
33. As we saw in Chapter 2, this claim is integral to the doctrine of universal
harmony. Given their capacity for perception and activity, Leibniz re-
gards all substances as essentially soullike, although they need not possess
either consciousness or rationality.
34. Cf. NE II, ix, 1 (RB 134); II, xix, 4 (RB 161-2).
35. Cf. NE II, i, 15 (RB 115-16).
36. Conversely, "confusion is when several things are present, but there is no
way of distinguishing one from another" (C 535/P 146).
37. "In each created monad only a part [of the universe] is expressed dis-
tinctly which is greater or smaller according to whether the soul is more
or less excellent, and all the rest which is infinite is only expressed con-
fusedly" (GP IV 553). Cf. GP IV 546, 548-9; PNG §13.
38. The latter term raises difficulties, which are discussed at length in
Kulstad 1991. Many have assumed that Leibniz employs the term "apper-
ception" to designate that feature of mentality (consciousness, reflection,
reason) which distinguishes human and higher minds from animal souls.
Kulstad, however, plausibly suggests that Leibniz may, in fact, distinguish
two grades of apperception: one involving only sensory awareness (or

awareness of what is without), which is attributable to animal souls, the
other involving self-awareness (or awareness of what is within), which is
limited to rational minds. I believe that something like this is correct;
however, I steer clear of the problem here by avoiding the term "apper-
ception" altogether. In what follows, I assume that "reflection" designates
a capacity proper to rational minds.
39. "It might perhaps be added that beasts have perception, and that they
don't necessarily have thought, that is, have reflection or anything which
could be the object of it" (NE II, ix, 1; RB 134). Cf. NE II, xxi, 72 (RB
210).
40. Cf. GP IV 574: "[W]e ordinarily conceive of confused thoughts as of a
completely different type from distinct thoughts. . . . However, at bottom
confused thoughts are only a multitude of thoughts, which in themselves
are like the distinct ones, but which are so small that each one taken
separately does not excite our attention and does not make itself distin-
guished." Both passages are cited by Parkinson (1982, 3). In light of what
I shall argue, these texts must be read in conjunction with NE II, xxi, 72
(RB 210), where Leibniz acknowledges that he himself may sometimes
have carelessly confounded the term "thought" - correctly attributed
only to minds - with the more general term "perception."
41. "[I]t is clearly necessary that every simple substance embraces the uni-
verse in its confused perceptions or sensations" (GP IV 356).
42. "The senses provide us with materials for reflections" (NE II, xxi, 73; RB
212). Cf. PNG §4.
43. "The mind must at least give itself its thoughts of reflection, since it is the
mind which reflects" (NE II, i, 23; RB 119).
44. Pereboom has argued that Kant's criticism of Leibniz is not simply that he
fails to specify different "theoretical tasks" for sensation and intellection,
but that he "has a single type of mental representation perform the
function of both concepts and sensations" (1991, 54). So far as I can see,
this charge remains unsupported. With the introduction of reflection as
the mental faculty definitive of rational minds, Leibniz effectively allows
for two different types of representations: sensory perceptions, which are
immediate representations of what is outer and are common to all sub-
stances (although such perceptions often remain unconscious); and
thoughts, which presuppose reflection and are the property of minds
alone. That Leibniz refers to both types of mental states as "perceptions"
is not a problem; we could in principle take this as a neutral term equiva-
lent to Kant's "representation" (Vorstellung), which includes both intu-
itions and concepts. What is a problem is Leibniz's careless habit of refer-
ring to sensory perceptions as "thoughts," thereby seeming to rule out
any difference in kind between them (cf. GP IV 574, stressed by Per-
eboom, and note 40), and his commitment to the view that all created
substances can be located on a single scale of relative perfection, with
their degrees of perfection being correlated with the degree of distinct-
ness of their perceptions (cf. note 37). It is the confounding of this last
notion, which is most appropriately applied to substances' representa-
tions of the universe, with the singular capacity of rational minds for
purely intellectual thoughts that gets Leibniz into trouble.
45. "If the idea were the form of the thought, it would come into and go out of
existence with the actual thoughts which correspond to it, but since it is
96 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
the object of thought it can exist before and after the thoughts" (NE II, i,
1; RB 109). Cf. DM §26; NE II, xxi, 35 (RB 186).
46. See NE Preface (RB 52); I, i, 26 (RB 86). We might wonder about the
relationship between the claim that ideas are the "inner objects of
thought" and the claim that ideas are dispositions to have certain types of
thoughts. If Leibniz intended us to see a strict identity here, we would
presumably have to say that to entertain an idea of x is to be aware of one's
disposition to think of x. But this cannot be right. In entertaining an idea
of x, I actualize my disposition to think of x. The object of the resulting
thought is not the disposition but x itself. I conclude that Leibniz is
speaking loosely when he refers to ideas as "inner objects of thought,"
and that what he really means is that certain properties of the soul serve
as the objects of lasting dispositions to think of (or reflect on) those
properties. Thus, given an innate capacity for reflection, or for the for-
mation of thoughts, it is the soul that serves as "its own immediate inner
object" (NE II, i; RB 109). We find this position expressed most fully in
the preface to the New Essays, in a passage quoted below (RB 51-2). The
account I sketch here is in broad agreement with the more careful treat-
ment of Kulstad (1991, chap. 4). For a contrasting view, see Jolley (1990),
who argues that Leibniz's descriptions of ideas as both dispositions for
thought and the products of reflection "are in tension - even in contra-
diction - with each other" (185).
47. Cf. NE II, xxix, 4 (RB 255-6).
48. In general, a distinct idea can be defined through an equation relating it
to a set of simpler component ideas, which are jointly sufficient condi-
tions for it. Cf. GP III 248: "Whether one says ideas or notions, whether
one says distinct ideas or definitions (at least when the idea is not abso-
lutely primitive), it is all the same thing."
49. See NE I, i, 11 (RB 81); II, i, 23 (RB 119); IV, ii, 16 (RB 382); IV, iv, 5 (RB
382) IV, iv, 5 (RB 392).
50. Cf. NE II, i, 2 (RB 110-11).
51. As suggested in note 46, I assume that Leibniz does not defend a "store-
house" model of ideas, whereby the notions of substance, action, etc., are
separate objects in the mind, but that instead he regards intellectual ideas
as arising from a mind's capacity to reflect on its own properties and
actions. We find this position expressed succinctly in a 1706 letter to
Burnett: "I have noticed that M. Locke has not investigated deeply
enough the origin of necessary truths, which do not depend on the
senses, or experience, or facts, but on the consideration of the nature of
our soul, which is a being, a substance, having unity, identity, action,
passion, duration, etc. One need not be surprised if these ideas and the
truths which depend on them are found in us, although reflections may
be needed in order to apperceive them and it may sometimes be neces-
sary that experiences excite our reflection or attention, for us to take note
of what our nature furnishes us with" (GP III 307-8). Cf. NE, Preface
(RB 51-2); I, i, 11 (RB 81); I, i, 23 (RB 85); I, iii, 18 (RB 105).
52. This is obviously an important claim: Leibniz believes that the nature of
our soul is such that we can extract from it knowledge that pertains to all
other possibilities of existence, including that of God (cf. Mon §30). Rele-
vant to understanding this is his view, discussed in Chapter 2, that variety
is only realized at a fundamental level through the varying of degrees of
perfection, and that the perfections of created things are derived as
limitations of the supreme perfections of God. Cf. Jolley 1990, 178.
53. Cf. NE II, xxi, 73, where Leibniz says that the "analytic order" is not the
"usual order in which events prompt us to think of these ideas. The
senses provide us with materials for reflections: we could not think even
about thought if we did not think about something else, i.e. about the
particular facts which the senses provide" (RB 212). See also GP IV 563.
54. Cf. NE III, v, 3: "What we are concerned with when we separate off the
ideal world from the existent world [is the very form or possibility of
thoughts]. The real existence of beings which are not necessary is a mat-
ter of fact or of history, while the knowledge of possibilities and necessi-
ties (the necessary being that whose opposite is not possible) is what makes
up the demonstrative sciences" (RB 301).
55. In a 1696 letter to Chauvin, Leibniz writes: "I hold that there is thus
always something in us that corresponds to the ideas which are in God,
and to the phenomena which occur in bodies" (A I 13, 232).
56. I add the proviso "prima facie" distinct, since it will turn out that these
attributes are themselves ultimately the products of confused perception.
In an early survey of physical theory, we read: "We shall therefore deal
with body and its qualities — both the intelligible, which we conceive
distinctly, and the sensible, which we perceive confusedly" (Ge 110).
57. The same notion of distinctness is at work here as in Leibniz's account of
ideas. The mark of a distinct idea or property is the possibility of its
definition, or resolution into simpler components.
58. Thus, as Leibniz notes in DM §24, "distinct knowledge has degrees, for
ordinarily the notions that enter into the definition are themselves in
need of definition and are known only confusedly" (Le 69/AG 56).
59. Cf. NE II, v: "These ideas which are said to come from more than one
sense — such as those of space, figure, motion, rest - come rather from
the common sense, that is, from the mind itself; for they are ideas of the
pure understanding (though ones which relate to the external world and
which the senses make us perceive), and so they admit of definitions and
of demonstrations" (RB 128).
60. Cf. V 640/L 288; GP VII 337/AG 312.
61. Cf. NE II, ii, 1 (RB 120).
62. Leibniz makes the strong claim that matter is actually infinitely divided
and not simply infinitely divisible: "I hold that matter is actually frag-
mented into parts smaller than any given, or that there is no part of
matter that is not actually subdivided into others, exercising different
motions" (GP II 305). He offers several arguments on behalf of this
thesis. Most basically, he appeals directly to divine wisdom, which seeks to
maximize both order and variety: "In order to conceive better the actual
division of matter to infinity and the exclusion from it of all exact and
undetermined continuity, it is necessary to consider that God has already
produced as much order and variety as it was possible to introduce so far"
(GP VII 562—3). Relatedly, he refers the infinite division of matter to the
principle of continuity, which is in turn ascribed to divine wisdom (NE,
Preface; RB 59-60). Finally, Leibniz cites the want of a sufficient reason
for actual matter not to be divided to infinity (GP III 500, 519-20).
63. Leibniz contrasts this situation with what would be the case were the
world composed of perfectly hard and indivisible Democritean atoms: "If
the world were in fact an aggregate of atoms, it could be accurately known
through and through by a finite mind that was sufficiently elevated" (GP
II 409). In this case, any body could be analyzed into a finite number of
atomic parts, each with a determinate position in space and time, and the
98 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
motion of any body would be a determinate function of the motion of its

parts. Cf. RB 289; GP IV 555-6/L 575.
64. As this passage suggests, to claim that mechanical properties are "some-
what confused" is effectively to claim that they are not real properties of
bodies at all, but merely the products of our limited mode of perception:
"Far from being constitutive of bodies, figure is not in itself an entirely
real and determined quality outside of thought, and one could never
assign to a body some precise surface in the way one could if there were
atoms. And I can say the same thing of magnitude and motion, namely
that these predicates hold of the phenomena like colors and sounds, and
although they enclose more distinct knowledge, they can no more sustain
the final analysis" (GP II 119/M 152). See also A Specimen of Discoveries (GP
VII 314/P 81) and the 1683 study Wonders Concerning the Nature of Corpo-
real Substance: "Just like color and sound, so also extension and motion
are phenomena rather than true attributes of things which contain some
absolute nature independent of us" (V 294).
65. Cf. NE II, v, quoted in note 59.
66. "[Abstractions are necessary for the scientific explanation of things,"
Leibniz tells De Voider. "It is by means of this abstraction that we can
define in phenomena the role to be ascribed to each part of mass and can
distinguish and explain the whole rationally" (GP II 252-3/L 531).
67. For other statements of the claim that the principles of mechanics provide
a "passage . . . from mathematical things to real substances," see Critical
Remarks on the General Part of Descartes' Principles/' ad Article 64 (GP IV
391/L 409); NE IV, iii (RB 378); and his letter to Remond of 10 January
1714 (GP III 606/L 655). We return to this topic in Chapter 9.
68. Leibniz makes a similar point in this passage concerning our knowledge
of the law of justice by which God governs the commonwealth of minds
and our ignorance concerning the detailed ways in which he administers
the balance of reward and punishment within creation.
5
The Categories of Thought and Being
In a series of writings from the late 1670s and the 1680s, we encoun-
ter a neglected aspect of Leibniz's views concerning ontology and
method. The principal theme of these works is the definition and
classification of the fundamental categories of thought and being. In
both form and content, these writings suggest a throwback to an ear-
lier philosophical generation. In them Leibniz's model is less the em-
pirically and mathematically inspired method of Descartes, Hobbes,
or Spinoza than the "tables of division" and classificatory "systems" of
a group of almost forgotten late-sixteenth- and early-seventeenth-
century German thinkers, whose outlook is characterized by an eclec-
tic blend of Aristotelian, Ramist, and Semi-Ramist thinking.1 The
history of this movement and its influence on Leibniz lies outside the
scope of the present study. My concern in what follows will be solely
with articulating what may be interpreted as its residue in a specific
collection of Leibnizian texts. Using this approach, I hope to give
further content to the conception of metaphysics outlined in Chapter
4, and at the same time to illuminate several of Leibniz's most distinc-
tive ontological commitments: his much discussed nominalism, his
distinction between substantial and nonsubstantial being, and his
complete concept theory of substance.
The Encyclopedia and the General Science

Leibniz's arrival in Hanover in December 1676 signaled a crucial turn-
ing point in his career. On the one hand, it marked the beginning of
his long employment with the House of Brunswick-Liineberg, an as-
sociation that would last until his death forty years later. No less
significantly, however, it set the stage for an important development
in his philosophical thinking, which would culminate a decade later in
the composition of the Discourse on Metaphysics and the correspon-
dence with Arnauld. It has become common to interpret these last
works as milestones in Leibniz's philosophical career, some even going
so far as to describe them as offering the first examples of his mature
metaphysics. Whatever one's view of the relationship of these writings
to Leibniz's later thought, it can hardly be denied that they represent
substantial progress over the theories of his Paris period. Yet this
1OO FIRST P H I L O S O P H Y
makes all the more pressing the question of the route by which Leib-
niz arrived at the novel features of these works. Do his activities dur-
ing the decade 1676—86 help to explain their appearance, or are they
to be interpreted simply as the inspiration of a snowy week in the
Harz?2
Since the pioneering study of Couturat (1901) the evidence has
been available to show that the first answer is surely the right one. The
voluminous writings composed by Leibniz during his first years in
Hanover — most of them unedited until this century, some until this
decade - offer considerable insight into the development of his later
doctrines. The relationship between these writings and Leibniz's ma-
ture philosophy is by no means simple. The projects pursued with
greatest intensity in these writings — the "encyclopedia," the "general
science," the "universal characteristic" — receive relatively little atten-
tion in his later corpus.3 Moreover, there is little obvious continuity
between the themes of these writings and those of his more familiar
metaphysical works. Be this as it may, I believe that Leibniz's ambi-
tious intellectual projects of the decade 1676-86 merit close atten-
tion, both for their own sake and for the light they shed on his later
philosophy.
One idea that continues to inspire Leibniz from his student days
through his years in Hanover is that of pansophia, or universal knowl-
edge. The term pansophia derives from Jan Amos Comenius, a Czech
philosopher and reformer who was a student of J. H. Alsted at Her-
born and exerted a powerful influence on the young Leibniz.4 The
idea of universal knowledge itself, however, has a much longer history,
extending back through the hermetic movement of the Renaissance
and late Middle Ages to the Ars Magna of the fourteenth-century
Catalan philosopher Ramon Lull, and ultimately to the Kabbalah of
the Jewish mystical tradition. From these predecessors, Leibniz ex-
tracted a fundamental conviction: All knowledge, in any domain, can
be regarded as the result of combinations of certain primitive con-
cepts or ideas. Hence, if we could arrive at a complete enumeration of
these primitives, we would be able to derive in a systematic manner all
possible truths knowable by the human mind. We would, in short,
possess universal knowledge.5
To the modern reader, pansophia can only seem a vague and Uto-
pian notion. It is, since the rise of modern empirical science, simply
not the way we conceive of the acquisition of knowledge.6 Working on
the cusp of the modern period, Leibniz stands in a complicated rela-
tionship to this idea. On the one hand, he is far more open to its
possibility than near contemporaries such as Descartes or Locke. At
the same time, he refines the idea to such a degree, trying to make it
precise and productive in a way earlier thinkers had not, that he, too,
THOUGHT AND BEING 1O1
arguably comes to recognize its limitations. In writings from his early

Hanover years, Leibniz formulates his scheme for universal knowl-
edge in terms of the three projects already noted: the encyclopedia,
which would serve as a repository for all acquired knowledge and
would include a complete catalogue of the most basic concepts and
principles; the general science, which would supply a method for
arranging and relating the contents of the encyclopedia according to
a strict logical order; and, closely associated with the general science,
the universal characteristic, which would supply it with appropriate
symbols, such that all the reasoning associated with the encyclopedia
could be transformed into purely formal deductions, thereby ruling
out the possibility of error. 7 These three projects establish the dimen-
sions of Leibniz's plan as it emerged during the second half of the
1670s. In brief, he is concerned with the collection and arrangement
of all human knowledge, in a way that would best demonstrate its
completeness and rational order. 8
Leibniz is especially motivated to pursue the project of the encyclo-
pedia by what he perceives to be the strife and disorder rampant
within the scientific community of his day.9 In one piece from the
period, Precepts for Advancing the Sciences, he complains that those
engaged in scientific work
all run in mass after what others have already done, or else they copy them
and at the same time contend with them endlessly. What one has constructed
is straightaway reversed by another who aspires to found his reputation on
the ruins of that of the first, but his reign is no better established nor any
longer lasting. The fact is that they much more seek glory than the truth and
aim to dazzle others rather than enlighten themselves. (GP VII 158)
In order to overcome this "embarrassment," Leibniz argues, it is first
of all necessary to abandon the "sectarian spirit" and to imitate geo-
meters, "among whom there are no Euclideans or Archimedeans;
they are all for Euclid and all for Archimedes, because they are all for
the common master which is the divine truth" (GP VII 158). For this,
we need only to strip the propositions we have established of their
"vain ornaments and to state them in a clear and simple way . . . , and
then to arrange them according to the order of their dependence and
their subject matter" (GP VII 158). From this starting point, there
would gradually emerge a demonstrative encyclopedia:
Insensibly, there would be formed the elements of all the knowledge that
human beings have already acquired, which would be no less fitting for pos-
terity than those of Euclid, and would even surpass them incomparably. We
would be admired for riches that we ourselves are now unaware of, because
they are dispersed in an infinity of persons and books. We would have a
general inventory of our public treasury which would be of incomparable use
in all the needs of life, we would save ourselves from doing what has been
1O2 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
done, and instead of turning in a small field like those animals that are
attached by the feet, we will go forward and push back our frontiers. (GP VII
158)
The only hesitation Leibniz expresses concerning the possibility of
this "general inventory" of our knowledge rests on a practical prob-
lem. Because it would be difficult for any one person to execute the
complete plan, "we must believe that it will only be little by little, in
various stages or by the labor of many, that we will arrive at the
demonstrative elements of all human knowledge" (GP VII 168). In
the interim, he suggests, it will be necessary to employ a substitute for
this "great method." Rather than wait until a complete inventory of
human knowledge is achieved, we must examine each science to dis-
cover its "principles of invention, which when combined with some
higher science, or rather the general science or art of invention, can
suffice to deduce all the rest from them, or at least the most useful
truths, without needing to burden the mind with too many rules" (GP
VII 168). What Leibniz here describes as a "substitute" for the ency-
clopedia can also be seen as the true basis for its realization, for it is an
essential part of his plan for the encyclopedia that a rigorous order be
observed throughout, such that we should be led infallibly from the
first principles of any science to its most complex theorems. The
logical order that is integral to the encyclopedia indicates the critical
role of the general science, which supplies the basic rules of reasoning
for any subject matter. This is another point that Leibniz stresses in
the Precepts:
It is besides evident that even when we have achieved an entirely demonstra-

tive encyclopedia, it would be necessary to have recourse to this device [the
general science] in order to aid the memory. It is true that if this encyclopedia
were constructed such as I wish it, we could supply the means for always
finding the consequences of fundamental truths or given facts by a type of
calculus as exact and simple as that of arithmetic and algebra. (GP VII 168)
In another essay from the period, Introduction to a Secret Encyclope-
dia, Leibniz again explicitly links the encyclopedia to the general sci-
ence, calling the latter the argumentum of the former.10 He defines the
general science as "the science of what is universally thinkable insofar
as it is such" (Scientia de Cogitabili in universum quatenus tale est).l x And
this science, he continues,
includes not only what has hitherto been regarded as logic, but also the art of
invention, together with method or the means of arrangement, synthesis and
analysis, didactics or the science of teaching, Gnostologia (the so-called
Noologia), the art of memory or mneumonics, the art of characters or sym-
bols, the Art of Combinations, the Art of Subtlety, philosophical grammar; the
Art of Lull, the Kabbalah of the wise, and natural magic. Perhaps it also
includes Ontology, or the science of something and nothing, being and not
THOUGHT AND BEING IO3
being, the thing and its mode, and substance and accident. It does not make
much difference how you divide the sciences, for they are one continuous
body, like the ocean. (C 511-12/P 5-6)
In one way or another, Leibniz sees all of these disciplines, each of
which has a complex history in his own thought and in the Renais-
sance literature on method, as contributing to the general science.
Foremost among them is the "art of invention," which, along with the
"art of demonstration," he often simply identifies with the general
science.12 No less significant, however, is the "art of characters or
symbols," for in Leibniz's view it is only possible to establish rigorous
logical relations among the propositions of our knowledge when
these have been formalized in a mechanical calculus. Thus, again, he
seems prepared almost to identify his universal characteristic, or spe-
cieuse generate, with the general science itself: "This characteristic art,
whose idea I have conceived, would contain the true organon of a
general science of everything that is subject to human reasoning,
clothed in the uninterrupted demonstrations of an evident calculus"
(GP VII 205).13
The promise of the encyclopedia to offer a source of universal
knowledge rests, in Leibniz's view, on our ability to arrive at the dem-
onstrative elements of human knowledge: a set of basic concepts and
principles from which all other knowledge can be derived. In the
Introduction to a Secret Encyclopedia, he indicates two methods for estab-
lishing these elements. The first rests on the possibility, already en-
countered, of a reduction of all concepts to primitive notions. As we
have seen, the general science has for its object whatever is "univer-
sally thinkable," excluding only names which lack associated notions,
such as the scholastic nonsense word "Blitiri" (C 512/P 6). That which
is "universally thinkable," however, can be divided into the simple and
the complex. What is simple is called a "notion" or "concept"; what is
complex involves a combination of concepts related in a proposition,
that is, an affirmation or negation. Simple concepts can further be
divided into the clear and the obscure, the distinct and the confused,
the adequate and the inadequate, and the primitive and the deriva-
tive. For our present purposes, the last of these distinctions is the
most important. According to Leibniz, "a concept is primitive when it
cannot be analyzed into others; that is, when the thing has no marks,
but is its own sign" (C 513/P 7). Such a concept, he goes on to argue,
"can only be of that thing which is conceived through itself, namely,
the supreme substance or God." Hence, it follows that all concepts are
ultimately derived from primitive concepts that define the absolute
nature of God:
We can have no derivative concepts except by the aid of a primitive concept,
so that in reality nothing exists in things except through the influence of God,
104 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
and nothing is thought in the mind except through the idea of God, even
though we do not understand distinctly enough the way in which the natures
of thingsflowfrom God, nor the ideas of things from the idea of God. This
would constitute ultimate analysis, i.e. the adequate knowledge of all things
through their cause. (C 513/P 7)
Just as all perfection or reality is ultimately derived from God, whence
through limitation it determines the natures of created things, so all
ideas are ultimately derived from the "idea of God," which is to say
God's understanding of his own perfections.14
Although the divine nature is thus characterized by Leibniz as the
source of all thinkables, he is generally pessimistic that anything like
"ultimate analysis" is available to human beings: "An analysis of con-
cepts by which we are enabled to arrive at primitive notions, i.e. at
those which are conceived through themselves, does not seem to be in
the power of man" (C 514/P 8).15 It is against the background of this
constraint on the cognitive power of finite minds that we can best
appreciate the second method Leibniz pursues for arriving at the
elements of human knowledge. If it does not lie within our power to
effect an analysis of concepts all the way back to their primitive com-
ponents, we can nevertheless attempt an exhaustive survey of the
possibilities of human thought by determining the basic categories
under which all concepts must fall. Our method will begin with a
catalogue of the most general concepts or categories, each of which
will in turn be divided into subcategories, with the process of division
being repeated until we arrive at the most specific concepts. In this
way, we should eventually be able to establish the totality of all think-
ables starting from a catalogue of summa genera, which would form "a
kind of alphabet of human thoughts" (GP VII 292/P 10).16 Two
points are worth noting about this method. First, in its essentials it is
closely related to the method pursued by the Ramist and Semi-Ramist
thinkers whom Leibniz acknowledges as having exerted an important
influence on him.17 Second, within Leibniz's own thought, we can see
the method of categorical analysis as an attempt to preserve some
semblance of the idea of universal knowledge given the failure of
ultimate analysis. If, as Leibniz allows, it is impossible for human
beings to carry out an analysis of all concepts into their simplest com-
ponents — the primary attributes of God — we can nevertheless at-
tempt to survey the entire range of human cognition through the
successive division of the fundamental categories of thought.
In one piece from the period, Leibniz suggests the following cata-
logue of basic categories:
Everything which we think is for the most part contained in the following.
Generally: Reality, Variety, Consequence, Order, Change. In a middle position,
the modes of discriminating things: Quality, Quantity and Position. Specifi-
cally, the discriminations themselves: Extension, Sensible Quality, Thought.
THOUGHT AND BEING IO5
He then offers a series of further divisions of each of these primary

categories, beginning with reality:
Reality includes the possible, excluding the impossible, the positive excluding
the negative. But the positive in turn has its degrees, for if it is complete, it
constitutes a substance, if less an accident; if it is absolute, it constitutes God, if
it is limited a creature. (LH IV 7B, 3 Bl. 17 [V 323])
A list of categories very similar to this division of the category of reality
appears in Introduction to a Secret Encyclopedia:
Categories [Praedicamenta]: i.e. a catalogue of concepts set out in order, and of
conceivable things or simple terms. The concepts are: possible; being; sub-
stance; accident or adjunct; absolute substance; limited substance, or that
which can be passive; living substance, which has in itself a principle of opera-
tion, or soul; thinking substance, which acts on itself — this is also called mind.
(C514/P8)
These lists of concepts offer a good example of the direction of Leib-
niz's thinking during his early Hanover period. Through such lists, he
aims to arrive at an "alphabet of human thoughts," from which all
other thinkables can be constructed via the general science or "art of
combinations."18 The simple lists of concepts given above, however,
offer only the briefest suggestion of the contents of a series of studies
from the 1680s, in which Leibniz pursues in a more rigorous manner
the division and definition of the fundamental categories of thought.
Category Studies I: Being

The studies to which we now turn represent two main advances over
the lists of categories considered in the preceding section. First, they
make much more precise the exact sequence of conceptual divisions.
Second, they link these divisions to definitions of the relevant con-
cepts, thereby providing a clearer basis for the divisions themselves.
The definitions Leibniz offers in these studies are of considerable
philosophical interest. As we saw in the last chapter, it is his firmly
held belief that metaphysics can in principle be transformed into a
demonstrative science every bit as rigorous as Euclidean geometry;
and that to this end, what is required above all are adequate defini-
tions of philosophical terms. 19 We also saw, however, that Leibniz
frequently claims to have arrived at a good many such definitions,
although the evidence supporting this claim is scant in his more popu-
lar works. The next two sections make the case that the best places to
look for these definitions are the many category studies he composed
during the 1680s.20
In this section, I examine a series of definitions that answer to
Leibniz's division of the most general category of being or reality. In
the interest of clarity, I have organized my account around one repre-
sentative study, from which I quote at length.21 I have broken Leib-

niz's sequence of divisions down into five stages, and in my discussion
of each I frequendy refer to the corresponding stages of related studies.
Stage i: Terminus > Impossibile \ Possibile > Non Ens \ Ens

I call a term whatever is per se, or can be the subject or predicate of some
proposition, like man, chimera; particles are thus excluded. A term is either
possible or impossible. Possible is what is distinctly thinkable without contra-
diction, such as being, God, heat, nonbeing. Impossible is what is indeed thinkable
in a confused way, but if you attempt to think distinctly, you will find that the
notions from which it is composed disagree with one another or involve a
contradiction, like fastest motion, largest circle, or mind—body. A possible is either
affirmative like being or negative like nonbeing. For nonbeing certainly involves
no contradiction, and consequently belongs among the positive terms.
To begin, we must consider what exactly Leibniz's category studies
seek to establish. The highest category in his schemata is usually, as in
our example, that of term, which he defines as whatever can be the
subject or predicate of some proposition. We may assume, then, that
these studies in the first place represent divisions of terms. Leibniz
sometimes suggests that terms can be identified with names. More
frequently, however, he distinguishes names and what they are signs
of — concepts or notions — and assimilates terms to the latter.22 His
schemata thus in general define a hierarchy of concepts, or "simple
thinkables." As the highest category, term represents both the most
general concept, whose division gives rise to all the rest, and the most
general category, under which everything else in the schema falls.
This dual role, as both a category of concepts and a concept itself, is
characteristic of all the terms that mark the basic divisions in Leibniz's
schemata. Thus when term is divided into possible and impossible, we
may think of possible as both defining a category under which a large
number of other concepts fall (e.g., being, God, man) and as a concept
in its own right.
Consistent with what we saw in the last chapter, Leibniz defines the
possible as that which is distinctly thinkable without contradiction. He
thereby excludes from this category concepts such as fastest motion or
largest circle, which on the surface seem to represent coherent ideas
but on analysis are shown to involve a contradiction. Significantly, in
this particular study he does not identify the possible with the category
of being, for he claims that insofar as the concept nonbeing does not
involve a contradiction, it too belongs among the possible or "posi-
tive" terms. This assumption, however, raises an obvious difficulty,
which Leibniz seems intent on avoiding in other studies. In a slightly
later piece, he identifies nonbeing with the concept impossible, or "that
whose definition involves A non-A, or implies a contradiction" (LH IV
THOUGHT AND BEING 107
23
7B, 2 Bl. 34-5 [V 1208]). This allows him to escape the conclusion
that nonbeing can be classified as a positive term. "The positive" he
writes in this study, "is that which does not imply non-A" This is
crucial, for he goes on to say that the positive "coincides with that
which Aristotle called entelechy or act, and others perfection or real-
ity. Such notions are being, thinking, acting. Such are all the attributes
of God, none of which involves any limitation, and thus they are
capable of infinite degrees" (V 1208). By excluding nonbeing from the
category of positive terms, Leibniz avoids the unacceptable conclusion
that nonbeing is a property of God.
In his most careful development of the categories, Leibniz seems
committed to preserving the identification of possible and being; and
he relates both of these, as we have seen, to a ground in the divine
nature. Given this identification, we can from this point on regard
Leibniz's schema as having a twofold purpose. Subsequent stages in
the analysis can be understood to express both a division of concepts
and a division of types of being, that is, those real possibilities of
existence whose essences are expressed by distinctly conceivable con-
cepts.24
Stage 2: Ens > Abstractum \ Concretum
Being [ens] is either concrete or abstract. A concretum is that which at the same
time involves a subject; an abstractum is that which is otherwise. Thus, God,
man, body, circle, hour, hot, acting are concreta, which are not understood to be in
something else as though in a subject. For although the shape of a circle is in a
bronze circle as though in a subject, nevertheless a circle is not in a subject;
and acting already involves a subject, for it is a thing [res] to which action is
attributed. Divinity, magnitude, heat, state, action are abstracta.
Leibniz defines a concretum, a concrete term or being, as that "which

at the same time involves a subject." An abstractum, on the other hand,
is that which "is in" [inest] or "inheres in" another being, "as though in
a subject." These definitions are best understood in terms of what is
involved in our conception of each type of being. We conceive of a
concretum as a being that has some quality but is not itself the quality of
another being, for instance, a certain man or house. By contrast, we
conceive of an abstractum as a being whose nature is merely predica-
tive and which therefore requires another being — its subject — in
which to inhere. Leibniz sometimes says that the distinction between
concreta and abstracta cannot be accounted for without a notion of
what it is to be the same and different. If A and B are concreta, for
example, calidum and siccum, it is possible that they should be numer-
ically identical: namely, a subject that is both hot and dry. The corre-
sponding abstracta, however, calor and siccitas (heat and dryness), will
be two different beings which cannot be identified either with their

subject or with each other (LH IV 7B, 3 Bl. 17-18 [V 324]).
Stage 3: Concretum > Adjectivum \ Substantivum

A concretum is either a substantivum or an adjectivum: an adjectivum like loving; a
substantivum like lover, that is, loving thing. Thus, only a substantivum involves a
subject with a predicate; but since the former is always implied [subintelligi], it
was not necessary to distinguish substantiva and adjectiva linguistically.
The division of concreta into substantiva and adjectiva seems at first
glance to be merely one of grammar. Under the former heading
Leibniz lists terms expressed by proper and common nouns: man,
God, poet, machine; under the latter, terms expressed by adjectives: hot,
loving, large. He proceeds, however, to give a deeper explanation of
this distinction. Although substantiva straightforwardly "involve a sub-
ject with a predicate [subjectum cum praedicato]" or the notion of some-
thing of which something else is predicated, in the case of adjectiva a
subject is only implied. The result is that while a substantival term by
itself succeeds in signifying some concretum, a subject of which some-
thing else is predicated, an adjectival term does not. If something is
not added to it — if a subjectum per se is omitted, Leibniz says — it does
not "denote" an ens, but only a "mode of conceiving" (LH IV 7C
Bl. 101 [V 181]). Elsewhere, he claims that adjectiva do not make
complete sense unless supplemented by a term like subjectum, ens, or
res that explicitly introduces a subject. In the case of a substantivum, by
contrast, the addition of such a term would produce a tautology, for it
is the mark of such a term that it is already analyzable into the term
subjectum and a term expressing a quality predicated of it (LH IV 7C,
Bl. 103—4 [V 187]). Homo, for example, can be understood as subjectum
humanum; rex as subjectum regnans (SF 479).
In some works, Leibniz attempts to assign a further ontological
import to the division substantivum—adjectivum by identifying it with
the distinction between, on the one hand, substantia or res, and, on the
other, accidens or modus. A substantival term like man, which "con-
notes" its subject, is said to "express a substance," a being that sup-
ports (substat) other beings but is not itself supported. He also refers to
man as a "universal substance" signifying any singular substance of a
determinate species (LH IV 7C Bl. 107-8 [V 411]). There is reason to
be cautious in interpreting these remarks. In one of these same
pieces, Leibniz asks himself why homo should be called a substance and
calidum an accident, when nothing stops us from understanding
through calidum a particular hot substance. He concedes that the dif-
ference is not of philosophical importance (LH IV 7C Bl. 103—4 [V
187]). Overall he is anxious to offer the same account of the signifi-
THOUGHT AND BEING log
cance of substantival and adjectival concreta: for any adjectivum, he
says, there will be some "explicit or suppressed" substantival term
signifying an ens. In a "rational language," furthermore, there would
be no need to mark the distinction, since every concretum would be
represented by a combination of an adjectivum and the term ens or res
(C 289, 433; SF 479).
Stage 4: Substantivum > Attributum \ Suppositum

Substantivum > Incompletum \ Completum
A substantivum is either complete, which we call a suppositum, or incomplete,
which can be called an attribute. A complete [being] is that whose concept
involves all the predicates of the same subject; and so it is the concept of an
ultimate subject or suppositum. Thus the concept of Alexander or Bucephalus
involves everything that can be predicted of that to which the name "Alex-
ander" is attributed, for whoever knows Alexander perfectly knows his entire
nature and history. But the appellations man, king, victor do not involve every-
thing, nor consequently will they delimit one thing, such that there can be
nothing else in which the same things coincide.
In this stage of his schema, Leibniz offers two different divisions of
the category substantivum. First, he suggests that a substantivum may be
either a suppositum or an attributum; second, a substantivum may be
either a completum or an incompletum. While it may appear from the
quoted text that he means to identify the respective halves of these
two divisions, the situation is more complicated than this. Whereas all
attributa are conceived by Leibniz as incompleta, the converse does not
follow. Likewise, whereas all completa qualify as supposita, we shall see
that not all supposita qualify as completa. Of the first of these divisions,
Leibniz has relatively little to say. A suppositum is identified simply as
an ultimate subject of predication, that is, following Aristotle, that of
which other things are predicated which is not itself predicated of
anything else. An attribute is that which lacks this characteristic. With
regard to the complete-incomplete distinction, Leibniz gives a some-
what fuller explanation. A completum, he says, is "that whose concept
involves all the predicates of the same subject," that is, all the predi-
cates of the subject of which it itself is predicable. This he identifies as
the concept of an ultimate subject like Alexander, since within such a
concept is contained everything that can be predicated of that subject.
By contrast, incomplete terms like man or king, which are also truly
predicated of Alexander, do not contain everything that can be said of
Alexander. Neither, for example, contains the term student of Aristotle,
which would, on Leibniz's view, be contained within Alexander's com-
plete concept.25
With the definition of completum, we arrive at what is in effect the
end of Leibniz's division of the categories of being. Starting with the
HO FIRST PHILOSOPHY
most general category ens, we have narrowed this to the category

concretum, or that which "involves" a subject, and then to the category
substantivum, including only terms that on analysis can be shown to
contain the terms subjectum or res. Leibniz now suggests the possibility
of specifying the comprehension of a term even further, so as to
define the category completum, which will include just those terms
whose comprehension contains everything that can be predicated of
the subject of which they themselves are understood. The full signifi-
cance of this definition will become apparent in what follows. For the
moment, two points should be noted. First, Leibniz clearly arrives at
the category completum and its definition through a process of divi-
sion, starting from the most general categories of term and being.
Second, during this period, the idea of a "complete being" is integral
to his understanding of what it is to be an individual substance. As he
writes in a contemporary study, "the concept of a singular substance is
something complete, which already contains potentially whatever can
be understood of it. . . . A complete concept is the mark [nota] of a
singular substance" (LH IV 7C, Bl. 111-14 t v 41?])-
Stage 5 : Suppositum > substantia singularis \ phaenomenon reale

A suppositum is either a singular substance, which is a complete being and one
perse, like God, some mind, I; or a real phenomenon, like any body, the world, a
rainbow, a pile of stones, which is conceived by us like one complete substance,
when nevertheless a body, unless it is animated or contains within it some one
substance corresponding to a soul, which is called a substantial form or first
entelechy, is no more one substance than a pile of stones; and if, on the
contrary, there is no part of it which can be taken as one per se (if indeed a
body is actually subdivided or at least composed of things subdivided into
parts), it follows that every body will be only a real phenomenon, such as a
rainbow is.
With this final division, Leibniz affirms that something can indeed
be a suppositum without being a completum. A divisible entity, like a
body, he suggests, can be a suppositum or ultimate subject of predica-
tion, and yet not a complete being, insofar as it is not an unum per se.
In this case, it is no more than a "real phenomenon." The only cir-
cumstance under which a body can be a complete being is if it is
endowed with a substantial form or entelechy, which is both itself an
unum per se and capable of conferring this status on the matter to
which it is joined. It is evident from this that Leibniz regards the class
of concrete, substantival beings as extending beyond the class of indi-
vidual substances.26 Thus, he conceives of the possibility of particular
things, like bodies, which are apparently singular things, yet which
lack the per se unity definitive of substance. Insofar as such beings fail
on these grounds to qualify as genuine substances, they are denied
the status of complete beings. What remains unclear at this point is

the connection Leibniz sees between something's being an unum per se
and its possessing a complete concept. Are these merely coextensive
properties of substance, or do they entail one another? A further
question concerns the relationship between matter, which in itself
lacks a true unity, and substantial form. How exactly does Leibniz see
the latter as conferring the unity of substance on an extended body?
We return to these questions in Chapter 6.
Category Studies II: Order

We observed in Chapter 2 that Leibniz begins with a very general
conception of order: "Order is the relation of several things, through
which any one of them can be distinguished from any other" (BH
124). The crucial point stressed in this definition is the distinguish-
ability of ordered things: Order is that species of relation which
things bear to each other insofar as they can be distinguished one
from another. For this to be possible, we saw, there must exist an
intelligible principle or ground by which we can comprehend the
differences between them.27
Throughout his career, Leibniz concerns himself with two principal
types of order: on the one hand, the order present in an arrangement
of parts or constituents, or what he calls the order of situs; on the
other hand, the order present in a series or progression of things. His
first detailed exposition of the notion of arrangement, or situs, ap-
pears in his 1666 study On the Art of Combinations:
The whole itself (and thus number and totality) can be broken up into parts,
smaller wholes as it were. . . . And the disposition of the smallest parts, or of
the parts assumed to be smallest (that is, the unities) in relation to each other
and to the whole can itself also be varied. Such a disposition is called situs.
(AVI 1, 171/L 77)28
Leibniz regards disposition or arrangement as an essential feature of
all complex beings. "Since everything which exists or which can be
thought must be compounded of parts, either real or conceptual,"
there are two ways in which differences of kind can arise: either
through a difference of parts or through a different arrangement of
parts (A VI 1, 177/L 80). The notion of arrangement thus extends to
all spatial and quasi-spatial wholes, including those formed from con-
cepts.
An order of succession is determined by its involvement of the
notions of priority and posteriority.29 As in the case of arrangement,
Leibniz regards this type of order as universally applicable. He as-
sumes there is a natural order of ideas or concepts "common to angels
and men and to intelligences in general" (RB 276). And correspond-
ing to this order of ideas there is a natural ontological order. Most

basically, there is an order of priority that obtains among the eternal
essences of things. In addition, however, there is a natural order of
existing things, which succeed one another not only temporally but
also in a causal order that is itself determined by a priority of natures:
A "preceding instant always has the advantage of priority, not merely
in time but in nature, over following instants" (GP III 582/L 664). It is
this second conception of order - the order of priority or succession -
on which Leibniz's category studies focus.30 There are two reasons to
pay close attention to the definitions that appear in these studies.
First, they substantiate Leibniz's claim to have arrived at an adequate
definition of the concept of cause, in addition to his definition of
substance. Second, these studies introduce us to a technical notion
that will be of critical importance later in our discussion of the rela-
tionship between matter and substance.
In a piece dating from 1687, Leibniz stipulates the following series
of definitions:
[Di] If A is, then B is = A is an inferens, B is an illatum.
[D2] If A is not, then B is not = A is a conditio, B is a conditionatum.
[D3] A is prior by nature if its notion is simpler.
[D4] If A is not, then B is not, and if A is prior by nature to B = A is a
requisition, B is a requirens.31
These first four definitions are relatively straightforward. [Di] spe-
cifies the existence of A as a sufficient condition for the existence of
B.32 In this case, Leibniz designates A as an inferens, B an illatum. [D2],
his definition of conditio, specifies the existence of A as a necessary
condition for the existence of B. In [D3] we are introduced to the idea
of one thing's being "prior by nature" to another. Leibniz recognizes
this notion as raising problems for him.33 He states in [D3] that a
being is prior by nature if its notion is "simpler," or as he puts it later
in the same study, if it can be "conceived more simply" (V 1230). In
another work, he defines that to be simpler, "whose possibility can be
demonstrated more easily or whose synthesis is shorter" (LH IV 7B,
2 Bl. 36 [V 1214]). Finally, these definitions are united in a third study,
where the "prior by nature" is said to be that "whose possibility is
demonstrated more easily, or that which can be understood more
easily" (LH IV 7B, 2 Bl. 37 [V 128]). What Leibniz appears to have in
mind is a notion of the degree of complexity of a concept as measured
by the logical steps required to pass from the concept itself to a com-
plete resolution of it into its simple components. His idea is that one
being can be said to be prior by nature to another if fewer steps are
required to effect a complete decomposition of its concept. In special
cases, this condition is satisfied if the demonstration of the possibility
of one concept is effected through a demonstration of the possibility

of another (LH IV 7B, 2 Bl. 36 [V 1214]).34
If the existence of being A is a necessary condition for the existence
of being B, and if A is prior by nature to B, then A is said to be a
requisition of B. This definition marks one of the most important
concepts in Leibniz's metaphysics. In a 1685 study, he distinguishes
two basic types of requisita: "Some requisita of things are mediate,
which must be investigated through reasoning like causes; others are
immediate like parts, limits and generally those things which are in
[insunt] a thing" (SF 481). In Leibniz's view, something is an "immedi-
ate requisite" if it is directly presupposed by the nature of another
being, such that the latter cannot be conceived without the former.
This type of relation holds between a concept and its conceptual
components, a whole and its parts, a line and its endpoints, and, as we
shall see, a body and its constituent substances. Significantly, Leibniz
contends that the cause of a thing is not an immediate requisite of it,
or something that depends solely on its nature. Instead, the cause-
effect relation is necessarily relative to a "mode of existing or produc-
ing" that must be "investigated through reasoning." This leads us to
the next sequence of definitions:
[D5] A producens is an inferens that is prior by nature, or at least what
is in itself an inferens (i.e., if nothing impedes it) prior by nature.
[D6] A relevans is what renders a relevatum easier, or that which is a
requisite on a certain hypothesis or according to certain circum-
stances and a certain mode of existing or producing.
[D7] A conferens is a producens of a relevans.
[D8] A cause is a conferens with outcome [cum successu], i.e., the pro-
ducens of a requisite, on the hypothesis or according to the mode
of existing by which a thing in fact exists.
This second set of definitions is considerably more complex than
the first. [D5] clearly stands to [Di] in the same relation as [D4] stands
to [D2]: a producens, according to Leibniz, is an inferens that is also
prior by nature. [D6] next defines an example of a requisitum medi-
atum: a relevans, which is a requisitum "on a certain hypothesis or ac-
cording to certain circumstances and a certain mode of existing or
producing." With this last proviso, Leibniz takes note of the fact that,
within the contingent order of nature, one thing existing in a particu-
lar state is generally not a necessary condition per se for the existence
of another thing, but only a necessary condition "on a certain hypoth-
esis." If one intends to heat a room with a wood fire, the dryness of
the wood is necessary for the production of the heat. It is not abso-
lutely necessary for the heat, but only "according to certain circum-
stances and a certain mode of existing and producing." Under these
conditions, the dry ness of the wood makes the production of the heat
"easier."
The biggest puzzle about this sequence of definitions is [D7] and
[D8]. In another study, Leibniz substitutes for these two definitions,
the following:
[D7'] A confevens is a requisitum according to some mode by which a

thing could be produced.
[D8'] A cause is a requisitum according to that mode by which a thing
has been produced. I prefer to call it an efficens (SF 483).
[D7'] has essentially the same content as [D6], Leibniz's definition of
relevant. A conferens is thus conceived as a necessary condition for the
existence of a thing according to some mode by which it could be
produced. As in the case of relevans, this definition acknowledges that
the necessity of a factor which contributes (confert) to the bringing
about of a certain effect is relative to a certain mode of production.
[D8'] then defines a cause as a special case of a conferens, namely, a
necessary condition according to the mode by which a thing has in
fact come into existence.35 Now why, we must ask, did Leibniz feel
compelled to replace these relatively simple definitions with the more
complex ones that appear in [D7] and [D8]?
In yet another piece from the same period, he offers an argument
that can be read as defending these more complicated definitions.36
Whatever "contributes to something [conferens ad aliquid]" he says, "is
the producens of a requisitum.'" Hence:
We say that a teacher contributes to the fact that human beings are happy,
since he produces something that is necessary, namely knowledge from one
experienced in some of the things necessary for happiness. However, the
contributing [conferens] itself is not immediately a requisitum. For, to stay with
the same example, we can learn the same things even without a teacher. (LH
IV 7 B, 3 Bl. 17-8 [V 326-7])
As Leibniz sees it, [D7'] and [D8'] fail to articulate an adequate defini-
tion of "cause," since in limiting a cause to a type of necessary condi-
tion, they rule out those things, such as the teacher's instruction,
which may in fact be effective in bringing about a certain outcome but
are not necessary for it. For this reason, he prefers to define a confer-
ens, or contributing factor, more broadly as that which is sufficient for
a requisitum (or necessary condition) under a certain set of circum-
stances, and a causa as a conferens, which contributes to an effect that
in fact occurs. So defined, the notion of cause remains weaker than
that of a producens per se. The latter is identified with a "full cause," or
a producens that "involves all the requisita that are sufficient" (V 328; cf.
V 1303). At the same time, Leibniz says, we may also regard as a cause
a producens which does not absolutely bring about an effect, but does so only
under some hypothesis, especially if this hypothesis is only negative, i.e., if
nothing impedes it. Thus, whoever impels is the cause of impelled motion, if
nothing resists. For he acts in such a way that from this an effect follows,
if nothing prevents it. But if, in this case, the outcome is in fact the effect, it is
necessary also that nothing should have prevented it, and thus that the out-
come would have been the effect. . . . From this it is clear that every producens
is a cause, but that not every cause merits being called a producens, as for
example, an instrument, an aid, an occasion, and similar things. If we observe
common usage, a cause is that which contributes [confert] much. (V 327)37
According to Leibniz, a cause is a factor that contributes significantly
to an actual effect by being a sufficient condition for something that
is, under a certain hypothesis, a necessary condition for the occur-
rence of the effect.38 Implicit in this definition is a recognition of the
counterfactual character of causal relations. Thus, he suggests in the
above passage, if X is a cause of some Y that in fact occurs, it must also
be true that given X and any other requisites, Y would occur provided
that nothing prevented it. That is, Y succeeds X not merely acciden-
tally but through some contribution that X makes to its existence.
The evidence presented in the last two sections lends considerable
weight to the conception of metaphysics ascribed to Leibniz in Chap-
ter 4. As he himself notes, his theorizing is to a large extent driven by
the search for definitions, which in turn provide the means for ren-
dering metaphysics as rigorously demonstrative as Euclidean geome-
try. In his pursuit of these definitions, Leibniz adheres to a consistent
method. Starting from definitions of the most general terms (e.g., ens,
conditio), he proceeds step by step, via the principle of division, to
definitions of more specific terms (e.g., completion, causa). The studies
we have been examining are no more than Leibniz's working notes. As
a result, we find in them many loose ends, many hesitations, even
many inconsistencies. For all of this, I would argue that they offer
unrivaled entry into one of the deepest currents of his thought.
Leibniz's Nominalism
The topic of Leibniz's nominalism has received considerable attention
in the philosophical literature. While all parties seem to accept that
Leibniz was some sort of nominalist, there remains substantial dis-
agreement about the precise set of ontological commitments that war-
rant ascribing this label to him. At the focus of much recent discussion
has been the status of the divine ideas in which Leibniz claims to
ground the reality of essences and eternal truths. Mates (1980, 1986),
and following him Jolley (1990), have made the case that Leibniz
should be understood as a strict nominalist who denies the reality of
all abstract entities, including those resident in the divine understand-
Il6 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
ing. According to Mates, when Leibniz "tells us that possible worlds,

concepts, and propositions exist only in 'the region of ideas' or in 'the
mind of God,' what he intends is . . . that statements purporting to be
about these kinds of entities are only compendia loquendi for statements
about God's capacities, intentions, and decrees."39 Against this inter-
pretation, other authors have presented strong arguments for taking
Leibniz at face value when he says that essences and eternal truths
"exist (if I may put it so) in a certain region of ideas, namely, in God
himself, the source of all essence" (GP VII 305). They have main-
tained, contrary to Mates, that Leibniz's doctrine of divine ideas falls
squarely within the Augustinian tradition, and that consequently di-
vine ideas cannot be reduced to mere dispositions or capacities.40
I do not propose to undertake here a full examination of Leibniz's
nominalism. We have already seen that on the issue of divine ideas
Leibniz asserts his allegiance to a broadly Neoplatonic position and
ascribes a similar position to Augustine and Malebranche.41 There is
no question that he regards essences and eternal truths as possessing
a type of reality as ideas of the divine understanding. In this respect,
they are to be contrasted with impossible terms, such as fastest motion
or largest circle, which indicate a (confused) human concept for which
there is no corresponding being or essence and hence no divine
idea.42 Admitting this much may suggest to some that Leibniz is bet-
ter described as a "conceptualist" regarding possibility and concepts,
rather than a "nominalist." If so, fine. On the other hand, a case can
be made for preserving the label "nominalist" as a way of indicating
Leibniz's unequivocal opposition to the actuality or created existence
of all types of abstract being. What this indicates, I believe, is that the
issue of the reality of divine ideas has been something of a red her-
ring. Leibniz's nominalism, insofar as he is a nominalist, rests squarely
on the division he draws between concrete and abstract beings and
their respective claims to exist within the created world.43
In Leibniz's view, the division between concreta and abstracta repre-
sents a distinction in thought that is not reflected in reality. Although
various distinctions can be drawn within the category of concreta cor-
responding to the different modes of existence of concrete beings,
Leibniz is adamant that no abstractafindtheir way into the domain of
existing things; they are without exception merely ideas or "beings of
reason" (entia rationis). Because of this, abstracta such as heat, humanity,
or magnitude would have no place in a "rational language" or universal
characteristic.44. At best these terms duplicate distinctions that are
expressible through concrete terms; at worst they are the sources of
irresolvable philosophical controversy:
[I]t is abstractions which give rise to the greatest difficulties when we try to
scrutinize them, as those who are informed of the subtleties of the Scholastics
know, the thorniest of which disappear at once if we agree to banish abstract

beings and resolve to speak ordinarily only in terms of concrete beings, admit-
ting no other terms in scientific demonstrations than those which represent
substantial subjects. (NE II, xxiii, 1; RB 217)
As one example of the "subtleties" of the scholastics, Leibniz cites the

propensity of abstracta to proliferate in infinitum, creating the impres-
sion of levels upon levels of abstract being.45 Although he thus ap-
peals to considerations of ontological parsimony in denying that ab-
stracta signify actual or existing things, his principal objection is
directed at the very notion of an "abstract being." Such a being, he
argues, is simply not a candidate for an independent existence: "Al-
though a proposition can be formed from humanity just as if it sub-
sisted per se, as when I say 'humanity is less than divinity,' it nonethe-
less requires in truth some suppositum in which to subsist" (LH IV 7B,
3 Bl. 21 [V 338—9]). For Leibniz, it is a basic article of faith that
abstracta — beings which by definition exist "in" another being, as
though in a subject — possess no ontological standing in their own
right. Such beings can only arise as abstractions from concreta.46
Leibniz's commitment to this species of nominalism has important
repercussions for his understanding of predication. In discussing the
conditions for the truth of a predicative proposition, he frequently
refers to the scholastic dictum praedicatum inest subjecto. It is natural to
read this statement as making a claim about the circumstances which
ground a proposition's truth. There is, however, more than one way
of interpreting it. On one reading, the dictum can be understood as
asserting a relation of "inherence" or "inexistence" that holds be-
tween two different beings. Thus, to say truly that Socrates is hot or
that Socrates is a man is to say that a separable being - the quality of
heat or of humanity - inheres in Socrates, as though in a subject. On
this understanding of predication, an important role is assigned to
abstract beings: Their instances represent the accidents that inhere in
another being and thereby endow it with its distinctive qualities.
In a 1688 essay, De accidentibus, Leibniz makes clear his opposition
to any theory of this sort.47 "It is worth considering," he begins,
"whether accidents have something other than modal reality and in
what it consists. And if in fact we suppose real accidents, either their
reality is a part of the reality of a substance or it adds a new reality to a
substance." His argument, in brief, is that neither option is coherent,
since any change in the reality of a substance, what he takes to be a
necessary consequence of its accidents contributing to that reality,
makes it that that substance ceases to exist. Although this argument
strictly tells only against real accidents, Leibniz moves from it to reject
the reality of predicative beings in general. Although humanity is
both a persisting and an essential quality of any human being, he
Il8 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
denies that a substance's having it will involve its inherence in that

substance. Thus he adopts a version of nominalism that restricts real-
ity to substantial beings (i.e., substantiva) that are not themselves predi-
cated of other beings:
Up to now I see no way of avoiding these difficulties than by considering
abstracta not as real things but as compendia loquendi. . . and to that extent I am
a nominalist, at least provisionally. I would say therefore that a substance is
changed or that its attributes are different at different times, for this supports
no uncertainty: but it is not necessary to consider whether there are various
realities in a substance that are the foundations of its various predicates, and
indeed if the matter is raised adjudication is difficult. It suffices to posit only
simple substances as real things and to assert truths about these. (G 547)48
Given that the basis of a true predication cannot lie in the inherence
of a distinct being in a subject, Leibniz infers that, properly under-
stood, predication consists solely in the stating of truths about things,
not in the assertion of a special sort of relation between things. Acci-
dents conceived as being "in" a subject are in reality only states or
modifications of a substance, not distinct separable beings.49
At this point we encounter an important connection between Leib-
niz's nominalism and the doctrine of divine ideas. Although Leibniz
accepts the title "nominalist" as descriptive of his attitude toward the
existence of abstracta, he strongly objects to the position, which he
associates with Hobbes, that truth depends solely on the relations of
signs.50 Consequently, while he rejects an explanation of true predica-
tion in terms of the inherence of real accidents in a subject, he nev-
ertheless continues to maintain that there must be some ground in
reality for the truth of any proposition. As noted in the last chapter,
this ground is supplied by the distinctive twist he gives to the prae-
dicatum inest subjecto principle. In contrast to the doctrine that a thing's
having such-and-such a quality requires the inherence in it of some
real accident, Leibniz argues that the reason for a true predication, its
"basis in the nature of things," rests on the relation between the per-
fect notions of subject and predicate present in the divine under-
standing. A proposition is true just in case the concept of its predicate
is contained in the concept of its subject, and this not only in the case
of human concepts but also in the case of the divine ideas that ground
possibility and truth. Now, it is essential to recognize that this ap-
proach is consistent with, and supportive of, the nominalist strategy
suggested in De accidentibus. In relocating the metaphysical ground of
predication from things in the created world to the perfect notions or
essences of things resident in the intellect of God, Leibniz undercuts
the principal reason for supposing the existence of predicative beings
in the first place. If this is right, then supporters of the interpretation
of Leibniz as a strict nominalist intent on denying the reality of divine
THOUGHT AND BEING 1 1O,
ideas have missed a critical aspect of his position. As Leibniz sees it,
the assertion of the reality of divine ideas is in fact the only way to
uphold a nominalist ontology, while at the same time preserving an
objective ground for possibility and truth. 51
Substance in the Category Studies and

in the Discourse on Metaphysics
Leibniz's category studies emphasize two main features of substance:
its completeness and its per se unity. In this final section, we look at
the first of these features in more detail, in the hope of establishing a
clearer connection between the category studies and Leibniz's seminal
Discourse on Metaphysics.
The doctrine that substances are by nature "complete beings" is of
paramount importance to Leibniz's philosophy during his early
Hanover period. Signs of the doctrine of completeness are discernible
in his writings of the late 1670s. What we find there, however, are only
rudimentary versions of the view he elaborates during the 1680s.
Until this time he remains limited to expressing himself in very gener-
al terms: a "complete being," or substance, is one which contains
"everything" (A VI 3, 400), or the "entire nature of things" (totam
rerum naturam) (G 540). In the early 1680s, a shift in Leibniz's usage
of this phrase is evident. It now appears almost exclusively in the
context of defining, in a logically rigorous way, a special type of con-
cept, or the being expressed by such a concept.52
The best-known instance of this definition appears in §8 of the
Discourse on Metaphysics:
[T]he nature of an individual substance or of a complete being [un estre
complet] is to have a notion so complete [si accomplie] that it is sufficient to
contain and to allow us to deduce from it all the predicates of the subject to
which this notion is attributed. (Le 36/AG 41)
There is no doubt that Leibniz regarded this as an instructive way of
characterizing an individual substance, for statements like it occur
repeatedly in works leading up to the Discourse, as well as in later
writings.53 Our question is why he opts for this particular definition.
Why does Leibniz see possession of a complete concept as both a
necessary and a sufficient condition for something's being a sub-
stance?
Received wisdom on this question has held, following hints from
Leibniz, that this definition can be read as an immediate consequence
of his theory of truth. 54 It is fairly easy to see, however, that this
explanation is inadequate as it stands. While a simple argument sup-
ports the complete concept requirement as a necessary condition for
12O FIRST PHILOSOPHY
something's being an individual substance, the same argument works

against the idea that it is also a sufficient condition. Consider any
individual substance A, and all the propositions that are true of A and
have the form "A is F." According to Leibniz, the truth of each propo-
sition rests on the inclusion of the concept of its predicate term in the
concept of its subject term, that is, in the concept of A. Thus the
concept of A must be complete in the sense that it includes concepts of
all the true predicates of A. The problem with this argument, how-
ever, is that it delivers too much. If it is meant to turn solely on
Leibniz's explanation of truth, then there is no reason why it should
not be applied to propositions whose subject terms designate species
rather than individuals. A human being is rational, sensate, two-
legged, and so on. Therefore we may reason that the concept human
being must include the concepts of all and only those predicates which
are attributed truly to human beings, and infer that human being is in
this sense complete. But if we accept this conclusion, then possession
of a complete concept will not be a sufficient condition for some-
thing's being an individual substance.
In one passage from a letter to Arnauld, Leibniz appears to confirm
this result, suggesting that a complete concept is not a distinguishing
mark of an individual substance:
Can it be denied that everything (whether genus, species or individual) has a
complete [accomplie] notion, according to which it is conceived by God, who
conceives of everything perfectly, i.e., a notion containing or comprehending
all that can be said about the thing? (GP II 131)
In the face of this passage, we must say one of two things: Either
Leibniz cannot claim possession of a complete concept as a sufficient
condition for something's being an individual substance or he em-
ploys two different senses of "complete," one of which is applicable to
the concept of any being, the other, exclusively to that of an individual
substance. The balance of evidence supports the latter alternative.55
Not only are there a number of texts that clearly limit possession of a
complete concept to individual substances,56 but in a note appended
to another of his letters to Arnauld, Leibniz distinguishes a complete
concept (notio completa), which he describes as containing all the predi-
cates of a subject, from a full concept [notio plena], which "compre-
hends all the predicates of a thing [res]" (GP II 49). It is reasonable to
identify what he here calls a "full concept" with what is demanded of
the subject term of any true proposition by his theory of truth. Thus,
there are grounds for thinking that we may reserve the expression
"complete concept" for the notion of an individual substance. But if
this is so, and Leibniz's original definition can be rescued, then it
cannot be viewed as a simple consequence of his theory of truth.
A more complex explanation of Leibniz's complete concept doc-

trine is evidently needed. Part of what such an explanation must
account for is why Leibniz chooses to define the notion of an individu-
al substance via the definition of a special type of concept. The basis
for an answer to this question has already been given. We know that
during this period, just before the composition of the Discourse, Leib-
niz was preoccupied with the classification and definition of the dif-
ferent types of being, or ens, and that he defines an ens as whatever is
understood through a distinctly conceivable concept. There is thus a
good reason why he opts for this sort of definition. Beyond this is the
issue of why Leibniz elects to define an individual substance through
the device of a complete concept. It is clear from DM §8 that he see a
close connection between this idea and substance's claim to be an
ultimate subject of predication. Thus, while the section begins with
the theological problem - raised to new prominence by Leibniz's con-
frontation with the occasionalism of Malebranche - of distinguishing
between the actions of God and those of creatures, he immediately
moves to an interpretation of the scholastic thesis actiones sunt supposi-
torum, which requires explaining the precise sense in which an indi-
vidual substance is the subject of which actions are predicated. It is
the move from this conception of substance as a suppositum of actions
to its definition as a "complete being" which needs to be accounted
for. As we have seen, this move cannot be explained by an appeal to
Leibniz's theory of truth alone. In what follows, I sketch a more prom-
ising interpretation of his position, which stresses the relationship
between his definition of a complete concept and his nominalism.57
Leibniz's initial characterization of individual substance in DM §8 as
an "ultimate subject of predication" is drawn from Aristotle's Catego-
ries: "When several predicates are attributed to a single subject and
this subject is attributed to no other, it is called an individual sub-
stance" (Le 35/AG 40-1). 58 Leibniz allows that this statement is true
but claims that it does not go far enough, since it offers only a "nomi-
nal" explanation of substance. As we saw in the last chapter, "nomi-
nal" is an expression he uses elsewhere to refer to a definition that
fails to supply a proof of the possibility of something — what is pro-
vided by a "real" definition. In DM §8 he makes no explicit appeal to
his theory of definition; nevertheless, there is an obvious connection
between it and the issue at hand. The link is his assumption that the
essence of any being is defined through God's perfect understanding
of it, that is, through a concept that includes all that is true of that
being. Leibniz's criticism of this initial attempt at a definition of sub-
stance suggests that what it fails to provide is an understanding of
what it is to be an ens capable of serving as an ultimate subject of
predication. This "nominal" account of substance is insufficient be-
cause it invokes no more than the bare notion of a subject of which all
other things are predicated.
Leibniz clearly sees an important connection between the insuffi-
ciency of this definition and an explanation of true predication, for
he immediately goes on in DM §8 to give his own interpretation of the
praedicatum inest subjecto principle:
[I]t is evident that all true predication has some basis in the nature of things
and that, when a proposition is not an identity, that is, when the predicate is
not explicitly contained in the subject, it must be contained in it virtually. That
is what philosophers call in-esse, when they say that the predicate is in the
subject. Thus the subject term must always contain the predicate term, so that
one who understands perfectly the notion of the subject would also know that
the predicate belongs to it. (GP IV 433/AG 41)
In order to appreciate the link Leibniz establishes between this ac-
count of true predication and his complete concept theory, we must
return to our earlier discussion of his nominalism. We shall recall that
Leibniz's nominalism is chiefly defined by its exclusion of all terms
save those that are concrete or that involve a subjectum cum praedicato.
In conceiving of a concretum, we necessarily conceive of a subject of
which something else is predicated. Thus, the concrete term equus
expresses the idea of a subjectum equinum: a subject, or particular, of
which the concept horse is understood. 59 Now, granting Leibniz's lim-
itation of significant terms to concrete terms, we may assume that any
predicative proposition of the form "A is B" has a complex sense. If
our grasp of any concrete term involves the supposition of a subject of
which it, qua predicate, is true, then the predicative relation of any
two concrete terms can be expressed as a conditional: "If X is A, then
X is B," where the expression X designates the common subjectum of
the two terms and plays a role not unlike that of a free variable in
modern logic. In general, a predicative proposition involving con-
crete terms asserts that whatever we understand of a thing through
the proposition's subject term entails, or includes, whatever we under-
stand of the same thing through the predicate term. Thus, equus est
animal asserts that whatever is understood as a horse must also be
understood as an animal.60
According to this interpretation, the significance of true predica-
tion is that it provides an explanation of a subject's having some
quality in terms of its having some larger set of qualities that includes
the first. Thus X is a living thing, because X is an animal; X is an
animal, because X is a human being; X is a human being, because X is
a king; and so on. That there should simply be an indefinite extension
of such a series of reasons is perhaps not inconceivable; nevertheless,
it fails to accord with Leibniz's view that in every such series a limit will
be reached at which point nothing further can be consistently added
to the concept of a subject. The limit of such a series - a complete or

maximally consistent term — defines the concept of a substance qua
ultimate subject of predication. The import of this definition should
be clear. A concrete term is necessarily understood of some subject. It
involves the predication of a subject and it stands in logical relations
to other terms that are understood of the same subject. For the most
part, terms that are understood of a subject will not provide a ground
for every other term that can be understood of the same subject (i.e.,
every partially coextensive term). They cannot therefore express the
notion of an ultimate subject of predication, for that must provide a
reason for everything that is understood of whatever it is understood
of, and thus serve as the limit of a series of predications of the sort
described above. By definition, this is exactly what is expressed by a
complete term or concept.
We can now better understand the advantage Leibniz ascribes to his
own definition of substance as against Aristotle's Categories account. In
characterizing a substance as an ultimate subject of predication, we
refer to an essential feature of all substances, but we do not explain
what it is to be an individual substance. To define the being that is
specifically that of a substance, it is necessary to define the type of
concept through which the essence of a substance is adequately con-
ceived. Drawing on Aristotle's account and on his own analysis of true
predication, Leibniz argues that this will have to be a "complete con-
cept," or a concept that includes everything that can be predicated of
the same subject. An explanation of individual substance in terms of
its possession of a complete concept is thus privileged for Leibniz, for
only this type of concept supplies the real definition of a substance, or
an expression of its essence as this is understood by God.61
I have claimed that the account of individual substance that appears
in DM §8 can be seen as the culmination of several years of effort on
Leibniz's part to arrive at a satisfactory understanding of what is dis-
tinctive about substantial being. The studies investigated earlier in
this chapter have already provided support for this claim. It will be
valuable, however, to look briefly at one further piece, the Notationes
Generates (ca. 1683-6), in which we can observe Leibniz refining the
strategy just outlined.62 He begins the Notationes with a series of defi-
nitions. A simple proposition is true, he writes,
if the predicate is contained in the subject, i.e., if when the terms A and B are
resolved it appears that the content or concept of the predicate is contained in
the concept of the subject. For this reason also Aristotle was accustomed to say
that the predicate is in the subject. (SF 474)
He then goes on to articulate the relationship between this definition
and that of a "complete term":
If the same thing is B and also C and D, etc., because it is A; or if a term A
involves all the terms B, C, D, etc., which can be said of the same thing, the
term A expresses a singular substance itself, or the concept of a singular sub-
stance is a complete term containing everything which can be said of it.
(SF 475)
Finally, having affirmed that a complete term affords us the concept
of a singular substance, Leibniz illustrates this with an example much
like one that appears in DM §8:
Thus if anyone is strong, and quick-tempered, and learned, and a king, and
leader of an army, and victor at the Battle of Arbela, and all the other things
which are said of Alexander the Great — God, at any rate, considering the
singular essence of Alexander the Great, will see it as a complete concept in
which all these things are contained virtually, or from which they all follow.
King cannot be inferred from strong, nor victor from leader, but from the
concept of Alexander are inferred strong, king, leader and victor. And that
there is such a concept is obvious from the definition of a true proposition
explained a little earlier. For when we say that Alexander is strong, we mean
nothing else than that strong is contained within the notion of Alexander, and
likewise for the rest of Alexander's predicates. (SF 475—6)
In the Notationes Generates, a piece that may predate the Discourse on
Metaphysics by several years, we find the outlines of Leibniz's analysis
of individual substance in an essentially finished form. The connec-
tion between his concept containment theory of truth and the com-
plete concept of an individual substance is explicitly developed. As we
saw earlier, it is a necessary consequence of the former that for any
substance there is a concept (known to God) that contains everything
predicable of it. Something more, however, is required to support the
claim that possession of a complete concept is a sufficient condition
for something's being an individual substance. This, I have suggested,
is Leibniz's nominalism. Acknowledging this background, we can
specify an individual substance as that type of concrete being which is
by nature capable of serving as an ultimate subject of predication. For
Leibniz, this is just to say that substance is a being whose essence is
expressed by a complete concept.
Notes
The philosophers in question include Johann Heinrich Alsted (1588—
1638), Johann Bisterfeld (1605—55), Clemens Timpler (1563/4—1624),
and Bartholomew Keckermann (1572/3—1609). For accounts of their
views, see Petersen 1921, Ong 1958a, Gilbert i960. Ong characterizes
Alsted and Keckermann as semi-Ramists or "Mixts," who "were followers
in part of Ramus and in part of Aristotle or (in dialectic and rhetoric) of
Philip Melanchthon" (299), and describes Bisterfeld as "in many ways . . .
the Ramist to end all Ramists" (265). Timpler he identifies as having
"some Ramist affinities" (1958b, 512, 531). A crucial point distinguishing
Ramists and Aristotelians concerns the role of first principles in scientific
knowledge. According to Ramists, the proper method for the organiza-
tion of any body of knowledge is a table of divisions (i.e., a division of the
subject matter from the most general to the most specific) rather than
demonstration from first principles. As Ong comments, Ramists believed
that a "convincing 'methodical' framework was at hand which made first
principles in the strict Aristotelian sense superfluous. Insofar as it can be
defined, divided, and at least in the visual imagination spitted on a set of
dichotomies, any 'matter' at all can be given a 'scientific' treatment by
having its terms 'clearly' (that is, diagrammatically) related to one anoth-
er" (1958a, 300). For Leibniz's reaction to this method, see note 17.
2. "A snowy week in the Harz" refers to the circumstances of the composi-
tion of the Discourse on Metaphysics (see Sleigh 1990, 1). Something like the
latter view is suggested by Rescher, who writes that "for the long interval
1675—1685 Leibniz devoted himself mainly to his official duties and to
mathematics, logic, and physics. His ideas in metaphysics lay fallow, apart
from his continued intensive assimilation of ideas. . . . During the winter
of 1685—1686 he returned to philosophy and, in a concentrated period of
thought, worked out the details of his philosophical system" (1979, 7).
Sleigh, on the other hand, opts for the former approach, and, although
he does not himself pursue it, he endorses the need for a study of one of
the main themes of this chapter: "[T]here are motivations for Leibniz's
metaphysical doctrines operating in our period [1686—7] tnat a r e broadly
logical in character and that have not received the attention they deserve,
here or elsewhere. What I have in mind is Leibniz's effort to distinguish
abstract entities from concrete individuals, and, within the class of con-
crete individuals, substances from nonsubstances" (1990, 186).
3. This is not to say that Leibniz gives up on any of them; new correspon-
dents, in particular, are often treated to expositions of them. See, e.g., his
late letters to Remond (GP III 605/L 654) and Biber (BB 15-16). What it
does imply is that after his first decade in Hanover, Leibniz came to
realize that for both theoretical and practical reasons the execution of
these projects would be far more difficult than he had originally imag-
ined.
4. On the relation of Leibniz to Comenius, see Meyer (1952, 65), who cites
the importance for him of Comenius's Prodromus pansophiae (1639). In a
1671 letter, Leibniz praises Comenius's Janua linguarum (1628); an accom-
panying poem mourns Comenius's recent death (A VI 1, 199—201).
5. Leibniz acknowledges the debt his combinatorial scheme owes to the Lull-
ist movement; however, he criticizes Lull and Lullists for their arbitrary
choice of primitive terms and their inattention to the topic of definition.
Cf. GP VII 293/L 229—30; GP III 619—20/L 657. For discussions of the
Lullist background to Leibniz's thought, see Couturat 1901, chap. 2;
C. Wilson 1989, chap. 1.
6. Nevertheless, traces of its main theme persist in chemical theory and even
in elementary particle physics, the important idea being that if we arrive
at the absolutely primitive terms of a theory, everything else can be de-
rived through combinations of them.
7. The best survey of these projects remains Couturat 1901, chaps. 3-5. For
an account of the development of the universal characteristic, see Ruther-
ford 1995a. During the 1670s and 1680s, Leibniz pursued these topics in
a large and varied array of writings. In form, they range from polished
essays and memoranda to fragmentary working notes. In content, they
cover the entire breadth of his interests in definition, classification, meth-

od and symbolism, different pieces combining these subjects in different
ways. Many of the relevant texts are collected in C and SF. Others will
appear with the publication of Series 6, Volume 4 of the Akademie edition,
a version of which has been made available to scholars in the so-called
Vorausedition (V).
8. Leibniz makes it clear that an important part of the encyclopedia would
consist of a deductive arrangement of the truths of metaphysics - the
demonstrative science outlined in the last chapter. See Couturat 1901,
161-75.
9. The impetus for this project thus derives from the virtue of piety, which
demands that we work to further the enlightenment of our fellow ratio-
nal creatures. Cf. Memoir for Enlightened Persons of Good Intention, §§13—20
(K 11—15/R 106-8). Leibniz was primarily inspired in this endeavor by
the encyclopedic works of J. H. Alsted (Couturat 1901, 125-6, 570—1).
From the early 1670s, there remains a brief plan for correcting and
completing Alsted's four-volume Cursus philosophici Encyclopedia (1620). In
the 1680s, Leibniz also composed two longer commentaries on Alsted's
1630 Encyclopedia septem tomis distincta (LH IV 7C Bl. 11-12 [V 1266—75];
LH IV 7C Bl. 13-16 [V 1276-90]). (Couturat [1901, 126, n. 2] errs in
suggesting that the latter notes pertain to Alsted's 1620 Cursus and that
they were written before Leibniz's return to Hanover.) Leibniz's general
view of Alsted's efforts is made clear in an essay from May 1681: "the
most industrious Joh. Henr. Alsted, whose encyclopedia certainly seems
to me praiseworthy by the standards of those times" (GP VII 67). He adds
the latter proviso since the greatest problem he sees with Alsted's work is
its silence regarding the scientific discoveries made in the intervening half
century. The same criticism is voiced in a 1716 letter to Lange, where he
says of Alsted's encyclopedia that it "must now be completely rees-
tablished, on account of the innumerable things of the greatest impor-
tance which have happened since his time" (D V 404).
10. C 511 —15/P 5-9. Its complete title reads: "Introduction to a Secret Ency-
clopedia; or, foundations and specimens of the General Science, of the
renewal and increase of the sciences, of the perfection of the mind, and
of discoveries, for the public happiness." Muller and Kronert date this
piece from late 1679 (1969> 58). On the basis of watermark evidence, the
editors of the Vorausedition place it between July 1683 and March 1686 (V
869), although they also note a date of 1678.
11. A little later he writes that the "object of this science is what is universally
thinkable insofar as it is such through our mode of considering it," and
adds in a note: "We conceive many things, not as they are in themselves,
but according to the way in which they are conceived by us and affect us"
(C512/P6).
12. In another fragment, he writes: "I understand the general science to be
that which teaches all the other sciences the means [modum] of invention
and demonstration from sufficient givens" (GP VII 60).
13. Leibniz claims that upon its completion the encyclopedia would also nec-
essarily contain the universal characteristic: "The characteristic that I
have in mind demands only a type of new encyclopedia. The encyclope-
dia is a body [corps] in which all the most important human knowledge is
arranged in order. If this encyclopedia were made according to the order
I envisage, the characteristic would be, as it were, completely constructed;
however, those who worked on it would not know the design, believing
themselves to be working only on an encyclopedia" (GP VII 40).
14. Cf. C 429—30/P 2; and A Specimen of Discoveries: "[T]he necessary being
. . . is in all things potentially, since it is the ultimate reason of things,
insofar as they contain realities or perfections. And since the full reason
for a thing is the aggregate of all primitive requisites (which do not need
other requisites) it is evident that the causes of all things can be reduced
to the attributes of God" (GP VII 310/P 77). Concerning the derivation of
the perfection of finite things from God, see Chapter 2.
15. Cf. C431/P3.
16. Cf. C 220-1: "Of the alphabet of human thoughts, or those concepts
primitive with respect to us (although perhaps they are not absolutely
primitive), from which all the others are composed."
17. This influence is evident both from the internal evidence of his writings
and from his own statements: "But as soon as I began to learn logic, I was
greatly stirred by the classification and order which I perceived in its
principles. . . . My greatest pleasure lay in the categories, which seemed
to me to be a standard roll of everything in the world, and I examined
many logics to see where the best and most exhaustive lists could be
found. I often asked myself and my companions into which category and
subdivision of it this or that concept might belong, although I was not at
all pleased to find that so many things were entirely excluded. . . . I soon
made the amusing discovery of a method of guessing or of recalling to
mind, by means of the categories, something forgotten when one has a
picture of it but cannot get at it in his brain. One needs only to ask one's
self or others about certain categories and their subdivisions (of which I
had compiled an extensive table out of various logics) and examine the
answer, and one can readily exclude all irrelevant matters and narrow the
problem down until the missing thing can be discovered. . . . In such
tabulations of knowledge I attained practice in division and subdivision as
a basis of order and a bond of thoughts. Here the Ramists and Semi-
Ramists were heavily drawn upon." Letter to Gabriel Wagner, 1696 (GP
VII 516— 17/L 463—4). In later writings, Leibniz expresses reservations
about what he calls the "recitatorial" method of the Ramists, which he
opposes to the demonstrative or "scientific" method employed by geome-
ters: "Here I observe that there are two ways of classifying subjects, one
according to concepts, the other according to the principles by which they
are proved. I call the former method recitatorial, the latter scientific. The
schools commonly follow the former in their divisions, employed exten-
sively by the Ramists; the author [Stegmann] uses this method too, and
indeed it has its use. But this is a way of acquiring not so much science, as
a catalogue of truths known from other sources. This method is thus used
for reducing things already known into a synopsis, and it also serves the
purpose of teaching those who are looking for a historical acquaintance
with doctrines rather than reasons for them. But it does not preserve the
order in which some truths are born from others; it is this order which
produces science." Ad Christophori Stegmanni Metaphysicam Unitariorum, ca.
1708; translation quoted from Jolley 1984, 195—6. We are justified in
concluding, I believe, that Leibniz is ultimately much more interested in
providing demonstrations of philosophical truths than in Ramist tables of
division. Nevertheless, his writings contain many more examples of the
latter than the former.
18. In a 1687 study, Leibniz writes: "Everything, it seems, can be reduced to

these. Somethingness [Aliquidditas], Essence, Existence, Reality, Perfec-
tion, Unity, Agreement, Truth, Consequence, Order, Causality, Change,
Magnitude, Sense, Appetite, Thought, Sensible Qualities." He then sug-
gests a general form of symbolic expression "to which every distinct
thinkable can be reduced" (LH IV 7B, 2 Bl. 73-4 [V 1230]). This again
confirms the close connection between the projects of the encyclopedia,
general science and universal characteristic. Many pieces from this peri-
od evidence Leibniz's keen interest in a survey of the totality of think-
ables. The following are representative: "It is of great importance in
thinking that the total variety of thinkables which we are accustomed to
observe most frequently in our mind be collected in one overview" (LH
IV 7B, 3 Bl. 21 [V 338]); "A Catalogue of Primitive Notions, from which
all the many others are composed" (LH IV 7C Bl. 52 [V 590]). Cf. LH IV
7B, 3 Bl. 19-20 (V 332, 33 6 ~7); S F 4 8 3-
19. In a contemporary study, On the Universal Science, Leibniz writes: "In
place of the Euclidean axioms and theorems . . . , I have discovered others
of much greater importance and more general use . . . concerning cause
and effect, or power, relations in general, the container and the contained, that
which happens per se and per accidens, the general nature of substance,
and finally the perfect spontaneity, ingenerability and indestructability of
substances, the union of all things and the agreement of substances among
themselves" (GP VII 199). Cf. his letter to Arnauld of 4/14 January 1688
(GP II 134/M 168), and the texts cited in Chapter 4.
20. For a detailed survey of these studies, see Schepers 1966, 1969.
21. LH IV 7C Bl. 105-6 (V 1298-1305). On the basis of watermark evidence,
the editors of the Vorausedition date this study between September 1680
and February 1685.
22. In one piece, he initially states that "every simple term is a name," but
then goes on to deny this, saying that a term is "not a name, but a concept,
i.e. that which is signified by a name; you could also call it a notion, an
idea" (C 243/PL 39).
23. On the basis of watermark evidence, the editors of the Vorausedition date
this piece between November 1688 and January 1689.
24. Two points are worth noting here. First, despite our earlier claim that
Leibniz's method of categorical analysis represents a retreat from the
more ambitious goal of pansophia, the method nevertheless has consider-
able philosophical import, since an analysis of the fundamental categories
of thought is equated with an analysis of the categories of being. Second,
while Leibniz identifies distinct conceivability as the mark of being or
possibility, the latter category cannot be equated with the class of possible
created things. As we shall see, it is a feature of his nominalism that there
are conceivable beings which are not candidates for a created existence.
These are so-called entia rationis, whose being is limited to that of eternal
ideas in the divine understanding.
25. In another piece, Leibniz marks the distinction by saying that while every
substantival term "involves some vague subject or uncertain subject," only
a complete term designates a singular substance that is "certain and defi-
nite" (SF 479).
26. In later writings, he sometimes uses the term "substantial" in the broader
sense of "substantival": "The concrete can be distinguished into the acci-
dental (such as warm, warm man) and the substantial. The substantial I
divide further into simple substances (such as God, angel, soul) and sub-
stantiated beings. Substantiated beings are divided into unities per se or
composite substances, and unities per accidens or aggregates." This is from
a marginal note in a draft of a letter to Des Bosses of 20 September 1712
(GP II 459/L 616, n. 19). Cf. NE II, xxii, 1 (RB 213). These texts confirm
the enduring importance of the method of division in Leibniz's philosophy.
27. Cf. C 535/P 146: "Distinct cogitability gives order to a thing. . . . For
order is simply the distinctive relation of several things. And confusion is
when several things are indeed present but there is no ground [ratio] for
distinguishing one from another."
28. As Loemker (L 84, n. 12) points out, although he miscites the source, this
account derives from Aristotle: "'Disposition' means arrangement of that
which has parts, either in space or in potentiality or in form. It must be a
kind of position, as indeed is clear from the word 'disposition.'" Meta-
physics V, 19 (Aristotle 1935, 271).
29. Woznicki (1990, 14), claims as the three essential components of Aquinas's
conception of order ratio prioris et posterioris, distinctio and ratio ordinis. Cf.
Aristotle, Metaphysics V. 11.
30. In a survey of concepts cited earlier Leibniz divides the category of order
as follows: "To order. . . there belongs that which is prior and posterior by
nature. Cause and effect. Now, from order and consequence there results
cause; for from a cause, as from a prior nature, there follows an effect"
(LH IV 7 B, 3 Bl. 17 [V 323]).
31. LH IV 7B, 2 Bl. 73-4 (V 1229). Where a natural English equivalent is not
available, I have left Leibniz's technical terms untranslated. This is the
case, for example, with the contrast between an inferens (that which infers
or brings forward something else) and an illatum (that which is inferred).
32. [Di] could also be interpreted as making the stronger claim that A as a
being is sufficient for B, or that the possibility of A is sufficient for the
possibility of B. For this reason, the proposition "A is" (A est) should not be
equated with "A exists," but should be understood as shorthand for "A is a
being" (A est ens), where the latter may include A's actual or possible
existence. The same point holds for the definition of conditio. For a dis-
cussion of this form of proposition, see Mates 1986, 54-6.
33. A brief study begins: "Difficultas aliqua est in explicando quid sit natura
prius" (LH IV 7B, 2 Bl. 37 [V 128]).
34. Leibniz's grasp of the idea of "prior by nature" remains imperfect. In
another study, he writes: "A is prior, B posterior (namely, by order of na-
ture), if A is simpler to the intellect than B, or if the possibility of A is
demonstrated more easily than that of B. Since that which is understood
per se is primary in all things, we may assume from the outset that a
number of things are understood per se, such as L, M, N, 0 and that from
these follow LM, LN, LO, MN, MO; LMN, LMO, LNO, MNO; LMNO. Thus
we may say that singletons are prior to pairs, triplets, quaternions, etc.;
pairs are prior to triplets, quaternions, etc.; triplets are prior to quater-
nions, etc. And so on" (LH IV 7B, 3 Bl. 17-18 [V 325-6]). According to
this account, it is not the number of steps required to effect a decomposi-
tion of a concept but the variety of its simple components that determines
its order of priority. This is at odds with Leibniz's remarks elsewhere,
since he conceives of the possibility that two concepts may be reciprocal,
insofar as they contain exactly the same primary elements, and yet one
may be prior by nature to the other (LH IV 7B, 2 Bl. 37 [V 128]). This
would be the case, for example, with the concepts LM and LA, where A is
definitionally equivalent to LM. Although these two concepts are recipro-
cal, the latter requires a further step in order to be reduced to its primary
elements. In either case, it is worth noting that the notion of "prior by
nature" does not presuppose an ultimate analysis of concepts, but only
their decomposition into some set of common elements. Cf. C 241.
35. "That is said to be in some way a cause, or to contribute [conferre], which is
a requisition with respect to some mode of producing. Alternatively, a cause
is said to be that which is a conferens with an effect, or that which is a
requisite according to the mode of producing by which a thing is assumed
to be produced" (LH IV 7C Bl. 105-6 [V 1302]).
36. LH IV 7B, 3 Bl. 17—18 [V 324-8]. This manuscript gives no indication of
a date. On the basis of its contents, however, we can confidently locate it
within the same period. This is the only other study I have been able to
find (in addition to LH IV 7B, 2 Bl. 73—4) that includes Leibniz's more
elaborate definition of "cause." Given that the latter work dates from a
slightly later period (December 1687) than most of the studies, this may
suggest a later date for this piece as well. But this is only speculation, since
the piece also shows similarities in wording to LH IV 7C Bl. 105-6, which
has been dated between 1680 and 1685.
37. The paragraph concludes with the following: "The definition should be
constructed in such a way that God cannot be said to be the cause of sin
except perhaps per accidens, [i.e.,] only in the sense that God could be said
to be the cause of anything per accidens."
38. The adequacy of this definition would seem to hinge on whether Leibniz
is prepared to allow, as in his simpler definition, that a necessary condi-
tion (according to the mode by which an effect in fact exists) itself counts
as a cause. This he could do by stipulating that every relevans is also a
conferens, or that every necessary condition for the production of an
effect is also sufficient for a necessary condition for the production of an
effect — that necessary condition being itself. In the piece in question he
actually asserts the contrary: "But in truth every cause or condition of a
relevans is a relevans; yet it is not the case that every relevans is the cause of
a relevans, therefore not every relevans is a conferens" (V 1229).
39. Mates 1986, 177.
40. See Mondadori 1990a, 1990b; Mugnai 1990a, 1990b.
41. See Chapter 4, note 16. Leibniz aligns his position with that of Augustine
at NE IV, xi, 14 (RB 447) and in his letter to Hansch of 25 June 1707 (D II
1, 224-5/L 592-3).
42. Cf. Leibniz's long letter to Arnauld of 14 July 1686: "In order to call
something possible, it is enough for me that one can form a concept of it
even though it should only exist in the divine understanding, which is, so
to speak, the domain of possible realities" (GP II 55). See also NE II, xxv,
1 (RB 227) and A Specimen of Discoveries (GP VII 31 I / P 77).
43. That the rationale for his position should be found here is significant, for
it means that Leibniz's nominalism is not limited to the claim of his later
philosophy that reality consists solely of monads and their singular mod-
ifications. (For this reading of his position, see Mates 1986, 209; Jolley
1990, 135-6.) As we have already seen (note 26), and shall see in more
detail in Part III, Leibniz is prepared to admit other concrete beings into
his ontology (so-called substantiata or "beings through aggregation"), pro-
vided it is recognized that the existence of these is wholly dependent
upon the prior existence of substances. We must not confuse his reduc-
tionism with his nominalism. The basis of the former lies in the primacy
of the existence of substances an entia per se, the basis of the latter in the
division between concrete, and abstracta.
44. Cf. C 243, 435, 512-13; LH IV 7C Bl. 101 [V 182]; LH IV 7C Bl. 109-10
[V 191].
45. In a note to the Introduction to a Secret Encyclopedia, he writes: "Here we
should remove abstract concepts as unnecessary, especially as there may
be abstractions of abstractions. In place of heat [calore], we shall consider
what is hot [calidum], since one could again suppose some 'caloreity' [calo-
reitas], and so on in infinitum" (C 512-13/P 6—7). Cf. De lingua philosophica
(LH IV 7B, 3 Bl. 40-9 [V 357]).
46. See GP II 458/L 605; NE II, xxiii, 1 (RB 217). Falling within the class of
abstracta to which Leibniz denies a created existence are, notoriously, all
relations. They are in general entia rationis, whose "reality, like that of
eternal truths and possibilities, comes from the Supreme Reason" (NE II,
xxiv, 1; RB 226). Cf. NE II, xxx, 4 (RB 265), and the texts gathered in
Mates 1986, chap. 10. For a comprehensive treatment of Leibniz's views
on this topic, see Mugnai 1992.
47. LH IV 7C Bl. 102 (V 1607—9). The editors of the Vorausedition gives this
study the title De realitate accidentium. On the basis of watermark evidence,
they place it between October and December 1688.
48. My translation of this passage follows that of Mates (1986, 171).
49. "But you ask whether there are not certain accidents which are more than
modifications. Such accidents seem, however, to be entirely superfluous,
and whatever is in such a substance other than a modification seems to
pertain to the substantial thing itself. I do not see how we can distinguish
an abstraction from the concrete, or from the subject in which it is; or
how we can explain intelligibly what it is to be in or to inhere in a subject,
except by considering inherence as a mode or state of a subject - a mode
which may be either essential, so that it cannot change unless the nature
of the substance changes, and differs from the substance only relatively,
or which may be accidental, in which case it is called a modification and
can come into being and perish while the subject remains." Leibniz to Des
Bosses, 20 September 1712 (GP II 458/L 606). Cf. NE II, xii, 3 (RB 145);
LH IV 7B Bl. 107-8 (V 412); LH IV 7C Bl. 99-100 (V 1601-6).
50. See the preface to his 1670 Nizolius edition (A VI 2, 428/L 128).
51. At the end of his book, Mates (1986, 246) seems to recognize this point,
although he continues to insist that talk about divine ideas is to be given a
dispositional analysis.
52. In his edition of Leibniz's writings 1675-6, Parkinson comments that "if
one is looking for the ancestry of the thesis that a substance has a com-
plete concept, one cannot trace it back as far as [this period]" (1992, liii).
He goes on to suggest that the crucial innovation comes with Leibniz's
introduction of the theory of truth as concept containment in a series of
logical papers written in April 1679. We shall see that this provides only
part of the answer.
53. "A complete concrete term is one which already includes everything that
can be predicated of the same subject; it is also called a singular sub-
stance" (LH IV 7C Bl. 109-10 [V 191]). "A term expressing a singular
substance involves all the predicates of its subject, or is a complete term"
(LH IV 7C Bl. 101 [V 182]). "A complete term is that from which all the
predicates of the same subject can be demonstrated, or that which ex-
presses the entire nature of a subject" (LH IV 7B, 4 Bl. 13 [SF 478]).
"Every concept from which a reason can be given for all the predicates of
the same subject is the concept of a substance itself; a complete term
expresses a substance" (LH IV 7B, 3 Bl. 19-20 [V 329]). The preceding
are all from pieces which predate the Discourse on Metaphysics. See also C
403/P 95; GP VII 316/P 84; LH IV 7B Bl. 103-4 [V 186]; LH IV 7C Bl.
73-4 [V 406]; LH IV 7C Bl. 107-8 [V 411]; LH IV 7C Bl. 111-14
(V 417); LH IV 7C Bl. 105 (V 1299).
54. Leibniz can be read as suggesting this in DM §8, in the Notationes Generates
(SF 474-5), in his correspondence with Arnauld (GP II 43/M 47; GP II
56—7/M 63-4), and in the brief essay Parkinson has entitled The Nature of
Truth (C 401—3/P 93—5)- For affirmations of this view, see Couturat 1902;
Parkinson 1965, 131; Broad 1972, 2; McRae 1976, 78.
55. It might be argued that Leibniz signals this in using the expression notion
accomplie rather than notion complete. He thus claims only that for every
being there is a "perfect" concept, i.e., the concept of a thing as it is
known by God. This reading would have to be squared, however, with the
fact that he also employs the former expression in DM §8 when defining
un estre complet. Sleigh (1990, 49, n. 2) also expresses skepticism concern-
ing this move.
56. "If a notion is complete, i.e., is such that from it a reason can be given for
all the predicates of the subject to which this notion can be attributed, this
will be the notion of an individual substance; and conversely" (C 403/P
95). "If A is B, and B is a complete term, then A will be a singular substance,
or a determinate [certum] subject which is commonly called an individual.
For a singular substance alone has a complete concept" (LH IV 7B, 4 Bl.
13 [SF 479]). Cf. LH IV 7C Bl. 111-14 (V 417).
57. Sleigh (1990, 54) offers a related analysis of the problem, framing his
solution in terms of Leibniz's plan for a "rational language" from which
all abstract expressions would be barred.
58. Significantly, in combining the Categories definition with his own theory of
predication, Leibniz collapses Aristotle's distinction between "being said
(or asserted) of" and "being present (or found) in" a subject. Categories
2 a n - i 4 reads: "Substance in the truest and strictest, the primary sense
of that term, is that which is neither asserted of nor can be found in a
subject" (Aristotle 1973, 19).
59. The important point is that equus designates a concrete thing, i.e., any
particular horse, and not the universal horse or the property of being a
horse. Both of the latter are abstractions to which Leibniz denies a cre-
ated existence.
60. "A proposition is that which says, as regards two terms or two attributes
of things, that one, called the predicate, is contained in the other, called the
subject, in such a way that the predicate must apply to everything to which
the subject applies" (GP VII 43-4).
61. Cf. his 1685 notes to Joachim Jungius's Logica Hamburgensis (the first part
of the text is Jungius, the parenthetical remark, Leibniz): "If various
accidents of various powers are understood together, it follows from this
that some common subject is understood in which the former may be
understood and contained, and this is called a substance. . . . (I respond
that it is demonstrated elsewhere in what consists the true nature of a
substance, namely, in a complete concept . . .)" (V 845).
62. For related texts, see note 53 and Rutherford 1988.
6
Substance
In common with the tradition of metaphysical thought that descends

from Aristotle, Leibniz conceives of the most basic form of existence
as substance. Within the created world, substance is the only being that
exists per se: the only being whose existence depends on that of no
other being except God. By contrast, the existence of all other things
depends in an essential way on that of substance. Given the priority
thus assigned to substance, it is obvious that any metaphysical theory
must devote considerable attention to an account of its nature. Our
concern in this chapter will be with the distinctive features of Leibniz's
doctrine of substance, which he himself acknowledges as largely de-
termining the content of his metaphysical system.1
The Characteristics of Substance

In Book II of his Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Locke writes
of the scholastic notion of substance:
[W]ere the Latin words Inhaerentia and Substantia, put into the plain English
ones that answer them, and . . . called Sticking on and Under-propping, they
would better discover to us the very great clearness there is in the doctrine of
Substance and Accidents, and shew of what use they are in deciding of Ques-
tions in Philosophy. (II, xiii, 20)
Responding to this passage in the New Essays, Leibniz declares that he
is "of another opinion," and that "the consideration of substance is
one of the most important and most fruitful questions in philosophy"
(II, xiii, 20; RB 150). "The idea of substance," he says, "is not so
obscure as one thinks. We can know of it what is necessary and what is
known in other things" (II, xii, 6; RB 145). Elsewhere he argues that
philosophers such as Descartes, Spinoza, and Locke have paid insuffi-
cient attention to the definition of substance, and that this accounts
for many of the errors that undermine their doctrines.2 He has no
doubt that with his own account he succeeds where they have failed. It
is "so fruitful," he says, "that there follow from it primary truths even
about God and minds and the nature of bodies - truths heretofore
known in part though hardly demonstrated, and unknown in part,
but of the greatest utility for the future in the other sciences" (GP IV
469/L 433).
Downloaded from Cambridge Books Online by IP 128.122.253.228 on Wed Oct 08 20:05:03 BST 2014.
Leibniz's intuitions about the nature of substance are drawn pri-

marily from Aristotle and his scholastic followers. From them he in-
herits a set of basic assumptions about what substance is and the role it
must play within a metaphysical account of reality.3 Among the most
important features he assigns to it are the following:
(a) Among created beings, only substance enjoys an independent or
per se existence.
(b) Substance is an entelechy or intrinsic source of action.
(c) Substance persists, or remains numerically the same, through
change.
(d) Substance is a true or per se unity.
(e) For any substance, there is a principle of individuation sufficient
to distinguish it from every other actual or possible substance.
Leibniz regards (a)-(e) as necessary conditions for something's being
a substance. By themselves, these conditions do not articulate a com-
plete theory of substance. Instead, we should see them as criteria for
the adequacy of any such theory: A satisfactory theory of substance
must be such that it makes (a)—(e) come out true. We may acknowl-
edge at the outset that during different parts of his career Leibniz
takes different features of substance as starting points for his deliber-
ations, and that consequently different members of the preceding list
at times receive greater prominence than others. At all times, however,
he believes that an adequate account of substance must uphold condi-
tions (a)—(e). Later I show how this is true for the main theories
advanced by Leibniz in the post-1680 period. In the rest of this section,
I consider why he is committed to (a)—(e), as well as to two further
conditions, and how he sees them as being related to one another.
(a) Independence
We saw in the preceding chapter that Leibniz ascribes to substance the
traditional role of being an ultimate subject of predication: Substance
is that of which other things are predicated but that is not itself predi-
cated of anything else. It is this characteristic that supports substance's
claim to possess an independent or per se existence. Insofar as predi-
cation indicates a relation of dependence between two beings, the
identification of substance as what is predicated of no other being
marks it as a thing that exists per se, depending for its existence on no
other being except God. In this respect, substances are to be distin-
guished from modes and relations, as well as from those singular
things which Leibniz describes as "beings through aggregation." As
much as modes and relations, the existence of the latter is essentially
dependent upon the prior existence of substances.4
SUBSTANCE 135
(b) Activity
There is a close connection between substance's claim to be an ulti-
mate subject of predication and its status as an entelechy or principle
of action. For Leibniz, whatever is prior in order of existence must
also be prior in order of understanding. Thus, if substance is an
ultimate subject of predication, it must also be capable of serving as
an ultimate explanatory principle, or that in terms of which the rea-
son for everything else can be given.5 Now, among the most important
facts to be accounted for in the world is that of change: the fact that
something first has some quality and then lacks that quality. To ac-
count for the fact of change is to posit a reason why change occurs. As
commonly understood, this requires the designation of an action that
has brought it about that what was the case is no longer the case. It
follows that if substance is to play the role of an ultimate explanatory
principle, it must also be regarded as the ultimate ground of the
actions that account for change in the world, which is to say that
substance must be a source or principle of action.6 Leibniz acknowl-
edges this feature of substance early in his career. In a set of notes
from 1676, he contrasts his view of substance with the Cartesian ac-
count of the soul as a res cogitans:
The author is right to say that thought is not the essence of the soul. For a
thought is an action, and since one thought succeeds another it is necessary
that what persists during this change is rather the essence of the soul, since it
remains always the same. The essence of substance consists in the primitive
force of acting, or in the law of the series of its changes. (A VI 3, 326)
(c) Persistence
Traditionally, substance has been regarded as that which endures or
persists through change. This feature is central to Leibniz's concep-
tion of substance and is closely related to the previous two character-
istics. Insofar as substance qualifies as an ultimate subject of predi-
cation, it must serve as the enduring subject of which transient
modifications are predicated. Leibniz takes this property of substance
to be guaranteed by its nature as a "primitive force of acting," which
persists through change and "remains always the same" (A VI 3, 326).
In defending the thesis that it is an essential characteristic of sub-
stance to persist through change, Leibniz goes beyond the standard
Aristotelian position. In his view, substance is subject to neither gener-
ation nor corruption. The principle of action that is a substance can
never itself come into existence or pass out of existence as a result of
natural change, but only as a consequence of a divine act of creation
or extinction.
(d) Unity
According to Leibniz, every substance must be a true or per se unity.
He ascribes this requirement to the principle, which he says he owes to
Aristotle, that the notions of being and one are convertible, or neces-
sarily equivalent, from which it follows that whatever is an ens per se or
substance must also be an unum per se, and conversely (GP II 97, 304,
446). In defense of this equivalence, we may see him reasoning as
follows. Whatever is composite or many can only come to be through
that which is truly one.7 As the only per se created being, substance is
that through which all other things come to be. Thus, whatever is
substance must be an unum perse. Conversely, what is only an unum per
accidens, an accidental unity determined by the relations among a
plurality of things (e.g., an army, a herd, a mill), cannot be a substance
but is only an ens per accidens.8 We shall find later that some of the most
important commitments of Leibniz's ontology hinge on this basic dis-
tinction between per se and accidental unity.
(e) Individuation
Leibniz is committed to the nominalist thesis that all actual or existing
things are concrete particulars. This characteristic must thus also be-
long to substance: Every substance is a singular or individual thing,
not an abstract form or universal.9 Saying just this, however, does not
explain what it is that makes a substance a distinct individual, in other
words, this or that substance rather than any other (actual or possible)
substance. To require that there be such an explanation is to demand
a principle of individuation for substances. Without yet going into the
details of his position, Leibniz holds that substances are individuated
neither through their particular matter nor through a "haecceity" or
primitive property of "thisness," but rather through the sum of their
predicates.10 Thus, as he sometimes remarks, individual substances
are infimae species (lowest species), whose distinctness as individuals is
determined by the completeness of their specification.
The conception of substance that emerges from this account is strong-
ly indebted to the Peripatetic tradition: To be a substance is to be an
individual principle of action, which persists through change, and
through which all other change in the world can be explained. This
conception does not, however, exhaust Leibniz's understanding of
substantial being. To the list given above, we must add two further
characteristics of substance that play important roles for him:
(f) Every substance is at all times "pregnant with its future."
(g) Every substance "expresses" the entire universe.
SUBSTANCE 137
Characteristics (f) and (g) have a different provenance from (a)—(e).

Whereas (a)-(e) can be traced to the traditional role of substance as an
ontological and explanatory primitive, (f) and (g) derive from the
distinctively Leibnizian doctrine that in every possible world "all is
connected."11 On the basis of this thesis, Leibniz draws the conclu-
sion, first, that there must be a connection among the internal states
of a substance, such that at any time it can be said to be "pregnant
with its future":
Order demands that there be a connection [liaison] among the different states
[of the world], and it is for this reason that I am accustomed to say that the
present is pregnant with the future: and this holds not only for things in
general, but also in each particular substance through the relation of all its
states, which are, as it were, enveloped within one another. (K IX 173)
For the same reason, he maintains that there must be a connection
among the states of each substance and those of every other, with the
result that any substance can be said to "express" the entire universe
through its operations:
But since all things have a connection with others, either mediately or imme-
the whole universe by its power of acting and being acted on, that is, by the
series of its own immanent operations. (GP VII 316-7/P 84)
Although they originate in a different source, Leibniz regards (f) and
(g) as features that must be accounted for by any adequate theory of
substance. As much as (a)-(e), they represent essential characteristics
of substance, or characteristics that substance must possess in any
possible world. In Leibniz's view, condition (f) is guaranteed by sub-
stance's nature as a principle of force or action: "When I speak of the
force and action of creatures, I understand that each creature is pres-
ently pregnant with its future state, and that it naturally follows a
certain course if nothing prevents it" (GP III 566).12 His position is
thus that a requirement imposed on substance by a general thesis of
the universal connection of things is fulfilled by the identification of
substance with a principle of action. The situation is somewhat more
complicated in the case of characteristic (g). Since we have already
sketched the main features of Leibniz's doctrine of expression in
Chapter 2,1 leave aside any further discussion of it at this time. At the
end of the next section, we shall examine in more detail the grounds
Leibniz offers for this doctrine.
Having laid out the basic components of Leibniz's view of substance,
we may now turn to their development in two related theories — one
that is prominent during the 1680s, the other which dominates his
thinking from the 1690s onward.
I38 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
The Complete Concept Theory

We have seen how Leibniz's articulation of the traditional notion of an
ultimate subject of predication leads to his identification of individual
substance as that being whose essence is expressed by a complete
concept. As he concludes in §8 of the Discourse on Metaphysics, "It is the
nature of an individual substance, or of a complete being, to have a
notion so complete that it is sufficient to contain and to allow us to
deduce from it all the predicates of the subject to which this notion is
attributed" (Le 36/AG 41). Leibniz makes it clear that one of the
primary functions of the complete-concept theory will be to illumi-
nate the role of substance as a principle of action. As already noted,
DM §8 begins with the problem of how to distinguish between the
actions of God and those of creatures; and, as Leibniz interprets it,
this problem turns on our understanding the sense in which an indi-
vidual substance can be regarded as a subject of which actions are
predicated. Within the Discourse, at least, Leibniz's treatment of sub-
stance is never completely divorced from its identity as an entelechy
or principle of action.13
This point bears examination, for it has been a widely held view,
going back to the interpretations of Couturat (1901, 1902) and
Russell (1937), that during the 1680s Leibniz based his conception of
substance on logical considerations alone.14 We have already seen that
in its most popular form this view is false: Leibniz's complete concept
theory cannot be derived from his theory of truth alone. One needs in
addition the commitments of his nominalism. Beyond this, however, it
is apparent that even if we accept that the complete concept theory is
largely inspired by Leibniz's logic, broadly construed, this theory by
itself cannot explain all the properties he associates with substance
during the Discourse period. Most notably, the complete concept theo-
ry cannot account for the fact that substance is for Leibniz, during this
period and earlier, a principle of action. The conclusion to be drawn
from this, I believe, is that while the complete concept theory serves as
the point around which Leibniz organized his thinking about sub-
stance during the 1680s, it is a mistake to see him as in any sense
"deriving" his understanding of substance from logical considerations
alone. It is instead more accurate to see the complete concept theory
as emerging against the background of a set of well-entrenched be-
liefs about what it is to be a substance, including the belief that to be a
substance is to be an intrinsic source of action.15
Where the complete concept theory is critical for Leibniz is in de-
fining the nature of a being capable of serving as an ultimate subject
of which actions are predicated. To be a complete concept, we have
seen, is to contain everything that can be said of the same subject, that
SUBSTANCE 139
is, all of its predicates, past, present, and future. By linking the idea of
a complete concept to the identity of substance as a principle of
change, Leibniz seeks to emphasize that for something to be a sub-
stance it is not enough simply for it to be some principle of action: It
must be a principle sufficient to determine all and only those states
which are predicable of that substance. The device of a complete
concept is thus intended to convey the nature of a being that satisfies
the condition of being spontaneous or causally self-sufficient, or which
is dependent for the production of its states on no other being except
God.16
This reading is borne out by DM §§ 13—14, in which Leibniz draws
a distinction between the concept or notion of a substance, as it is
defined in §8, and its nature or form, which is the immediate source
of its actions.17 The relevance of the definition of a complete concept,
he suggests, is that it articulates the content of God's perfect under-
standing of an individual substance, which is in turn the basis for his
creation of its form or nature. Thus, insofar as a complete concept
contains everything that is truly predicable of a given subject, and
insofar as God utilizes his understanding of this concept to create a
particular substantial form (or principle of action), it follows that any
substance must be the source of all its natural states or modifica-
tions.18 This same line of reasoning is found summarized in the con-
temporary essay A Specimen of Discoveries: "[I]n the perfect notion of
an individual substance," Leibniz writes, "considered in a pure state of
possibility by God before every actual decree of existence, there is
already whatever will happen to it if it exists" (GP VII 31 I / P 78). He
concludes:
[F]rom the notion of an individual substance it also follows in metaphysical
rigor that all the operations of substances, both actions and passions, are
spontaneous, and that with the exception of the dependence of creatures on
God, no real influx from one to the other is intelligible. For whatever happens
to each one of them would flow from its nature and its notion even if the rest
were supposed to be absent. (GP VII 312/P 79)
It would be a mistake to read these passages as defending a derivation
of the spontaneity of substance from the complete concept theory.
Leibniz's point is, rather, that a complete concept is an appropriate
way to conceive of God's knowledge of a being, which is, by its nature,
a spontaneous source of change. We can conclude, I believe, that
Leibniz's complete concept theory is designed to complement the tra-
ditional conception of substance as a principle of action, and that it
does not aspire to replace that conception. The device of a complete
concept is intended to articulate the idea that a substance's form is a
principle sufficient to produce all the modifications (actions or pas-
sions) predicable of that substance.
On the basis of this theory, Leibniz aims to account for the other
essential characteristics of substance. In the first place, he sees the
idea of a complete concept as offering an explanation of the per-
sistence, or numerical identity, of substance through change, includ-
ing the special case of personal identity. In his remarks on Arnauld's
letter criticizing DM §13, he claims there can be no other a priori
reason for his identity as the same person at different times and
under different circumstances
except that my attributes of the preceding time and state as well as those of
the following time and state are predicates of one and the same subject, they
are present in the same subject. Now what does it mean to say that the
predicate is in the subject except that the concept of the predicate is in some
sense contained in the concept of the subject? And seeing that since the
beginning of my existence it could truly be said of me that this or that would
happen to me, one must admit that these predicates were laws contained
in the subject or in the complete concept of me which makes what is
called myself, which is the basis of the connection between all my different
states and of which God had perfect knowledge from all eternity. (GP II
43/M 47)
Sleigh has remarked that we find Leibniz in this passage riding his
"metaphysical high horse" (1990, 126). In fact, however, his point
seems quite clear: It is reasonable to think of the predicates "x is F at
txn and "x is G at t2" as being true of the same person (who has
persisted between tx and t2), if and only if those predicates (or con-
cepts of them) are contained within one and the same complete con-
cept. Taking such a concept to be expressive of God's knowledge of
the nature of a being that is the spontaneous source of all its own
modifications, Leibniz in effect claims that any two properties are
properties of the same subject at different times just in case they are
products of the same nature or form.19 The intuition behind his
position is expressed succinctly in the pre-Discourse study Notationes
Generates: "A thing can remain the same, even if it changes, if it
follows from its own nature that the same thing must have different
successive states; certainly I am said to be the same who existed be-
fore, since my substance involves all my states, past, present and fu-
ture" (G 323). Leibniz's point is that a necessary condition for a thing's
being said to persist through change is that it possess a nature from
which it follows that that same thing exists in a succession of different
states. In his view, this is not a property that can be assigned to a
merely extended thing, for there is nothing in the nature of such a
being which entails that the same thing first possesses one shape and
then another. This is, however, precisely the character he assigns to a
substantial form: By its nature it is the spontaneous source of a suc-
cession of different modifications.
SUBSTANCE 141
We noted in Chapter 5, but did not pursue, Leibniz's belief that all
and only those things which possess a complete concept also satisfy
the condition of being an unum per se. We posed there the question of
whether these are for him merely coextensive properties of substance,
or whether they can be seen to imply one another. We can now affirm
that having a complete concept is indeed a necessary condition for
possessing the true unity definitive of a substantial being:
Substantial unity requires a complete, indivisible and naturally indestructible
entity, since its concept embraces everything that is to happen to it, which
cannot be found in shape or in motion . . . but in a soul or substantial form
after the example of what one calls self. (GP II 76/M 94)
In his discussions of substantial unity, Leibniz again employs the no-
tion of a complete concept as a proxy for the complete or self-
sufficient nature of a substance. To qualify as a true or per se unity, he
argues, it is necessary that a being possess a nature or form that is the
spontaneous source of all its modifications. Obviously, the conditions
of substantial persistence, completeness, and per se unity are closely
linked for Leibniz. A being qualifies as an unum per se, he believes,
only if it is necessary that it persist as the same thing through any
actual change, short of annihilation.20 And this is only guaranteed if
everything that is ever true of that being can be understood as the
product of a single unchanging nature — the sort of nature expressed
by a complete concept.21
Finally, perhaps the most controversial claim that Leibniz makes on
behalf of a complete concept is that it serves as a principle of individu-
ation for substances. From the fact that every substance possesses an
"individual notion" in which God "sees at the same time the basis and
reason for all the predicates which can be truly predicated of [it]," he
argues, it follows that no "two substances can resemble each other
completely and differ only in number" (Le 36-7/AG 41-2). The prin-
ciple of individuation for substances is thus their possession of a com-
plete concept: Insofar as two substances share all the same predicates,
and hence a complete concept, they must be numerically identical.22
In DM §9, Leibniz refers to this conclusion as a "paradox." On the
face of it, this is an apt description, for it is by no means obvious how
he means to proceed from the premise that for every individual sub-
stance there is a complete concept containing all and only those things
predicable of it to the conclusion that there cannot exist two sub-
stances that are qualitatively indistinguishable (insofar as they possess
the same complete concept) and that hence differ only in number.
This "paradox" is prominent in Leibniz's early formulations of the
complete concept theory. From the definition of a complete concept,
he writes in the Notationes Generates,
it follows that singular things are in fact lowest species and there can never
exist two singular things similar in all respects; and consequently the principle
of individuation is always some specific difference, which St. Thomas said of
intelligences, but which is also true of any individual at all. When I say that
men differ in the lowest species, I do not mean by the word "species" (as is
commonly understood) some group of things procreating with things similar
to themselves, like the species of human beings, of dogs, of roses . . . , nor
even a universal, or a term produced from a finite number of terms, but a
term whose particular concept is different from that of all others. . . . It is
enough that it cannot be said that there exist two singular things similar in all
respects, e.g., two eggs, for it is necessary that something can be said of one
which cannot be said of the other, otherwise they could be substituted for
each other and there would be no reason then why they should not instead be
said to be one and the same. (SF 476)
Although it is uncontroversial that a species term such as human being
is insufficient to distinguish two individuals who share this charac-
teristic, it is not clear how Leibniz sees it as following that a complete
concept is sufficient to distinguish one individual substance from an-
other. What we find in this passage is not so much an argument
defending this claim as simply an assertion that this must be so be-
cause otherwise "there will be no reason . . . why they should not
instead be said to be one and the same."23
Upon examination, it is evident that the proposition that there are
no two substances differing only in number does not follow from the
complete concept theory alone but depends on an independent com-
mitment to the principle of the identity of indiscernibles (PII): the
principle that for any two numerically nonidentical things, there must
be some discernible difference between them. The relevance of a
complete concept in this context is simply that by definition it includes
everything that is predicable of a given substance. Thus, assuming
PII, it follows that no two substances can possess the same complete
concept, for such substances would indeed be qualitatively indis-
tinguishable.
Having settled that Leibniz's doctrine of individuation rests square-
ly on the assumption of PII, the question remains as to why he finds
this view persuasive. Why is he convinced that no two substances
could possibly share all their qualitative features? In his long letter to
Arnauld of 4/14 July 1686, Leibniz insists on a fundamental distinc-
tion between a complete concept sufficient to individuate a singular
thing and a concept representing that thing only "in general terms
[sub ratione generalitatis], i.e., in terms of essence, or of a specific or
incomplete concept" (GP II 52/M 58). He goes on to explain that
when we speak of "many Adams" who may be instantiated in differ-
ent possible worlds, we consider Adam not as
a determinate individual, but as a certain person conceived of sub ratione
generalitatis in circumstances which seem to us to determine Adam as an
SUBSTANCE 143
individual, but which in truth do not determine him sufficiently, as when one
understands by Adam the first man that God places in a garden of pleasure
which he leaves because of sin, and from whose rib God draws forth a woman.
But all that is not sufficiently determining, and in this way there would be
many disjunctively possible Adams or many individuals whom all that would
fit. That is true, whatever finite number of predicates incapable of determin-
ing all the rest one may take, but what determines a certain Adam must
absolutely contain all his predicates, and it is this complete concept that deter-
mines generality in such a way that the individual is reached. (GP II 54/M
60-1)
In this passage, as in others, Leibniz leaves us with the impression that

it is the degree of complexity alone of a complete concept that allows it
to determine the individuality of a thing: Whereas any incomplete
concept containing only a finite number of predicates is incapable of
determining an individual, a complete concept can do so because it
incorporates an infinity of predicates. This, however, cannot be right.
An infinity of properties by itself is no more likely to determine a
unique individual than a finite number of properties. A more plausi-
ble explanation is that what Leibniz means to emphasize here is not
the mere complexity of a complete concept but its claim to exhaustive-
ness, that is, its claim to contain everything that is predicable of that
substance. If so, then the ultimate basis for his belief that such a
concept cannot be shared by two different individuals would seem to
be theological. It is central to Leibniz's view of divine foreknowledge
that God's understanding of any possible substance extends to every-
thing that would ever be true of that substance were it to exist. Consis-
tent with this, God's decision to create a given substance changes
nothing as regards what would be true of it based on his prior knowl-
edge of its nature:
[I]t is plain that this decree changes nothing in the constitution of things: it
leaves them just as they were in the state of pure possibility, that is, changing
nothing either in their essence or nature, or even in their accidents, which are
represented perfectly already in the idea of this possible world. (Theodicy §52;
GP VI 131/H 151) 24
We may conclude that PII is effectively built into Leibniz's account of

the origin of created substances. Previewing the complete concepts
that combine to form possible worlds, God decides to create one sub-
stance rather than another solely on the basis of his knowledge of
their complete concepts. Insofar as God chooses to instantiate one
complete concept rather than another, a different individual is pro-
duced. 25
A further point, however, is crucial here. It is apparent from his
letter to Arnauld concerning the "many Adams" that Leibniz places
important constraints on the sorts of concepts capable of determining
individual substances. In addition to being exhaustive, such concepts
must also specify a substance as possessing certain types of properties

that distinguish it as an individual or singular thing, as opposed to a
species or universal. According to Leibniz, the relevant difference
between the complete concept of an individual substance and the
incomplete concept of a species is not simply that the former is infi-
nitely complex and the latter only finitely so; in addition, the former
must involve properties that determine the specific circumstances of a
substance's existence. "The concepts of individual substances," he
writes to Arnauld, "which are complete and suffice to distinguish
their subjects completely, . . . consequently enclose contingent truths
or truths of fact, and individual circumstances of time, place, etc." (GP
I I 49)-26
It is a significant metaphysical question why Leibniz insists that
contingent predicates associated with particular circumstances of
time and place are required in order to individuate substances. Why,
in order to be conceived as individuals, must substances be charac-
terized in terms of predicates that identify them as related to one
another in space and time, rather than in terms of exhaustive lists of
logically simple properties? One answer would be that Leibniz is
merely aiming to save the phenomena: As a matter of fact, singular
things are characterized by contingent, spatiotemporal relations;
therefore, any satisfactory metaphysical theory must honor this fact.
This response, however, is hardly compelling in the case of a philoso-
pher who at so many points is prepared to defend views that run
contrary to common sense. Prima facie, it seems possible that individ-
ual substances might be characterized solely in terms of collections of
logically simple properties, in which case there would be nothing to
distinguish a sphere from an individual substance, except for the
degree of complexity of its concept.
This question opens up an area of inquiry which must be deferred
until the next chapter. To summarize a line of reasoning developed
there, I believe that Leibniz's insistence that the complete concepts of
substances contain predicates that make reference to individual cir-
cumstances of time and place can only be fully understood in terms of
his strategy for preserving the contingency of the world via the notion
of compossibility. In Leibniz's view, contingency can be saved only if
the supposition of the existence of certain things precludes the exis-
tence of certain other things possible in themselves (this is to say that
such things are not compossible). He ensures this by requiring that
substances be endowed with properties that involve their spatiotem-
poral and causal relatedness to other things.
This reading of Leibniz's position leads us to a final issue that must
be addressed at this point, since it bears on the relationship between
the complete concept theory and the property of universal expres-
SUBSTANCE 145
sion, which I earlier noted as one of the essential characteristics of

substance for Leibniz. Predicates that ascribe to a substance a spa-
tiotemporal position relative to that of other substances are prime
examples of what Leibniz calls "extrinsic denominations." In general,
extrinsic denominations designate an individual in a way that makes
essential reference to the properties of one or more other individuals.
Thus, "being at such-and-such a distance from body 6" is an example
of an extrinsic denomination, since it designates a property that an
individual can acquire only through the relation of its body to b. This
is to be contrasted with an intrinsic denomination, which designates
an individual in terms of its own internal modifications.
It is a well-documented feature of Leibniz's position that the com-
plete concept of an individual substance contains everything that is
true of it, including all its extrinsic denominations.27 Notoriously,
however, Leibniz also asserts that there exist "no purely extrinsic de-
nominations." There has been much disagreement as to how this
claim is to be interpreted. As I read it, the "no purely extrinsic de-
nominations" thesis sees us squarely back in the domain of Bisterfeld's
doctrine of immeatio.28 Although he is not completely clear on this
point, Leibniz typically explains the fact that there are no purely
extrinsic denominations in terms of the "real connection" or "univer-
sal sympathy" of all things.29 As a consequence of this connection or
sympathy, he argues, nothing can come to be true of anything any-
where in the universe without necessitating a change in the internal
states of all other things, and hence a change in their intrinsic denom-
inations. It is helpful to break this claim down into two parts. First,
whenever anything occurs anywhere in the universe, something new
becomes true of everything in the universe — at all events, says Leib-
niz, a new "denomination of comparison and relation" (C 521/P 90).
If an earthquake occurs in India, for example, the predicate "sleeping
at the same time that an earthquake occurs in India" may become true
of me. Such is an example of an extrinsic denomination. Now we
come to the important half of Leibniz's thesis. In his view, nothing can
become true of me in this way without some real change occurring in
me: "[A]s often as the denomination of the thing is changed, there
must be some variation in the thing itself" (C 520/P 89). This is the
force of the no purely extrinsic denominations thesis.30
If we are not to misunderstand Leibniz's position, we must be clear
on two points. First, the doctrine of universal connection that serves
as the basis for the no purely extrinsic denominations thesis does not
assume any sort of mysterious communication among substances.
The doctrine of connection is wholly explicable in terms of the fact
that God conceives of each constituent of a possible world as intrin-
sically related to every other constituent of that world. Thus, it is
written into the complete concept, or individual essence, of every

substance that for any change in any member of its world there is
some correlative change in the substance in question. Second, implicit
in Leibniz's position is a strong claim concerning the grounding of
extrinsic denominations in denominations that designate states or
modifications internal to that substance. In suggesting that the con-
nection of substances in a world is, as it were, built into their individu-
al concepts, Leibniz is not assuming simply that extrinsic denom-
inations as well as intrinsic denominations are contained in their
complete concepts.31 Rather, he is claiming that it follows from the
complete concept of a substance that for any change anywhere in the
world, and hence for any extrinsic denomination imposed on a given
substance, there is some correlative change or some new internal
modification produced in that substance.
It is this strong claim which provides the basis for Leibniz's doctrine
of universal expression. As we saw in Chapter 2, universal expression
asserts a lawlike correlation between the states of any one substance
and those of every other substance. During the 1680s, Leibniz relates
this property to a substance's possession of a complete concept: a
substance expresses everything in its world because it has been en-
dowed with a concept which entails that its states are correlated in a
lawlike way with those of every other substance. Thus, the ultimate
reason for both the real connection and universal expression of sub-
stances is that God conceives of their states as correlated with those of
the other substances in their world, and he creates these substances
exactly as he conceives them, such that their states are correlated in
the appropriate way:
[I]t can be said that God arranges a real connection by virtue of that general
concept of substances which implies perfect interrelated expression between
all of them, though this connection is not immediate, being based only on
what God has wrought in creating them. (GP II 95-6/M 119-20)
In its fullest development, however, the doctrine of universal ex-
pression involves more than a claim about the correlation among the
states of different substances. Linking universal expression to a sub-
stance's capacity for perception, Leibniz maintains that each substance
must also be seen as expressing the universe within its perceptual
states. By this he seems to mean that the contents of these perceptual
states - the perceived phenomena - are themselves to be understood
as an expression of the universe:
[S]ince all things have a connection with others, either mediately or imme-
the whole universe by its power of acting and being acted on, that is, by the
series of its own immanent operations. . . . Also evident is the nature of the
perception which belongs to all forms, namely the expression of many things
SUBSTANCE 147
in one, which differs widely from expression in a mirror or in a corporeal

organ, which is not truly one. (GP VII 316-17/P 8 ) 3 2
Although Leibniz distinguishes a substance's expression of the uni-
verse from the reflection of an object in a mirror, the distinction
works entirely to the advantage of the former. Perception not only
involves the expression of the universe in a perfect unity (which a
mirror is not), but this expression is so complete that it renders each
substance "confusedly omniscient."33 In the end, it is hard not to
conclude that Leibniz actually runs together two separate notions of
expression: one, the idea of a correlation among the states of differ-
ent substances; the other, the idea of a substance's expression (or
representation) of a universe of phenomena within its perceptual
states. These two notions are, however, closely related. As a first ap-
proximation, we can say that each substance expresses every other
substance to the extent that there is a lawlike correlation among the
contents of their perceptions, or their respective expressions of the
universe.34
It remains for us to try to establish a more perspicuous relation
between the doctrine of universal expression and the no purely ex-
trinsic denominations thesis. During the Discourse period, Leibniz has
relatively little to say about how extrinsic denominations such as spa-
tiotemporal position are grounded in intrinsic denominations. As he
develops his position in subsequent years, this matter receives further
attention. Particularly helpful is a short essay that Parkinson has
dated ca. 1696.35 It begins with a general statement of the no purely
extrinsic denominations thesis:
A consideration which is of the greatest importance in all philosophy, and in
theology itself, is this: that there are no purely extrinsic denominations, be-
cause of the interconnection of things, and that it is not possible for two
things to differ from one another in respect of place and time alone, but that
it is always necessary that there shall be some other internal difference. (C 8/
According to Leibniz, spatial and temporal position (place and time)

are "mere results, which do not constitute any intrinsic denomination
per se" but instead "demand a foundation derived from the category
of quality, that is, from an intrinsic accidental denomination" (C 9/
P 134). Now what, we may ask, are these "intrinsic accidental denomi-
nations" that ground a substance's place or position? In Leibniz's view,
they are states of the substance that have the property of expressing
the position of that substance vis-a-vis the positions of other sub-
stances:
To be in a place seems, abstractly at any rate, to imply nothing but position.
But in actuality, that which has a place must express place in itself; so that
distance and the degree of distance involve also a degree of expressing in the
thing itself a remote thing, either of affecting it or of receiving an affection
from it. So, in fact, position [situs] really involves a degree of expression.
(C 9/P 133)
The position sketched in this text raises a number of questions that
will have to be left until the next chapter. What it does for us now is to
establish a link between three central Leibnizian tenets: the doctrine
of universal connection, the no purely extrinsic denominations thesis,
and the doctrine of universal expression (or perception). A corollary
of the thesis that "all is connected" in the world is that there are no
purely extrinsic denominations: no designations of the relatedness of
things that are not grounded in states or accidents internal to those
things. As we have seen, this entails that for any change in the extrin-
sic denominations of an individual there must be some associated
change in its intrinsic denominations. Leibniz suggests that in the case
of those extrinsic denominations which designate the spatiotemporal
relatedness of individuals, the accidents grounding these denomina-
tions are states of a substance that express its spatiotemporal position
vis-a-vis the rest of the world. Consequently, any change in what is
conceived as the spatiotemporal location of a substance must be ac-
companied by a change in that substance's expression of its location.36
We thus appear to have a well-defined link between the no purely
extrinsic denominations thesis and the doctrine of universal expres-
sion. We may conclude, at least tentatively, that the truth of the for-
mer thesis depends in an essential way on the capacity of substances to
express within their perceptual states the universe as a whole, and
their unique situation within it.
The Dynamical Theory

In March 1694 there appeared in the Leipzig journal Acta Eruditorum
a short article by Leibniz entitled On the Correction of First Philosophy,
and on the Notion of Substance (GP IV 468-70/L 432-3). In it he repeats
his frequent criticism of Descartes as having failed to understand "the
nature of substance in general," a failing he believes accounts for
many of the deepest problems in Descartes's philosophy. 37 He then
goes on to offer a "foretaste" of his own view of substance, which he
claims is capable of resolving these problems:
I will say for the present that the concept of forces or powers, which the Ger-
mans call Kraft and the French la force, and for whose explanation I have set
up a distinct science of dynamics, brings the strongest light to bear on our
understanding of the true concept of substance. Active force differs from the
mere power familiar to the Schools, for the active power or faculty of the
Scholastics is nothing but a close [propinqua] possibility of acting, which needs
SUBSTANCE 149
an external excitation or stimulus, as it were, to be transferred into action.
Active force, by contrast, contains a certain act or entelechy and is thus
midway between the faculty of acting and the act itself and involves conatus. It
is thus carried into action by itself and needs no help but only the removal of
an impediment. . . . I say that this power of acting inheres in all substance and
that some action always arises from it. (GP IV 469-70/L 433)
The theory of substance that appears most prominently in Leibniz's
post-1690 writings stresses the nature of substance as an entelechy or
spontaneous principle of action - not simply a capacity or faculty to
act, but that which does act provided that nothing impedes it. In the
preface to the New Essays, Leibniz asserts that "in the natural course of
things no substance can lack activity" (RB 53), for "activity is the
essence of substance in general" (RB 65). To De Voider in 1699, he
claims that the activity of substance is metaphysically necessary and
would be a feature of any systema rerum, even one which was not
created ex lege ordinis supremi (GP II 169).38 On the surface, the view of
substance presented in these later writings is quite different from that
of the Discourse and the correspondence with Arnauld. There remains
little evidence of the complete concept theory, or of Leibniz's preoc-
cupation with problems of predication and individuation. His atten-
tion is now focused almost exclusively on the nature of substance as a
principle of force or action. Our question is whether all of this adds
up to a decisive development in Leibniz's account of substance or
merely a shift in emphasis.
There is no doubt that from around the time of his Italian journey
a change can be discerned in the things Leibniz says about sub-
stance.39 Furthermore, we can be fairly confident as to the source of
this change, namely, his increasing preoccupation with the formula-
tion of the science of dynamics, a theory devoted to explaining the
forces and actions of material things.40 From the start, Leibniz sees an
important connection between this science and his general under-
standing of substance. Pronouncements to this effect appear in many
writings, including the passage already quoted from On the Correction
of First Philosophy. We have seen, however, that from his earliest writ-
ings Leibniz associates the notion of substance with an entelechy or
principle of action. Thus, it is hardly surprising that as he begins to
investigate the character of the forces exerted by bodies, and along
with this the substance of material things, he is naturally inclined to
relate these issues to that of the nature of substance in general. The
persistence of the idea of substance as a principle of action from
Leibniz's early writings to his later works suggests that the dynamical
theory does not represent a radical overhauling of his view, but mere-
ly a refinement of it via a more sophisticated account of the nature of
corporeal forces.
15° FIRST PHILOSOPHY
The disappearance of the complete concept theory from Leibniz's

post-1690 writings is, to be sure, a significant event. I suggest later
that Leibniz may have had good reasons for letting this theory go. We
need not assume, however, that the demise of the complete concept
theory implies any fundamental change in his understanding of sub-
stance. Although Leibniz may ultimately have come to think that the
complete concept theory was better left aside, the reason for this was
not that he saw it as having been refuted by the dynamical theory.
Proof of this can be found in the circumstances surrounding the
publication of On the Correction ofFirst Philosophy*1 Leibniz was spurred
to compose this essay by news he had received from his Leipzig neph-
ew Friedrich Simon Loffler of Christian Thomasius's public discus-
sion of the question quid sit substantia. Immediately, Leibniz set to work
on a response to Thomasius, which he forwarded in December 1693
to Otto Mencke, editor of the Ada Eruditorum. In submitting his reply
to Mencke, Leibniz was evidently unaware of the animosity between
Mencke's circle and that of Thomasius. If the question had been
proposed by a Huygens or a Newton, Mencke answered him, there
would be no problem about publishing Leibniz's reply. He was not,
however, prepared to make his journal a forum for the views of
Thomasius. As an alternative, he proposed that Leibniz leave
Thomasius aside and approach the question of substance from the
point of view of his critique of Cartesian physics, the first statement of
which had appeared in the Acta several years earlier. Leibniz agreed
to this and the result was On the Correction of First Philosophy. Later in
the same year, there appeared Thomasius's own Dialogus de definitione
substantiae, which concluded with a comment on Leibniz's article. The
famed Herr Leibniz's discussion in the Leipzig Acta is indeed very
interesting, remarks one of the dialogue's participants, but he has yet
to offer a definition of substance. What we now know from Leibniz's
unpublished papers is that he made a careful study of Thomasius's
Dialogus and supplied in his notes the definition demanded by
Thomasius. There we find an account of substance identical with
what appears in his writings from the 1680s:
A substance is a complete being [Ens completum] of perfect unity. A substance
therefore does not have parts, otherwise it would not have a perfect unity; it
would not be a substance, but substances. A complete being is that which has a
complete concept, namely that from which everything can be deduced which 42
can be said of the same subject. . . . A substance is a simple, complete being.
The lesson of this story is that the apparent discrepancy between the
contents of On the Correction of First Philosophy and Leibniz's earlier
account of substance can at least in part be attributed to intellectual
politics, as opposed to any real shift in his view. When asked in 1694 to
supply a definition of substance, he resorts to a statement resembling
SUBSTANCE 151
the definitions found in his 1680s writings. A substance is an ens

simplum completum: a complete being that is also "simple" or an unum
per se.
This is not the last time we encounter the notion of completeness in
Leibniz's writings, but it may be the last time we find it used in precise-
ly this sense. In a draft of a 1701 letter to the Dutch physicist Burcher
de Voider, with whom he was then engaged in an intense debate con-
cerning the nature of substance, Leibniz inscribed the following mar-
ginal note: "A substance is an atomon autopleroun, an atom complete in
itself or completing itself [per se completum sen se ipsum complens]. From
this it follows that it is a vital atom or an atom having an entelechy.
That which is an atom is identical to that which is truly one" (GP II
224).43 Although this definition employs the vocabulary of complete-
ness, a subtle shift has by this time occurred in Leibniz's understand-
ing of the term. The completeness of a substance is now directly
linked to its character as a "vital atom," rather than to the logical
condition of being an ultimate subject of predication. A substance is
not merely complete in itself: It is actively completing itself.
At the same time that this conceptual shift is under way, there
appears an idea, not completely new to Leibniz's thought, which effec-
tively supplants the device of a complete concept and arguably over-
comes an important limitation in it. This is the idea of a substance's
individual "law of the series." Leibniz's insistence on the need for
some such principle to determine the individual nature of a substance
testifies to the underlying continuity of his concerns. Although the
concept of force or power "greatly illluminates our understanding of
the true concept of substance" (GP IV 469/L 433), by itself it explains
only the nature of substance in general. It does not tell what it is to be
this or that substance, or why a given series of actions is predicable of
one substance rather than another. These are issues that remain cen-
tral in Leibniz's later writings. To De Voider, he suggests that "we
should seek no other notion of power or force than that it is an
attribute from which follows change, whose subject is substance itself"
(GP II 170). But to say no more than that substance is "the subject of
change," he argues, is to give only a "nominal" account of its nature
(GP II 182/L 520). It may allow us to pick out all and only those beings
which are substances, but it does not convey what it is to be an individ-
ual substance. For this purpose, it is necessary to appeal to the princi-
ple that defines the series of its particular states and thereby makes it
that substance rather than any other. A substance, therefore, is not
simply a being that is active or subject to change: It is a "primitive
entelechy. . . . whose nature consists in a certain perpetual law of the
series of the changes through which it runs unhindered" (GP II 171/
L517X44
The notion of a substance's law of the series plays much the same
theoretical role as is played by a complete concept in Leibniz's 1680s
theory. In it, he locates the basis for a substance's persistence or identi-
ty through change:
The succeeding substance will be considered the same as the preceding as
long as the same law of the series or of simple continuous transition persists,
which makes us believe in the same subject of change. . . . The fact that a
certain law persists which involves all of the future states of that which we
conceive to be the same — this is the very fact, I say, which constitutes the
enduring substance. (GP II 264/L 535)45
That a substance persists as a law or principle of action is further seen
by Leibniz as the basis for its claim to be a true unity. Without en-
telechies, he writes to De Voider, there would be "no principle of true
unity. . . . I regard substance itself, being endowed with primitive
active and passive power, as an indivisible or perfect monad - like the
ego, or something similar to it" (GP II 250-l/L 529-30). Finally,
insofar as a substance involves a primitive active force that generates a
unique series of changes, Leibniz regards the law of this series as
supplying a principle of individuation for substances:
[I]n my opinion it is the nature of created substance to change continually
following a certain order which leads it spontaneously . . . through all the
states which it encounters, in such a way that he who sees all things sees all its
past and future states in its present. And this law of order . . . constitutes the
individuality of each particular substance. (GP IV 518/L 493)46
While accounting for the same basic characteristics of substance
(persistence, unity, individuality) as the complete concept theory, the
notion of a substance's "law of the series" offers in addition one cru-
cial advantage over Leibniz's 1680s position. It is a significant weak-
ness of the complete concept theory that it attempts to model the
nature of substance, an inherently active being, in a manner that is
essentially static. A complete concept is defined as "containing" all
that can be predicated of the same subject; yet it offers no suggestion
of the order and causal dependence of the successive states of a sub-
stance. We know that from at least the 1670s such an order was an
important part of Leibniz's understanding of what it is to be a sub-
stance. For this reason, some commentators have assumed he must
have meant us to understand complete concepts as having an internal
structure that represents the temporal succession of the correspond-
ing substantial states. This, however, is surely asking too much. Leib-
niz was the first to recognize that concepts have a combinatorial struc-
ture: They are defined as simple products of their components
without regard for the order among those components.47 The proper
inference to draw from this, I believe, is that during his stay in Paris,
SUBSTANCE 153
Leibniz was already aware at some level that a static concept was the
wrong device for expressing the nature of an active substance. Much
more appropriate was the idea of a series or progression, whose prop-
erties he was at that time engaged in investigating in the area of
mathematics.48 Given this, it is perhaps surprising that on his return
to Germany in 1676, Leibniz did not immediately turn to the notion
of a law of the series in his attempts to articulate the individual es-
sence of a substance. That he did not can best be explained by his
preoccupation during the 1680s with the classification and definition
of the primary categories of being. While he was working under the
latter paradigm, the complete concept theory is exactly what one
would have expected from Leibniz. We can surmise, however, that as
the focus of his interests began to shift around the time of his Italian
journey from the traditional logical and metaphysical concerns of the
1680s to the project of dynamics, an opportunity arose for Leibniz to
rethink his conception of substance. All of the essential features of
substance remained in place. What emerged, however, was his explicit
recognition that if the nature of substance in general is to be an
entelechy or primitive active force, the most appropriate device for
representing the individual nature of a substance is not a complete
concept but, rather, the law of the series of its operations.
This development in Leibniz's thought is witnessed most clearly in
his correspondence with Burcher De Voider. "Since every action con-
tains change," Leibniz writes,
we must have in it precisely what you would seem to deny it, namely, a
tendency toward internal change and a temporal succession following from
the nature of the thing. You of course deny that "from the nature of the thing
there follows that which belongs to it merely temporarily." You prove this by
the example of a triangle, but you do not distinguish between universal and
singular natures. From universal natures there follow eternal consequences;
from singular ones also temporal ones, unless you think that temporal things
have no cause. . . . All individual things are successions or are subject to
successions. . . . For me nothing is permanent in things except the law itself
which involves a continuous succession and corresponds, in individual things,
to that law which determines the whole world. (GP II 263/L 534)
In Leibniz's view, there is a fundamental difference between universal
natures and singular ones. Whereas the former are adequately con-
ceived according to the combinatorial model, whereby a property is
said to follow from a nature just in case its presence can be revealed
through a finite analysis of that nature, the latter are not. Individual
things are, without exception, "successions or are subject to succes-
sions." Hence, the proper model for representing their nature is not a
static concept but the law that determines a series or progression. In
conceiving of this law, Leibniz's first point of reference is the mathe-
matical function that determines a series of numbers. Although the

series of states of a substance is unlike a mathematical series in involv-
ing a temporal succession, it "has in common with other series the
property that the law of the series shows where it must arrive in
continuing its progress or, in other words, the order in which its terms
will proceed when its beginning and the law of its progression are
given, whether that order is a priority of essence only or also one of
time" (GP II 263/L 534). The idea that creation is unfolding accord-
ing to a course determined by a law or function is an integral part of
Leibniz's metaphysics. In several texts, he postulates the existence of a
single general law that encompasses God's complete plan for creation
and thus determines the evolution of the world as a whole.49 Subordi-
nate to this supreme law are the numerous individual laws which
govern the development of the states of particular substances. To be a
substance, then, is to possess a natural force or tendency which envel-
ops an entire history. It is in this sense, Leibniz claims, that the present
state of any substance is "pregnant with its future": "When I speak of
the force and action of created beings, I mean that each created being
is pregnant with its future state, and that it follows naturally a certain
course, so long as nothing prevents it" (D VI 214).50
Corporeal Substance in the Period of

the Discourse on Metaphysics
To this point we have been concerned exclusively with Leibniz's expla-
nation of the nature or essence of substance, or what he describes as
"substance in abstracted (A I 7, 248—9).51 We have seen that through
the 1680s and 1690s he remains committed to two principal theses:
First, substance in general is by nature a "primitive force" or principle
of action; second, in any particular substance, this force is individu-
ated through its limitation to a specific series of operations, a series
that suffices to determine the identity of that substance and to distin-
guish it from every other substance. During the 1680s Leibniz formu-
lates his account of a substance's individual nature in terms of its
possession of a complete concept, one that includes representations of
all the actions and passions predicable of that substance. Under the
influence of his work in dynamics, this device gives way in the 1690s to
the notion of a substance's "law of the series." In either case, the basic
idea is the same.
In this section we turn to an important issue that arises in connec-
tion with Leibniz's account of substance in concrete, that is, his account
of the particular things that fall under the concept of substance. Our
question is this: Did Leibniz during the 1680s acknowledge the exis-
tence of genuine corporeal substances, bodies that instantiate the na-
SUBSTANCE 155
ture of substance? Or was he at this time already committed to a
position essentially akin to his later doctrine of monads: a view ac-
cording to which all substances are soullike principles of action and
passion, which in some way give rise to the appearances of extended
material things?52 We shall look in detail at the issues surrounding
corporeal substance in Chapter 10. At this point I aim simply to
remove some of the urgency from the topic by showing that there is a
plausible way to understand Leibniz's position in the 1680s, which
finds him already embracing the view that what is real or substantial
in body is limited to soullike forms.
At the time of the composition of the Discourse on Metaphysics, Leib-
niz's attitude toward the idea of corporeal substance was determined
by two main factors. First, he had by this time secured his own positive
conception of substance as a per se unity, whose nature as an en-
telechy or spontaneous source of action is expressed in a complete
concept. Second, he had decided in no uncertain terms that the Carte-
sian conception of matter as res extensa did not satisfy the necessary
conditions for something's being a substance. A thing whose essence is
extension cannot be a true unity. Moreover, because it lacks an intrin-
sic source of action, there is nothing in its nature to provide for the
spontaneity of substance, or the property of being "pregnant with its
future." In 1686, Leibniz's primary metaphysical commitments clearly
pointed in the direction of denying that bodies as conceived by Des-
cartes are anything real at all.53 Yet if for no other reason than that he
was bound to answer to orthodoxy, this conclusion did not fully satisfy
him. Religious doctrine and common sense both dictated that human
beings are embodied substances. Consequently, for his position to
become acceptable, Leibniz had to find a way of at least seeming to
accommodate the substantiality of the complete human being: soul
and body.54
It may not have been clear to Leibniz himself in 1686 whether his
philosophy contained the elements necessary for a theory that would
validate the claim of human beings to be corporeal substances. Nev-
ertheless, he persisted in this quest in one form or another until the
very end of his life. In attempting to develop a theory of corporeal
substance, Leibniz took for his model the Aristotelian account of sub-
stance as a form-matter composite. In the early 1680s, several years
before the composition of the Discourse, he had already reached the
conclusion that an extended body could acquire the status of a per se
unity only if it were in some way united with an immaterial substantial
form:
Unless a body is animated, or contains in itself some one substance, corre-
sponding to a soul, which is called a substantial form or primary entelechy, it
is no more one substance than a heap of stones; and if, on the contrary, there
is no part of it which can be taken for an unum per se . . . it follows that every
body will be only a real phenomenon, like a rainbow. (LH IV 7C Bi. 105-6
[V 1299])55
Leibniz regards a substantial form as supplying two essential charac-
teristics that are missing from the notion of res extensa. First, a substan-
tial form is intended to provide its body with a principle of unity. Even
if a body is always changing in its composition as a result of the
division and decay of its parts, its association with an unchanging
form provides a basis for its persistence as a unitary thing. Second, a
substantial form is intended to render its associated body part of a
complete being, since the form is identified with a principle of action
sufficient for the production of all its own states.
From the start, however, it is unclear how we are to understand
such form—matter composites. Leibniz consistently maintains that in
themselves extension and its modes (shape, size, motion) are merely
"imaginary" or phenomenal properties. 56 Thus, corporeal substance
cannot be understood as a union of active form and passive extended
matter. But how, then, are we to conceive of the matter that is united
with a form to produce a corporeal substance? The Discourse on Meta-
physics provides us with little help in resolving this question. When
Leibniz introduces the issue of the nature of body in §12, he has only
this to say:
I believe that anyone who will but meditate about the nature of substance, as I
have explained it above, will find that the nature of body does not consist
merely in extension, that is, in size, shape and motion, but that we must
necessarily recognize in body something related to souls, something we com-
monly call substantial form, even though it makes no change in the phenome-
na, any more than do the souls of animals, if they have any. It is even possible
to demonstrate that the notions of size, shape and motion are not as distinct
as we imagine and that they contain something imaginary and relative to our
perceptions. (Le 41—2/AG 44)
Reading just this, it would be easy to conclude that Leibniz believes

there is nothing real or substantial in bodies over and above substan-
tial forms and what follows from them, where this evidently does not
include extension and its modes. Here at least we are given no hint of
a material principle that might combine with a substantial form to
produce a corporeal substance. In later sections of the Discourse, Leib-
niz does introduce a type of material principle, but it is within every
soul or soullike form, namely, its capacity to be acted on, or to become
less perfect in its mode of expression (DM §§15, 2g).57
When Leibniz addresses this point in the Arnauld correspondence,
he makes it clear that if there are corporeal substances, the matter
that joins with a form to produce such a substance is not the material
principle that is integral to any soullike form. Rather, it is what he
SUBSTANCE 157
calls "secondary matter," an aggregation of smaller corporeal sub-

stances:
[I]f one considers as the matter of corporeal substance not mass without
forms, but a secondary matter [une matiere seconde] which is the multitude of
substances of which the mass is that of the whole body, it may be said that
these substances are parts of this matter, just as those which enter into our
body form part of it, for as our body is the matter, and the soul is the form of
our substance, it is the same with other corporeal substances. (GP II 119/M
153)58
While this account provides an answer to our original question, it also
forces us to pose that question one step further back. In order to
explain a body's component corporeal substances, we must again say
that they are each the product of a soullike form and a multitude of
smaller corporeal substances, and so on ad infinitum. What is signifi-
cant about this regress is that we never reach a more basic material
principle complementary to substantial form. Instead, Leibniz seems
committed to explaining the reality of corporeal substance in terms of
substantial forms alone: entities that include an active and passive
principle but that are not themselves material beings. If this is so, his
view of corporeal substance in the 1680s seems close to the position he
defends in the period of the Monadology.b9 Given his thesis of the
infinite envelopment of corporeal substances, we will have to say that
the reality of an animated creature like a human being is not limited
to the form that supplies the basis for its unity but involves in some
way the forms of all the lesser corporeal substances contributing to
the constitution of its body. Nevertheless, we may conclude that when
Leibniz speaks of "corporeal substances," he is ultimately referring
only to soullike substantial forms.60
This interpretation - call it the reductionist theory61 - is suggested
by a number of writings from the Discourse period in which Leibniz
identifies the reality of corporeal substance with a combination of
active and passive powers:
Concerning bodies I can demonstrate that not merely light, heat, color, and
similar qualities are apparent, but also motion, figure, and extension. And if
anything is real, it is solely the force of acting and of being acted on, and
hence the substance62of a body consists in this (as if in matter and form).
(GP VII 322/L 365)
When Leibniz claims that what is real or substantial in body is only a
power of acting and of being acted on, it is again tempting to read him
as affirming the reductionist theory. In the Discourse (§§15, 29), he
explicitly ascribes such powers to souls and soullike forms. So why
shouldn't we see him as holding that in the final analysis the reality
of corporeal substance can be accounted for in terms of substantial
forms alone?
The strongest challenge to this proposal has been mounted by Dan-

iel Garber, who has argued against the reductionist theory on the
grounds that the notion of passive power, or "primary matter," means
something different for Leibniz in the 1680s and 1690s than it does in
the period of the Monadology. Whereas it is generally agreed that in his
later writings Leibniz regards primary matter as an aspect of a soul-
like substance - its capacity for confused perception - Garber con-
tends that in the earlier period primary matter represents an inde-
pendent passive principle that combines with an active form or
entelechy to produce a complete corporeal substance.63 The differ-
ence between Garber's account and the reductionist theory hinges on
the relationship of the material principle to the entelechy or substan-
tial form. According to the reductionist theory, passive power is mere-
ly an aspect of a souUike form, which is associated with its degree of
limitation or imperfection. According to Garber, corporeal substance
involves a passive power, which is distinct from, and complementary
to, its active form or entelechy. Consequently, Leibniz cannot be read
as proposing a reduction of corporeal substance to soullike substances
alone.
Although Leibniz may in some places suggest a position similar to
the one Garber describes, he clearly opts for the reductionist theory
in at least one text from the 1680s. In an essay from which we have
already quoted, he explicitly identifies the passive power or "meta-
physical matter" of corporeal substance with its capacity for confused
perceptions:
[I]f anything is real, it is solely the force of acting and of being acted on, and
hence the substance of a body consists in this (as if in matter and form). . . .
Substances have metaphysical matter or passive power insofar as they express
something confusedly; active power, insofar as they express it distinctly.
(GP VII 322/L 3 65) 64
Although this text is an unusual one, it demonstrates that Leibniz had
at least conceived of the reductionist theory by the period of the
Discourse. Whether he was aware of its full import, whether he was
prepared to accept all of its consequences, we cannot say. What we can
assume, however, is that the theory is lurking somewhere in the back-
ground of all of his statements about corporeal substance during the
1680s.65
The considerations of this section have not settled the issue of
Leibniz's commitment to corporeal substance during his middle peri-
od. We have not treated in depth his important discussions of the
topic in the Arnauld and Fardella correspondences, nor the role of
corporeal substance in his writings on dynamics.66 What we have
found, however, recommends the reductionist theory as a strong can-
didate for Leibniz's position. When he speaks of corporeal substance,
I believe, we are best off understanding him as referring simply to
SUBSTANCE 159
what is real or substantial in bodies: the active and passive powers of

soullike forms.
The Theory of Monads

Leibniz's theory of monads is in all essential respects consistent with
his dynamical theory of substance. For several reasons, however, it
warrants a separate treatment here. First, the doctrine of monads is
the culmination of Leibniz's thinking about substance. Once he has
settled on his definition of a monad, his views about substance remain
fixed until his death. 67 Second, as it is developed in late works such as
the Monadology and the Principles of Nature and of Grace, the doctrine of
monads amounts to a more precise and systematic presentation of
Leibniz's conception of substance than he had previously achieved. In
no earlier writings does he exhibit so clearly the relationship between
the different components of his theory. Finally, the doctrine of mo-
nads provides the basis for a powerful reductionist metaphysics,
which Leibniz asserts with increasing confidence during the early
1700s. Having arrived at a stable conception of substance as a monad,
he comes to defend forcefully the view that reality consists solely of
monads and that all other beings are merely "results" of them.68
Leibniz's fullest exposition of the properties of monads is contained
in the essay entitled Monadology.69 In §1 of that work he defines a
monad as "nothing but a simple substance that enters into composites
- simple, that is, without parts." Simplicity is demanded of monads
because without simples there would be no composites; composites,
by their very nature, are nothing but "collections" or "aggregates" of
simples (§2).70 However, in order to qualify as genuine simples, mo-
nads must be without parts, and hence without extension, shape or
divisibility (§3).71 From this initial definition, Leibniz draws two im-
portant consequences. First, a monad is subject to neither generation
nor corruption. Insofar as it lacks parts, "there is no conceivable way
in which a simple substance can perish naturally" (§4), and no way in
which it "can begin naturally, since it cannot be formed by composi-
tion" (§5). Instead, a monad can only begin by creation and end by
annihilation (§6). Second, there is no conceivable way in which one
monad can be affected by another:
There is . . . no way of explaining how a monad can be altered or changed
internally by some other creature, since one cannot transpose anything in it,
nor can one conceive of any internal motion that can be excited, directed,
augmented, or diminished within it, as can be done in composites, where
there can be change among the parts. (§7)72
Although monads are by definition "simple," in the sense of lacking
parts, Leibniz insists that such simplicity is consistent with their having
internal complexity, in the form of a plurality of modifications.73
i6o FIRST PHILOSOPHY
Indeed, he maintains that it is necessary that monads be distinguished

in this way. As the "true atoms" of nature (§3), monads must provide a
ground for the qualitative differences recognized in composite things.
They must therefore possess at least some qualities, for if there were
no differences among monads "one state of things would be indis-
tinguishable from another" (§8). Leibniz, however, draws an even
stronger conclusion than this. It follows from the principle of the
identity of indiscernibles that there must not simply be some differ-
ences among monads, but that "each monad must be different from
every other. For there are no two things in nature that are perfectly
alike, two eings in which it is not possible to discover an internal
difference, that is, one founded on an intrinsic denomination" (§9). It
is thus ruled out that two monads could in principle share all their
modifications.
In §10 of the Monadology, Leibniz offers it as an axiom that "every
created being, and consequently the created monad as well, is subject
to change," and "that this change is continual in each thing." On the
basis of the points already established, he infers that a "monad's natu-
ral changes come from an internal principle, since no external cause
can influence it internally" (§11); and that "besides the principle of
change, there must be diversity in that which changes, which produces,
so to speak, the specification and variety of simple substances" (§12).
These conclusions set the stage for his description of the modifica-
tions of monads. Taking the second point first, he argues that "there
must be a plurality of affections and relations in the simple substance,
although it has no parts" (§13). These he identifies with a monad's
perceptions: "The passing state which involves and represents a mul-
titude in the unity or in the simple substance is nothing other than
what one calls perception" (§14). Subsequently, he designates a monad's
appetition as the "action of the internal principle which brings about
the change or passage from one affect to another" (§15). Together,
these two types of modifications — perceptions and appetitions —
exhaust the intrinsic properties of monads: "[T]his is all one can find
in simple substance — that is, perceptions and their changes. It is also
in this alone that all the internal actions of simple substances can con-
sist" (§17).
This completes Leibniz's preliminary account of monads. Any
simple substance or monad, he claims, is a principle of action. Its state
at any moment is defined in terms of "a plurality of affections and
relations," which correspond to its perceptions; and these affections
and relations are subject to continual change, as a consequence of its
appetitions - the tendencies of its states to proceed toward new states.
Although this theory is on the face of it clear enough, a number of
complexities emerge when we examine it more closely.
SUBSTANCE l6l
We may begin with a monad's perceptions. Conceived in them-

selves, perceptions are nothing more than the plurality of modifica-
tions that constitute the state of a simple substance at a given moment.
In addition to their nature as modifications of substance, however,
perceptions possess a certain content. According to Leibniz, "percep-
tion is nothing other than the representation of external variation in
internal variation" (GP VII 329-30). 74 Thus, the modifications he
identifies with a monad's perceptions must involve some reference
to external things. It is here that we find the significance of his claim
that there exists a plurality of affections and relations within any
monad. We may helpfully recall in this context our earlier discussion
of how Leibniz regards the extrinsic denominations of a substance as
grounded in perceptual states that express its connection to the rest
of the universe. As we shall see in the next chapter, when Leibniz says
that there is a plurality of relations within any monad, what he seems
to mean by this is that there are within any monad states that repre-
sent the relatedness of that monad to the rest of its world.75
In his descriptions of the properties of monads, Leibniz generally
distinguishes, as we have seen, two different kinds of modifications:
perceptions and appetitions.76 At times, however, he appears to sug-
gest that monads in fact possess only one type of modification, per-
ceptions, which themselves include an inherent tendency toward new
perceptions. In his reply to the second edition of Bayle's Dictionary, he
writes:
The soul. . . although entirely indivisible, involves a composite tendency, that
is a multitude of present thoughts, each of which tends to a particular change
according to what it involves and what is found in it at the time by virtue of its
essential relationship to all the other things in the world. (GP IV 562/L 579)
Whether we regard appetitions as modifications in their own right, or

merely as properties of perceptions, Leibniz makes it clear that two
different kinds of intrinsic denominations are required in order to
specify fully the state of a monad: denominations that designate "a
power of transition and that to which the transition is made" (C 9/
P 134). Thus, we can at least distinguish conceptually the perceptions
of a monad, which are individuated in terms of their content or what
they represent, and the tendency of those perceptions to give way to
new perceptions. In Leibniz's view, this latter appetition or "endeav-
or" is an intrinsic feature of any monadic state. He conceives of it as
analogous to the conatus of a moving body. Whereas motion is ex-
pressed in a body's path through space during a finite interval of time,
conatus is expressed in its momentary tendency to move in a certain
direction. Monadic appetition is thus to be thought of not as the
actual change that occurs in a monad, but as the tendency of a given
l62 FIRST PHILOSOPHY
perception to give way to new perceptions. As in the case of percep-

tions themselves, the state of any monad at a given time is charac-
terized by an infinity of such appetitions. The result of their action is
the continual progression of the monad to new perceptions.77
Although every monad is by nature a principle of change insofar as
its states naturally tend toward new states, in the strictest sense change
itself is not an intrinsic denomination of monads. It is instead Lierely
an aggregate or "result" of two contradictory states of a monad. So
understood, monadic changes can be divided into two types. A mo-
nad's actions are those changes by which it passes from a less perfect
state to a more (or equally) perfect state; its passions are those changes
by which it passes from a more perfect state to a less perfect state.78 In
each case, the degree of perfection of a monad's state is defined in
terms of the degree of distinctness of its perceptions, or its propor-
tion of distinct to confused perceptions. Thus, a monad can be said to
be active insofar as its perceptions are becoming more distinct, and to
be passive insofar as they are becoming less distinct (or more con-
fused):
[I]f we take "action" to be an endeavor toward perfection, and "passion" to be
the opposite, then genuine substances are active only when their perceptions
. . . are becoming better developed and more distinct, just as they are passive
only when their perceptions are becoming more confused. (NE II, xxi, 72;
RB 210) 7 9
In Leibniz's view, every created monad is subject to both actions and

passions. As such, it must be regarded as possessing both a "primitive
active power," its entelechy or principle of force, and a "primitive
passive power," its "primary matter."80 In a sense, therefore, a monad
can be regarded as hylomorphic substance, or as a composite of form
and matter. It is important, however, that we not be misled by this
description. Under no circumstances should we think of monads as
material substances: "One can call all simple substances or created
monads 'entelechies,' for they have in themselves a certain perfec-
tion; they have a sufficiency that makes them the sources of their
internal actions, and, so to speak, incorporeal automata" (§18). The
identification of monads with entelechies, the principles of action
Leibniz elsewhere designates as "forms," makes it clear that monads
themselves are not corporeal substances.81 They are instead soullike
beings, which unite with an organic body to form an organism or
living creature. 82
If this is so, however, the question of the source of the passivity of
monads, or their "primary matter," becomes especially pressing. Leib-
niz characteristically associates this aspect of a monad's nature with its
resistance to change and with its confused perceptions: "[A]s monads
SUBSTANCE 163
are subject to passions (excepting the primitive one [God]), they are
not pure forces; they are the foundation not only of actions, but also
of resistances or passivities [passibilites], and their passions are in con-
fused perceptions" (GP III 636). But how, we must ask, are the con-
fused perceptions of a monad specifically linked with its resistance to
change and with its tendency to pass from more perfect to less perfect
states? The resolution of this problem requires that we distinguish
two different senses in which a monad can be said to "act." As an
entelechy or spontaneous source of change, a monad acts continu-
ously to produce whatever changes occur in its own states:
[A]nything which occurs in what is strictly speaking a substance must be a case
of "action" in the metaphysically rigorous sense of something which occurs in
the substance spontaneously, arising out of its own depths; for no created
substance can have an influence upon any other, so that everything comes to a
substance from itself 'though ultimately from God). (NE II, xxi, 72; RB 210)
According to Leib^z, any changes that occur in the states of a monad
are entirely th * product of its own appetitions, or the momentary
tendencies of its states to pass to new states; and every such appetition
can be regarded as a modification of the intrinsic force or primitive
active power of that monad. Although any change within the state of a
given monad thus results from the same source - the exercise of
monadic appetition - we can distinguish between those changes
which terminate in states of increased perfection (a monad's actions)
and those which terminate in states of decreased perfection (its pas-
sions). Whether the total appetition of a monad at a given moment
results in an action or a passion will be determined by its correspond-
ing resistance to change at that moment, that is, by its primary matter
or confused perceptions.
We can best understand how this resistance arises by returning to
Leibniz's basic model of action (both human and divine) as the joint
product of wisdom and volition.83 For Leibniz, will or appetite is
naturally good: It tends toward any end in proportion to its apparent
degree of goodness. What impedes the attainment of the good is thus
not the character of an agent's will but its associated degree of wis-
dom: its capacity to assess the relative goodness of competing ends.
With this, we are able to clarify the respective roles played by primi-
tive active force and primary matter in the operations of a monad. A
monad is conceived by Leibniz as a combination of volitional and
cognitive elements - of a faculty of appetite and a faculty of percep-
tion. By nature a monad is a spontaneous principle of action that
tends toward change unless it is in some way impeded, and it tends
toward change in accordance with the law of final causes; that is, it
aims to attain the greatest possible good. To the extent that a monad is
impeded in its striving for states of greater perfection, it itself must be

the source of the impediment. Leibniz rejects the influence of any
other finite being on a monad, and he is committed to denying that
God is in any way responsible for what is passive or limited in created
beings. The only explanation for the resistance to the progressive
strivings of a monad, then, is that monad's limited apprehension of
the good toward which its appetitions are directed. This limited ap-
prehension is a result of its confused perceptions, which are identi-
fied by Leibniz with the primary matter or passive power of the
monad.
The discussion in this section has been limited to an account of the

properties of individual monads. The results established here will be
extended in the next chapter when we look in detail at the relations
that unite monads within a world. Before turning to that topic, a few
final words must be said about the divisions Leibniz recognizes within
the class of monads. To the extent that they exemplify the properties
of unity, activity, and perception, monads are essentially soullike. In
§19 of the Monadology, Leibniz suggests that in a sense it might be
proper even to identify monads with souls: "If we wish to call soul
everything that has perceptions and appetitions in the general sense I
have just explained, then all simple substances or created monads can
be called souls." He retreats from this conclusion, however, in the
interest of distinguishing between three different grades of monads
based on the relative perfection of their faculty of perception. As we
have seen, Leibniz assumes that all monads at every moment are
endowed with an infinity of petites perceptions.84 He nevertheless re-
gards monads as varying greatly in the degree to which their percep-
tions are distinct, or admit of discernible differences. At the lowest
level in the hierarchy of monads are those simple substances which
possess the basic properties of perception and appetition, but whose
perceptions themselves have no appreciable degree of distinctness.
For such "bare" [nudae] monads, there is no sensory awareness and no
self-conscious reflection on the contents of their mind. Their mental
life is identified with the quality of our own "when we faint or when
we are overwhelmed by a deep, dreamless sleep" (§20). At the stage
above this one, Leibniz locates "souls": substances whose perceptions
are more distinct, sufficient for the purposes of sensation, and accom-
panied by memory (§19). He assigns souls of this sort to animals, and
judges that they are thereby endowed with the ability to reason "like
an Empiric," that is, according to the lessons of experience and habit
(§§26—8). The highest level of monads, finally, is composed of "spir-
its" or "rational minds," which are distinguished from the souls of
animals by their knowledge of necessary truths, acquired through
reflection on the nature of their own minds (§30).
SUBSTANCE 165
We examined at length in Chapter 4 how Leibniz seeks to ground the

possibility of metaphysics as a science on the capacity of rational minds
to find within themselves intelligible concepts of being, substance,
cause, and so on. We have now come full circle in our development of
the theory of substance that is intended to explain this capacity. Unfor-
tunately, we are here apt to experience some disappointment. It is a
fundamental tenet of Leibniz's metaphysics that whatever differences
exist among monads, it must be possible to conceive of the powers of
higher monads as emerging through a gradual incrementation of
those of lower monads, and indeed of the lowest bare monads.85 Where
this seems least plausible is in the case of the distinctive capacity for self-
reflection and rational thought that Leibniz assigns to human minds.
The capacity for rationality is intended to establish minds as a separate
class of created being altogether: creatures who alone are able to
understand the principles of divine justice and who alone merit citizen-
ship in the City of God. The problem is that this appears to imply an
infinite gap between rational and nonrational creatures, one that is
unbridgeable by any continuous ordering of degrees of perfection.
Leibniz never provides a satisfactory account of how this problem
might be resolved.86
Notes
See GP II 68/M 84; GP II 74-5/M 92. The details of this system, which
represents the best of all possible worlds as an aggregate of harmoniously
related substances, are the subject of Part III. At present, we are con-
cerned only with the essential properties of substance itself, or those
properties which substances would possess in any possible world.
To Foucher, 1686: "When we dispute whether something is a substance or
a mode of being [facon d'estre], it is necessary to define what it is to be a
substance. I find this definition nowhere, and I have been obliged to work
on it myself" (GP II 384). To Bourguet, 22 March 1714: "[W]e do not
commonly apply ourselves to giving definitions of terms, and we speak in
a confused way of substance, whose knowledge is nevertheless the key to
the inner philosophy [la Philosophie interieure]. This is the difficulty in
which we find ourselves, which has so confounded Spinoza and M.
Locke" (GP III 567).
This is not to say that Leibniz's views are orthodox Aristotelian ones but
only that they are largely framed in response to a set of concerns made
prominent by Aristotle and the scholastics. For a detailed defense of this
claim, see Mercer, in press. Hacking (1972) argues that the concept of
substance can be seen as providing the answer to a variety of metaphysical
problems: What remains numerically the same through change? What
are the ultimate simples from which complexes are formed? etc. The list
that follows summarizes what are for Leibniz the most significant of these
problems. My approach parallels that of S. Brown (1984, 99-101), who
sees Leibniz as committed to a similar set of assumptions.
Thus, Leibniz writes to Arnauld: "It seems too that what constitutes the
essence of a being through aggregation is only a state of being [maniere
d'estre] of its constituent beings; for example, what constitutes the essence
of an army is only a state of being of the constituent men. This state of
being therefore presupposes a substance whose essence is not a state of
being of another substance" (GP II 96—7/M 121).
5. For a careful tracing of this idea through Leibniz's writings of the 1660s
and 1670s, see Mercer, in press.
6. This is not the only route by which Leibniz reaches the conclusion that
substance is a principle of action. In the 1668 essay On Transubstantiation,
he claims this as a necessary condition for substance to qualify as "being
which subsists in itself": "1. Substance is being which subsists in itself [ens
per se subsistens]. 2. Being which subsists in itself is that which has a principle
of action within itself. Taken as an individual, being which subsists in
itself, or substance (either one), is a suppositum. In fact, the Scholastics
customarily define a suppositum as a substantial individual. Now actions
pertain to supposita [actiones sunt suppositorum]. Thus a suppositum has with-
in itself a principle of action, or it acts. Therefore, a being which subsists
in itself has a principle of action within itself. Q.E.D." (A VI 1, 508/
L 115). In later writings Leibniz often claims that the price of denying the
activity of substance is Spinozism. See Theodicy §393.
7. To Arnauld, he writes: "I deduce that many things do not exist where there
is not one that is genuinely one being, and that every multitude presup-
poses unity" (GP II 118/M 151). We return to this claim in Chapter 8.
8. See his letter to Arnauld of 30 April 1687 (GP II 96-102/M 120-8).
9. See Theodicy §390: "I hold that when God produces something he pro-
duces it as an individual, and not as a universal of logic" (GP VI 346/
H 358).
10. In DM §8, Leibniz identifies the "individual notion" of a substance with
its "haecceity," but he is not using this term in its original Scotist sense.
11. As we saw in Chapter 2, condition (g) can be traced to Leibniz's appro-
priation of Bisterfeld's doctrine of immeatio or universal "communion."
Leibniz recognizes Hippocrates as the source for the related idea that "all
things sympathize" (GP VI 627/AG 228; C 14-15/P 176). This thesis,
applied in the Hippocratic work On Nourishment to the human body, was
developed by Stoics like Chrysippus into a general cosmological principle
(see Lapidge 1978). Leibniz acknowledges this Stoic influence in his 1698
reply to Bayle (GP IV 523/L 496).
12. Cf. his letter to the Electress Sophie of March 1706: "And since the
mutation of things is not an annihilation, but a new modification of
substances which receive different states, we may judge that the nature of
created substance rightly consists in this connection, which brings it about
that these different states belong to one subject; and that this subject is
disposed by its nature to pass from one state to another. And this is what I
call active force, which is essential to substance, together with what is
passive in it and produces the limitations of this force" (K IX 173).
13. Cf. DM §§15, 16, 29, 32.
14. For a recent restatement of this view, see Catherine Wilson 1989. In
fairness to Wilson, one may read her as claiming simply that during the
Discourse period Leibniz is inclined to formulate his understanding of
substance in logical terms, a view with which I am in agreement. In some
passages, however, she seems to go beyond this, suggesting that Leibniz
has two incompatible conceptions of substance: one according to which
substance is not active or dynamic, the other according to which it is. She
writes, for example, that "Couturat was right to stress that force plays no
SUBSTANCE 167
definite metaphysical role in the Discourse" (160). In my view, this sets up a

false dichotomy between Leibniz's logical and dynamical conceptions of
substance. His treatment of substance within a broadly logical framework
does not imply that substance is not also a principle of force or action.
15. For an interpretation along these lines that differs somewhat from my
own, see Mercer and Sleigh 1995.
16. See DM §32 (Le 85/AG 64). Sleigh argues that the primary commitment
of Leibniz's theory of substance during this period is to the principle of
spontaneity: the principle that "every noninitiai state of a substance has as
its real cause some preceding state of that substance" (1990, 130). On the
basis of this principle, he claims, Leibniz is able to define a notion of
substantial persistence. This, in turn, provides a ground for the claim that
substance is an unum per se and that all of its states are "intrinsic" to it —
what Sleigh takes to be the cash value of the complete concept theory.
With all of this I am in general agreement, although I think Sleigh goes
too far in his effort to downplay the importance for Leibniz of what are,
broadly speaking, logical considerations. I am thinking here in particular
of his suggestion that in terms of "order of derivation," we should see
Leibniz's concept containment theory as following from his commitment
to the principle of spontaneity (132; cf. 90—1). Much better, in my view,
would be to give up the idea of an order of derivation — whether from the
logical to the metaphysical, or vice versa — and to see Leibniz as commit-
ted early on both to the principle of spontaneity and to the principle that
the nature of any substance must be sufficient to account for whatever is
predicable of it — what will later become its property of completeness. On
the role played by these principles in Leibniz's earliest writings, see Mer-
cer, in press.
17. Cf. A Specimen of Discoveries: "This principle of actions, or primitive active
force, from which a series of various states follows, is the form of the
substance" (GP VII 317/P 84).
18. A distinction must be drawn between the natural and miraculous states of
substance. In DM §16, Leibniz writes: "We could call that which includes
everything we express our essence or idea; since this expresses our union
with God himself, it has no limits and nothing surpasses it. But that which
is limited in us could be called our nature or our power; and in that sense,
that which surpasses the natures of all created substances is supernatural"
(Le 53-4/AG 4 9 ) .
19. Catherine Wilson again draws a false contrast here between Leibniz's
position in the period of the Discourse and in his later writings: "Where in
the Discourse he had suggested that the 'containment' of predicates in
subjects was the ground of their persistence as substances, he advances
far beyond this position in his defense of nature and natures" (1989,
170-1).
20. For this reason, Leibniz insists that substance is naturally subject to nei-
ther generation nor corruption. See DM §9, and A Specimen of Discoveries
(GP VII 314/P81).
21. This sets up Leibniz's claim, discussed later in this chapter, that a material
thing can only qualify as an unum per se if it is endowed with a substantial
form.
22. Cf. NE II, xxvii, 3 (RB 230).
23. The same confusion is found in a piece from October 1681: "There are
as many singular substances as there are different combinations of all
compatible attributes. And from this, it is obvious that there follows a
principle of individuation, about which the useless disputations of so

many scholastics are held. Titius is strong, learned, beautiful, fifty years
old, sentient, rational, etc. The concept from which all those things follow
that can be said of him is the concept of his singular substance" (LH IV
7C Bl. 107-8 [V 411-12]).
24. Cf. Theodicy §231; Mates 1986, 75.
25. But why, we might still ask, should we see God as limited to creating just
one instance of any complete concept? Leibniz's answer would appeal to
the necessary rationality of God's action. God knows which substance he
is creating solely through his knowledge of its complete concept. To
suggest that God might create more than one instance of a complete
concept would be to suggest that he might act in a manner less than fully
determined by his knowledge, there being no rational basis to distinguish
the products of his action in the different cases.
26. Cf. GP II 38-9/M 41-2.
27. "[T]he concept of the individual substance contains all its events and all
its denominations, even those that one commonly calls extrinsic (that is to
say, that belong to it only by virtue of the general connection of things
and of the fact that it is an expression of the entire universe after its own
manner)" (GP II 56/M 63).
28. See Chapter 2.
29. Cf. C 8/P 133, and NE II, xxv, 5: "[I]n metaphysical strictness there is no
wholly [pure] extrinsic denomination, because of the real connections
among things" (RB 227). For references to the "universal sympathy" of
things, see GP VII 311/P 78; LH IV 7C Bl. 107-8 [V 413].
30. In at least one passage, Leibniz appears to deny that there are any extrin-
sic denominations: "[RJigorously speaking, there are no extrinsic denom-
inations in things, since nothing happens anywhere in the world which
does not in fact impinge on every other existing thing in the world" (LH
IV 7C, Bl. 107—8 [V 413]). It is also plausible, however, to read him here
as advancing the thesis just articulated. Another passage that has given
rise to confusion, on account of a misreading by Loemker, is also consis-
tent with this interpretation: "That all existing things have an intercourse
[commercium] with each other is demonstrated both from the fact that
otherwise no one could say whether anything is taking place in them now
or not, so that there would be no truth or falsity for such a proposition,
which is absurd; and because there are many extrinsic denominations,
and no one becomes a widower in India by the death of his wife in Europe
unless a real change occurs in him. For every predicate is in fact con-
tained in the nature of the subject" (GP VII 321—2/L 365). Loemker
substitutes "no extrinsic denominations" for "many extrinsic denomina-
tions" (reading nullae for multae). This is at odds with the newly edited
text of the Vorausedition (V 480). See also C 521/P 90; GP VII 311/P 78.
31. This view is defended by G. Brown 1987, 192.
32. Cf. DM §§14-15; GP II 112/M 144; GP II 121/M 155.
33. In a 1676 fragment, Leibniz writes: "It seems to me that every mind is
confusedly omniscient. And any mind perceives simultaneously whatever
happens in the entire world" (C 10). Cf. Mon §60.
34. Here I follow Sleigh (1990, 175—6), who distinguishes two versions of the
doctrine of universal expression: a weaker version, which entails only a
correlation, or "a constant and fixed relationship," among the states of
different substances; and a stronger version, which entails universal per-
SUBSTANCE l6g
ception, or the expression of the universe within the internal states of

every substance, and also involves a claim about the grounding of extrin-
sic denominations in intrinsic denominations. In what follows, I assume
that Leibniz's position is best represented by the stronger version of the
doctrine.
35. Parkinson gives it the title On the Principle of Indiscernibles (C 8—10/P 133—5).
36. To De Voider, Leibniz writes: "Things which differ in place [loco] must
express their place, that is, their surroundings [ambientia], and thus differ
not only in place or an extrinsic denomination" (GP II 250/L 529). Cf. GP
II 240/L 526—7.
37. Foremost is the problem of the "mutual action of substances upon each
other," a special case of which is the puzzle of soul—body interaction.
Leibniz ends his essay by saying that he will leave this problem for the
future. He returns to it a year later in his New System of the Nature and
Communication of Substances.
38. Cf. FN 324; GP III 58, 464-5; GP IV 472, 553-4.
39. Leibniz left Hanover at the beginning of November 1687, traveling
through southern Germany and Austria, and arrived in Venice in March
1689. He returned to Hanover in June 1690. For details of his journey,
see Miiller and Kronert 1969; Robinet 1988.
40. This science is explored in Chapter 9.
41. The story is told by Utermohlen 1979.
42. LH IV 3, id Bl. 2. Quoted in Utermohlen 1979, 88-9.
43. Cf. GP II 251/L 531; GP II 277.
44. See also Leibniz's last (1690) letter to Arnauld: "[E]ach of these substances
contains in its nature the law by which the series of its operations contin-
ues, and all that has happened and will happen to it" (GP II 136/M 170).
In his 1698 essay De ipsa natura, Leibniz claims that God has imposed an
"inherent law" (legem insitam) on substances "from which both actions and
passions follow" (GP IV 506-7/AG 158). Cf. GP II 258/L 533; GP III 58,
464-5, 657; GP IV 512/AG 162-3; G P I V 553-4-
45. Cf. GP II 262/L 533: "[T]hat which persists, insofar as it involves all cases,
contains primitive force, so that primitive force is the law of the series."
47. More accurately, the only order recognized by the ars combinatoria is an
order of situs or arrangement, as opposed to an order of priority and
posteriority.
48. Already at this time, Leibniz proposed the idea of a substantial "law of the
series." See A VI 3, 326: "The essence of substance consists in the primi-
tive force of acting, or in the law of the series of its changes."
49. See in particular his 1701 letter to Varignon (BC II 557/W 185), and the
draft of his 1702 reply to Bayle: "Finally, when it is said that each monad,
soul, or mind has received a particular law, it is necessary to add that
it is only a variation of the general law which rules the universe" (GP IV
553-4)-
50. Cf. Mon §22, where Leibniz links the condition of being "pregnant with
the future" to the fact that "every present state of a substance is a natural
consequence of its preceding state" (GP VI 610/AG 216).
51. For a discussion of this expression, see Sleigh 1990, 97-8.
52. Recent scholarly opinion on this question has been divided. A number of
authors have maintained that until the end of the seventeenth century,
Leibniz defended the existence of corporeal substances, as well as imma-
terial, soullike substances. See Broad 1975; Garber 1985; C. Wilson 1989.
Doubts about this reading have been raised by Sleigh 1990, whose treat-
ment of the topic I have found helpful.
53. Thus, he writes to Simon Foucher in 1686: "If bodies were only simple
machines and there was only extension or matter in bodies, it is demon-
strable that all bodies would be only phenomena" (GP I 391). Cf. GP II
119/M 152-3. For a full discussion of the claim that merely extended
things cannot be substances, see Sleigh 1990, chap. 6.
54. In a 1686 letter to Arnauld, Leibniz refers to the declaration of the Fifth
Lateran Council (1512—17) that "the soul is truly the substantial form of
our body" (GP II 75/M 78).
55. Watermark dating of this piece places it between 1680 and 1685. State-
ments like it appear in many texts from the period: "But in fact no being
composed from many parts is truly one, and every substance is indivisible
and those things which have parts are not beings, but only phenomena.
For this reason, ancient philosophers rightly attribute substantial forms,
like minds, souls or primary entelechies to those things which they have
said make an unum per se, and they deny that matter in itself is some one
being" (1685; LH IV 7B, 4 Bl. 13-14 [SF 481]). "In an ens per se there is
required some real union [unio] consisting not in the location and move-
ment of parts, as in a chain, house or ship, but in some individual princi-
ple and subject of operations which is called by us the soul and in every
body a substantial form, provided that it is an unum per se" (1683-6; LH
IV 7, C Bl. 111-4 [V 416]). "I will show some time that every body in
which there is no soul or substantial form is only an appearance, like a
dream, and has no certain or determinate nature; and all the attributes of
bodies of this type are only phenomena which lack a subject. From this it
follows either that bodies are not real beings or that every body is some-
how animated" (1683-6; LH IV 7C BL 103-4 [SF 478]). See also A
Specimen of Discoveries (GP VII 314/P 81).
56. On the unreality of these properties, see GP II 119/M 152; GP VII 314/P
81; GP I 391—2; and the discussion of the final section of Chapter 4.
57. See also DM §18: "[T]he general principles of corporeal nature and of
mechanics itself are more metaphysical than geometrical, and belong to
some indivisible forms or natures as the causes of appearances, rather
than to corporeal mass or extension" (Le 58/AG 51-2). In DM §34,
Leibniz does assume that when united with a soul, the human body
constitutes an unum per se. However, it is difficult to know how much
weight to give this passage. An earlier draft of §34 had begun: "I do not
attempt to determine if bodies are substances in metaphysical rigor or if
they are only true phenomena like the rainbow and, consequently, if
there are true substances, souls, or substantial forms which are not intel-
ligent" (Le 87/AG 65). The safest thing to say is that Leibniz's views
concerning the reality of body and corporeal substance do not seem to be
fully settled in the Discourse. On this point, see the discussions of C.
Wilson 1989, chap. 3, and Sleigh 1990, chap. 5.
58. As Garber notes (1985, n. 54), much of this passage is missing from the
version of the letter received by Arnauld. Nevertheless, a passage that was
sent makes much the same point: "[A]ssuming there is a soul or entelechy
in animals or other corporeal substances, one must argue from it on this
point as we all argue from man who is an entity endowed with a genuine
unity conferred on him by his soul, notwithstanding the fact that the mass
SUBSTANCE 171
of his body is divided into organs, vessels, humors, spirits, and that the
parts are undoubtedly full of an infinite number of corporeal substances
endowed with their own entelechies" (GP II 120/M 154).
59. How close, of course, depends on what one takes Leibniz's later position
to be. On the reading offered in Part III, the relationship turns out to be
very close. For a concise statement of Leibniz's view, see Metaphysical Con-
sequences of the Principle of Reason §7: "But an organic body, like every
other body, is merely an aggregate of animals or other things which are
living and therefore organic, or finally of small objects or masses; but
these also are finally resolved into living things, from which it is evident
that all bodies are finally resolved into living things, and that what, in the
analysis of substances, exist ultimately are simple substances — namely,
souls, or, if you prefer a more general term, monads, which are without
parts" (C 13-14/P 175).
60. One qualification must be added. The conclusion that there is nothing
real or substantial in animated creatures except soullike forms might still
be consistent with the claim that these creatures are corporeal substances
if it could be established that the soul itself or some other principle of
union were capable of conferring a per se unity on the plurality of sub-
stances that make up the creature's body. We examine this possibility in
Chapter 10.
61. Cf. Sleigh (1990, 100), who labels it the "monadological theory."
62. Cf. the following texts: "[T]he reality of a corporeal substance consists in
a certain individual nature; that is, not in mass [mole], but in a power of
acting and being acted on. . . . Motive force, or the power of acting, is
something real and can be discerned in bodies. And so the essence of a
body is not to be located in extension and its modifications. . . . All sub-
stance is contained in the power of acting and being acted on" (GP VII
314-15/P 81-2); "Extension does not belong to the substance of a body,
nor motion, but only matter, or a principle of passion or limited nature,
and form, or a principle of action or unlimited nature. . . . If mass [moles]
belongs to the essence of human substance, it could not be explained how
a man may remain the same" (LH IV 1, 14c Bl. 11 [V 294]).
63. This is not to say that either principle is capable of existing by itself.
Strictly speaking, entelechy and primary matter are both abstractions
from the complete corporeal substance. See Garber 1985, 46-55.
64. Garber (1985, 47) recognizes this passage as supportive of the reduction-
ist theory but believes it comes from a period later than the Discourse.
Watermark dating places it between 1683 and 1686 (V 476).
65. See Sleigh 1990, 115; and Garber's response to this claim (1992, 164-5).
Another objection that can be raised against the reductionist theory is
that it is incompatible with the connection Leibniz establishes between the
active and passive powers of substance and the physical properties of
bodies. To the extent that these powers are envisioned as grounding
properties of material things, it might be argued, they could hardly be
the powers of a soullike form but must instead be the powers of a corpo-
real substance. As it stands, this objection is hardly decisive. The fact that
bodies and forms appear to be quite different sorts of things is insuffi-
cient reason to think that Leibniz would balk at grounding the former in
the latter. We shall see in Chapter 9 that this is exactly what he does in his
later philosophy when he cites the active and passive powers of monads as
foundations for the force and resistance of bodies. Such a view is not
explicit in his writings of the 1680s, but there is sufficient overlap be-
tween the things he says in the two periods to make it plausible that the
same analysis is at work. Suggestive here is his comment in the Specimen of
Discoveries that the reality of bodies is "to be located in the power of acting
and resisting alone, which we perceive with the intellect and not with the
imagination" (GP VII 315/P 82). This is reminiscent of his later view that
we can comprehend intellectually that material things are really unex-
tended monads, although we cannot imagine in sensory terms how this
could be so.
66. Concerning Leibniz's exchange with Fardella, it is worth considering the
following passage, dated March 1690: "And so, since every body is a mass
or aggregate of bodies, no body is a substance; and consequently, sub-
stance must be sought outside corporeal nature. But substance is some-
thing which is truly one, indivisible, and thus neither generable nor cor-
ruptible, [and] which is the subject of actions and passions; in short, it is
that very thing which I understand when I say T (me), which subsists,
albeit with my body having undergone changes [sublato] through its parts
- as my body is certainly in perpetual flux - and with me surviving. No
part of my body can be specified as necessary for my subsistence; nev-
ertheless, I am never without some united part of matter. I have need of
an organic body, although there is nothing in it which is necessary for my
subsistence" (FN 324/V 2157-8).
67. There has been much debate concerning when the term "monad" makes
its first appearance in Leibniz's writings, the sources from which he de-
rives it, and its original designation. It has often been claimed that Leib-
niz first uses the term to refer to his own conception of substance in a
letter to Fardella of 3/13 September 1696 (FN 326). Consistent with this,
Merchant (1979) maintains that he appropriated the term from F. M. van
Helmont during the latter's visit to Hanover in March 1696, and that the
immediate sources for Leibniz's usage are van Helmont's A Cabbalistical
Dialogue (1682) and Anne Con way's The Principles of the Most Ancient and
Modern Philosophy (1690). Parkinson (P 255) has noted, however, that
there is at least one earlier text, an unfinished letter to the Marquis de
l'Hopital dated 22 July 1695, in which Leibniz uses the term monas to
designate whatever is a "real unity" (GM II 295). Finally, Garber (1985,
69) points out that in a September 1698 letter to Johann Bernoulli, Leib-
niz appears to use the term to refer to corporeal substances rather than
the soullike substances of the Monadology: "What I call a complete monad
or individual substance [substantiam singularem] is not so much the soul
[anima], as it is the animal itself, or something analogous to it, endowed
with a soul or form and an organic body" (GM III 542/AG 168; cf. GM
III 552/L 512).
68. This position is explored in Chapters 8-10.
69. The title is not Leibniz's own but that of an early editor. Unless otherwise
indicated, the parenthetical references that follow are to sections of this
essay (GP VI 607-23). I follow the translation of Ariew and Garber (AG
213-25)-
70. Cf. PNG §1: "A simple substance is that which has no parts. . . . Monas is a
Greek word signifying unity, or what is one. Composites or bodies are
multitudes; and simple substances - lives, souls, and minds - are unities.
There must be simple substances everywhere, because, without simples,
there would be no composites" (GP VI 598/AG 207).
SUBSTANCE 173
71. "When I say that every substance is simple, I understand by this that it
lacks parts" (GP II 239/L 526).
72. The claim that monads cannot affect one another involves more than
their supposed simplicity or lack of parts. Also relevant is Leibniz's dis-
missal of the possibility of the migration of accidents from one substance
to another, a point summarized in his assertion that "monads have no
windows through which something can enter or leave" (§7).
73. Cf. GP VI 598/AG 207; GP VI 628/AG 228.
74. Cf. his letter to Rudolf Wagner of 4 June 1710: "Broadly understood, the
soul is the same as that which is alive or a vital principle, namely, a
principle of internal action existing in a simple thing or monad, to which
external action corresponds. And this correspondence of internal and
external, or the representation of the external in the internal, of the
composite in the simple, of a multitude in a unity, in fact constitutes
perception" (GP VII 528).
75. Cf. Mon §§56, 59; PNG §2; and GP III 574-5, quoted in note 76. Mugnai
(1990b, 78) refers to these states as "intramonadic relations." They are
not to be confused with what others have called "relational properties,"
i.e. properties such as fatherhood which are predicable of an individual
only insofar as there exists some other individual to which it stands in
relation (see Ishiguro 1992, 132). "Intramonadic relations" are monadic
accidents that have a relational content. They do not entail the existence
of irreducible relational facts about monads.
76. See his letter to Bourguet of December 1714: "In the way in which I
define perception and appetite, it is necessary that all monads be en-
dowed with them. For perception is for me the representation of the multi-
tude in the simple, and appetite is the tendency from one perception to
another; but these two things are in all monads, for otherwise a monad
would have no relation to the rest of the world" (GP III 574—5). Cf. PNG
§2; GP II 481; E 746; C 14/P 175.
77. Cf. GP VII 330; GP IV 562/L 579.
78. Cf. C 9 / P i 3 4 ; G 3 2 3 .
79. "The soul tends to change by the appetite, which leads it to distinct or
confused perceptions, according to which it is more or less perfect" (GP
III 347). Cf. PNG §13.
80. "God alone is a substance truly separated from matter, since he is pure
act, endowed with no power of being acted on, which, wherever it is,
constitutes matter" (GP VII 530). Cf. GP III 457.
81. "By 'monads' I understand simple substances, and therefore incorporeal
ones which have nothing pertaining to extension" (D II 2, 161). Cf. D II 2,
158; Mon §19.
82. We return to this point in Part III.
83. See Chapter 1.
84. See Chapter 4.
85. See NE III, vi, 12 (RB 307); IV, xvi, 12 (RB 473-4). This is a consequence
of the claim that all variety arises through a varying of degrees of perfec-
tion (GP II 340, 343), and Leibniz's commitment to a continuous order-
ing of degrees of perfection. (See Chapter 2.)
86. Leibniz struggles throughout his career with the question of the meta-
physical distance between rational and nonrational creatures. For treat-
ments of various aspects of the problem, see Fouke 1991; Kulstad 1991;
Blumenfeld 1995. The gap between rational and nonrational creatures is
stressed in DM §35: "Since God is the greatest and wisest of all minds, it is
easy to judge that the beings with whom he can, so to speak, enter into
conversation, and even into a society — by communicating to them his
views and will in a particular manner and in such a way that they can
know and love their benefactor — must be infinitely nearer to him than all
other things" (Le 90/AG 66). Cf. New System (GP IV 479/AG 140).
7
Modeling the Best of All Possible Worlds
The defining thought of Leibniz's theodicy is that from among an

infinity of possible worlds God has chosen for existence the one that is
the best of all possible worlds, or the possible world of greatest perfec-
tion. We saw in Part I that Leibniz conceives of this perfection as
closely connected with the values of variety, order, and harmony.
Broadly, his view is that God selects for creation the world that real-
izes the greatest harmony, by virtue of containing the greatest possible
variety of beings united by the optimal order.
The aim of the final part of this book is to establish a link between
this abstract account of the best of all possible worlds and the details of
Leibniz's metaphysics. At stake here is an issue critical to the project of
theodicy. If the characteristics of perfection, order, and harmony are
those Leibniz specifically associates with this being the best of all pos-
sible worlds, and if the metaphysical theory outlined in works such as
the Monadology is intended to describe the fundamental constitution
of this world, then there should presumably be some relationship
between the two; that is, we should be able to see how the latter theory
realizes the values Leibniz says are maximized in the creation of this
world. Furthermore, our being able to come to this sort of under-
standing of the world should be viewed, according to the interpreta-
tion advanced in Part I, as the fulfillment of our role as rational minds
capable of imitating in their models of the universe God's providential
plan for creation. Making clear the connection between Leibniz's
metaphysical system and the project of theodicy thus emerges as an
essential part of completing that project - of bringing rational beings
to their highest level of enlightenment, wherein they experience the
greatest true happiness and exercise the greatest moral virtue.
This chapter is devoted to making the case for Leibniz's system of
monads as a theoretical model of the possible world of greatest per-
fection and harmony. This is not how the theory of monads is usually
presented. Nevertheless, it is a claim that Leibniz himself highlights in
§§53—8 of the Monadology. Referring to the scheme he has just de-
scribed, he concludes in §58: "And this is the way of obtaining as
much variety as possible, but with the greatest order possible, that is,
it is the way of obtaining as much perfection as possible" (GP VI
616/AG 220). Recalling our earlier definition of harmony as variety
178 NATURE
unified by order, we may infer that the system articulated in the

Monadology is indeed intended to represent the possible world of
greatest perfection and harmony.
Yet even if we are inclined to accept this point, we might still wonder
how much of Leibniz's system can be understood in these terms. So
much of it seems, to a twentieth-century reader, to be detail for de-
tail's sake: the dream of a baroque mind fascinated by the sheer possi-
bilities of order. Against the background of Leibniz's theodicy, this can
be no simple reproach, for we have seen that the inspiration for a
metaphysics of the created world must be the idea of comprehending
how this world has been judged by God's wisdom - a wisdom disposed
to favor perfection and harmony — as the best of all possible worlds.
Thus, any account of the created world is bound to stress such quali-
ties. Even so, we still might doubt whether Leibniz has been able to
achieve a coherent vision of the best of all possible worlds - one in
which the various strands of his metaphysics are woven to form a
perspicuous plan of the world of greatest harmony and perfection; or
whether he has merely left us with stray bits of theory, knotted togeth-
er in a haphazard and not entirely consistent fashion. My own view is
that there is far more integrity to Leibniz's metaphysical vision than
has often been recognized. The signature doctrines of his thought -
the theodicy, the theory of monads, the preestablished harmony of
soul and body, the infinite envelopment of organic creatures - hang
together in interesting and subtle ways. This chapter constructs a
version of his plan for the best of possible worlds that incorporates
elements from each of these doctrines. Subsequent chapters attend to
various complexities raised by this account.
Monads and Perfection

For Leibniz, creation consists of a "communication" or "diffusion" of
God's supreme perfections to finite things. Extrapolating from the
idea that we are created in the image of God, Leibniz maintains that
all created substances receive their being in the form of limitations of
the divine perfections of power, knowledge, and will.1 In the Monadol-
ogy, he explicitly develops this view in connection with the essential
properties of monads. We have seen that every monad is essentially a
principle of action, or what Leibniz calls an "entelechy" (Mon §18).
Furthermore, we know that every monad is subject to two types of
modifications: on the one hand, perceptions, or "the passing state
which involves and represents a plurality within the unity or simple
substance" (Mon §14); on the other, appetitions, or "its tendencies to
pass from one perception to another" (PNG §2). At a fundamental
level, Leibniz suggests, we may regard these characteristics as being
THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS 179
just those which would be possessed by creatures that have arisen

through a diffusion of God's being. In creation, God communicates
his perfections to finite beings, thereby endowing them with an in-
trinsic force (the analogue of divine power), a faculty of perception
(the analogue of divine knowledge), and a faculty of appetition (the
analogue of divine will).2 Consistent with this, individual monads pos-
sess more perfection to the extent that they possess greater power,
knowledge, and goodness: "In God these attributes are absolutely
infinite or perfect, while in created monads or entelechies . . . there
are only limitations of them, in proportion to the perfection that they
have" (Mon §48; GP VI 615/AG 219).
A preliminary question concerning this scheme is whether we
should conceive of a monad as receiving its share of each of the three
divine perfections independently of the others, or whether these per-
fections are essentially connected with one another, such that a mo-
nad more perfect in one respect would necessarily be so to the same
degree in the others as well. This reprises a question initially raised in
Chapter 3: Could God create a monad that was, for example, ex-
tremely intelligent with a high degree of the perfection of knowledge,
but that nonetheless had an evil will, possessing little of the perfection
of that attribute? Leibniz's writings suggest he does not regard this as
a genuine possibility. The reason for this involves the primacy he
assigns - at least within the operations of a monad - to the perfection
of knowledge as against the perfections of will and power.
In general, Leibniz tells us, every monad is "confusedly omni-
scient": It perceives, or expresses within its internal states, everything
that occurs in the universe; however, it perceives distinctly only a
small portion of this detail. On this basis, he defines the relative
perfection of a monad in terms of the ratio of its distinct to confused
perceptions, or the degree to which, like God, it is possessed of actual
omniscience.3 Now, would a monad that was more perfect in this
respect necessarily also be more perfect in terms of its appetite or
will? We have noted that Leibniz believes that every will, of which
monadic appetite is a more general species, naturally strives for the
good, or at least what appears to it as the good. As part of this view, he
further seems to hold that the perfection or goodness of a being's will
is limited only by its capacity to discern the good. Thus, in the Causa
Dei, he implies that God's will is supremely perfect just because God
never mistakes the apparent for the real:
But just as wisdom or knowledge of truth is perfection of the intellect, so
goodness or striving [appetitio] for the good is perfection of the will. And in
fact every will has for its object the good, or at least an apparent good; but the
divine will has no object which is not both good and true. (§18; GP VI 441/S
117)
l8o NATURE
If Leibniz is committed to the Socratic position that no creature

ever knowingly wills evil (or anything less than the greatest good),
then there is an obvious sense in which the perfection of a creature's
will is dependent upon the perfection of its knowledge — in particu-
lar, its knowledge of the good. Within his system of monads, however,
the capacity to discern the good can be explained only in terms of the
relative distinctness of a monad's perceptions. Thus, a given appeti-
tion (or faculty of appetite) will be of greater perfection to the extent
that it is associated with distinct perceptions that more accurately
represent the good. It follows that in conceiving of monadic perfec-
tion in terms of the ratio of distinct to confused perceptions, we
simultaneously take into account the perfection of a monad's will or
appetite, for the latter can only be more perfect to the extent that it
represents a more complete tendency toward what is distinctly per-
ceived as the good.4 The perfection of the monadic correlate of divine
power can be treated similarly. The important point to recognize is
the systematic connection for Leibniz, established most clearly in his
writings on dynamics, between a monad's principle of force or action
and its individual appetitions. In general, we may understand a mo-
nad's principle of force as being manifested in its instantaneous "striv-
ings" or "tendencies" toward new perceptions.5 If this is so, then it is
reasonable to conclude that a monad's principle of force is itself more
perfect to the extent that it represents a greater aggregate tendency
toward the good. Again, the distinctness of a monad's perceptions
becomes the critical factor.
We thus appear justified in regarding the ratio of distinct to con-
fused perceptions as Leibniz's primary mark of a monad's perfection.
By itself, this ratio serves as a measure of the perfection of a monad's
state at a given moment. To evaluate its overall perfection, we must
take into account that monads are subject to continuous and perpetu-
al change. The total perfection of a monad, therefore, might plausi-
bly be understood as the sum (or integral) of the perfection of its
states over the course of its existence.
With these preliminaries behind us, we can return to our main
question — that of the identity of the world of greatest perfection.
Having defended the ratio of distinct to confused perceptions as a
measure of the perfection of a single monad, it would be natural to
conclude that in seeking to create the world of greatest perfection,
God needs only to gather together those monads with the greatest
proportion of distinct to confused perceptions. Leibniz, however,
does not see the problem as being quite so simple. In ascertaining the
identity of the world of greatest perfection, God does not proceed by
conceiving of the perfections of individual monads in isolation, and
then gathering together that collection of them which represents the
THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS l8l
6
greatest sum of perfection. Instead, God conceives of single monads
as they would be found related in a world; and under this circum-
stance, it is necessary to think of the perceptions of individual monads
as being conditioned by those of the other monads in their world.
Thus, while Leibniz believes that the perfection of individual monads
is rooted in the distinctness of their perceptions, he also maintains
that "each monad . . . must have its perceptions and appetites regu-
lated [regies] in the best way which is compatible with all the rest"
(PNG §12; GP VI 603-4/P 201).7 This follows directly from his thesis
that in any possible world "all is connected," such that a change any-
where is reflected in a change everywhere:
For it must be known that all things are connected [tout est lie] in each one of the
possible worlds: the universe, whatever it may be, is all of one piece, like an
ocean: the least movement extends its effect there to any distance whatsoever,
even though this effect becomes less perceptible in proportion to the dis-
tance. {Theodicy §9; GP VI 107/H 128)
Because of the connection among the things making up a world, God
is obliged to reckon the perfection of monads on a world-by-world
basis, rather than on an individual basis. The perfection of any single
monad cannot be conceived in isolation from the perfection of the
other monads in its world.
If this point is not immediately compelling, we may frame it in
slightly different terms. Although all those substances conceivable by
God are possible in themselves, they are not all compossible; that is, they
are not all capable of coexisting within a single world. According to
Leibniz, the existence of certain individuals necessarily precludes the
existence of others. Consequently, it is not open to God simply to
proceed on the basis of gathering the collection of substances that
individually represent the highest degrees of perfection; for certain
of these individuals may be incompossible with others. This proposi-
tion is accepted by all students of Leibniz's thought: in evaluating the
relative perfection of possible worlds, God conceives of worlds as
collections of compossible substances. By itself, however, it is not very
informative regarding the constraints on the coexistence of individual
substances within a world. The next section suggests how the doctrine
of universal connection can help illuminate the notion of compos-
sibility. I then offer a more rigorous account of universal connection
itself as it functions in Leibniz's theory of monads.
Contingency, Compossibility, and Universal Connection

A central plank in Leibniz's defense of the contingency of the world's
existence, and hence of the freedom of God's choice in creation, is the
thesis that God is precluded in principle from creating all those indi-
l82 NATURE
viduals possible in themselves. If God could create all possible things,

he presumably would, since more perfection would thereby be real-
ized. But God cannot do so, because not all possibles are compossible.
Hence, God is limited to creating the world that contains the richest
collection of compossible substances:
Not all possibles are compossible. . . .Thus, the universe is only a certain
collection of compossibles, and the actual universe is the collection of all
existing possibles, that is to say, those which form the richest composite. And
since there are different combinations of possibilities, some of them better
than others, there are many possible universes, each collection of compos-
sibles making up one of them. (GP III 573/L 662).8
Interpreted narrowly, Leibniz's notion of compossibility amounts to
just this: A set of individuals possible in themselves is compossible if
and only if the supposition of their joint existence is consistent.9 Un-
fortunately, this definition gives us little to go on. Most critically, it
fails to provide any indication of the conditions under which two
individuals possible in themselves might nevertheless turn out to be
incompossible, such that the existence of one would preclude the exis-
tence of the other. There is evidence that at one time Leibniz may
simply have found this a mystery: "Nevertheless, it is as yet unknown
to men from where arises the incompossibility of different things, or
how it can happen that different essences are opposed to one another,
since all purely positive terms seem to be compatible among them-
selves" (GP VII 195). The way in which he phrases this doubt, how-
ever, already suggests how it might be resolved. If possible individuals
can be fully characterized in terms of "positive terms" or logically
simple properties alone, it indeed seems hopeless to seek a ground for
their incompatibility. Noting, however, the connection of things with-
in a world, it may be challenged whether individuals can be so charac-
terized. Insofar as we are interested in individuals as they might be
created by God, we must conceive of them as connected to the other
individuals that would, ex hypothesi, exist with them in a world. This
suggests that a complete description of such individuals could not be
given in terms of logically simple properties alone, but would also
require reference to their relational properties.
Rescher has offered an account of how incompossibility might arise
under this circumstance. Two substances a and b will be incompos-
sible, he suggests, just in case the following two conditions hold:
(1) Being related by R to b (i.e., to any substance answering to b's
description) is one of the relational properties of a.
(2) Not standing in the relation R to a (i.e., to any substance answer-
ing to <z's description) is one of the relational properties of b.
Because (1) entails the truth of Rab and (2) the truth of not-Rab, the
supposition of the joint existence of a and b will be logically inconsis-
tent; hence a and b are incompossible. By contrast, Rescher argues,
two individuals will be compossible only if "their complete individual
notions are such that in each case where one of them has the relation-
al property of R-ing the other, this other has the relational property
of being-R'ed by the former."10 He illustrates this account with the
following sort of example. The individuals we call "Adam" and "Cain"
are compossible because being the father of (an individual with all the
properties of) Cain is a relational property of Adam's and being fa-
thered by (an individual with all the properties of) Adam is a relation-
al property of Cain's.11 But our Adam would not be compossible with
an individual Cain*, who possessed the most notable properties of
our Cain, save that in place of the property of being fathered by
Adam he possessed the property of being fathered by Noah. In the
latter case, the complete concept of Adam would entail that Adam was
the father of a person with all the properties of Cain, while the com-
plete concept of Cain* would entail that Adam was not the father of
such a person but, rather, Noah was. Therefore, these two complete
concepts could not be instantiated in the same world.
There is, I think, much that is right about this analysis. To get at it,
however, we must introduce some of the machinery of Leibniz's meta-
physics. First, we have to clarify the main commitments of his doctrine
of relations. We saw in the last chapter that Leibniz embraces the view
that there are no purely extrinsic denominations, on account of the
"real connection" of things. We have interpreted this to mean that any
relation imposed on some individual by something else must be ac-
companied by some change in the internal state of that individual:
whenever a new extrinsic denomination becomes true of it, some new
intrinsic denomination must also become true of it. Leibniz evidently
understands this thesis as extending to garden-variety relations like
fatherhood, for he remarks that because of the intercourse of all
things, "no one becomes a widower in India by the death of his wife in
Europe unless a real change occurs in him" (GP VII 321-2/L 365).
To read Leibniz's no purely extrinsic denominations thesis in this
way is to see it as making a positive claim about what must be true of
the intrinsic properties of any two individuals for a relation to be
predicated of them. It is to see Leibniz as holding that there are no
"bare" relations of individuals: relations that come to be true of them
without some real change occurring in the individuals themselves. Yet
Leibniz's thesis also implies a negative claim, which is that, ontologi-
cally speaking, there is nothing more to two things' being related than
that each possesses certain intrinsic properties. Relations, we have
184 NATURE
already noted, are entia rationis. They are ways of thinking of the
similarity or connectedness of things; they are not things in them-
selves. To assert the relation of two things is, in effect, to recognize
each as possessing certain intrinsic characteristics and to state some-
thing that is true of the way these characteristics stand with respect to
each other. What we recognize in this way may well be objectively true
of the things in question — it may be something God would know of
them - but for all that, recognizing their relatedness does not amount
to recognizing a third thing in the world over and above the individu-
als and their intrinsic properties. Thus, it is not only the case that the
relations of things are necessarily grounded in intrinsic properties of
the things related; but, in terms of ontological commitment, those
relations imply nothing more about the created world than that cer-
tain individuals possess intrinsic properties between which some sim-
ilarity or connection can be apprehended. 12 In light of this, it is un-
doubtedly right to attribute to Leibniz a thesis about the reducibility of
intersubstantial relations. Such relations, he writes, are "mere results,
which do not constitute any intrinsic denomination per se" but instead
"demand a foundation derived from the category of quality, that is,
from an intrinsic accidental denomination" (C 9/P 134). In general,
we may assume that for any relation R truly predicable of substances a
and b, there are intrinsic denominations designating nonrelational
accidents of a and b, which ground the truth of Rab. Simply put, given
the intrinsic properties of any two substances, it is fully determined
how they are related: There is no further fact about the created world
relevant to this point.13
The import of this thesis obviously hinges on what we make of the
intrinsic or nonrelational properties of substances. Consider the ear-
lier example of the properties of fatherhood and filiation predicated
of Adam and Cain, respectively. These clearly are not designated by
intrinsic denominations, for they are predicated of Adam and Cain
only in virtue of how they each stand with respect to the other. Strictly
speaking, then, these are not the sorts of properties Leibniz has in
mind when he claims that relations are grounded in intrinsic denomi-
nations. We have already seen that in his theory of monads Leibniz
limits the intrinsic denominations of substances to those designating
their perceptions and appetitions. It is thus reasonable to suppose
that the properties that ground the relatedness of Adam and Cain are
properties internal to their respective souls: properties such as "ex-
pressing oneself to be the father of (an individual with all the proper-
ties of) Cain" and "expressing oneself to be the son (of an individual
with all the properties) of Adam." This supposition is consistent with
the main lines of Leibniz's philosophy going back to the Discourse on
Metaphysics. He leaves no doubt that the intrinsic properties of sub-
stances are limited to their perceptual states (and the tendencies of

these states to change); and that since these perceptions are fully
determined by a substance's own nature, different substances exist in
complete isolation from one another:
[E]very substance is like a world apart, independent of all other things, except
for God; thus all our phenomena, that is, all the things that can ever happen
to us, are only consequences of our being. . . . In fact, nothing can happen
to us except thoughts and perceptions, and all our future thoughts and per-
ceptions are merely consequences, though contingent, of our preceding
thoughts and perceptions. . . . This would never fail, and would happen to
me regardless, even if everything outside of me were destroyed, provided
there remained only God and me. (DM §14; Le 47—g/AG 47)
It seems clear, then, that the intrinsic denominations grounding the
relatedness of Adam and Cain must designate perceptual states,
which merely express the relatedness of each to the other. To say that
Adam is the father of Cain is to say that Adam expresses himself as
standing in a relation of fatherhood to someone with all those proper-
ties truly predicated of Cain and that Cain expresses himself as stand-
ing in a relation of filiation to someone with all those properties truly
predicated of Adam.
It remains for us to pin down more firmly the relationship between
a substance's capacity for expression and the notion of compossibility.
Rescher and Mates have both defended using the doctrine of univer-
sal expression as a way of elaborating the meaning of "compossibility."
Given Leibniz's claim that every substance expresses "the whole uni-
verse in its own manner," and includes within its individual concept
"all its events, together with all their circumstances and the whole
sequence of external things" (DM §9; Le 37/AG 41-2), Rescher con-
cludes that none of the constituents of a possible world "can be ab-
stracted from that world and none adjoined to it without undoing the
intricately woven fabric of compossibility relationships."14 Similarly,
Mates argues that since the concept of each individual substance ex-
presses or "mirrors" the concept of every other substance, a given
individual could not be realized without realizing every other individ-
ual compossible with it. For God to fail to create Cain, for example,
would make it impossible for him to create Adam (and vice versa), for
Adam's concept "mirrors" the concept of Cain, or includes within it
the fact that Adam bears the relationship of fatherhood to Cain.15
Both authors interpret Leibniz as making a very strong claim. To say
that the concept of an individual a expresses that of every other
individual compossible with it is to say there are truths about a that
could only be true if all and only those individuals compossible with a
were also to be realized. Given that for Leibniz all truths about a are
contained within its complete concept, this is in effect to claim that a
l86 NATURE
itself could not exist unless those individuals compossible with it were
also to exist. Thus, Adam could not exist unless Eve, Cain, and all of
Adam's other progeny were to exist, since (given the doctrine of uni-
versal expression) Adam's relationships to all these other individuals
form part of what it is to be Adam.
There is, however, another way to read the relation between univer-
sal expression and compossibility, which does not commit us to so
strong a conclusion. We may note first that Leibniz rarely speaks of
the concept of an individual substance as expressing the concepts of
the other substances in its world. He much more frequently describes
the individual substance itself as expressing the universe within its
"operations" or perceptions.16 Thus, Adam expresses himself as be-
ing related as a father to an individual with all the properties of Cain,
and in some indistinct way, as being so related to all of humanity.17
Leibniz further believes that for substances belonging to the same
world there is necessarily an "agreement" or "correspondence" among
their expressions of the universe. These expressions, he writes, are
like so many perspectives on the same city, which is "variously rep-
resented depending upon the different positions from which it is
viewed" (DM §9; Le 37/AG 42). Consequently, just as Adam expresses
himself as standing in a relation of fatherhood with respect to Cain, so
Cain expresses himself as standing in a relation of filiation with re-
spect to Adam:
[T]he perceptions or expressions of all substances mutually correspond [s'en-
trerepondent] in such a way that each, following with care certain reasons or
laws it has observed, coincides with others doing the same - in the same way
that several people who have agreed to meet in some place at some specified
time can really do this if they so desire. But although they all express the same
phenomena, it does not follow that their expressions are perfectly similar; it is
sufficient that they are proportional. In just the same way, several spectators
believe that they are seeing the same thing and agree among themselves about
it, even though each sees and speaks in accordance with his view. (DM § 14; Le
48/AG 47)
The account of compossibility suggested by this passage is signifi-

cantly weaker than that of Mates and Rescher. According to this
second account, what follow from the complete concept of a sub-
stance are not truths about its actual relations to the other substances
in its world but truths simply about what it expresses as its relations to
the rest of the world. Consistent with our earlier analysis of Leibniz's
doctrine of relations, truths about the relations of substances in a
world only arise as second-order or "resultant" truths, which are
grounded in the perceptual accidents of individual substances. Adam
expresses himself as the father of someone with all the properties of
Cain; Cain expresses himself as the son of someone with all the prop-
erties of Adam; and for that reason we are entitled to assert that Adam
is the father of Cain and Cain the son of Adam. There is no further
fact of the matter concerning this relation, beyond the correlation in
their perceptions or their expressions of their relatedness to the
world.
Given this reading of Leibniz's doctrine of universal expression, it is
by no means obvious that it is impossible for Adam to exist without
Cain (or his other progeny). Adam's complete concept entails only
that it is part of being Adam that he should express himself as the
father of a Cainlike individual. It does not follow that such an individ-
ual must also exist.18 There is thus no contradiction in supposing the
existence of Adam without the existence of Cain. What Leibniz does
appear to claim, however, is that a group of substances could not be
conceived (and would not be conceived by God) as existing together in
a world unless there were the appropriate sort of agreement among
their expressions of the universe as a whole. Thus, although no logical
contradiction would be engendered in creating an Adam who ex-
pressed himself as the father of Cain (with all that that entails) and a
Cain* who expressed himself as the son of Noah (with all that that
entails), it would be impossible to think of these two substances as
inhabiting the same world. Their mutual isolation would go beyond
the metaphysical isolation that is, in Leibniz's philosophy, the condi-
tion of all created substances. It would extend to there literally being
no conceivable relation between the two: The universe Adam ex-
pressed would have no coherent connection with the one expressed
by Cain*. Although it is weaker than the notion that Mates and Re-
scher describe, a credible notion of compossibility is identified here:
A group of substances is compossible only if such substances can be
conceived as coexisting within the same world, which is to say, only if
they agree in their respective expressions of the universe.19
An objection to this reading is that while weakening the require-
ments on compossibility it demands a too rich notion of the universal
connection Leibniz claims is a necessary feature of any possible world.
According to this account, universal connection implies not merely
some correlation or other among the substances in a world, such that
whenever a change occurs anywhere it is reflected in a change every-
where; it requires also a systematic agreement or correspondence
among the states of all the substances in a world, such that what
appears to be the case for one substance, appears similarly for all the
others, allowing for differences in point of view and relative distinct-
ness of perception. Now, some may argue that this is assuming too
much: It is to ascribe to all possible worlds a feature specifically associ-
ated by Leibniz with only the best of all possible worlds. The texts,
however, do not support this objection with any definiteness. On
l88 NATURE
more than one occasion, Leibniz cites a "correspondence," "agree-

ment," or "accommodation" among the perceptions of different sub-
stances as a necessary corollary of their mutual connection:
And God alone (from whom all individuals emanate continually and who sees
the universe not only as they see it but also differently from all of them) is the
cause of this correspondence of their phenomena and makes that which is
particular to one of them public to all of them; otherwise there would be no
interconnection [liaison]. (DM §14; Le 48/AG 47)20
Given Leibniz's explicit avowal that in every possible world "all is con-
nected," we have reason to believe that this connection must be ac-
companied by an agreement or correspondence among the percep-
tions of the individuals constituting a world. Over and above the
direct textual support for this point, we have seen that on Leibniz's
theory of relations, it is only under this condition that we can even
conceive of connections among the different substances that make up
a world. Individuals that do not agree in their expressions of the
universe offer no common ground for their relation. A Cainlike indi-
vidual who expressed himself as the son of Noah would literally be
living in a different world than the one inhabited by our Cain.21 We
may, therefore, let it stand as a working hypothesis that Leibniz sees
an equivalence between the notions of compossibility and universal
connection: All and only those individuals are compossible that are
conceivable by God as connected (in the appropriate manner) within a
single world.
The Universal Connection of Monads:

Space, Time, Causality
We can now develop in a more systematic way the role played by
universal connection within the theory of monads. To this end, we
may take it as given that a plurality of monads is compossible, or
jointly realizable in a world, if and only if they are suitably connected.
The argument of this section will be that such a connection exists just
in case these monads can be conceived as related within a common
spatiotemporal and causal framework; that is to say, just in case every
state of every monad within the group is spatiotemporally and caus-
ally ordered with respect to every state of every other monad within
the group.
Stated baldly, this thesis suggests numerous questions and objec-
tions. Before addressing these, some general remarks about why it is
plausible to see Leibniz as advancing such a position are in order. We
observed in Chapter 6 that one way in which singular things are
distinguished from abstracta for Leibniz is that they alone have some
THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS l8g
relation to "individual circumstances of time and place." I suggested

there that this difference can be traced to Leibniz's attempt to defend
the contingency of the existence of singular things. Intuitively, spa-
tiotemporal properties are exactly the sort that distinguish some-
thing's existence as contingent. If an individual stands in certain de-
terminate spatiotemporal relations to other things, then there is an
infinity of spatiotemporal relations in which it does not stand to those
things. Hence, the mode of its existence is only contingent: It could
have been other than it is. The same point can be made about that
individual's causal relations. Consistent with this, spatiotemporal and
causal properties are, at the most general level, precisely the sort that
render the beings of different worlds incompossible. The world in
which event a occurs after event b and before event c is a different
world from that in which b and c both precede a; the first sequence of
events rules out, or is incompossible with, the second. To the extent,
then, that the connection of things within a world is closely tied to the
notion of compossibility, there is reason to think this connection
might have something to do with spatiotemporal and causal rela-
tions.22
We can, however, go further than this. On several occasions, Leibniz
specifically identifies a world with the totality of things that exist with-
in the limits of space and time. Rejecting the classical doctrine of a
plurality of worlds, he declares that "one [world] embraces for us the
entire universe of created things at any time and any place, and it is in
this sense that we use the term 'world'" (GP VI 440/S 116). According
to Leibniz, we may regard all possible worlds as having a certain
primitive order in common. This is, in a sense that remains to be
defined, a space-time order, or as he often puts it, an "order of
coexistents" and an "order of successions": "Space and time taken
together constitute the order of possibilities of one entire universe, so
that these orders - space and time, that is - relate not only to what
actually is but also to anything that could be put in its place" (GP IV
568/L 583).23 Given this basic framework, we can conceive of differ-
ent possible worlds as arising from the different ways in which a
variety of beings can be arranged within the space—time order com-
mon to all possible worlds: "[E]ven though one should fill all times
and all places, it still remains true that one might have filled them in
innumerable ways, and that there is an infinity of possible worlds,
among which God must have chosen the best" (Theodicy §8; GP VI
107/H 128). Thus, the problem of creation comes down to a consider-
ation of the best way of "filling" a world, whose structure is minimally
determined by the orders of space and time. As we saw in Chapter 2,
Leibniz compares God's deliberation in this regard to the optimal
NATURE
design of a building, or to the solution of a tiling problem, in which

the aim is to fill a given area in the most efficient manner possible:
[T]ime, place, or in a word, the receptivity or capacity of the world can be
taken for the cost or the plot of ground on which the most pleasing building
possible is to be built, while the variety of forms corresponds to the pleasing-
ness of the building and the number and elegance of its rooms. . . . And so,
assuming once that being is to prevail over nonbeing, or that there is a reason
why something rather than nothing is to exist, or that something is to pass
from possibility to actuality,... it follows that there would be as much as there
possibly can be, given the capacity of time and place (that is, the capacity of
the order of possible existence). (GP VII 303-4/AG 150-1)
Leibniz's talk of God deciding how best to "fill" the orders of space
and time is more than a metaphor. We should instead take seriously
the idea that within Leibniz's metaphysics space and time define the
fundamental order according to which singular things are connect-
ed. 24 "Simultaneous" or "coexistent" beings are conceived as "spa-
tially" connected to one another, or as nearer and farther relative to
some reference point; "nonsimultaneous" beings are conceived as
"temporally" connected, or as prior and posterior to one another.25
These orders of arrangement and succession represent the dimen-
sions according to which a variety of beings can be related to one
another within a world. As Leibniz sees it, we pass from these possi-
bilities of connection to the actual ways in which things are connected
via the particular causal order of a world. When the causal laws of a
world are taken into account, we no longer conceive of things as
merely potentially connected in some way or another according to
space and time; instead, there is a specific way in which they are
connected, as determined by the laws of that world. Thus, to use an
example from the more familiar framework of Newtonian physics,
relative to the orders of space and time we can conceive of material
things as being arranged and as changing in an infinity of different
ways. However, in this world, there is only one way in which bodies are
in fact arranged in space and time, and one set of physical laws which
determine how bodies undergo change with respect to one another.
If we accept a space—time order as integral to the structure of
possible worlds, we obviously must be very careful in how we interpret
it. We know, first, that, in Leibniz's view, space and time are not con-
stituents of the created world. They are, rather, ideal orders that a
mind imposes on existing things (or possibly existing things) in con-
ceiving of their relatedness.26 This point should cause us no prob-
lems. We have not claimed that space and time would be real elements
in any world created by God, but only that a space-time order serves
for conceiving of the connection of beings within any possible world.
A second point, however, is liable to cause us more difficulty. For
Leibniz, space and time are orders directly indicative of the related-
ness of phenomenal material things, not unextended monads. It is the
key to his solution of the problem of the "labyrinth of the continuum"
that truly real beings — monads — are neither parts of space nor
located in space. As he describes his position to Des Bosses, it would
be easy to conclude that monads have nothing to do with space at all:
Space is the order of coexisting phenomena, as time is the order of successive
phenomena, and there is no spatial or absolute nearness or distance between
monads. And to say that they are crowded together in a point or disseminated
in space is to use certain fictions of our mind when we seek to visualize freely
what can only be understood. In this conception, also, there is involved no
extension or composition of the continuum, and all difficulties about points
dissolve. (GP II 450-i/L 604)27
The case of time is less easily interpreted. Here too, however, it is
Leibniz's view that monads are not located in time, and that they do
not stand in any immediate temporal relations to one another.28 The
difficulty of determining temporal relations among the states of dif-
ferent monads becomes all the more obvious when we consider that,
for Leibniz, temporal order is grounded in causal order. 29 Yet he also
goes out of his way to deny that created substances engage in real
causal interactions with one another. So again, it is unclear what basis
there might be for a temporal order among monads. In general, he
tells Des Bosses, a monad is "like a world of its own, having no inter-
course of a dependent nature except with God" (GP II 436/L 600).
Given this degree of metaphysical isolation, we must wonder whether
it is even possible to conceive of such substances as connected within a
world.
Nevertheless, it is undoubtedly Leibniz's position that monads are
so connected. In notes responding to Des Bosses, he explicitly claims
that monads are united in the world by means of three types of
relations: (1) duration (duratio), or the "order of successives"; (2) posi-
tion (situs), or the "order of coexistence"; (3) intercourse {commercium),
or reciprocal action (GP II 438/AG 199). It is essential, therefore, to
try to understand how he sees such relations as arising. We have
already laid the foundations for his position. For a plurality of sub-
stances to be united in a world it is in the first place necessary that they
each express within their perceptual states their relation to the uni-
verse as a whole. Now, prima facie, one of the most puzzling features
of Leibniz's doctrine of universal expression is that soullike monads
perceive the universe of other monads as a world of spatiotemporally
related bodies. In an obvious sense, there is no way for him to get
around this point. Leibniz assumes that a paradigm case of the mo-
nads which populate the universe is the human mind or soul. We know
through immediate experience, however, that the phenomena we per-
192 NATURE
ceive are bodies related in space and time. Consequently, if the doc-
trine of universal expression is true, at least some of the monads in
this world perceive the universe as a spatiotemporal world of bodies.30
Although this fact is at first glance puzzling, it is exploited by Leibniz
to deliver precisely what it seemed his theory could not deliver:
an analogue of spatiotemporal ordering among monads. This he
achieves by drawing on correlations among the spatiotemporal phe-
nomena that form the content of the perceptions of different mo-
nads. As he explains to De Voider in 1705:
The essential orderly arrangement of singular things, or their relation with
respect to time and place, must be understood of their relation with respect to
the things contained in time and place [intelligenda est de relatione ad contenta in
tempore et loco], both near and remote, which is necessarily expressed by any
singular thing, such that the universe31could be read in it, if the reader were
infinitely penetrating. (GP II 277-8)
The proposal Leibniz makes is an intriguing one: We can define the
basic order that unites a plurality of soullike monads in a world in a
way that is parasitic on the spatiotemporal order of the phenomena
perceived by those monads. To put this differently, we can exploit the
spatiotemporal order inherent in the perceptions of monads to define
an order of coexistence and succession among those monads them-
selves. It remains to be established exactly how Leibniz sees this as
being accomplished. For the moment, we need only note that involved
in a monad's expression of the universe is its expression of itself as
having a spatiotemporal position relative to that of the other things in
its world. In virtue of this property, which is common to all monads,
Leibniz assumes that it is possible to define an analogue of spatiotem-
poral order among monads themselves. Thus, we can begin to talk of
monads (or states of monads) as "coexisting" with respect to one
another and as "succeeding" one another.
In much the same way, Leibniz believes it is possible to define an
analogue of causal order among monads. Given his insistence on the
absence of any real interaction among monads, it is again puzzling
that he should claim a type of "intercourse" (commercio) among them.
When we examine what he means by this, the puzzle quickly dissolves.
While there is a clear sense in which every monad is "the true immedi-
ate cause of all its internal actions and passions" (GP VI 354), Leibniz
also maintains that there is a sense in which monads can be thought of
as active or passive with respect to each other. As he describes his
position in the Monadology (§§49—52), one monad can be regarded as
"acting" on another insofar as it is more perfect than the latter, or,
what is assumed to be equivalent, it contains distinct perceptions that
explain a priori what happens in the latter. Conversely, one monad is
"acted on" by another insofar as the latter's distinct perceptions pro-
vide an a priori explanation for the change that occurs in it. Putting
these two ideas together, we find that within any world there is a
complex reciprocity between the perceptual states of every monad
and those of every other:
[A]ctions and passions among creatures are mutual. For God, comparing two
simple substances, finds in each reasons that require him to adjust the other
to it; and consequently, what is active in some respects is passive from another
point of view: active insofar as what is known distinctly in one serves to
explain what happens in another; and passive insofar as the reason for what
happens in one is found in what is known distinctly in another. (Mon §52; GP
VI 615/AG 219-20)
Leibniz's explanation of the intercourse of monads is of a piece with
his account of monads' spatiotemporal relations. In both cases, we are
to see these intermonadic relations as supervening on the intrinsic
properties of individual monads: whether one monad "acts" on an-
other is determined entirely by correlations among their respective
perceptions. Thus, the dependence of monads on one another is
merely ideal: something conceivable by the mind. The point therefore
stands that the only real dependence of monads is on God, their
creator.32
We can in this way construct a prima facie case for the connection of
monads within a framework of spatiotemporal and causal relations.
We must now try to make this framework more precise. For this, we
need one further Leibnizian thesis. It is a fundamental tenet of Leib-
niz's mature philosophy, defended until the end of his life, that no
created monad ever exists completely detached from an organic
body.33 As we shall see, the ontological status of these bodies remains
problematic. According to one interpretation, they are nothing more
than phenomenal entities, or what a soullike monad perceives as its
body. Nevertheless, Leibniz makes it clear that for monads to be con-
ceived as connected in a world, each must be endowed with its own
organic body:
I do not acknowledge entirely separated souls in the natural order or created
spirits entirely detached from every body. . . . God alone is above all matter,
since he is its author; however, creatures free or freed from matter would at
the same time be divorced from the universal connection [la liaison univer-
selle], like deserters from the general order. (GP VI 545-6/L 590)34
The thesis of embodiment is critical to Leibniz's account of the con-
nection of monads: Only as a result of representing itself as a creature
with a body does a soullike monad acquire a "point of view," from
which it is able to express its relatedness to the universe as a whole.35
This is immediately apparent as regards a monad's analogue of spatial
position or situs. Without a body to relate it to the other bodies it
perceives, a monad would be literally nowhere with respect to the ob-
194 ~NATURE
jects of its perceptions. Given the thesis of embodiment, we can say
that a monad expresses the universe as a whole insofar as it represents
itself as located in a body that is (according to its perceptions) situated
vis-a-vis every other body in the universe:
[SJince every organic body is affected by the entire universe through relations
which are determinate with respect to each part of the universe, it is not
surprising that the soul, which represents to itself the rest in accordance with
the relations of its body, is a kind of mirror of the universe, which represents
the rest in accordance with (so to speak) its point of view —just as the same city
presents, to a person who looks at it from various sides, projections which are
quite different. (C 15/P 176)36
Under the condition that all monads are thus embodied, and that
each expresses its relatedness to the rest via the relations of their
respective bodies, a spacelike order of coexistence is determined
among monads. Although monads are not themselves extended,
Leibniz writes,
they nevertheless have a certain kind of position [situs] in extension, that is,
they have a certain ordered relation of coexistence with others, through the
machine which they control. I do not think that any finite substances exist
apart from every body, or, therefore, that they lack a position or an order
relative to the other things coexisting in the universe. (GP II 253/L 531)
To understand how an order of coexistence is determined among
monads, we must appeal to the principles outlined in the preceding
section. It follows from Leibniz's no purely extrinsic denominations
thesis that, though genuine, the connection of soullike monads is not
an irreducible fact about them, but is instead a "result" of their intrin-
sic denominations. These intrinsic denominations designate percep-
tual states of the monad that express its relatedness vis-a-vis the rest of
the universe. In the case of the monadic order of coexistence, we are
interested in these states insofar as they express the situs or position of
a monad with respect to other things. The import of the thesis of
monadic embodiment is that we can only conceive of such relations
of situs insofar as a monad represents itself as an embodied creature
standing in spatial relations to other bodies. Given this, we can define
monadic relations of coexistence in much the same way as we did the
relation between Adam and Cain. To say that Adam is the father of
Cain, we saw, is simply to say that Adam expresses himself as the
father of someone with all the properties of Cain and that Cain ex-
presses himself as the son of someone with all the properties of
Adam. For Leibniz, the relation between Adam and Cain is fully
determined by these facts about the two individuals. Similarly, then, to
say that monad a stands in a certain relation of coexistence with
respect to monad b is just to say that a expresses its body as standing in
a certain spatial relation to the body of b, and that b expresses its body
as standing in the inverse spatial relation to the body of a. As we saw
in the preceding section, these kinds of resultant relations are deter-
mined only if there is an agreement between the expressions of the
related substances. If Adam expresses himself as the father of a Cain-
like individual and Cain expresses himself as the son of a Noahjike
individual, there will be no ground for regarding these two individu-
als as father and son. For there to exist a well-defined monadic order
of coexistence, therefore, an agreement must exist among what dif-
ferent monads perceive to be the relationship of their bodies with
respect to other bodies. This means, for example, that when monad a
expresses its body as being related in such and such a manner to the
body of monad b, the arrangement appears similarly to b (and to all
the other monads of that world), allowing for relevant differences of
perspective.37
Proceeding along these lines, we can also attempt to define a
timelike order of succession among the states of different monads.
Here we must start from the premise that temporal order is grounded
in causal order. 38 The original source of the causal order of the uni-
verse is the spontaneous action of substances. We have noted that each
monad is by nature an entelechy or principle of action, which deter-
mines a unique series of perceptual states. For any monad a, each state
of a is associated with an appetitive force, or the tendency of that state
to give way spontaneously to some new state. As a result, there is
determined a quasi-temporal order internal to every monad. Each
state of a monad supplies a reason or ground for each successive state;
hence, according to Leibniz, it is determined as prior to it.39
What we are seeking, however, is not simply an intramonadic order
of succession, but an order that will be applicable across monads — one
that will allow us to make judgments of priority and posteriority with
respect to the perceptual states of different monads. Here, again, we
may see it as Leibniz's position that such relations can only be defined
on the condition of monadic embodiment. As a result of the universal
connection of things, each state of any monad a expresses <z's organic
body as acting on, or being acted on by, every other body in the
universe.40 Consequently, each state of a expresses a's body as being
active or passive with respect to every other organic body, or every
other body of a monad. Given this, and the principles outlined earlier,
we can define quasi-causal relations among the states of different
monads. In general, state 5a of monad a and state sh of monad b will
stand in a relation of "intercourse," if and only if a and b concur in
their expressions of the causal relation of their bodies. Thus, if 5a
expresses a's body as acting on b's body in a certain manner and sh
expresses b's body as being acted on by a's body in a like manner, we
196 NATURE
can assert that monad a is active with respect to monad b and that b is
passive with respect to a. This account develops in an interesting way
Leibniz's explanation of the mutual action of monads in Monadology
§§49—52. We noted that in these passages he describes one monad as
being active with respect to another, just in case the former is more
perfect than the latter (as judged by the relative distinctness of their
perceptions), and there is found within it "that which provides an a
priori reason for what happens in the other" (GP VI 615/AG 219). As
it stands, this explanation is regrettably vague. We acquire a better
sense of what Leibniz has in mind if we interpret it along the lines just
suggested. Insofar as monad a expresses its organic body as acting on
the body of monad b, and b simultaneously expresses its body as being
acted on by the body of a, there is found within a an a priori reason
for what happens in b. As a means of preserving the orderly connec-
tion among monads, God has seen fit to regulate their perceptions in
such a way that what is expressed by a (the action of its body on the
body of b) provides a reason for what is expressed by b (its body being
affected by the action of a's body). It is clear that for a complete
account of the intercourse of monads we must go beyond the summa-
ry description of the Monadology so as to include the critical role
played by monadic embodiment. Leibniz himself affirms this in an-
other late essay: "[EJvery simple substance has an organic body which
corresponds to it - otherwise it would not have any kind of orderly
relation to other things in the universe, nor would it act or be acted
upon in an orderly way" (C 14/P 175).41
Given the supposition of this type of causal connection among the
monads of a world, we can, finally, specify a timelike order of succes-
sion among the states of different monads. We may assume first that
within any world there is a well-defined relation of intercourse or
mutual action that holds between the simultaneous states of any two
monads. That is, for any two such states there is a determinate answer
to the question of their action or passion with respect to one anoth-
er.42 If this is so, then we can define a state s al of monad a as tempo-
rally prior to state sh2 of monad b, if and only if there is some state sa2
of a, such that s al is prior to sa2 (according to a's internal order of
succession) and sa2 stands in a relation of mutual action with respect
tO Sh2*3
All of this is undeniably complicated. The basic commitments of
Leibniz's metaphysics, however, have set us a difficult problem: how to
establish the relatedness of a collection of beings that, by their nature,
are free of any real dependence on one another. I have argued that as
a condition of their belonging to a common world, certain relations of
connection must be predicable of monads. In general, two monads
can be regarded as belonging to the same world, if and only if there
exist among their states well-defined relations of position, succession,

and intercourse. Any two monads whose states cannot be conceived as
related in these ways fail to satisfy the condition that in every possible
world "all is connected." Consistent with Leibniz's commitment to the
independence of monads, these relations cannot be irreducible facts
about them, but must be mere "results" of their intrinsic accidents:
perceptual states which express the relatedness of each monad to the
universe as a whole. As we have seen, this expression is facilitated by a
monad's representation of itself as an embodied creature that stands
in determinate spatiotemporal and causal relations to every other
body in the universe. Granting a correlation among the perceptions
of different monads, we can use these expressions of relatedness to
conceive of a type of connection among monads themselves. There
remain gaps to be filled in this picture, but we can already judge it a
remarkable attempt on Leibniz's part to merge intuitions about the
independence and spontaneity of monads with the assumption that
they also partake of the community of a single world.
The Maximization of Perfection in the System of Monads

Having clarified the sense in which a plurality of monads can be said
to constitute a single world, we may return to the choice God makes
among possible worlds. What, in brief, is God looking for when he
selects the best of all possible worlds?
Some have argued that what distinguishes the best of all possible
worlds is (at least in part) what Leibniz calls the "universal harmony"
of monads, or the fact that there is in this world a perfect coordina-
tion among the perceptions of all monads, such that, from the per-
spective of God, it would appear as though they were witnesses to a
common unfolding history. It should already be obvious that accord-
ing to the account developed here this cannot be the right answer. If
by the "universal harmony" of monads is meant simply an agreement
or correspondence among the contents of their perceptions, we have
reason to believe that such a harmony must be a feature of any pos-
sible world. Only if we think of a plurality of monads as locating
themselves in their perceptions relative to the same set of phenomena
is it possible to conceive of them as being connected within a world via
causal and spatiotemporal relations. Accepting this as a necessary
condition for a collection of monads to form a world, we may con-
clude that universal harmony is itself a necessary feature of any pos-
sible world.
Against this conclusion, it might be argued that it is not difficult to
construct an example of how a disharmonious world could arise with-
in the terms of Leibniz's theory. Granting that all the substances in a
198 NATURE
world must be connected in the minimal sense that each expresses all
the others, we can nonetheless imagine a world in which there is a
radical disparity among different substances' modes of expression,
with the result that there would be no grounds for claiming that they
perceive the same phenomena. We could imagine this happening, for
example, if their spatiotemporal expressions of the universe were
governed by radically different physical laws. Thus, one substance
might express its world as a universe in which the collisions of bodies
conformed to Cartesian laws of motion, whereas another might ex-
press the same world as a universe in which Leibnizian laws held.44
While it is difficult to rule out definitively the possibility of such a
world, there are, so far as I know, no texts in which Leibniz positively
asserts that God could have created such a world. Furthermore, there
are texts in which he says things that make a disharmonious world
seem extremely improbable. In his first reply to Bayle, for example,
he writes, "God could give to each substance its own phenomena
independently of those of others, but in this way he would have made,
so to speak, as many worlds without connection as there are sub-
stances" (GP IV 519/L 493). Recalling his assertion in the Theodicy that
in every possible world "all is connected," this is surely to be read as
implying that such a circumstance would undermine the claim of
these substances to form a single world. In a letter to Arnauld, Leibniz
similarly suggests that in the absence of a common cause, that is, God,
"the phenomena of different minds would not harmonize with each
other, and there would be as many systems as substances" (GP II
115/M 148). Commenting on this passage, Robert Sleigh maintains
that Leibniz did not intend this "argument as yet another version of
the first way, that is, as an argument based on the requirement of an
uncaused cause, outside the series of finite substances constituting the
world. It is based on special features of the actual world — a version of
the argument from design."45 I am not convinced, however, that this
does full justice to the text, for in the next sentence of his letter to
Arnauld, Leibniz adds: "The whole concept we have of time and
space is based upon this harmony." Now, Leibniz may simply be con-
fused here; he may even himself have failed to think through clearly
the distinction between features common to all possible worlds and
those definitive of the best of all possible worlds. On the other hand,
he may be gesturing toward exactly the position I have defended in
this chapter: that space and time determine the order of connection
common to all possible worlds, and that without a harmony among
the perceptions of substances it would be impossible to locate them
within a common spatiotemporal framework; consequently, universal
harmony is a necessary feature of any possible world.46 In the absence
of any convincing evidence to the contrary, I see Leibniz's position as

more coherently constructed around this thesis. In what follows, I
assume that it is, in fact, his view.
If we accept that there are many possible worlds - and perhaps
even all — that satisfy the condition of universal harmony, this condi-
tion by itself cannot determine God in his selection of a single best
world. We must therefore regard God's choice as being guided by
more than the criterion of universal harmony. One way of moving
beyond this criterion would be to suppose that harmony comes in
degrees, or that there are worlds with more or less harmony. Leibniz
seems to imply this when he bids us to conceive of this world not
simply as one in which harmony reigns, but as one that is "as harmo-
nious as possible" (GLW 171/AG 233), or in which there exists "the
most perfect of harmonies" (GP VI 44/H 68). As suggested in Chap-
ter 2, this seems a promising way to proceed. In this, the best of all
possible worlds, there are realized many different kinds of harmony,
at a variety of ontological levels. Thus, what distinguishes this world
from other possible worlds is not merely an agreement or harmony
among the perceptions of monads; rather, it is that in satisfying this
necessary condition for something's being a world, God has found a
way of multiplying harmonies and of embedding them within one
another, so as to create the most harmonious system possible.
The next chapter explores how Leibniz depicts the interweaving of
harmonies within the best of all possible worlds. In the rest of this
chapter, I approach the optimality of this world from a different, and
to my mind deeper, point of view. I argued in Part I that Leibniz sees
God's primary goal in creation as the maximization of perfection, and
that at least in order of conception this goal has priority over the
maximization of harmony. Given what we have so far established, we
may assume that universal harmony functions as at least an overrid-
ing constraint on the maximization of perfection: God will create no
world in which a universal harmony does not obtain. Indeed, we can
make an even stronger claim than this. In Leibniz's view, the condition
of universal harmony is vital to God's strategy for achieving a maximi-
zation of perfection. It is, he writes, "the most perfect way of multi-
plying beings to the greatest degree possible, and the best that is
possible" (GP III 72). Simply put, God's method in creation is
to multiply as many times as possible the number of monads ex-
pressing the universe, while simultaneously guaranteeing an agree-
ment among their phenomena:
[A] 11 souls [are] essentially representations or living mirrors of the universe
according to the capacity and point of view of each, and consequently as
durable as the universe itself. This is as if God has varied the universe as many
2OO NATURE
times as there are souls, or had created as many abridged universes, agreeing
in essence and diversified through appearances. There is nothing so rich as
their uniform simplicity accompanied by perfect order. (GP III 347~8)47
In seeking to maximize perfection, God aims to create as many differ-
ent monads as can coexist under the condition of universal harmony.
In order to achieve this goal, God will naturally create monads with
the highest possible degrees of perfection: rational minds with the
capacity to understand the order of the universe and God's providen-
tial plan for creation. However, God will not limit himself to realizing
such creatures: He will produce as many as can coexist consistent with
universal harmony, but he will also create as many lesser creatures as
can coexist with them in the world of greatest total perfection. Inte-
gral to God's conception of this world, we have seen, will be a continu-
ous ordering of degrees of perfection, from the lowest "brute" mo-
nads to the most elevated rational minds. 48
The strategy Leibniz ascribes to God has the further advantage of
maximizing the variety of phenomena perceived by monads. In creat-
ing the greatest possible collection of monads, God produces as many
different phenomenal representations of the universe as can be real-
ized simultaneously. As Leibniz explains in notes written in response
to the second edition of Bayle's Dictionary:
The marvellous thing is that the supreme wisdom has found the means,
through representative substances, of varying the same world in infinite ways
at the same time; for the world - already having within it an infinite variety
and being varied such that it is expressed in diverse ways by an infinity of
different representations — receives an infinity of infinities, and it could not
better correspond to the nature and the intentions of its inexpressible author,
who surpasses in perfection everything that can be thought about him. (GP
IV 554)49
Assuming an agreement among these infinite expressions of the uni-
verse, we may conclude, finally, that in creating the most perfection
that can be realized in a world, God also necessarily produces as much
harmony as can be achieved through the agreement among the per-
ceptions of monads. Consistent with the conclusions of Chapter 2,
then, God maximizes at once perfection or reality, variety of phenom-
ena, and monadic harmony.50
What remains to be addressed are the conditions under which God
achieves this result. What limits are there on how many times God can
multiply these "abridged universes"? Under what circumstances does
God realize the greatest possible variety of monads which can coexist
together in a world? We have noted that Leibniz would have us con-
ceive of God's deliberation in creation on analogy with a tiling prob-
lem. The solution of such a problem determines the optimal method
of paving a given surface. That is, it produces the arrangement of tiles
THE BEST OF ALL POSSIBLE WORLDS 2O1
that covers the area in the most efficient manner, leaving the fewest
uncovered spaces. Accepting this analogy, we may see Leibniz's rea-
soning as proceeding along the following lines: God's object in cre-
ation is to realize the collection of monads that together represent the
greatest sum of perfection. Just as in a tiling problem, meeting this
goal requires that God choose a world whose order permits the coex-
istence of the greatest variety of monads containing the greatest total
perfection. Given the nature of the monadic substances that consti-
tute the world, however, this order cannot be defined directly. In-
stead, intermonadic order can be defined only indirectly via the order
of the phenomena perceived by those monads. In general, different
intermonadic orders will be determined by the choice of different
spatiotemporal phenomenal orders, that is, different arrangements
of phenomena and different laws governing those phenomena. And
these different orders will in turn permit the realization of different
collections of monads. Leibniz's crucial assumption is now this: To
realize the optimal order for a world, or that order by which there is
realized the greatest sum of perfection, it is necessary and sufficient
to select what is recognizably the optimal spatiotemporal phenomenal
order. That is, the optimal order among the phenomena perceived by
monads will also be the order permitting the realization of the great-
est variety of monads, representing the greatest sum of perfection.
Given the assumed agreement among the phenomena perceived by
these substances, this will also be, perforce, the world of greatest
monadic harmony.
We are thus to assume that the realization of a certain spatiotem-
poral and causal order among the bodies that monads represent as
their bodies (and as bodies related to their bodies) is a sufficient
condition for the realization of the optimal order among monads
themselves, and that this in turn is sufficient for the realization of the
maximum perfection and harmony. Among the principles Leibniz
sees as contributing to the optimal phenomenal order are those
"metaphysico-mathematical laws of nature" that are "most in confor-
mity with intelligence and reason" (GP III 72).51 These would include
the principle of continuity, and those laws of nature (including laws of
motion) that conform to the principle of determination.52 At present,
however, I leave these principles aside to concentrate on one idea that
more than any other serves to explain how Leibniz envisions an opti-
mization of phenomenal order as translating into a maximization of
perfection and harmony. This is his conception of the panorganic
structure of the universe: the idea that matter is everywhere com-
posed of organisms enveloped within organisms ad infinitum.53
Critical to Leibniz's doctrine of panorganicism is the notion of the
preformation of organisms. By an "organism" or "organic creature,"
2O2 NATURE
Leibniz understands a body that is united to a soullike form, or en-

telechy.54 In virtue of its form, such a body acquires two characteris-
tics definitive of a living thing: a principle of motion or activity, suffi-
cient to determine a particular sequence of actions; and a functional
unity, sufficient to guarantee its identity through change. Now, the
thesis of preformation claims just this. The characteristics of a living
organism are so exceptional that it is impossible to conceive of such
creatures as arising by natural means from inorganic matter alone.55
Consequently, they must have been "preformed" by God. Organisms
are thus neither generated nor destroyed in the course of nature.
Although their bodies may undergo profound transformations, or-
ganisms themselves always preserve their identity:
[A]s the formation of organic animated bodies appears explicable in the
order of nature only when one assumes a preformation already organic, I have
thence inferred that what we call the generation of an animal is only a trans-
formation and augmentation. Thus, since the same body was already fur-
nished with organs [organise], it is to be supposed that it was already animate,
and that it had the same soul: so I assume vice versa, from the conservation of
the soul when once it is created, that the animal is also conserved, and that
apparent death is only an envelopment, there being no likelihood that in the
order of nature souls exist entirely separated from all body, or that what does
not begin naturally can cease through natural means. (Theodicy §90; GP VI
152/H 172)
Since the presence of organic creatures is "explicable in the order
of nature" only if one assumes preformation, such must be their
origin. Divine wisdom will in general tolerate no unwarranted gaps of
intelligibility, no unnecessary miracles. In elaborating the doctrine of
panorganicism, however, Leibniz goes beyond this. From the premise
of divine wisdom he further infers that the body of every organic
creature must itself be composed of an infinity of smaller organic
creatures:
[I]f matter is arranged by divine wisdom, it must be essentially organized
throughout and there must thus be machines in the parts of the natural
machine into infinity, so many enveloping structures and so many organic
bodies enveloped, one within the other, that one can never produce any
organic body entirely anew and without any preformation, nor destroy any
animal which already exists. (GP VI 544/L 58g)56
We are thus called on to conceive of the universe as organized along
the lines of a living body.57 Within a body like our own there are
arranged a variety of organs — heart, lungs, brain — whose functions
are subordinated to those of the body as a whole. And within each of
these organs are other smaller cells and cell complexes, whose func-
tions again are subordinated to those of the organ they constitute. In
conceiving of the panorganic structure of matter, Leibniz extends this

basic model in three ways. First, while being subordinated to a larger
body, the smaller organisms that constitute it have an integrity of
function not usually accorded to the organs of a living body. Take the
organs out of a body and they cease to function as organic entities.
According to Leibniz, by contrast, constituent organic creatures al-
ways retain their identity and activity (although perhaps in a much
altered form). Second, Leibniz conceives of the organic composition
of a body as extending to infinity. Within his equivalent of cells, we are
to conceive of smaller organic creatures, which are in turn composed
of smaller creatures ad infinitum. Finally, Leibniz conceives of this
organic structure as extending to the entire universe. There is no
fundamental division between organic and inorganic matter. At some
level all matter is organic: Every instance of matter is either itself an
organic body or an aggregate of organic bodies.58
In Leibniz's view, the preformation and subordination of organic
creatures can be directly traced to God's objective of maximizing per-
fection. Besides ourselves, he writes, "the author of things" wanted to
make
an infinity of other beings, some of which are enveloped in the organs of
others. Our body is a kind of world full of an infinity of creatures which also
merit existence; and if our body were not organized, our microcosm or little
world would not have had all the perfection that it must have, and the great
world would not be so rich as it is. (GP III 356)
Preformation and subordination are thus examples of the artifice
God has exercised in devising an order suitable for maximizing the
ontological richness of a world. As in the optimal solution to a tiling
problem, there is no better way of arranging creatures relative to one
another so as to achieve the greatest total perfection:
Just as the design of a building can be the best of all relative to the purpose,
expense and circumstances, and as an arrangement of certain shaped bodies
that are given to us can be the best that could be found, so it is likewise easy to
conceive that a structure of the universe can be the best of all. . . . The
connection and order of things brings it about that the body of every animal
and of every plant is composed of other animals and of other plants, or other
living and organic beings; consequently there is subordination, and one body,
one substance serves the other: thus their perfection cannot be equal. (The-
odicy §200; GP VI 235/H 252)
For our purposes, the most important result to be drawn from this
is that the order thereby determined among organic creatures also
represents the optimal means of multiplying the variety of soullike
monads in a world. With each organic body, there must be associated a
dominant monad or soul: "[AJlthough it is not absolutely necessary
2O4 NATURE
that every organic body be animated, it should be judged that the

opportunity for a soul has not been neglected by God, since his wis-
dom produces as much perfection as possible" (GP II 378).59 If we
accept that the panorganic structure Leibniz describes indeed repre-
sents the richest collection of organic bodies that could be arranged
within a spatiotemporal framework, then we are obliged to conclude
that the souls of these bodies form the maximal set of monads that
could be gathered in a world under the constraint of universal harmony.
To see this, suppose that the latter is not the case; that is, suppose
there could be a world with a panorganic structure exactly like the
one described, in which there were nevertheless realized an additional
soullike substance. In Leibniz's view, such a monad must be endowed
with an organic body, lest it stand as a "deserter from the general
order" (GP VI 545/L 590). But where would this body fit into the
organic order of the world? We have assumed that the arrangement
of organic creatures realized in this world is the richest possible: No
order permits the creation of more bodies within the limits of space
and time. There would thus be literally no room for this extra mo-
nad's body within the organic order. It follows that the realization of
an extra monad in the world would lead to a breakdown of universal
harmony. Its body would not find a place within the panorganic struc-
ture of matter, and would therefore not be perceived by other mo-
nads as related to their bodies. Contrary to our supposition, a world
containing this extra substance would be no improvement over our
own.60
Throughout this chapter, we have sidestepped an important ontologi-

cal question. We have, for the purposes of argument, imposed on
Leibniz the view that the substances God produces in creation are
limited to soullike monads that do not themselves exist in space and
time. They are, according to Leibniz, like so many separate worlds,
which express one another's states and activities, but which neither
interact causally nor stand in external spatiotemporal relations to one
another. In order to conceive of the connection and order of such
substances, Leibniz must make a rather unusual metaphysical move.
He must suppose that although there are in fact no real relations that
unite a plurality of monads in a world, it is nevertheless possible to
conceive of such relations through what monads represent as the
relations of their organic bodies. It is just here that problems arise for
Leibniz's theory. While we have seen how the embodiment of monads
serves as a prerequisite for their connection in a world, we have left
undetermined the ontological status of the bodies themselves. In the
following chapters, we shall attempt to resolve this question.
Notes
1. See Chapter 2. Cf. Theodicy §78; Causa Dei §§9, 12.
2. "God has power, which is the source of everything, knowledge, which con-
tains the diversity of ideas, and finally will, which brings about changes or
products in accordance with the principle of the best. And these corre-
spond to what, in created monads, is the subject or the basis, the percep-
tive faculty and the appetitive faculty" (Mon §48; GP VI 615/AG 219). Cf.
Mon §§42, 47; PNG §9.
3. "[A monad] has perfection to the extent that it has distinct perceptions"
(PNG §13; GP VI 604/AG 211). Cf. GP IV 553.
4. It might be thought that a more perfect appetite would actually be one
that represents a stronger tendency toward the good. This, however, can
be seen to reduce to the idea described in the text. For Leibniz, a stronger
appetite toward the good is simply one in which a greater proportion of a
monad's petites appetitions are directed toward the good. But again, wheth-
er or not each is so directed will depend on the distinctness of a monad's
perceptions.
5. Cf. Kulstad 1990.
6. Independently of the point that follows in the text, Leibniz denies that the
best of all possible worlds would contain the greatest collection of mini-
mal subdeities, i.e., monads that just escaped being gods. He rather holds
that the best of all possible worlds must be a world of creatures having
infinite degrees of perfection, from that of the lowest "bare" monads to
that of the highest angels or genii. Cf. Theodicy §§120, 200.
7. Cf. Mon §52.
8. Cf. On Freedom (FN 178-9/L 263); Theodicy §201; GP II 55-6/M 62-3;
GP II 181. The urgency of this point for Leibniz is underscored by a note
written the day after his December 1676 meeting with Spinoza: "If all
possibles existed, no reason for existing would be needed, and possibility
alone would suffice. Therefore there would be no God except insofar as
he is possible. But such a God as the pious hold to would not be possible if
the opinion of those is true who hold that all possibles exist" (C 530/L
169). For further discussion of Leibniz's defense of divine freedom, see
Chapter 1 and Blumenfeld 1988.
9. See Mates (1986, 75-6), who supplies texts in support of this reading. In
what follows, I sometimes talk of "compossible individuals (substances,
monads)," whereas, strictly speaking, I should limit myself to something
like "compossible complete individual concepts." Here I register the point
that for Leibniz the only concrete individuals are those which actually
exist. Possibilia of all sorts are merely entia rationis: ideas in the divine
intellect.
10. Rescher 1979, 58.
11. I use this rather awkward locution to indicate that the reference to Cain
contained in Adam's complete concept is not direct but is expressed in
terms of the sum of the properties that would be possessed by Cain. I
shall not always make this explicit in what follows; however, it should be
understood.
12. As Leibniz writes in a well-known passage: "I do not believe that you will
admit an accident that is in two subjects at the same time. My judgment
about relations is that paternity in David is one thing, and filiation in
2O6 NATURE
Solomon another, but the relation common to both is a merely mental

thing, whose basis is the modifications of the individuals" (GP II 486/L
609). See also his Fifth Paper to Samuel Clarke, §47 (GP VII 401/L 705).
13. See Rescher 1979, 55-8; Mates 1986, chap. 10; Cover 1989; Mugnai
1992, chaps. 6—7.
14. Rescher 1979, 59. Rescher designates this the "one substance-one world
doctrine": "[E]very substance has imprinted on its defining nature (its
complete individual notion) an ineradicable index of its entire environing
world. No substance can - even in hypothesis - be pried loose from its
world environment and transposed into some other possible world. No
possible substance can populate two distinct possible worlds, and no
member of one world can be compatibly united with any member of any
other" (1979, 50).
15. Mates 1986, 76—7.
16. "But since all things have a connection with others, either mediately or
immediately, the consequence is that it is of the nature of every substance
to express the whole universe by the power of its acting and being acted
on, that is by the series of its own immanent operations" (GP VII 316—7/P
84). Every substance "expresses, however confusedly, everything that
happens in the universe, whether past, present, or future - this has some
resemblance to an infinite perception or knowledge" (DM §9; Le 38/AG
42). See also GP II 51/M 57; GP II 57/M 64; GP VII 313/P 80. Note,
however, GP II 41/M 44: "[E]very individual substance of this universe
expresses in its concept the universe into which it enters."
17. Given Leibniz's doctrine of petites perceptions, Adam can (and must) ex-
press within his perceptual states his ancestral relation to all of humanity,
without being aware of that relation.
18. This seems to be the only way to understand Leibniz's claim in DM §14
that "nothing can happen to us except our thoughts and perceptions,"
and that the succession of these "would never fail and would happen to
me regardless, even if everything outside me were destroyed, provided
that there remained only God and me" (Le 49/AG 47).
19. I do not claim that this is Leibniz's only understanding of compossibility.
It is possible that he may simply not have distinguished this account from
the one advanced by Mates and Rescher, or that certain tendencies of his
thought lead him in one direction and others in another. I hope to show
in what follows that the notion of compossibility assumed by his later
theory of monads is most helpfully reconstructed along the lines just
described.
20. Cf. GP II 95—6/M 119-20; C 14/P 175-6; and Mon §56: "This intercon-
nection [liaison] or accommodation [accommodement] of all created things
to each other, and each to all the others, brings it about that each simple
substance has relations that express all the others, and consequently, that
each simple substance is a perpetual living mirror of the universe" (GP VI
616/AG 220).
21. Note again that the crucial point is Cain's expression of the universe as a
whole (where this includes the infinity of his petites perceptions), not what
Cain is consciously or distinctly aware of. Leibniz's scheme allows for
individuals who are very confused in their knowledge of a world, al-
though their perceptions contain all the information needed to ground
them in that world.
22. At NE II, xi, 4, Leibniz explicitly designates these relations as relations of
connection: "Relations divide into those of comparison and those of concur-

rence. The former concern agreement and disagreement (using these terms
in a narrower sense), and include resemblance, equality, inequality, etc.
The latter involve some connection [liaison], such as that of cause and
effect, whole and parts, position and order, etc." (RB 142). Cf. NE IV, 1,
vii (RB 358).
23. For the identification of space and time with the orders of coexistents and
successions, see GP II 253: "[EJvery change, both spiritual and material,
has its own place [sedes], so to speak, in the order of successions, or in
time, as well as its own location [locus] in the order of coexistents, or in
space." Loemker's translation at L 531 omits "in the order of successions."
See also RB 153-4; and GP II 379: "For space, and consequently also
time, is a certain order, namely (for space) an order of coexisting, which
extends not only to actuals, but also to possibles."
24. See the passage from GP II 253, quoted in the preceding note. Space and
time correlate with what we saw in Chapter 5 to be the two basic dimen-
sions of order for Leibniz: arrangement (or situs), and succession.
25. As it is used here the term "simultaneous" has no temporal aspect. Leib-
niz's most rigorous development of this topic is found in his late essay
Metaphysical Foundations of Mathematics: "If a plurality of states of things is
assumed to exist which involves no opposition to each other, they are said
to exist simultaneously. . . . Time is the order of existence of those things
which are not simultaneous. Thus time is the universal order of changes
when we do not take into consideration the particular kinds of
changes. . . . Space is the order of coexisting things, or the order of exis-
tence for things which are simultaneous. In each of these two orders —
that of time and that of space — we can judge relations of nearer to and
farther from between its terms, according as more or less middle terms are
required to understand the order between them" (GM VII 18/L 666-7).
26. See Leibniz's Fifth Paper to Clarke, §§27, 29, 33, 47, 49, 104; GP II 183/L
519.
27. Cf. GP II 473.
28. Cf. McRae 1979.
29- "[O]f two contradictory states of the same thing, that one is prior in time
which is prior by nature, or which involves the reason for the other, or
what amounts to the same thing, which is understood more easily. Just as
in a clock, in order to understand perfectly the present state of the
wheels, it is required that we understand the reason for this state, which is
contained in the preceding state; and so on for the future. And the same
is true for any other series of things, for there is always a certain connec-
tion, although it is not always necessary" (LH IV 7C Bl. 105-6 [V 1302]).
This passage, drawn from one of Leibniz's category studies, must be
interpreted in light of the definitions of "cause" and "prior by nature"
discussed in Chapter 5. See also GM VII 18/L 666; LH IV 7B, 4 Bl.
13-14 (V 1254-5).
30. Given Leibniz's reliance on the principle that "all things are always and
everywhere like here," we can draw the stronger conclusion that all mo-
nads (at least unconsciously) perceive the universe as a spatiotemporal
world of bodies. The sense in which soullike substances may be said to
perceive the universe as a spatiotemporal world of bodies requires fur-
ther analysis. Given Leibniz's explication of "perception" in terms of the
abstract relation of expression, there is available a relatively straightfor-
2O8 NATURE
ward reading of this claim: In saying that every monad expresses every-
thing in the universe, he means only that there is a lawful relation be-
tween the contents of the perceptions of each monad and those of every
other. Pursuing this course, we shall be inclined to attribute to Leibniz a
version of phenomenalism. The alternative is to give sense to the idea
that there is a relation between the content of the perceptions of monads
(spatiotemporally related bodies) and their ground in the reality of other
monads. I develop this alternative in the next two chapters.
31. It is clear that the "singular things" [singularia] referred to here are the
"simple substances" discussed throughout the same letter. Three sen-
tences before the quoted passage, Leibniz writes that "only in the case of a
singular thing is there a complete notion [notio completa]." A similar view
is propounded in the late essay Metaphysical Consequences of the Principle of
Reason: "But there would be no order among these simple substances,
which do not communicate through mutual influx, unless they at least
corresponded to each other mutually. Hence it is necessary that there is
between them a certain relation of perceptions or phenomena, through
which it can be discerned how much their modifications differ from each
other; for in these two - time and place - there consists the order of
things which exist either successively or simultaneously" (§9; C 14/P 175-6).
32. Cf. GP II 475: "The modifications of one monad are the ideal causes of
the modifications of another monad . . . insofar as there appear in one
monad reasons which occasion God from the outset to determine the
modifications in another monad." See also Theodicy §66; Mon §51; GP II
57/M 64-5; GP II 195/L 523; GP II 516/AG 202-3.
33. In §10 of the "Preliminary Discourse" of the Theodicy, Leibniz claims that
three propositions follow from his system of preestablished harmony:
"that there are necessarily substances that are simple and without exten-
sion distributed throughout nature; that these substances must always
subsist independently of everything else except God; and that they are
never separated from some organized body" (GP VI 56/H 80). See also
Theodicy §124; New Essays, Preface (RB 58); GP VI 545/L 590.
34. Cf. Metaphysical Consequences of the Principle of Reason §7 (C 14/P 175);
Theodicy §§120, 200; and GP II 324: "[T]o remove [intelligences] from
bodies and place [loco] is to remove them from the universal connection
and order of the world, which relations with respect to time and place
produce."
35. See Leibniz's letter to Lady Masham of 30 June 1704: "The question
whether the soul is somewhere or nowhere is nominal, for its nature does
not consist in extension, but it corresponds to the extension that it repre-
sents. Thus one must place the soul in the body, wherein there is located
the point of view from which it at present represents the universe to
itself" (GP III 357). See also Theodicy §130; C. Wilson 1989, 198.
36. Cf. NE II, xv, 11: "Every finite spirit is always joined to an organic body,
and represents other bodies to itself by their relation to its own body.
Thus it is obviously related to space as bodies are" (RB 155).
37. In a manuscript fragment, Leibniz writes: "Monads do not have a place
except through harmony, that is, through agreement with the phenome-
na of place, which arises from no influx, but from the spontaneity of
things" (LH IV I, 1a Bl. 9 [BH 51]).
38. See note 29.
39. In a late letter to Bourguet, Leibniz writes that a preceding instant of the
THE BEST OF ALL P O S S I B L E WORLDS 2OO,
universe "always has the advantage of priority, not merely in time but in
nature, over following instants" (GP III 582/L 664). This priority is
grounded in the causal relations among the successive states of monads.
See GP II 263/L 534.
40. See Mon §§61-2; C 15/P 176.
41. In Theodicy §66, Leibniz suggests how this account might be extended to
include the reference in Mon §49 to distinct and confused perceptions.
Concerning the relationship between a soullike monad and its body, he
writes that insofar as "the soul has perfection and distinct thoughts, God
has accommodated the body to the soul, and has arranged in advance that
the body is impelled to execute its orders. And insofar as the soul is
imperfect and its perceptions are confused, God has accommodated the
soul to the body, in such a way that the soul is swayed by the passions
arising out of corporeal representations" (GP VI 138-9/H 159). We can
infer that a monad's perceptions are more distinct to the extent that it
expresses itself as commanding its body to act on other bodies, and that
its perceptions are confused to the extent that it experiences its body as
being acted on by external things (i.e., the bodies of other monads).
42. Cf. Mon §52. To avoid any suggestion of circularity, we may claim that all
and only those states are simultaneous (or coexistent) for which such a
relation of intercourse is well defined. Leibniz makes a similar move in
the passage quoted in note 25.
43. This is supportive of Leibniz's own account of temporal order in the
Metaphysical Foundations of Mathematics: "If one of two states which are not
simultaneous involves a reason for the other, the former is held to be
prior, the latter posterior. My earlier state involves a reason for the exis-
tence of my later state. And since my prior state, by reason of the connec-
tion between all things, involves the prior state of other things as well, it
also involves a reason for the later state of these other things and is thus
prior to them. Therefore whatever exists is either simultaneous with other exis-
tences or prior or posterior" (GM VII 18/L 666).
44. Cf. Sleigh 1990, 176-9. I agree with Sleigh that such a disharmonious
world is not ruled out by passages such as DM §6: "[I]n whatever manner
God might have created the world it would always have been regular and
in accordance with a certain general order" (Le 33/AG 39; cf. GP VII
312/P 78-9). Leibniz is most naturally read here as claiming only the
necessity of developmental laws governing the progression of the percep-
tual states of substances. This is consistent with the lack of any harmony
among the perceptions of different substances.
45. Sleigh 1990, 172.
46. In an earlier letter to Arnauld, Leibniz remarks that the independence of
substances does not prevent an intercourse [commerce] between them, "for
as all created substances are a continual production of the same sovereign
being in accordance with the same plans, and are an expression of the
same universe or the same phenomena, they harmonize exactly among
themselves, and that causes us to say that one acts upon the other, because
one is a more distinct expression than the other of the cause or reason for
the changes" (GP II 57/M 64). Assuming that every world God could
create would be "a continual production of the same sovereign being in
accordance with the same plans," and that in any such world there would
be a well-defined notion of the "intercourse" of substances, we are again
led to the conclusion that universal harmony must be a feature of any
21O NATURE
possible world. See also GP II 115/M 147; and GP II 70/M 85: "[I]n the
last analysis, the accord of all the phenomena of the different substances
comes only from their all being productions of one and the same cause,
namely God, who makes each individual substance an expression of the
decision he has taken regarding the whole universe."
47. Cf. the 1702 essay Reflections on the Doctrine of a Single Universal Spirit,
where Leibniz declares that "each soul is a mirror of the universe in its
own manner, without any interruption, and contains in its depths an
order corresponding to that of the universe itself; that souls vary and
represent in an infinity of ways, all different and all true, and multiply
the universe, so to speak, as many times as possible, such that in this way
they approach the divinity so far as they can according to their different
degrees and give to the universe all the perfection of which it is capable"
(GP VI 538/L 559-60). See also Mon §§57-8; GP II 98/M 123.
48. Thus Leibniz writes in the New Essays: "I believe that the universe con-
tains everything that its perfect harmony could admit. It is agreeable to
this harmony that between creatures which are far removed from one
another there should be intermediate creatures. . . . The law of continu-
ity states that nature leaves no gaps in the orderings she follows" (III, vi,
12; RB 307).
49. See also his letter to De Voider, ca. 1705: "[S]imple substances can be
nothing more than sources or principles of as many series of perceptions,
evolving in order with respect to one another, expressing the same uni-
verse of phenomena in the greatest and most orderly variety, in which,
with as much justice as possible, the supreme substance poured out its
perfection into many dependent substances, which should be conceived
as individual concentrations of the universe and (some more than others)
as imitations of the divinity" (GP II 278).
50. Here I agree with Blumenfeld (1995), who argues that for Leibniz, God is
disposed to create both the greatest number of monads and the greatest
variety of phenomena, and that the latter supervenes on the former.
51. Cf. Theodicy §403; GP VI 562/L 579.
52. These principles relate to the mode of causal action in a world. It is
undoubtedly Leibniz's view that there are better and worse ways for
change to occur — more and less efficient ways of conveying a given effect
- and that the selection of the optimal mode of change is a necessary
condition for the maximization of perfection and harmony. I do not take
up these considerations here, but they are certainly relevant to the topic.
53. I borrow the term "panorganic" from Broad (1975, 87).
54. The precise nature of this union is a point of contention in Leibniz's
philosophy. We return to it in Chapter 10.
55. In his 1705 essay Considerations on Vital Principles and Plastic Natures, Leib-
niz writes that "the laws of mechanism by themselves could not form an
animal where there is nothing already organized" (GP VI 544/L 589).
Although he denies that organisms can originally arise through mechani-
cal means, he nonetheless holds that all their actions conform to mechani-
cal laws: "The organism of animals is a mechanism which presupposes a
divine preformation: that which follows from it is purely natural and
entirely mechanical." Fifth Paper to Clarke, §115 (GP VII 417-8/L 715).
56. Cf. GP III 340, 565; GP VI 539/L 586; GP VI 545/L 590. Leibniz regards
this panorganic structure as exemplary of the artifice God exercises in
the creation of the world: "I define an organism, or natural machine, as a
machine each of whose parts is a machine, and consequently the subtlety

of its artifice extends to infinity, nothing being so small as to be neglected,
whereas the parts of our artificial machines are not machines. This is the
essential difference between nature and art, which our moderns have not
considered sufficiently" (GP III 356).
57. With the crucial exception that there is no highest "soul of the world" that
transforms the universe as a whole into a single organism. Leibniz strenu-
ously rejects this idea in Reflections on the Doctrine of a Single Universal Spirit
(GP VI 529-38/L 554-60).
58. Cf. Antibarbarus Physicus: "But even if not all bodies are organic, neverthe-
less organic bodies lie hidden in everything, even in inorganic bodies, so
that all mass [massa], either unordered or completely uniform in appear-
ance, is within itself not uniform but diversified — yet not confused, but
ordered in its diversity. And so, I have shown that organisms are every-
where, and nowhere is there chaos unworthy of wisdom" (GP VII
344/AG 319).
59. Cf. Considerations on Vital Principles and Plastic Natures (GP VI 545/L 590).
60. If we allow that universal harmony is a prerequisite for a world, then, of
course, we would not have a single world at all.
8
Monads, Matter, and Organisms
In Leibniz's mature writings we find evidence of three distinct models

of the universe. Most basically, there is the system of monads. Accord-
ing to this theory, reality consists exclusively of soullike substances
and their harmoniously related perceptions. Alongside this is a model
of the universe as understood from the point of view of physical
theory, an account that describes extended bodies moving and inter-
acting in accordance with the laws of mechanics. Finally, there is a
model that merges aspects of both of the two preceding theories.
According to the doctrine of panorganicism, nature is everywhere
composed of organic creatures, each constituted from a soul or soul-
like form and an organic body specifically adapted to its needs. Given
that each of these theories is advanced as a comprehensive model of
the universe, it is easy to imagine them coming into conflict with one
another. Leibniz is clear enough about the derivative status of the
second model - that of physical theory - that there has not generally
been a problem about its consistency with the other two models. Still,
questions remain as to what exactly its relationship to them is. The
connection between the other two models - the monadic and pan-
organic — raises deeper problems. I have argued that the doctrine of
panorganicism is presupposed by Leibniz's account of the relatedness
of monads within the best of all possible worlds. Nevertheless, it is not
difficult to construct a case for the panorganic model as a rival to the
system of monads as Leibniz's fundamental account of reality. If, as he
often suggests, the product of the union of a soullike form and an
organic body is a "corporeal substance," one might be inclined to
argue that the true elements of nature for Leibniz are, in fact, embod-
ied organisms rather than immaterial monads. Or at least one might
think that Leibniz had not fully worked out in his own mind — or that
the conflicting tenets of his metaphysics would not allow him to work
out — whether the basic constituents of nature are soullike substances
or corporeal substances.
To forestall this suggestion of a conflict within Leibniz's meta-
physics, I shall demonstrate in this chapter and the next how the
monadic, physical, and panorganic models are integrated into a single
theory of the created world. The interpretation I offer does not cir-
cumvent completely the challenge raised by the notion of corporeal
MONADS, MATTER, AND ORGANISMS 213
substance. For that, we shall have to wait until Chapter 10. What I
hope to provide before then is a way of understanding the monadic,
physical, and panorganic models as three complementary accounts of
the created world, each formulated according to a different level of
analysis. In doing so, I shall also suggest how Leibniz's three models
of nature intersect with his celebrated doctrine of the preestablished
harmony of soul and body, and how the interrelation of these three
models underwrites the "most perfect of harmonies" that character-
izes the best of all possible worlds.
The Preestablished Harmony of Soul and Body

Leibniz's philosophical reputation was first established with the pub-
lication of his novel solution to the Cartesian problem of soul—body
communication. In his New System of the Nature and Communication of
Substances (1695), and in its subsequent clarifications, he presents his
view as an alternative to both the "way of influence" and occasional-
ism's "way of assistance." According to the former, the body and the
soul are capable of communicating with one another by direct causal
interaction. In Descartes's infamous account, the interface for their
communication is the pineal gland, via which the soul causes motions
in the animal spirits resulting in voluntary movements, and motions
in the sensory nerves are communicated to the soul producing sensa-
tions. According to occasionalism, the effects of both body and soul
are entirely products of divine action. God is directly responsible for
all causal activity in the world, and merely uses a given state of the
soul or the body as an "occasion" for causing the appropriate effect in
the other. In the New System, Leibniz takes issue with both these ap-
proaches. On the one hand, he denies that two things as disparate as
the soul and the body could possibly exert a real causal influence on
one another. On the other hand, he also rejects the occasionalisms
claim that the agreement of the soul and body is the product of
divine intervention.1 He instead argues that the soul and the body are
each responsible for the production of all their own natural states, but
that the two agree perfectly in their actions, as a consequence of a "pre-
established harmony." When the soul wills the motion of its body, this
is normally followed by the body's exhibiting the appropriate move-
ment. When the body's sensory organs are stimulated, this is normally
followed by the soul's experiencing a certain sensation. In neither
case, however, are we to imagine the soul and the body as influencing
each other. Any movement in a soul's body can be explained in terms
of a chain of efficient mechanical causes. Similarly, anything that oc-
curs in the soul, including sensory perceptions, can be explained en-
tirely in terms of the soul's appetitions, or its momentaneous strivings
214 NATURE
for the good. To speak of the soul and the body as "communicating"
with each other is simply to refer to the special relation of correspon-
dence that exists between their states, a relation whereby the two give
the appearance of influencing one another.
Whatever its merits vis-a-vis the Cartesian and occasionalist posi-
tions, it is fair to say that Leibniz's defense of the doctrine of pre-
established harmony rests chiefly on its claim to depict the order of a
world that owes its existence to divine wisdom. Characteristic of the
harmony that marks this as the best of all possible worlds is the re-
markable agreement whereby the soul and the body exactly mirror
each other's operations while each follows its own natural laws. Recit-
ing the grounds for his commitment to this theory, Leibniz writes in
the Theodicy:
Being already convinced from another source of the principle of harmony in
general, and consequently of preformation and of the preestablished harmony
of all things among themselves, of that between nature and grace, between
the decrees of God and our foreseen actions, between all parts of matter, and
even between the future and the past, the whole in conformity with the
sovereign wisdom of God, whose works are the most harmonious it is possible
to conceive — I could not fail to arrive at the system which maintains that God
created the soul in the beginning in such a fashion that it must produce and
represent to itself successively that which takes place within the body, and the
body also in such a fashion that it must do of itself what the soul ordains. (§62;
GP VI 136-7/H 157)
In order of justification, Leibniz's reasoning takes him from the cer-
tainty of divine wisdom to a general demand for the maximization of
harmony, and from there to the system of preestablished harmony. As
already suggested, the requirements of divine wisdom are seen as
leading to a complex array of harmonies, of which the harmony of
soul and body is but one special example.2
This reading of Leibniz's advocacy of the preestablished harmony
of soul and body supports my general thesis of the relationship be-
tween his metaphysics and theodicy. Nevertheless, it remains unclear
exactly what role this doctrine plays within his later thought. It is
tempting to see the preestablished harmony of soul and body as a
piece of surface metaphysics: a theory that serves Leibniz in his public
engagements with Cartesians but does not express his deepest philo-
sophical views. We could hardly be more mistaken about Leibniz's
position, for example, than if we were to read him - as he presents
himself in the New System — as advancing a theory of the communica-
tion of two different types of substances, for we know that he denies
that any material thing by itself qualifies as a substance. What, then, is
the significance of the preestablished harmony of soul and body in
Leibniz's later philosophy? With his embrace of the doctrine of mo-
nads, does it simply fall by the wayside, or does it continue to play an

important theoretical role?
We observed in Chapter 7 that it is a central claim of Leibniz's
doctrine of monads that no monad is ever without an organic body.
Given this, it is plausible to think that, if anything, the significance of
the preestablished harmony of soul and body may actually increase in
his later metaphysics. From being a doctrine that is applied exclu-
sively to the communication of the human soul and body, its explana-
tory scope is extended to include all soullike monads and their associ-
ated organic bodies.3 Thus, Leibniz claims that nature as a whole is
organized according to the principle of preestablished harmony: It is
everywhere composed of souls and organic bodies, each operating in
complete independence of the other. Souls operate according to the
laws of appetite or final causation; bodies, according to the laws of
efficient causation.
I have shown that organisms are everywhere . . . and that all organic bodies in
Nature are animated, but neither souls nor bodies change one another's laws. I have
shown that everything in bodies takes place through shape and motion, every-
thing in souls through perception and appetite; that in the latter there is a
kingdom of final causes, in the former a kingdom of efficient causes, which
two kingdoms are virtually independent of one another, but nevertheless are harmo-
nious; that God (the common final and efficient cause of things) accommo-
dates everything to his ends through intermediaries that act through them-
selves, and that souls and bodies, though infallibly following their own laws,
agree nevertheless through a harmony preestablished by God, without any physical
influx between one another. (GP VII 344/AG 319)
In a phrase he often repeats, Leibniz describes nature as composed of

two "kingdoms" or "realms": one of souls or final causes, the other of
bodies or efficient causes. With these terms, he stresses the explana-
tory autonomy of each domain. Whatever takes place within the realm
of souls can be understood entirely in terms of their spontaneous
strivings according to the laws of appetite. Likewise, whatever occurs
within the realm of bodies can be understood entirely in terms of the
communication of motion according to the laws of mechanics. In no
instance is it necessary to appeal to the actions of souls to explain the
motions of bodies, or vice versa.
Nevertheless, Leibniz regards the kingdom of souls and the king-
dom of bodies as intimately related. Although each domain is inde-
pendent of the other, the two kingdoms harmonize and "penetrate"
each other completely, with the result that nature is everywhere com-
posed of bodies and everywhere composed of souls:
I believe that everything in fact happens mechanically in nature and can be
explained by efficient causes, but that at the same time everything also takes
2l6 NATURE
place morally, so to speak, and can be explained by final causes. These two
kingdoms, the moral one of minds and souls and the mechanical one of
bodies, penetrate one another and agree perfectly on account of the Author
of things, who is at the same time the first efficient cause and the final end. I
hold therefore that just as there is no void in bodies, so there is no more one
among souls; that is, that there are souls everywhere and that souls which
once exist cannot perish. (GP VII 451/L 472—3)4
We are thus presented with an unusual picture of the created world.

As against the Cartesian account of nature as a plenum of bodies,
some of which — those of human beings — are united with souls,
Leibniz maintains that nature is everywhere full of souls and bodies,
and that each type of entity operates in complete independence of the
other.
Knowing what we do about the basic commitments of Leibniz's
philosophy, we might be tempted to interpret his talk of an autono-
mous kingdom of bodies as purely notional. Thus, it might be argued,
although it is true that every monad expresses itself as an embodied
creature standing in spatiotemporal relations to other bodies, and
that the progression of its states proceeds in harmony with what it
expresses as the changes in the states of its body, there is, in fact,
nothing to the world of bodies over and above the perceptions of
monads. Bodies are merely phenomenal objects. Although they allow
God to establish correlations among the perceptions of different
monads, they do not themselves represent any reality external to the
perceiving monad.
Although this proposal should not be dismissed too quickly, it can-
not account for all the claims Leibniz makes about the preestablished
harmony of soul and body. It is clearly his view that this doctrine is
designed to explain an agreement between the orderly progression of
a soul's perceptions and the changes that occur in something external
to it: its organic body. No other construal can be placed on a passage
such as the following from the Principles of Nature and of Grace:
[E]ach distinct simple substance or monad . . . is surrounded by a mass com-

posed of an infinity of other monads, which constitute the body belonging to
this central monad, through whose properties the monad represents the
things outside it, similarly to the way a center does. . . . [E]ach monad is a living
mirror or a mirror endowed with internal action, which represents the uni-
verse from its own point of view and is ordered as the universe itself. And the
perceptions in the monad arise from one another by the laws of appetites, or
by the laws of the final causes of good and evil. . . . Similarly, changes in bodies
and external phenomena arise from one another by the laws of efficient causes,
that is, the laws governing motions. Thus there is a perfect harmony between
the perceptions of the monad and the motions of bodies, preestablished from
the first between the system of efficient causes and that of final causes. (§3;
GP VI 598-9/AG 207-8)
Given Leibniz's explicit identification of the organic body of a monad
with "a mass composed of an infinity of other monads," we have little
choice but to regard the preestablished harmony of soul and body as
indicating a correspondence between the internal actions of a monad
and those of something external to it. This something is, according to
Leibniz, a "mass" of other monads: a mass the soul perceives as an
extended thing operating in accordance with the laws of efficient
causation. In this, we find the key we need to understand how the
kingdom of bodies and the kingdom of souls are conceived by him as
two autonomous realms, which nonetheless penetrate each other
completely. Unlike Descartes, Leibniz does not regard bodies and
souls as belonging to mutually exclusive ontological realms; they are
instead the products of two distinct epistemological perspectives. Ex-
planation in terms of the activities of monads operating in accordance
with the laws of appetite is explanation of the world as it is in itself and
as it is conceived by the intellect. Explanation in terms of the motions
of bodies operating in accordance with the laws of mechanics is expla-
nation of the world as it appears to a monad's limited mode of percep-
tion. Given that intellection and sensation represent two different
ways of knowing one and the same world, there is no contradiction in
claiming that everything at once occurs mechanically and vitally:
Everything is exhibited mechanically in the sensible world, as in an always
flowing theater of phenomena; and yet everything at the same time thus
happens vitally in the intelligible world, as if bodies were only dreams. Plato
already knew that this world alone is subsistent; the imagination creates the5
first for itself from the senses, the mind recognizes the truth of the latter.
If the kingdom of souls and the kingdom of bodies can be under-
stood as the products of two different levels of analysis — one of the
phenomena as they are perceived by finite monads, the other of mon-
ads as they are conceived in themselves - then we avoid the most
obvious objection to the claim that these two realms "penetrate one
another and agree completely" (GP VII 451). This result does, how-
ever, entail a revision in our original understanding of Leibniz's doc-
trine of the preestablished harmony of soul and body. To talk of
"bodies" at all in his scheme must be regarded as a type of shorthand.
What exist ultimately for Leibniz are soullike monads and their in-
trinsic accidents. Nevertheless, God has seen fit to arrange things in
the world such that finite monads express the actions and passions of
other monads as the actions and passions of bodies operating in accor-
dance with the laws of mechanics. Furthermore, God has deemed that
each monad should express the actions of a limited subset of these
monads as those of its own organic body — a relation that underwrites
the appearance of communication between them. On the basis of this
last point, we may conclude that the preestablished harmony of soul
2l8 NATURE
and body does play a critical role in Leibniz's later metaphysics, but
that at bottom it is actually a harmony preestablished between a soul
or "dominant monad" and the plurality of lesser monads which that
soul represents as its corporeal mass. As Leibniz writes in his 1702
reply to Bayle, "[T]here is no soul or entelechy which is not dominant
with respect to an infinity of others which enter into its organs, and
the soul is never without an organic body suitable to its present state"
(GP IV 564/L 580).
Reading Leibniz in this way, it might seem that there is something
rather confused about his panorganic model. To talk of an organism
as the combination of a soullike monad and an organic body suggests
the confounding of two distinct epistemological perspectives. If bod-
ies exist only as phenomena - things perceived by monads - then we
might wonder whether the organism or soul-body composite is even
a coherent ontological type or whether it is, instead, a sort of category
mistake: an entity formed by illicitly combining what is mere appear-
ance (the body) with what is truly real (the soul). To answer this doubt,
we must modify somewhat our account of the relationship between
bodies and souls. Although the soul—body distinction is properly
characterized as a distinction between two epistemological perspec-
tives, it is not only that. Along with this distinction comes a crucial
ontological claim: that bodies are themselves pluralities of monads.
For Leibniz, the term "body" does not refer merely to an appearance
or phenomenal object. Instead, a body is a plurality of monads, which
happens to give the appearance of being an extended object when
apprehended by other finite monads. This extension of our account
raises no new problems concerning the mutual penetration of the
kingdom of souls and the kingdom of bodies. The two continue to
converge on one reality that is apprehended in two different ways.
What we can now add to our account is a coherent interpretation of
Leibniz's doctrine of panorganicism. By an "organism" or "living
thing," Leibniz most basically understands a dominant monad to
which there is subordinated "a mass composed of an infinity of other
monads, which constitute the body belonging to this central monad"
(PNG §3; GP VI 599/AG 207).6 Because he regards every monad as
being so endowed, some notion of organism, or organic structure,
must extend to the entire universe. We return in a later section to
work this out in detail. First, however, we must examine more care-
fully his general treatment of matter.
The Nature of Matter

Leibniz's late writings defend the thesis that at the deepest level, the
created world consists solely of monads and their individual modifica-
MONADS, MATTER, AND ORGANISMS 21O,
tions. Material things do not form part of his fundamental ontology.

Their existence is to be explained, instead, in terms of the existence
and properties of monads alone.7 Yet how exactly such an explana-
tion might work remains one of the most difficult problems in the
interpretation of Leibniz's philosophy. At various times Leibniz refers
to bodies as "well-founded phenomena," as "results" of monads, and
as "aggregates" of monads. Initially, at least, it is unclear how we are to
understand these expressions and whether they all point toward the
same theory of body. In what follows, I argue that a consistent theory
of body can be located in Leibniz's late writings and that this theory is
best characterized as a type of reduction of matter to monads.8
The single most important point to be understood about Leibniz's
theory of matter is that it is an ontological theory: an account of the
essence of matter, or what it is to be a material thing. As regards this
question, Leibniz's answer is clear: Any material thing is essentially a
plurality of monads, or what he describes as an "aggregate," "collec-
tion," or "mass" of monads. Since the eighteenth century, this claim
has perplexed Leibniz's readers. Given the radically disparate proper-
ties of bodies and monads, how could bodies possibly be aggregates of
monads?9 The incredulity implicit in this question stems from a basic
confusion, which Leibniz cautions against in letters to De Voider and
Des Bosses.10 In no way does he mean to suggest that bodies are
spatial aggregates of monads, that monads are spatial parts of bodies
or spatially located within bodies. This is not involved in his aggregate
thesis, nor need it be; there are many types of collective entities that
are not spatial aggregates of parts (e.g., sets of numbers). This confu-
sion about what is presupposed by the claim that bodies are aggre-
gates of monads has helped promote a further misunderstanding of
Leibniz's theory. Seeing a problem with the aggregate thesis, many
commentators have retreated to the position that bodies are merely
the confused appearances of monads.11 As already suggested, Leibniz
has something stronger than this in mind. Perceptions of bodies can
be interpreted as confused representations of monads; however, this
claim can only be properly understood in terms of the prior ontologi-
cal thesis that bodies are pluralities of monads.
In Chapter 4, we advanced some way toward understanding the
basis for Leibniz's position. We observed there that what is repre-
sented in perception for him is some manner of being (ens). This is
just to say that perceptions, insofar as they are distinct, have an intelli-
gible content and that this content is the idea of some being. Invaria-
bly, our sense perceptions are also confused, so that they are not
transparent representations of the things that appear to us. Neverthe-
less, they are not so confused that we cannot make progress in com-
prehending the essence of the beings represented in them. The cru-
22O NATURE
cial example of this, for Leibniz, involves our perceptions of matter.

In this case, he argues, it is possible to undertake an analysis of the
content of our perceptions that reveals them to be grounded in a
supersensible reality of monads. The critical point about this ground-
ing is that it is understood not as a contingent causal grounding of the
perceptions themselves, but as an ontologicial grounding of the being
represented in them. The object of the analysis is to show not simply
that bodies are the appearances of monads, but that qua species of
being, matter is essentially an infinite plurality of monads. In Leib-
niz's view, matter can be understood in these terms, even if its constit-
uent monads are represented sensorily as something quite different.
In defense of this conclusion, Leibniz relies on two main argu-
ments. One, involving the dynamical properties of matter, we leave to
Chapter 9. The other, based on the idea that matter is by nature a
"multitude" of things, we may briefly consider here. Leibniz's reason-
ing is extremely simple. Because of its division in infinitum, matter is
essentially an aggregate or multitude of things.12 But whatever is a
multitude must be constituted from true unities, for a multitude can
only come to be through unity.13 Because the only true unities are
monads, it follows that bodies must be pluralities of monads. The
simplicity of this argument should not blind us to its centrality in
Leibniz's philosophy. It would be no exaggeration to suggest that it is
one of the key moments in his thought.14 In a 1696 letter to the
Electress Sophie, he writes: "My fundamental meditations turn on
two things, namely unity and infinity. Souls are unities and bodies are
multitudes, albeit infinite ones" (GP VII 542). Four years later, he
offers the Elec tress a more detailed summary of his position:
Everyone agrees that matter has parts, and consequently that it is a multitude
of many substances, as would be a herd of sheep. But since every multitude
presupposes true unities, it is obvious that these unities cannot be material,
otherwise they would still be multitudes and not at all true and pure unities,
such as are necessary finally in order to make a multitude. Thus, the unities
are in fact substances in their own right, which are neither divisible nor
consequently perishable. . . . And it is this simple substance, this unity of
substance or monad, which is called soul. . . . These unities truly constitute
substances and each unity uniquely makes a single substance; the rest are only
beings through aggregation, and collections or multitudes. (GP VII 552-3)15
As multitudes, Leibniz argues, material things can only come to be
as a result of true unities or monads. In notes prepared during his
1690 exchange with Fardella, we find one of his fullest expressions of
this claim. "[A] plurality of being can neither be understood nor can
subsist," Leibniz writes, "unless one being [ens unum] is first under-
stood, to which the multitude is necessarily traced back" (FN 320/AG
103). As a consequence, he concludes,
there is an infinity of simple substances or creatures in any particle of matter;

and matter is composed from these, not as from parts, but as from constitu-
tive principles or immediate requisites [requisite immediatis], just as points
enter into the essence of a continuum and yet not as parts. (FN 324)16
The care Leibniz takes to distinguish a body's constituent substances
from its material parts, and the comparison he draws between the
body—substance relation and the line—point relation, reveals the folly
of attempting to interpret bodies as spatial aggregates of monads. To
take this step is to enter what he calls "the labyrinth of the continu-
um." 17 To avoid this labyrinth, we must insist that monads are not the
elemental parts of matter but, rather, its "immediate requisites." This
is a technical term we have already encountered. We saw in Chapter 5
that one being counts as an immediate requisite of another just in case
it is directly presupposed by its nature, such that the latter cannot be
conceived without the former. In characterizing the relationship be-
tween bodies and simple substances in these terms, Leibniz leaves no
doubt that we are meant to understand this relationship as an on-
tological one.
This constitutes the first part of Leibniz's position. It rests on the
claim that matter is essentially a multitude of monads — that this is
what it is to be a material thing. We now turn to the second part of his
position, which addresses the question of the conditions under which
bodies actually exist. That there is another question to be dealt with
here may seem curious: If a body is essentially a plurality of monads,
then for a body to exist is for some plurality of monads to exist.
Leibniz insists, however, that the existence of a plurality of monads is
not a sufficient condition for the existence of a body; not just any set
of monads can be identified with a material thing. For a body to exist,
its constituent monads must be related in such a way as to form a
special sort of collective being or aggregate. An aggregate, or "being
through aggregation," is a type of entity whose identity is determined
partly by its individual constituents and partly by the relations among
its constituents. A standard example is a flock of sheep, whose exis-
tence depends not simply on the existence of certain individual sheep
but on their existing within a certain spatial proximity to one another.
We may conceive of an aggregate of monads in similar terms, with the
obvious proviso that whatever relations are relevant to determining
the existence of such an aggregate, they are not external spatial rela-
tions.
Leibniz describes the relationship between individuals and the ag-
gregates they comprise as one of "resulting." In a study from the
1680s, he defines this term as follows: "I understand that to result,
which can immediately be understood when those things from which
it results have been posited" (LH IV 7C Bi. 108 [V 415]).18 Resulting
222 NATURE
is best interpreted as a relation of ontological determination. In gen-

eral, a result is any entity whose existence can immediately be under-
stood on the supposition that certain prior entities exist. In Leibniz's
view, the principal class of entities determined in this way are those
whose existence is dependent upon relations holding among individ-
uals. If, supposing the existence of certain individuals, we can under-
stand them as being related in such a way as to determine the idea of
some new entity, such as an aggregate, we can describe this new entity
as a "result" of those individuals.19
Leibniz's doctrine of relations plays an essential role in determining
1
the nature of aggregative beings. We know that for him relations are
merely ideal: They are not themselves created beings but merely
"modes of conceiving," or what a mind imposes on the world in ap-
prehending the agreement and connection of singular things.20 It
follows that aggregative beings - those whose existence is dependent
upon relations — can only exist for a mind. Only to the extent that a
plurality of individuals is apprehended by a mind as forming a uni-
tary being is an aggregate determined.21 Beings through aggregation
thus occupy a curious middle ground in Leibniz's ontology between
what is truly real, an unumper se or substance, and what is merely ideal
or imaginary. They are at once semirealia and semimentalia.22 The exis-
tence of any aggregate is necessarily mind-dependent; yet this does
not mean that aggregates are merely mental things. Aggregates are
instead "well-founded phenomena" (phaenomena bene fundata): They
are pluralities of individuals, which together determine a single com-
plex being insofar as they are apprehended as having a certain same-
ness or connection with respect to one another. It is this middle grade
of reality that Leibniz ascribes to aggregates of monads, and to the
bodies he identifies with them. Accepting that any material thing is by
nature a plurality of monads, and hence a being through aggregation,
we are obliged to conceive of it as no more than a well-founded
phenomenon: "We can therefore conclude that a mass of matter is not
truly a substance, that its unity is only ideal and that (leaving the
understanding aside) it is only an aggregate, a collection, a multitude
of an infinity of true substances, a well-founded phenomenon" (GP
VII 5 64) 2 3
We have reached the conclusion that when Leibniz speaks of aggre-
gates of monads, or of aggregates that result from monads, he means
most basically pluralities of monads that are related in such a way as to
determine the idea of some collective being: their aggregate. Two
further questions now arise: (1) What are the relations by which mo-
nads combine to form an aggregate? (2) For what mind(s) must mo-
nads be so related, in order for an aggregate to exist? We have already
made some progress toward answering the first of these questions. We
saw in the preceding chapter that monads are connected in a world by
means of analogues of spatiotemporal and causal relations. Such rela-
tions are not irreducible facts about monads, but are instead results of
their intrinsic modifications: perceptual states that express the rela-
tion of their organic bodies to the rest of the universe. On the basis of
correlations among the perceptions of monads, we can conceive of
relations of connection as being determined among the monads
themselves. Thus, one monad may express its body as nearer to, or
farther from, that of another monad, or as active or passive with
respect to it. Assuming that this second monad agrees in its expres-
sion of the relation of its body to that of the first (a condition guaran-
teed by the thesis of universal harmony), there is thereby determined
a second-order (or resultant) relation between these monads. With
this, we have all we need to make sense of monadic aggregates. It is
the nature of such resultant beings that they are immediately de-
termined on the condition that certain relations are apprehended
among individuals. To the extent, therefore, that relations of connec-
tion are apprehended among monads, we can envision certain aggre-
gates of monads as thereby being determined.
Implicit in this explanation is also an answer to our second ques-
tion. If we assume that aggregates depend for their existence on
relations grounded in the harmonious perceptions of monads, these
relations will be known in detail only to God. This, however, is suffi-
cient for the aggregation of monads. Consistent with Leibniz's defini-
tion of the term, we can say that aggregates result from individual
monads insofar as the divine mind apprehends certain objective cor-
relations among those monads' phenomenal representations of the
world. The role played by God in this scheme is critical. A result is a
type of being whose existence can immediately be understood on the
supposition that certain prior individuals exist. This means that, as-
suming the existence of certain monads, and assuming the presence
of a mind capable of apprehending those monads in relation to each
other, there will be determined, as a result, some aggregative being. If
we accept, as Leibniz does, that the divine mind knows the states of all
monads at every instant, then aggregates must result, given the exis-
tence of individual monads.24
This leaves us with one final question, arguably the most difficult of
all. Assuming that aggregates are originally determined by what God
knows of the relations of monads, under what conditions are we justi-
fied in identifying these aggregates with the bodies we perceive? It
will be helpful at the start to limit ourselves to the central case of the
organic body that is the property of any soullike monad. On the basis
of what we have already established, we may see Leibniz as conceiving
of such a body in two complementary ways: on the one hand, as a
224 NATURE
mere appearance or what a monad represents as its body; on the

other hand, as what that body is in itself, some aggregate of monads.
Our problem is how to fit these two conceptions of body together:
how to make sense of the idea that what a monad perceives as its body
is - provided that that perception is veridical - really some aggregate
of monads. In his late writings, Leibniz equates the embodiment of
a monad with its being "dominant" with respect to a plurality of lesser
monads. 25 A promising approach, then, would be to ask under what
conditions a plurality of monads can be said to result in the organic
body of their dominant monad or soul.
We may assume that a monad characteristically represents an or-
ganic body as its body to the extent that it represents that body as
where it is and as the instrument through which it acts. An organic
body is thus in this sense subordinate to its soul: It only persists as the
body of that soul, or as that organic body, insofar as it is represented
as such by the soul, that is, insofar as the soul represents that body as
defining its dimensions in space and time and its immediate capacity
for action. Now, it is reasonable to suppose that if certain monads are
to be conceived as grounding a soul's representation of its body, they
must be monads that provide a ground for the body's characteristic
relation to the soul. They must, in other words, be monads that,
reciprocally, express themselves as subordinate to the soul. We have
found, however, that monads are only able to express their related-
ness via what they represent as the relations of their organic bodies. It
follows, then, that if certain monads are to be conceived as grounding
the reality of a soul's body, they must be monads that represent their
own organic bodies as subordinate to the soul's body, or to that organ-
ic body whose reality they are assumed to ground. 26
The paradigm of this sort of relationship for Leibniz is the relation-
ship that exists between the living body and its separate organs, cells,
and subcellular components. In this case, the latter are conceived not
simply as spatial parts of the body but as parts whose activities are
adapted to the activity of the body as a whole. Working from this
example, we may infer that the monads that ground the reality of a
soul's organic body will be just those whose bodies are expressed (by
themselves and by the soul) as the functional components of the
soul's body. To conceive of all the monads that share this characteristic
will be to conceive of those monads that collectively determine — via
the expression of their bodies — a complete conception of the soul's
organic body.27 It is important to note the double explanatory role
played by these grounding monads. On the one hand, such monads
are themselves identified with the soul's body: They are the reality
the soul confusedly represents as its extended body. At the same
time, what is special about these monads is that they share the prop-
erty of expressing themselves as the organic constituents of the soul's
body. Hence, to the extent that a mind is able to comprehend these
monads in relation to each other — a relatedness that can only be
conceived in terms of their expressions of their embodiment — it
would be led from a conception of the mutual relationship of their
bodies to a conception of the organic body they ground: the body of
their dominant monad or soul. It is just this idea of the conception of
one thing being immediately determined by the conception of certain
prior things which is conveyed in Leibniz's definition of "result."
Thus, for a plurality of monads to result in an aggregate that is
identifiable with the organic body of a dominant monad is for there to
be a specific correlation among their perceptions, such that a mind
with access to each monad's expression of the relation of its body to
the universe would judge that the organic bodies of the lesser monads
indeed exhausted the organic components of the body of the domi-
nant monad.
The claim that these correlations among monadic perceptions
could be apprehended only by God needs no defense. However, it
might be wondered whether monads contain the information that
would allow even God to establish such correlations among their per-
ceptions. Human souls are not in general aware of the functional
components of their bodies, nor is it plausible to think that monads
that perceive themselves (however obscurely) as commanding the
body's cells are aware of their containment in the human body. Thus,
how could God possibly apprehend the relatedness of monads accord-
ing to the scheme just described? Here we must pay careful attention
to the limits Leibniz places on monadic perception. In his view, these
limits come not in the completeness of a monad's expression of the
universe, but in its capacity to extract meaningful information - in
the form of distinct perceptions - from that expression.28 He thus
leaves it open that an unlimited intelligence could "read" in the per-
ceptions of any created monad a complete account of the relation of
its body to the rest of the universe, and would thereby have the infor-
mation needed to establish the correlations that determine the aggre-
gation of monads. 29
Though complicated, the preceding account strongly supports
Leibniz's own understanding of his philosophy as involving a reduc-
tion of matter to monads: "In truth, I do not do away with body but
reduce [revoco] it to that which is, for I show that corporeal mass . . . is
not a substance, but a phenomenon resulting from simple substances,
which alone have a unity and absolute reality" (GP II 275).30 The
reduction Leibniz propounds contains elements of phenomenalism.
Because the relations that determine the aggregation of monads are
limited to correlations among those monads' phenomenal representa-
226 NATURE
tions of the world, aggregates can only come to be as a result of the

agreement apprehended by God among their perceptions. There is
thus a sense in which Leibniz can legitimately claim that the reality of
material things is "located in" the harmony that exists among the
perceptions of monads. Granting this, however, does not entail that
his theory amounts to a type of phenomenalism.31 Although an
agreement among the perceptions of monads is presupposed in de-
fining the relations on which aggregates depend, matter is reduced in
his theory to a plurality of substances, not simply a plurality of their
perceptions. In Leibniz's view, a distinct understanding of the essen-
tial properties of matter (its multiplicity, force, and resistance) reveals
bodies to be multitudes of unextended, active substances. Thus, the
corporeal phenomena perceived by us are rendered intelligible as
confused images of a supersensible reality of other monads. Signifi-
cantly, Leibniz believes that we can gain this type of understanding of
matter only at the level of general concepts: We can know distinctly
that any matter must be constituted from monads, but we cannot
thereby identify the particular monads from which it results.32 In
attempting to specify the ground in reality for a particular body, even
God has no alternative but to identify the grounding monads in terms
of the phenomena they would perceive under the condition of univer-
sal harmony. As I have reconstructed Leibniz's position, these would
be monads that represented their bodies as collectively comprising
the organic components of the body in question. Under this circum-
stance, we can speak of that body as "resulting" from these monads,
since it is in this way conceivable as the body determined by those
monads' mutual relations.
"The Most Perfect of Harmonies"

We observed in the preceding chapter that within any possible world
there is a harmony or agreement among the phenomena perceived by
different monads. Such a harmony, I argued, is a necessary condition
for the connection of those monads within a single world. We further
discovered that God endeavors to maximize the perfection of a world
by maximizing the collection of monads that can be conceived as
connected within it; and that he does this by optimizing the order
among what those monads represent as their causally and spatiotem-
porally related bodies. Finally, I suggested that the optimal arrange-
ment of bodies, the one that in turn allows for the greatest collection
of monads, is that in which the universe is everywhere composed of an
infinite envelopment of organic creatures.
One issue we did not resolve in the preceding chapter was how on
this account God is also able to realize "the most perfect of harmo-
nies" (GP VI 44/H 68). Accepting that no possible world contains
more monads, or at least more monads with as rich a variety of dis-
tinct perceptions, we may conclude that in creating the greatest col-
lection of monads, God thereby realizes the greatest possible harmo-
ny among their perceptions. Yet Leibniz sees God as going beyond
this. The more levels at which there can be conceived an order or
agreement among a variety of things, the more harmony God pro-
duces. Consequently, Leibniz envisions God as embedding harmonies
within harmonies, so as to realize a world as harmonious as any world
could be.
Perhaps the most intriguing example of how he sees this as being
achieved involves the relationship between the universal harmony of
monads and the preestablished harmony of soul and body. Every
possible world, I have suggested, must incorporate the first type of
harmony. However, it is not the case that every world must exhibit the
latter sort of harmony. For universal harmony to obtain, every monad
must express itself as an embodied creature that is spatiotemporally
and causally related to other bodies. There is, however, no necessity
that these monads be endowed with actual mass. What they express as
their bodies may, instead, be merely phenomenal objects. Leibniz's
doctrine of the preestablished harmony of soul and body demands
something more than this. It assumes that every monad is associated
with some specific plurality of monads, which is identifiable with its
body, and that there is an agreement between the actions of this body
and the perceptions of the monad. In his second reply to Bayle,
Leibniz remarks that a soul is never without an organic body which is
convenable - suitable or fitting - to its present state (GP IV 564/L 580).
His employment of this term, one closely connected with his concep-
tion of divine wisdom, is telling. For a soul to have an organic body
fitting to it, there must be such a body; that is, there must be monads
that determine the reality represented in the soul's expression of its
body. As we have seen, these will be monads that express their own
bodies as subordinated to the body of their dominant monad or soul.
Under this condition, there results an aggregate of monads that is
identifiable with the organic body of the soul.
As I have interpreted Leibniz's position, this conclusion presup-
poses his analysis of the nature of matter. According to this analysis,
any material thing is essentially a plurality of monads. Only in this
way, he believes, can we account for the properties that matter is
understood to possess. This analysis, however, supports only a condi-
tional claim about the well-foundedness of corporeal phenomena. It
asserts that if there are any bodies in the world (things grounding the
appearances of material things), then they must be pluralities of mo-
nads. The question thus remains open, as regards any particular world,
228 NATURE
whether God has seen fit to create monads that ground other monads'
perceptions of bodies, or whether he has chosen instead that these
perceptions should express merely phenomenal objects. The crux of
the doctrine of the preestablished harmony of soul and body is that in
this best of all possible worlds God has decreed there should be mo-
nads that ground each monad's perception of itself as an embodied
creature. That is, each monad must actually have a body that is fitting
to it: a plurality of subordinate monads that ground the reality repre-
sented in its perceptions of itself as embodied. The preestablished
harmony of soul and body is, consequently, a contingent feature of
the best of all possible worlds, a feature indicative of the wisdom God
has exercised in choosing this world for creation. As part of his design
of the world of greatest harmony, God has found a way of embedding
a harmony between the soul and the body within the general world
plan of a universal harmony of monads.33
We should not be surprised to find that Leibniz regards the doc-
trine of panorganicism as playing a central role in this scheme. In-
deed, within the terms of his philosophy, it would seem that the pre-
established harmony of soul and body can only obtain if something
like the doctrine of panorganicism is asserted. The reason for this is
that we can only conceive of a soul's body as being well founded (or an
actual mass) on the condition that it has a certain structure, one that
can be regarded as being determined by the monads from which that
body results. This point is best demonstrated with a simple example.
Consider a world of monads that express themselves as perfectly hard
(and hence indivisible) atoms, each endowed with a unique quantity of
force. Such monads offer everything needed for a Leibnizian world.
Assuming an agreement among what they express as the spatiotem-
poral and causal relations of their bodies, they support the requisite
notion of universal connection. But there would be no basis in princi-
ple for conceiving of the bodies of these monads as well-founded
phenomena. Although their bodies would appear to exhibit proper-
ties (force, resistance) indicative of reality, there would be no avenue
open for conceiving of monads that could ground this reality. As we
have seen, such monads would have to be ones that could be under-
stood as collectively determining (via the expressed relations of their
bodies) the body of their dominant monad. Yet we have supposed that
this atomic body is perfectly hard, without division or internal struc-
ture. It thus appears that the infinite division of matter, and more
particularly matter's organization as an infinite envelopment of or-
ganic creatures, is integral to Leibniz's account of the grounding of
bodies in reality, or to their being conceivable as well-founded phe-
nomena. 34 Unless the bodies of monads are regarded as having some
type of internal structure, there will be no basis for conceiving of
those bodies as results of monads. Assuming that this is the only

means available even to God for conceiving of a body as grounded in
particular monads, we may conclude that matter will have a merely
phenomenal status if this condition is not fulfilled. Now, it is possible
that there are different ways in which this condition could be ful-
filled.35 Leibniz believes, however, that no other arrangement of mat-
ter would provide for as rich a system as is depicted in his panorganic
model, in which every organic body is composed of an infinity of
lesser organic creatures. The doctrine of panorganicism thus not only
supplies what is needed to make sense of the preestablished harmony
of soul and body — a mass that is fitting to the soul — it also guarantees
that this body is constituted from the greatest, and hence the most
harmonious, collection of monads possible.
Leibniz does not, however, see God as stopping here. Within the
best of all possible worlds, well-foundedness extends not only to
the organic body that any monad represents as its body but to all the
bodies that form the objects of its (veridical) perceptions. For any
phenomenal body perceived by a monad, there will be other monads
that express themselves as the ground of that phenomenon. There is
thus established a general agreement between what monads perceive
as the world and the world as it is in itself: a harmony between the
phenomena of matter and the reality of monads. Again, panorgani-
cism plays a critical role in defining this harmony. Given Leibniz's
explanation of what it is for matter to result from monads, it is pos-
sible to conceive of a given body as a well-founded phenomenon, or a
result of monads, only on the condition that there exist monads that
can be conceived (via the expressed relations of their bodies) as deter-
mining that body. In general, this requires that we regard the relevant
matter as having an internal structure, which can be explained in
terms of relations conceivable among the bodies of monads. As Leib-
niz sees it, the best way to fulfill this condition — the way that entails
the greatest possible perfection — is if matter is endowed with a pan-
organic structure.
Panorganicism thus emerges as an essential part of Leibniz's ac-
count of the harmonious order realized within the best of all possible
worlds. It is necessary to emphasize, however, that this doctrine is
fully consistent with the theory of monads. According to the pan-
organicist picture, there is no part of matter that is not endowed with
life: Either it is itself the body of an animated creature or it is a
collection of such creatures, each of whose bodies is in turn composed
of smaller organic creatures. Decisive proof of this is found for Leib-
niz in the microscopists' discovery of tiny animalcula in the least drop
of water. Such findings suggest that regardless of how finely grained
our observations become, we will always perceive the world as being
23O NATURE
composed of animated or living things, not mere brute matter.36 In

the face of Leibniz's enthusiasm for this view, it is important that we
not be misled about its place in his philosophy. According to his fullest
development of the panorganicist thesis, we are obliged to conceive of
every monad as endowed with an organic body, which is in turn com-
posed of a plurality of smaller organisms, and this to infinity. We have
seen, however, that the organic bodies of monads are in reality aggre-
gates of lesser monads, whose perceptions and actions are subordi-
nated to those of their dominant monad. These lesser monads in turn
have their own organic bodies; but, again, these are aggregates of still-
inferior monads. The upshot is that, according to Leibniz's deep
metaphysics, the entire panorganic structure of the universe is to be
understood as a result of monads alone:
Any mass contains innumerable monads, for although any one organic body
in nature has its corresponding [dominant] monad, it nevertheless contains in
its parts other monads endowed in the same way with organic bodies subser-
vient to the primary one; and the whole of nature is nothing else, for it is
necessary that every aggregate result from simple substances as if from true
elements. (GP VII 502)37
To say that the organic structure of the universe is a result of
monads is to claim, negatively, that it is not something God creates in
addition to monads. Instead, in creating the world, God has guaran-
teed that for every monad representing itself as an embodied crea-
ture, standing in spatiotemporal and causal relations to other bodies,
there is a ground in reality for that appearance: monads whose per-
ceptions represent them as the organic components of those bodies.
In this account, there is clearly no inconsistency between Leibniz's
monadic and panorganic models. They represent complementary
ways of understanding the universe: one from the point of view of
reality as it is in itself, a system of harmoniously related monads; the
other from the point of view of the order determined by those mo-
nads' expression of themselves as embodied creatures naturally subor-
dinated to one another. There is thus no problem with Leibniz's as-
serting, as he does, that reality consists solely of monads and their
harmonious perceptions. This is perfectly true, for the panorganic
structure of matter is merely the result of relations conceivable
among the perceptions of monads.
In his mature writings, Leibniz advances a picture of nature as com-

posed of two distinct, but parallel, kingdoms or realms: the material
and the substantial the mechanical and the vital, the world of effi-
cient causes and the world of final causes. The connection between
these two realms is mediated by the idea of an organism: a creature
formed from a soullike monad and an organic body, to which the
soul is related as a principle of unity and action. Indeed, we may view

the doctrine of panorganicism as essentially a restatement of the two-
kingdoms picture: Matter is everywhere composed of organic crea-
tures enveloped within organic creatures, each of which is composed
of a soul and a suitable organic body. According to the doctrine of
preestablished harmony, the soul and the body operate in complete
independence of one another. The soul changes its states as a conse-
quence of its own intrinsic force, in accordance with the laws of appe-
tite. The body operates in accordance with the laws of mechanics,
under the influence of the forces exerted by its constituent parts.
Between the soul and the body there is only a relation of expression:
The soul expresses the constituents of its body as an extended mass,
which uniquely defines its connection to space and time and its capac-
ity for causal interaction.
I earlier raised the possibility that the doctrine of preestablished
harmony, and by implication the two-kingdoms picture, might in the
end turn out to be a piece of surface metaphysics: a popularization of
Leibniz's philosophy that overlooks his deeper ontological commit-
ments. According to the theory of monads, what we perceive to be
bodies (and what any soul expresses as its organic body) are really
pluralities of other monads. Thus, the perfect agreement God has
established between souls and bodies must ultimately reduce simply to
the universal harmony of monads. We have seen in this chapter, how-
ever, that Leibniz's position is more complicated than this. While the
theory of monads represents his most basic ontological position, it
does not follow from this that the preestablished harmony of soul and
body, the two-kingdoms picture, or the doctrine of panorganicism are
of negligible importance, or that they amount merely to populariza-
tions of his philosophy. On the contrary, it is clearly Leibniz's view that
these theories convey essential features of the "most perfect of har-
monies," which is realized in the best of all possible worlds. As I have
reconstructed his position, this world contains greater harmony pre-
cisely because there is an agreement preestablished between the ac-
tions of any monad and those of a mass of lesser monads — monads
that the former expresses as its organic body. Likewise, harmony is
amplified through the general agreement that exists between phe-
nomenal matter and the monads that ground that matter, an agree-
ment presupposed in the account of matter as a result of monads.
In a late note, Leibniz highlights the close relationship he sees
between the two-kingdoms picture and the reduction of matter to
monads. The "marvelous beauty of God's artifice," he writes,
establishes two kingdoms which penetrate and interpenetrate one another;
one of final causes, the other of efficient causes. It subjects the world of
bodies to that of minds, the physical to the moral, the mechanical to the
232 NATURE
metaphysically real, abstract notions to complete notions, phenomena and
results to true substances, which are the only real unities and subsist always.
This divine artifice produces finally a perfect connection and harmony
among all things, such that it is impossible to conceive of anything better or
greater. And it is this which appears more than ever in the new system of
preestablished harmony, explained elsewhere, which gives an entirely different
face to the universe, as different to its advantage from that which was given to
it before as the system of Copernicus is different from that which is ordinarily
given to the visible world. (BH 62—3)
He regards these two doctrines as together conveying an impression
of the perfect harmony God has realized in the best of all possible
worlds. T h e advantage of the new "face" his system gives to the uni-
verse is that it renders transparent the role played by divine wisdom in
the selection of this world for existence. It is a construction of reason
that brings us nearer to comprehending how God's wisdom has deter-
mined every aspect of the created world, and how, as a consequence,
God has acted with perfect justice in creation. In this way, Leibniz's
metaphysics is enrolled in the cause of his theodicy. Against those who
see God as bringing the world into existence through an absolute
necessity, or through a will unconstrained by reason, Leibniz main-
tains that nature everywhere offers us "signs of order, choice, and
intelligence" (BH 62). It is these signs that the monadic, physical, and
panorganic models are intended to communicate.
Notes
1. For further discussion of Leibniz's critique of occasionalism, see Sleigh
1990, chap. 7; Rutherford 1993.
2. In the second edition of his Dictionary (remark L in the article
"Rorarius"), Bayle wonders whether the theory of preestablished harmo-
ny "raises the power and intelligence of divine art above what we can
imagine" (Bayle 1991, 247). Leibniz is unmoved by this objection. The
difficulty of conceiving of an intelligence capable of arranging such a
harmony is all the more reason to believe that divine wisdom has selected
this as the means by which the body and the soul are related. Cf. NE IV, x,
10 (RB 440-1).
3. In his discussion of preestablished harmony, Leibniz often employs the
term "soul" where he clearly means to include all monads. He defends
this usage in a 1710 letter to Rudolf Wagner: "You ask, finally, for my
definition of the soul. I reply that the soul can be taken broadly or
narrowly. Broadly, the soul will be whatever is alive or a vital principle,
namely a principle of internal action existing in a simple thing or monad,
to which external action corresponds. . . . And in this sense a soul is
ascribed not only to animals but also to all other perceiving things. Nar-
rowly, the soul is taken for a higher species of life, or for sensitive life"
(GP VII 528).
4. Cf. GP III 607/L 655; GP IV 391/L 409; GM VI 243/L 442; and GP III
217: "My views in philosophy . . . occupy the middle ground between
Plato and Democritus, since I believe that everything happens mechan-
ically, as Democritus and Descartes maintain against the opinion of [Hen-
ry] More and those like him; and that nevertheless everything also occurs
vitally and according to final causes, with everything being full of life and
perception, as against the opinion of Democriteans." We shall return to
Leibniz's idea of the "optimal mean" between mechanism and vitalism in
Chapter 9.
5. LH IV, V 11c Bl. 24T. This passage is from a study Leibniz composed
during his exchange with the German Cartesian J. C. Sturm, the culmina-
tion of which was the essay De ipsa natura, published in the Acta eruditorum
in September 1698 (GP IV 504-16/L 498-507). The original text is given
injanke 1963, 253.
6. Cf. GP 11 252/L 530-1; E 745-6.
7. For explicit statements of this view, see his letter to Dangicourt, written
several months before his death in 1716: "I believe that there are only
monads in nature, the rest being only phenomena which result from
them" (D III 499); and the Conversation of Philarete and Ariste, ca. 1711:
"[TJhere is even good reason for doubting whether God has made any
other things than monads, or substances without extension, and whether
bodies are anything but the phenomena resulting from these substances.
My friend whose opinions I have detailed to you gives evidence of leaning
toward this view, since he reduces everything to monads or to simple
substances and their modifications, along with the phenomena which
result from them and whose reality is established by their relations, which
distinguish them from dreams" (GP VI 590/L 625). Cf. GP II 256; GP II
265/L 535; GP II 269/L 537; GP II 281-2/L 539; GP II 451/L 604; GP II
473> 5°4; GP III 545; GP III 606/L 655; GP III 636/L 659; GP VII 501.
8. Throughout this section, I use the term "matter" to refer to what Leibniz
calls "secondary matter" (materia secunda), i.e., the matter of actual or
existing bodies, as opposed to "primary matter" (materia prima) or "primi-
tive passive power."
9. Typical is Voltaire's response. "Can you really believe," he asks rhetori-
cally, "that a drop of urine is an infinity of monads, and that each of these
has ideas, however obscure, of the universe as a whole?" (1877, vol. 22,
434). This can be contrasted with the reaction of Kant, who understood
much better Leibniz's intentions: "Is it really believable that Leibniz, the
great mathematician, held that bodies are composed of monads (and
hence space composed of simple parts)? He did not mean the physical
world, but its substrate, the intelligible world, which is unknown to us.
This lies merely in the Idea of reason, and in it we must certainly repre-
sent to ourselves everything which we think of as a composite substance as
composed of simple substances" (1973, 158).
10. Though not in published writings, or in widely circulated works such as
the Principles of Nature and of Grace. Here, more than anywhere, Leibniz's
inclination to sacrifice technical details for the sake of a popular approach
has prompted misinterpretations of his views. For his warnings to De
Voider and Des Bosses, see GP II 269-70/L 536-7; GP II 451/L 604.
11. See Broad 1975; Jolley 1986.
12. In an essay published in the Journal des Savants in 1696, Leibniz writes: "I
even believe that matter is essentially an aggregate, and consequently that
there are always actual parts. Thus, it is by reason, and not only by sense,
that we judge that it is divided, or rather that it is from the start nothing
234 NATURE
but a multitude. I believe that it is true that matter (and even each part of
matter) is divided into a greater number of parts than can be imagined"
(GP IV 502).
13. "For where there is no true unity, there is no true multitude" (GP II 267).
"[I]n real things, unities are prior to a multitude, and there cannot exist
multitudes except through unities" (GP II 279). See also PNG §1; Mon
§2; NE IV, iii, 6 (RB 378).
14. I discuss this argument in detail in Rutherford 1990a. See also Garber
1985; Sleigh 1990, chap. 6.
15. Cf. his letters to Sophie of 19 November 1701 (GP VII 556-7), 30 No-
vember 1701 (GP VII 557), 31 October 1705 (GP VII 558-65), March
1706 (K IX 173—4); a n d n * s letter to Lady Masham of 10 July 1705 (GP
III 367).
16. CF. FN 320/AG 103. The same point is made in a 1712 letter to Bierling:
"Monads should not be confused with atoms. Atoms (as they are imag-
ined) have shape. Monads no more have shape than do souls; they are not
parts of bodies but requisites" (GP VII 503). See also GP II436/L 600; GP
II 451/I 604.
17. See McGuire 1976.
18. Cf. Metaphysical Foundations of Mathematics: "I use the term 'result' [prosul-
tandi] to indicate a new idea, when from certain posited things something
else is determined because of its unique relation to them" (GM VII 21—
2/L 669).
19. In one of his category studies, Leibniz gives the following definition of
"aggregate": "[I]t suffices for an aggregatum that several beings different
from it are understood to coincide similarly in that one thing; namely, if
A, B, C are supposed in the same way, and by that fact L is understood to
be supposed, A, B, C will be aggreganda, L a whole made by aggregation"
(LH IV 7B, 2 Bl, 47 [V133]). Elsewhere, he writes that from posited
things "there result such things as the wholeness of an aggregate" (LH IV
8 Bl. 60 [V 1083]).
20. Cf. GP II 486/L 609; RB 145, 227, 265.
21. "And so when it is asked what we understand by the word 'substance/ I
warn that above all, aggregates should be excluded. For an aggregate is
nothing other than all those things taken at the same time from which it
results, [i.e., those things] which clearly have their union from the mind
alone on account of what they have in common, like a flock of sheep" (GP
II 256). See also GP II 101/M 126; GP II 517; GP VI 598/L 623; RB 146,
328—9. In Leibniz's terminology, "beings through aggregation" are with-
out exception "phenomena," which exist "by convention" rather than "by
nature." Cf. GP II 252/L 531; GP III 69.
22. "Beings through aggregation, such as a herd, a pool full of fish, a ma-
chine, are only semibeings [semientia], whose reality consists in the union
which a mind makes or in an extrinsic denomination or relation. Such is
distance or preestablished harmony, which makes it that one thing seems
to influence another; these are therefore mental or relational results"
(LH IV II, 5 c Bl. 23). "[Secondary matter results from many monads,
together with derivative forces, actions [and] passions, which are only
beings through aggregation, and thus semimentalia, like the rainbow and
other well-founded phenomena" (GP II 306).
23. "Phenomena are aggregates of substances, which are presented in a certain
way to a perceiver, and are thus considered by us as falling among the
substances" (LH IV I, 1a, Bl. 7). Cf. GP VII 344/AG 319; GP VI 625/AG
227.
24. See Leibniz's notes for his letter to Des Bosses of 5 February 1712: "God
sees not only single monads and the modifications of every monad what-
soever, but also their relations; and the reality of relations and truths
consists in this. . . . And through these [relations], things seem to be
made one for us and truths can in fact be expressed concerning the whole
which are also valid according to God" (GP II 438/AG 199). He goes on to
suggest that the composite beings determined in this way are "simple
results" that "consist solely in true or real relations." A similar position is
expressed in notes composed, ca. 1715—16: "[Besides substances and
their modifications] there are relations, which are not produced per se,
but result when other things are produced and have reality indepen-
dently of our understanding: for they are there even when nobody is
thinking. Their reality comes from the divine understanding, without
which nothing would be true. Two things therefore acquire reality
through the divine understanding alone: all eternal truths, and, from
among the contingent truths, the relational ones" (LH IV 8 Bl. 60 [V
1083]; translation quoted from Mondadori 1990a, 628). In Rutherford
1994, I develop this reading in relation to Leibniz's doctrine of scientia
visionis.
25. See GP II 451/L 604-5; GP IV 564/L 580.
26. In general, for a relation to be predicable of two or more monads is for
them to agree in their expressions of their mutual relatedness. Thus, for
monad Mx to be dominant with respect to monads m2, m3, m4, . . ., it is
necessary and sufficient that My express the bodies of m2, m3, m4, . . . as
subordinate to its body, and that they in turn express their bodies as
subordinate to the body of MY.
27. According to Leibniz's doctrine of panorganicism, every organic body is
composed of an infinity of lesser organisms, each of whose bodies is in
turn composed of an infinity of lesser organisms, ad infinitum. Thus, the
"functional components" of any organic body will include an infinity of
subordinate organisms. We return to this point in the following section.
28. Cf. Mon §60.
29. In this way God overcomes the limited perspective of created monads:
"[B]etween the appearances of bodies given to us and the appearances
given to God there is as much of a difference as between a perspectival
projection [scenographia] and a ground plan [ichnographia]. For perspec-
tival projections differ according to the position [situs] of the viewer,
[while] a ground plan or geometrical representation is unique. God natu-
rally sees things exactly such as they are according to geometrical truth,
although at the same time he also knows how anything appears differ-
ently to someone else, and thus all other appearances are contained in
him eminently" (GP II 437/AG 199). Cf. D III 500; GP II 278.
30. See GP VI 590/L 625; and GP III 430/L 633, where Leibniz speaks of
Shaftesbury as overlooking his "reduction of matter or multitude to uni-
ties or simple substances."
31. The following passage from Leibniz's letter to De Voider of 30 June 1704
has often been read as supporting a version of phenomenalism: "[Con-
sidering the matter carefully, it may be said that tnere is nothing in the
world except simple substances and, in them, perception and appetite.
Matter and motion, however, are not so much substances or things [res],
as they are the phenomena of percipient beings, whose reality is located
in the harmony of the percipient with himself (at different times) and
with other percipient beings" (GP II 270/L 537). In Rutherford 1990b,
1994, 1995b, however, I argue against phenomenalist interpretations of
236 NATURE
Leibniz. Proponents of such readings include Furth 1967; Martin 1967;

Earman 1977, 1979; Adams 1983.
32. We explore this idea further in the next chapter.
33. To Des Bosses, Leibniz writes: "The soul can certainly operate internally
without the help of bodies, but not externally. Nevertheless, external
actions in bodies always correspond to its internal actions. Of course,
through a miracle God can establish a soul without a body, but this does
not agree with the order of things [non convenil ordini rerum]" (GP II 378).
See also his notes on the second edition of Bayle's Dictionary: "It is true
that if God should have resolved to destroy everything which is outside
the soul and to preserve the soul alone with its affections and modifica-
tions, they would have led it via its own inclinations to have the same
sensations as before, as if the bodies remained, although this would then
only be like a type of dream. But since this is contrary to the designs of
God, who has desired that the soul and things external to it should agree,
it is obvious that the preestablished harmony destroys such a fiction,
which is a metaphysical possibility, but which does not accord with the
facts or their reasons" (GP IV 530).
34. This explains Leibniz's remark to Des Bosses that "whoever admits pre-
established harmony cannot fail also to admit the actual division of matter
into infinite parts" (GP II 412/L 599).
35. Cf. Leibniz's letter to Des Bosses of 31 July 1709: "If there were in the
nature of things other subdivisions of matter, there would be other mo-
nads, other mass, and yet the space filled would be the same" (GP II 379).
36. See Considerations on Plastic Natures and Vital Principles: "[I]f matter is
arranged by divine wisdom, it must be essentially organized throughout
and there must thus be machines in the parts of the natural machine into
infinity, so many enveloping structures and so many organic bodies enve-
loped, one within the other" (GP VI 544/L 589). Cf. GP III 340, 356, 565;
GP VI 539/L 586.
37. Letter to Bierling, 12 August 1711. Cf. the late essay Metaphysical Conse-
quences of the Principle of Reason §7 (C 13-14/P 175); and his letter to
Dangicourt of September 1716 (D III 499).
9
Dynamics and the Reality of Matter
For Leibniz, our sensory experience is a constant source of deception.

We are presented with images of bodies — extended, massive, moving
things — along with their colors, sounds, flavors, and odors. Yet none
of these things is fully real. Leibniz does not maintain that material
phenomena are wholly illusory, or that they are in Berkeleian fashion
merely ideas in the mind. He instead argues that sensory perceptions,
which prima facie depict a world of extended bodies, are more accu-
rately interpreted as representations of the properties of unextended
monads. He defends this claim, we have seen, via an analysis of the
nature of matter. As he writes in a 1705 letter to the Electress Sophie,
"an analysis of the matter which is now found in space leads us dem-
onstratively to substantial unities, to simple, indivisible, enduring sub-
stances, and consequently to souls, or principles of life, which can only
be immortal and are spread throughout nature" (GP VII 565).
In the preceding chapter, we examined one version of Leibniz's
analysis of matter. It begins from the premise that matter is by nature
a multitude of things: Whatever is matter is extended, he reasons, and
whatever is extended is composed of a multitude of actual parts. Yet
since a multitude can only come to be through unities, and since the
only true unities are monads, it follows that any material thing must
be a multitude of monads. Leibniz is sufficiently impressed by this
simple argument that he cites its conclusion without further comment
in the opening paragraphs of both the Monadology and the Principles of
Nature and of Grace. He stresses elsewhere, however, that the analysis
of multitude is just one route by which he reaches the conclusion that
bodies are pluralities of monads. Exactly the same result can be estab-
lished through analyses of such physical properties as motion, force,
and resistance (GM III 756).
This chapter explores the support Leibniz offers for this claim and
its significance for the larger project of his philosophy. The context
for our discussion will be his attempt to articulate the foundations of a
new science of dynamics, which he finally concludes can only be prop-
erly defended if grounded in the doctrine of monads. According to
Leibniz, our efforts to understand body as a being capable of motion
require that we think of matter as endowed with an intrinsic force or
power. However, in order to explain the existence of such a force in
238 NATURE
bodies, it is necessary to conceive of matter as composed of beings that

are by nature entelechies or principles of action. Since, in his later
metaphysics, only monads qualify as such principles, we again reach
the conclusion that material things are really pluralities of monads. As
Leibniz sees it, when we attempt to comprehend the principles gov-
erning the phenomena of motion, we are necessarily led from a con-
sideration of material things to a consideration of immaterial things.
Simultaneously, we are brought to view the world of bodies as merely
one of appearance: a confused image of the intelligible reality of
monads.
Metaphysics and the Science of Dynamics

One of Leibniz's principal intellectual labors during the late seven-
teenth century was the development of a science of dynamics, which
he conceived in explicit opposition to the geometrical physics of Des-
cartes.1 For Leibniz, this science represented more than a mere im-
provement in physical theory. Properly understood, it was to serve as
the cornerstone for a broad anti-Cartesian program, which he pur-
sued with increasing vigor from the 1680s onward.2 Within this con-
text, it is all but impossible to keep separate questions of physics and
questions of metaphysics. From the start, Leibniz insists upon a deep
connection between dynamics and his conception of substance as a
principle of force or action. He does not claim to derive his notion of
substance from the science of dynamics. In order of theoretical prior-
ity, metaphysics is "first philosophy," and must provide a foundation
for all the other sciences. What dynamics does contribute, however, is
another avenue by which we may be brought to see the world in
Leibnizian terms. The anti-Cartesian science of dynamics has the sig-
nificance it does for him because it reasserts the need for final causes
and immaterial principles in nature. In doing so, it offers opposition
to what Leibniz depicts as the dark side of Descartes's physics: the
support it lends to the doctrines of materialism and determinism,
both of which threaten Christian piety.3
In his first published critique of Cartesian physics, the Brevis Dem-
onstratio of 1686, Leibniz presents an argument aimed at revealing the
mistake involved in Descartes's adoption of a law requiring the conser-
vation of quantity of motion, rather than the conservation of force or
effect.4 The grounds for his objection go beyond the empirical inade-
quacy of the Cartesian law. In Leibniz's view, Descartes's error rests on
his failure to appreciate the significance of a basic metaphysical prin-
ciple: the equality of cause and effect.5 And this in turn is linked to
Descartes's reliance on confused notions of body and force.6 Leibniz
contends that the principle of the equality of cause and effect can only
DYNAMICS AND THE REALITY OF MATTER 239
be upheld if the concept of body is not limited to that of res extensa but
also involves an independent notion of force: "Since this law [of the
equality of cause and effect] is not derived [derivetur] from the concept
of matter, it must follow from something else which is in bodies,
namely, from force itself, which always preserves the same quantity"
(GM VI 241/L 441).7 Leibniz's demand that one be able to derive his
conservation law from the concept of matter is at first sight puzzling.
Assuming there is a quantity of force distinct from the Cartesian
quantity of motion that is conserved in dynamical interactions, why
does he think it important, and even necessary, that this law be given a
foundation in the nature of matter?
Throughout his mature writings, Leibniz advances two main claims
about the laws of motion. First, he insists that these laws are contin-
gent truths, which have their origin in considerations of fitness and
order. Second, he argues that to the extent that the laws of motion
have this character, and that they require the conservation of force, as
opposed to Descartes's quantity of motion, matter cannot be mere
extension but must instead be constituted from entelechies or sub-
stantial principles of force. Both these claims can be traced to Leib-
niz's underlying conception of the rational order of nature. The first
follows directly from his view of how God's wisdom has directed his
will in the choice of this world for creation. God has selected the laws
of motion and "certain other general laws," Leibniz writes in the
Theodicy, on account of their superior fitness (convenance), or insofar as
they correspond to "general reasons of good and order."8 He ex-
presses the same idea more fully in the Principles of Nature and of
Grace:
God's supreme wisdom has led him, above all, to choose laws of motion that are
the best adjusted and most suitable [les plus convenables] with respect to ab-
stract or metaphysical reasons. The same quantity of total and absolute force,
or of action, is preserved, the same quantity of respective force, or of reac-
tion; and finally, the same quantity of directive force. Furthermore, action is
always equal to reaction, and the whole effect is always equivalent to its full
cause. . . . [T]hese laws do not depend upon the principle of necessity, as do
logical, arithmetical, and geometrical truths, but upon the principle offitness,
that is, upon the choice of wisdom. (§11; GP VI 603/AG 210-11)9
In Leibniz's view, traces of divine wisdom can be discerned through-
out created nature, down to the level of phenomena. It follows that in
physics, as in all branches of natural philosophy, we are obliged to
approach nature under the assumption that it has been arranged
according to the architectonic ends of wisdom. This requires that we
suppose that nature acts in the fittest and most orderly manner pos-
sible.10 Leibniz is convinced that this method alone is consistent with
true piety, or a proper appreciation of the justice God has observed in
24O NATURE
the creation of the world. He consequently reserves some of his sharp-

est criticism for those philosophers whose views in one way or another
threaten the relationship between divine wisdom and the contingent
order of nature. Foremost among his targets is Descartes, whose geo-
metric physics is advanced as though it were in conformity with the
tenets of religion, when in fact it conceals a necessitarianism like Spin-
oza's.11 The only route of escape from the dangerous course Des-
cartes has plotted for philosophy is to hold to a conception of nature
as the artifact of divine wisdom: "If God is the author of things, and if
he is supremely wise, one could hardly reason about the structure of
nature without entering into the designs of his wisdom, any more
than one could reason about a building without entering into the
intentions of the architect" (GP IV 339).12
This represents the first part of Leibniz's conception of how divine
wisdom is manifested within the physical realm: the laws of motion
determine the phenomenal order that is most fitting, or most condu-
cive to the production of perfection. Equally important, however, is a
second claim he makes about the relationship between the laws of
motion and the nature of matter. Whatever the laws of motion turn
out to be, Leibniz states, it must be possible to conceive of them as
being in a sense "natural" to matter. This demand is a consequence of
a general principle that functions in a number of different contexts in
his philosophy. I refer to it as his "principle of intelligibility."13 We can
best understand this principle as a stronger version of the principle of
sufficient reason, which is specifically associated by Leibniz with the
wisdom God has exercised in bringing this world into existence. In
accounting for the order exhibited by nature, he argues, it is never
enough simply to appeal to God's will.14 As a supremely wise being,
God is always guided by his knowledge of the perfection inherent in
the natures of things, or what those things are naturally capable of.
We can therefore assume that in creating the best of all possible
worlds God does not merely ensure that events occur in the most
regular manner possible; he also determines to give to created beings
only those effects and properties that fit their natures. 15
The principle of intelligibility defines nature as a system that can be
comprehended by the human mind. It is a world in which the proper-
ties of things make sense to us, in which God gives things qualities that
can be explained in terms of the kinds of things they are. Thus, to a
material thing God grants mechanical properties of size, shape, and
motion, but not spurious qualities such as a primitive attraction or a
primitive hardness.16 We saw in Part I that there are good reasons
why God should choose to create a world that has this character.
Given that the exercise of understanding is the most reliable source of
pleasure, an intelligible world offers the greatest opportunities for
human happiness. It would be a mistake, however, to see God's pref-

erence for such a world merely as a gift to human beings. In Leibniz's
view, human reason is limited in ways in which divine reason is not;
yet because human reason is the product of a communication of God's
omniscience, the two share a common mode of understanding: one
that finds intelligibility in a natural order in which the effects and
properties of things can be explained in terms of their natures. It
follows that a world intelligible to human reason is also that world
most consonant with divine wisdom:
Since our understanding comes from God, and must be regarded as a ray of
that sun, we must judge that what is most in conformity with our own under-
standing (when it proceeds by order, as the very nature of understanding
demands) is in conformity with divine wisdom. (GP III 353)
Leibniz acknowledges that not all events can be understood in a way
that is consistent with the principle of intelligibility. There remains an
important class of exceptions to it in the form of genuine miracles:
events that can only be accounted for in terms of divine action. Nev-
ertheless, Leibniz regards miracles as relatively rare occurrences,
which do not seriously threaten the thesis that it is, in general, possible
to explain why things happen the way they do in terms of the natures
of created beings. To deny this thesis, he argues, is to undermine any
real distinction between the natural and the miraculous, and with it
divine wisdom itself.17
An explicit statement of the principle of intelligibility appears in
Leibniz's fullest published treatment of his dynamics, the Specimen
dynamicum of 1695: "I think that there is no natural truth in things for
which we must find the reason in the divine action or will but that God
has always put into things themselves some properties by which all
their predicates can be explained" (GM VI 242/L 441). In the case of
dynamics, the principle of intelligibility entails that whatever we assert
of bodies, whatever laws we frame to describe their behavior, must be
explainable in terms of the nature of body. It is helpful to break this
claim down into two parts, as it bears on, first, the properties ascribed
to bodies by dynamics, and second, the form of the laws of motion
themselves. Concerning the properties of bodies, Leibniz's position is
clear: If a property such as force is required to explain the phenome-
na of bodies, then bodies must by nature be endowed with force, and
the Cartesian account of body as res extensa must be mistaken. This
line of reasoning is observed repeatedly in Leibniz's writings. In a
letter published in the Journal des Savants in July 1691, he writes: "If
the essence of body consisted of extension, this extension alone must
suffice to render reasonable all the properties of body. But this is not
so" (GP IV 464). The notion of body as a merely extended thing
242 NATURE
offers no explanation of the observation that it is a quantity of force

(which Leibniz interprets as a body's capacity to achieve a particular
effect) that is conserved in dynamical interactions. There is simply
nothing to material things as conceived by Cartesians that could ren-
der this fact intelligible. Hence, body cannot be endowed with such a
nature. To imagine that it were would be to introduce a gap into the
rational order of the universe.
Having recognized that the notion of force is an essential ingre-
dient in our understanding of body, we cannot rest content with
merely expanding our concept of body to read "that which is ex-
tended and has force." This would be to place Leibniz with those who
presume to offer scientific explanations of natural phenomena
through the supposition of occult powers or faculties. This is an objec-
tion he himself presses against the attempts of some Newtonians to
treat gravity as an essential property of matter. In Leibniz's opinion,
they have done no more than hypothesize a mysterious attractive
force, making no effort to show how this force follows from the na-
ture of matter.18 According to Leibniz, the demand for intelligibility
requires that we conceive of body not simply as an extended being
endowed with force, but as a being constituted from dynamical princi-
ples. The force that belongs to the essence of body is ascribed to the
fact that the matter of bodies is constituted from substances that are
by nature principles of action:
We have suggested elsewhere that there is something besides extension in
corporeal things; indeed, that there is something prior to extension, namely, a
natural force everywhere implanted by the Author of nature — a force which
does not consist merely in a simple faculty such as that with which the Scholas-
tics seem to have contented themselves but which is provided besides with a
striving or effort [conatus sen nisus] which has its full effect unless impeded by
a contrary striving. This nisus sometimes appears to the senses, and is in my
opinion to be understood on rational grounds, as present everywhere in
matter, even where it does not appear to sense. But if we cannot ascribe it to
God by some miracle, it is certainly necessary that this force be produced by
him within bodies themselves. Indeed, it must constitute the inmost nature of
the body, since it is the character of substance to act, and extension means
only the continuation or diffusion of an already presupposed acting and
resisting substance. So far is extension itself from comprising substance! (GM
VI 235/L 435)
This passage is typical of the way Leibniz describes his conception of
body in the post-1695 period. His principal claim is that there is
something else "in" body besides extension: a force introduced or
implanted (indita) by God. In the 1698 essay De ipsa natura, he speaks
of the innate or inborn (insita) force of bodies.19 This force, a conatus
or "striving," is assigned to the nature of substance, but is also "the
inmost nature of body." It is, moreover, prior to extension, which
indicates only "the continuation or diffusion of an already presup-

posed acting and resisting substance." Finally, we are told that it is not
sense but reason which assures us that the force is "present every-
where in matter." Once more, the significant point is that the force
associated with body - what is required in order to render intelligible
its action - is referred back to the force or power that is an essential
property of substance.
Leibniz makes it clear that there is a close connection between this
account of the nature of matter and the form of the laws of motion.
He frequently advances the counterfactual proposition that were mat-
ter endowed with a nature such as Cartesians conceive of it, then not
only would there be no ground in matter for the property of force,
but matter would not naturally observe laws of fitness: contingent
laws that conform to divine wisdom. To Remond, he writes in 1715,
"If matter were a substance, such as is commonly conceived, it could
not (without miracle) observe rules of fitness [convenance]; and left to
itself, it would observe certain brute laws, dependent on a mathemati-
cal necessity completely removed from experience" (GP III 636).20 We
here confront a delicate issue. Given his commitment to the contin-
gency of the laws of motion, Leibniz cannot claim that these laws are
essential to matter, or that they follow from matter's nature with a
necessity equivalent to that by which the laws of geometry follow from
the nature of extension. At the same time, he wants to insist that the
laws of motion are natural to matter and that they are not to be
explained simply through an appeal to God's will - an explanation
that would, in his view, transform the course of nature into a "perpet-
ual miracle." To uphold his conception of the rational order of na-
ture, Leibniz must steer a middle course between the Scylla of necessi-
tarianism and the Charybdis of voluntarism: He must find a ground
for the laws of motion within the nature of matter, without thereby
rendering those laws necessary. He offers one of the most explicit
statements of his solution to this problem in a letter to Fontanelle of 7
April 1703:
You ask, Sir, if the laws of motion are indifferent to the nature of matter. I
reply, yes, if you oppose indifferent to what is necessary, and I reply, no, if you
oppose it to what is fitting [convenable], that is, to what is the best and gives the
most perfection. These laws are not so arbitrary or so indifferent as some
have believed, nor so necessary as others have believed. The laws of motion do
not therefore possess a geometrical necessity, no more than those of architec-
ture. And yet, there is between them and the nature of body relations which
also do not escape us entirely. These relations are principally founded in the
entelechy or principle of force, which when joined to matter completes the
corporeal substance. One can even say that these laws are naturally essential
to this entelechy or primitive force which God has placed in bodies, [and]
consequently to corporeal substance, for if they did not originate from it, they
244 NATURE
would not be natural but miraculous and God would be obliged to procure
the phenomena from them by a continual miracle: but they are not essential
to matter, that is, to what is passive in corporeal substance. (F 226-7)
Leibniz's solution is ingenious. The laws of motion are to be under-
stood as grounded in the nature of body, specifically in the entelechy
or principle of force from which bodies are constituted. However, we
are not to conceive of the laws of motion as following from the concept
of force or entelechy. Rather, these laws are intrinsic to the action of
the entelechy itself. In brief, the laws exhibited in the motion of
external bodies are grounded in the pattern of striving that is internal
to the entelechies constitutive of those bodies. Because it is under-
stood that entelechies operate in accordance with laws of appetite, or
the principle of the best, it follows that bodies, too, must exhibit a type
of final causation. The conservation of force ascribed to God's choice
of the most fitting laws of motion is thus explained in terms of the
mode of operation of the substances that provide matter with its
ground.
All of this needs to be fleshed out in more detail; however, we
should already have a good sense of how, in terms of its metaphysical
foundations, Leibniz sees his science of dynamics as preferable to
Cartesian physics and to mechanism in general. Mechanistic theories
threaten our appreciation of the wisdom God has exercised in cre-
ation. In conceiving of matter as mere extension (or as extension
endowed with resistance or hardness), such theories deny the role of
active principles in nature. In doing so, they remove from matter any
intelligible ground for force and final causation. Consequently, they
are committed to conceiving of the laws of motion, and of the force
that is communicated in motion, as the immediate product of God's
action. This wholesale transfer to God of the dynamic and teleological
properties of created things is, in Leibniz's view, the most significant
defect of Descartes's metaphysics of nature. If it allows room for the
Cartesian to escape the trap of Spinozism, it nonetheless remains at
odds with our understanding of this as the possible world in which
divine wisdom has realized the greatest intelligibility and order. It is
this point, above all, which Leibniz regards his dynamics as up-
holding.
Grounding the Physical Properties of Matter

We must now try to develop in more detail the relation Leibniz pro-
pounds between the physical properties of matter - force, resistance,
extension - and their ground in the properties of monads. In each
case, he argues, a full understanding of these physical properties
leads us from the phenomena of matter to the underlying reality of
monads. 21
Leibniz's dynamics presupposes a basic division between motion

and force, and within the category of force, between derivative force
and primitive force.22 The principle of these divisions is again on-
tological. According to Leibniz, motion is not itself a real being, be-
cause "never having its parts compounded it could no more than time
pass for something real."23 Nor can motion be regarded as a real
property of bodies. Translatory motion, or the change of a body's
position in space, is always relative or relational.24 For this reason,
Leibniz argues, there can be no determinate answer to the question to
which body a certain quantity of motion belongs. "Even if there were
a thousand bodies," he writes to Huygens, "I still hold that the phe-
nomena could not provide us (or angels) with an infallible basis for
determining the subject or the degree of motion and that each body
could be conceived separately as being at rest" (GM II 184/L 418). In
short, the relativity of motion entails that predications of motion are
in principle indeterminate; and this in turn implies that motion is not
a real property of bodies.25
Despite these negative conclusions about the reality of motion,
Leibniz remains convinced that there must be something real in a
moving body which can account for the changes observed in the phe-
nomena: something which explains why bodies move at all and why
they move in the particular ways they do, observing principles such as
the conservation of force. Again, he claims that such a reason cannot
be found in the Cartesian notion of res extensa:
[I]n the concept of motion there are included not only body and change but a
reason and a determinant of change as well, which cannot be found in a body
if its nature is considered to be purely passive, that is, to consist in extension
alone or even in extension and impenetrability. (GP II 227/L 525)
What is real in motion, Leibniz eventually concludes, is "nothing . . .
except that momentaneous state which must consist of a force striving
toward change" (GM VI 235/L 436). He refers to this momentaneous
state of a body as its derivative force, and characterizes it as that from
which motion or change follows: [MJotion is not the cause, but the
effect or result of force" (GP III 457).26
Leibniz groups several different physical concepts under the head-
ing of "derivative force." The two most important of these are "living
force" (vis viva) and "dead force" (vis mortud)21 Living force is the
force acquired by a body through motion - a force that represents its
power to achieve a particular effect, including placing another body
in motion through impact. It is this force that Leibniz claims is con-
served throughout nature, and that, he argues, against Descartes,
must be measured by the product of a body's mass and the square of
its velocity (mv2). Leibniz associates dead force, which he also refers to
as "conatus" or "solicitation," with the tendency of bodies to begin
motion. As examples of this force, he cites the centrifugal force of a
246 NATURE
body in circular motion, the force of gravity, and the force by which a
stretched elastic body begins to restore itself (GM VI 238/L 438).
Although living force and dead force are both intimately related to a
body's motion, it is dead force that is most clearly identified as the
cause or origin of motion. Leibniz sees his infinitesimal calculus as
holding the key to the relationship between these quantities:
I have devised a new way of expressing in a calculus the infinitely small
increments [progressus] of motion and the very beginnings of increments,
which are infinitely infinitely small. For since motion, inasmuch as it occurs in
time, is like an ordinary line, so it is proper that impetus, as the instantaneous
element of motion, should be like an infinitely small or infinitesimal line. But
conatus (e.g., gravity or the force of receding from a center), since it deter-
mines impetus through infinitely many28 repetitions, will be an infinitely infi-
nitely small quantity. (A I 13, 522~3)
If we think of a moving body as describing a path s during an interval
t, we can conceive of the impetus of that body as the infinitesimal
progress it makes during an instant, and its conatus as the infinitesi-
mally small beginning of that progress. In more precise terms, for any
moving mass m, we can represent its impetus at a given time by the
differential quantity m(ds/dt) (= mv), and its conatus by the quantity
m(dvldt). Thus, a double integration over time takes us from the con-
atus of a body to its motion.29 According to this analysis, conatus is
mathematically equivalent to the Newtonian equation for force, F =
ma. Leibniz's understanding of this quantity, however, is quite differ-
ent. Whether present in a moving body or one at rest, conatus is not
defined simply as the capacity of that body to accelerate an inertial
mass. It is instead regarded as the inherent momentaneous "effort" or
"striving" of a body to effect a change in its own state of motion.30
As an actual moment of striving toward a consequent state, conatus
is, in Leibniz's view, unquestionably something real. Nevertheless, it is
a basic assumption of his metaphysics that whatever is impermanent
or changing cannot be a real being per se. If it exists, it can only be as
the modification of something permanent or substantial. Thus, hav-
ing identified conatus as the origin of motion in bodies, Leibniz goes
on to insist that this derivative force must inhere in a prior substantial
principle. This claim figures prominently in his correspondence with
Burcher de Voider, who defends the position that force can be re-
garded as a property of extended matter alone and that it is unneces-
sary to introduce a further substantial ground. Leibniz's rejection of
this view is unequivocal:
[C]orporeal substances cannot be constituted solely out of derivative forces
combined with their resistance, that is, out of vanishing modifications. Every
modification presupposes something permanent. Therefore when you say,
"Let us assume there is nothing in bodies but derivative forces," I reply that
such a hypothesis is impossible. (GP II 251/L 530)
For Leibniz, a consideration of the derivative force exercised by mov-

ing bodies leads us unavoidably to the primitive force that is sub-
stance. Under no other circumstance could the conatus of bodies —
their momentaneous strivings for change - exist.31 From the point of
view of metaphysics, the individual components of a body's force must
be the momentaneous states of substances, striving toward successive
states:
Derivative force is itself the present state when it tends toward or preinvolves
a following state, as every present is great with the future. But that which
persists insofar as it involves all cases, contains primitive force, so that primi-
tive force is the law of the series, as it were, while derivative force is the
determinate value which designates some term in the series. (GP II 262/L
533)
In just this way substance appears as the principle grounding an
explanation of the properties exhibited by bodies in motion. If an
understanding of the phenomena demands that we locate a force in
body, an understanding of force demands that we locate an enduring
being whose nature it is to act.
In addition to his analysis of the notion of force implicated in an
explanation of the motion of bodies, Leibniz urges a similar under-
standing of a body's resistance to change. Resistance is an essential
property of matter that complements its inherent activity. In it, Leib-
niz distinguishes two factors: resistance to penetration, or antitypia;
and resistance to motion, or inertia. Like derivative active force, im-
penetrability and inertia are phenomenal properties that manifest an
underlying substantial power. "[SJince these two factors are every-
where equal in a body or are proportional to its extension," Leibniz
writes, "it is in them that I locate the nature of the passive principle or
of matter, just as I recognize, in the active force which exerts itself in
various ways through motion, the primitive entelechy" (GP II 171/L
517). Leibniz has much less to say about the relation between matter's
resistance and its ground in substance than about the parallel relation
between derivative and primitive active force. In his late writings, he
identifies this ground with the "primary matter," or "primitive passive
power," of monads. "[S]ince all monads (except the primitive one) are
subject to passions," he tells Remond, "they are not pure forces; they
are the foundation not only of actions but of resistance and passivity,
and their passions are found in their confused perceptions. It is in
this that matter or the numerically infinite is involved" (GP III 636/L
659). While the argument is not completely transparent, Leibniz ap-
pears to reason as follows: We observe that any body exhibits a resis-
tance to change. In order to explain this property, we must locate a
substantial ground for it. We discover this ground in the passive pow-
er, or primary matter, of created monads. As we saw in Chapter 6, this
primary matter is identified with the monad's potential for confused
248 NATURE
perceptions, which limit its apprehension of the good toward which it

naturally strives. To this extent, every monad exhibits a type of resis-
tance, which is manifested phenomenally as the resistance of matter.
"What in fact results from the passions of perceivers and limits the
phenomena," Leibniz tells De Voider, "creates the deception [idolum]
of matter or of the passive force of bodies" (GP II 281).32
If this argument is not wholly compelling, it at least deepens our
insight into Leibniz's style of reasoning. Every genuine, or nonilluso-
ry, physical property must find a ground in the per se reality of
monads. 33 The point is to locate a feature of substance that can
explain, and provide a footing in reality for, what we perceive to be
the case in the phenomenal world of bodies. Resistance to change is a
property of all matter, manifested in motion and collision; an intelligi-
ble ground is found for it in a monad's primary matter, which ac-
counts for the intrinsic limitation of its own activity.
Leibniz's treatment of the property of extension takes a different
course than his analyses of active force and resistance. Unlike the
latter properties, he does not regard extension as itself grounded in a
property of substance. Instead, analysis shows it to be a complex con-
cept expressing the "diffusion" or "simultaneous, continuous repeti-
tion" of some prior nature. Extension is thus only a "relative" notion,
indicating the existence of a multitude of other things:
[E]xtension is an abstraction from the extended and can no more be consid-
ered substance than can number or a multitude, for it expresses nothing but a
certain nonsuccessive (i.e., unlike duration) but simultaneous diffusion or
repetition of some particular nature, or what amounts to the same thing, a
multitude of things of this same nature which exist together with some order
between them; and it is this nature, I say, which is said to be extended or
diffused. The notion of extension is thus relative, or extension is the exten-
sion of something, just as we say that a multitude or a duration is a multitude
or a duration of something. (GP II 269/L 536)34
According to Leibniz, the multitude from which extension is ab-
stracted is matter, or "an aggregate of the things containing en-
telechies":
Accurately speaking, . . . extension is merely something modal like number
and time, and not a thing [res], since it is an abstract designation of the
continuous possible plurality of coexisting things, while matter is in fact this
very plurality of things itself and hence an aggregate of the things containing
entelechies. (GP II 195/L 523)
While differing in its conclusion, Leibniz's analysis of extension fol-
lows a similar pattern to his analyses offeree and resistance. In gener-
al, he aims to offer an explanation of the physical properties of matter
in terms of the more fundamental attributes of monads: primitive
active power (or entelechy) and primitive passive power (or primary
matter). While extension cannot be explained as a property of mo-

nads, Leibniz interprets it as being indicative of the diffusion, or
continuous repetition, of the dynamical principle (to dynamikon) from
which activity and passivity follow (GP II 241/L 527).35
The Reality of Matter and the "Optimal Mean"

An analysis of the concepts involved in our understanding of matter
leads to our comprehension of the reality that is presupposed by its
existence. In the New Essays, Leibniz affirms that this is nothing other
than simple substances or monads:
It is necessary to consider that matter, understood as a complete being (i.e.,
secondary matter as opposed to primary matter, which is something purely pas-
sive and consequently incomplete) is only an aggregate, or what results from
it, and that every real aggregate presupposes simple substances or real unities',
and if one considers further what belongs to the nature of these real unities —
that is, perception and its series of states — one is transported, as it were, into
another world, the intelligible world of substances, whereas previously one had
existed only among the phenomena of the senses. And this knowledge of the
inner nature of matter shows well enough what it is naturally capable of. (NE
IV, iii, 6; A VI 6, 378-0,)36
Through our grasp of the "inner nature of matter," we come to recog-
nize corporeal phenomena as confused representations of an intelligi-
ble world of monads. From the point of view of dynamics, we conceive
of these monads as principles of action, which ground the motive
force exhibited by bodies. But this activity is simultaneously the appe-
titive striving of soullike substances. As Leibniz writes to De Voider,
"[T]his principle of action is most intelligible, because there is some-
thing in it analogous to what is in us, namely, perception and appetite"
(GP II 270/L 537). Thus, substance is at once "the principle of percep-
tion or internal activity, and of motion or external activity" (GP VII
329). For Leibniz, both these species of change - what we are con-
scious of in the progression of our perceptions and what we see mani-
fested in the motion of bodies - are to be explained in terms of the
modification of active substances. Since "the nature of things is uni-
form, and our nature cannot differ infinitely from the other simple
substances of which the whole universe consists" (GP II 270/L 537),
we can conclude that at bottom there is only one type of change: that
elicited by the internal striving of monads.37
It is this striving that provides an explanation of the fitness exhib-
ited by the laws of motion. At the level of phenomena, each new state
of matter can be understood as a natural consequence of its prior state
in accordance with the laws of mechanics. In Leibniz's view, however,
we only fully comprehend the effects of material things if we conceive
25O NATURE
of them as the product of forces, which are themselves grounded in

the action of a persisting entelechy. Thus, he writes to Des Bosses, "a
new state of matter is a consequence of a prior state according to the
laws of nature, but the laws of nature achieve their effect through
entelechies" (GP II 419). The peculiar fitness of the laws of motion -
the fact that they observe principles such as the conservation of force
— is accounted for by their being expressions of the appetitive striv-
ings of monads, which always aim to optimize the outcome of their
action and conserve the same overall force (their primitive active pow-
er). 38 In a 1711 letter to Bierling, Leibniz suggests that we are able to
comprehend the teleological nature of primitive active force precisely
because we have an inner awareness of ourselves as principles of ap-
petite:
The source of mechanism is primitive force, but the laws of motion, according
to which impetus or derivative force arises from it, flow from the perception
of good and evil or from that which is most fitting [convenientissimum]. For this
reason, just as efficient causes depend on final causes and spiritual things are
by nature prior to material things, so also are they prior for us in thought,
since we perceive the soul (private to us) more intimately than the body, as
Plato and Descartes also recognized. You say that this force is known through
effects, not such as it is in itself. I reply that this would be the case if we did not
have a soul or did not know it. The soul has in itself perception and appetite,
and these are included in its nature. (GP VII 501)
Leibniz's analysis of matter entails a radical revision in our view of
what bodies are. If we conceive of properties such as force, extension,
and motion as absolute or per se beings, we inevitably lose ourselves in
a realm of illusions.39 Monads are the only per se real beings that God
has created. Yet this does not mean that bodies are nothing real at all.
Although they a^*e nothing real in and of themselves, bodies have a
reality that is derivative from that of monads. Given the grounding of
their dynamical properties in the active and passive powers of mo-
nads, the bodies we perceive can be regarded as the appearances of
immaterial monads. In a draft of his last letter to De Voider, Leibniz
neatly summarizes his position:
[T]here are an infinite number of percipients, namely as many as there are
simple substances or monads. The order of these among themselves [is] ex-
pressed in our phenomena. . . . You will easily understand from this that
material substances are not done away with but are preserved, provided that
they are sought in the dynamikon which reveals itself through the phenomena,
or in the active and passive force of perceivers, and not outside them. But
extension, like time and mass and what is fixed by the variations of these,
motion, vanish no less than real qualities into phenomena and exist by con-
vention rather than by nature, as Democritus used to say. (GP II 281—2)40
Leibniz frequently emphasizes that we cannot imagine, or conceive
in sensory terms, how a body is a plurality of monads. The notion of a
primitive force or entelechy and its role in grounding the reality of

matter can be grasped only by the intellect.41 "The nature of the
case," he tells De Voider, "does not allow anything more explicit, such
as a picture" (GP II 170/L 516). It is a basic error of Descartes's
position that he fails to observe this distinction between the sensible
and the intelligible. As a consequence, he attempts to locate the na-
ture of body in the notion of extension, which is necessarily connected
with perception.42 The spatial terminology that infects Leibniz's own
account of body - most prominently in his claim that unextended
monads are "in" or "diffused throughout" bodies - must be inter-
preted figuratively.43 The monads constitutive of a body are not its
ultimate spatial parts, but its "immediate requisites." As we have seen,
this expression connotes a priority of essence or being: that which
must be, in order that something else can be. Monads supply a
ground for the existence and properties of bodies, insofar as they are
involved in our conception of what matter is; they are not to be
regarded as spatial components of bodies. In Leibniz's view, the at-
tempt to imagine monads as acting directly on or in matter represents
a fundamental philosophical error, indicative of a confounding of the
distinct categories of the sensible and the intelligible. Over and over
he stresses that it is a mistake to think of monads as implicated indi-
vidually in our understanding of the phenomena of bodies. Our com-
prehension of the relationship between phenomenal matter and the
reality of substance is restricted to a relation among general concepts:
Primitive force, which is nothing but the first entelechy, corresponds to the
soul or substantial form, but for this very reason it relates only to the general
causes which cannot suffice to explain phenomena. Therefore, I agree with
those who deny that forms are to be used in investigating the specific and
special causes of sensible things. This I must emphasize to make it clear that in
restoring to the forms their proper function of revealing the sources of things
to us, I am not trying to return to the word battles of the more popular
Scholastics. A knowledge of forms is necessary, meanwhile, for philosophizing
rightly, and no one can claim to have grasped the nature of body adequately
unless he has paid some attention to such things and has come to understand
that the crude concept of corporeal substance which depends only on sensory
imagery and has recently been carelessly introduced by an abuse of the cor-
puscular philosophy (which is excellent and true in itself) is imperfect, not to
say false. (GM VI 236/L 436)
The limitation Leibniz imposes on our understanding of the rela-

tionship between matter and monads is critical to our overall appre-
ciation of his philosophy. It also illuminates in an interesting way his
position with respect to a central debate in seventeenth-century natu-
ral philosophy. Leibniz often portrays himself as standing between
two camps: on the one hand, mechanists or materialists, who seek to
divest matter of all qualities except passive extension, and are hence
252 NATURE
forced to call upon God to explain the source of matter's motion and
its conservation; on the other hand, vitalists, and earlier scholastic
"formalists," who seek to introduce intelligent or soullike principles
directly into matter in order to account for its effects.44 In his typical
conciliatory fashion, Leibniz maintains that both mechanists and for-
malist/vitalists have got part of the picture right, although both have
also erred in denying what their opponents accept:
I have found that most of the sects are right in a good part of what they
propose, but not so much in what they deny. The formalists, Platonists and
Aristotelians, for example, are right in seeking the sources of things in final
and formal causes. But they are wrong in neglecting efficient and material
causes and in inferring from this, as did Henry More in England and certain
other Platonists, that there are phenomena which cannot be explained me-
chanically. The materialists, on the other hand, or those who accept only a
mechanical philosophy, are wrong in rejecting metaphysical considerations
and in trying to explain everything in terms of sense experience. I flatter
myself to have penetrated into the harmony of these different realms and to
have seen that both sides are right provided that they do not clash with each
other; that everything in nature happens mechanically and at the same time
metaphysically but that the source of mechanics is in metaphysics. (GP III
607/L 655)
According to Leibniz, both sides in the debate sin against the principle
of intelligibility, either by failing to explain in a natural manner the
properties exhibited by matter, or by endowing it with spurious occult
qualities ("hylarchic principles," "plastic natures"). In both cases the
source of their trespass is a reliance on confused notions of body,
substance, form, and activity.45 As we have seen, Leibniz believes that
a complete account of corporeal phenomena would be impossible if
the substance of the world were limited to inert matter, or matter and
wholly distinct mental or spiritual substances. The concept of matter
by itself cannot explain the propensity of bodies to move or the spe-
cific pattern of their effects. To call on God to explain these phenom-
ena, as Descartes, Malebranche, and Newton are in different ways
forced to do, is no solution for Leibniz, since this amounts to a rejec-
tion of the idea that God's wisdom has directed his will in the choice of
this world for creation. These are the considerations that lead him to
insist on the necessity of immaterial principles.46 As a consequence,
Leibniz holds a limited sympathy for some of the esoteric doctrines
that oppose the main current of the scientific revolution, for example,
the broadly vitalist views of F. M. van Helmont and the Cambridge
Platonists.47 But it is necessary to emphasize that this sympathy is
strictly limited. Leibniz asserts with vigor that the particular phenom-
ena of nature are explicable only through mechanical laws. We have
no understanding of what it means to say that a body consists of
formlike substances, beyond our recognition that in an attempt to
ground the laws describing the dynamical behavior of bodies we are

always driven back to notions definitive of substance:
[T]he optimal mean, which satisfies piety and science alike, is to acknowledge
that all phenomena are indeed to be explained by mechanical efficient causes
but that these mechanical laws are themselves to be derived in general [in
universum] from higher reasons and that we thus use a higher efficient cause
[God] only to establish the general and remote principles. Once this is estab-
lished, we need not admit entelechies any more than we admit superfluous
faculties or inexplicable sympathies, as long as we are dealing only with the
immediate and particular efficient causes of natural things. (GM VI 242-3/L
441-2) 48
Leibniz believes, then, that he has found a way of uniting the per-
spectives of mechanism and vitalism. At the level of particular phe-
nomena, the only valid form of explanation is subsumption under
mechanical laws. Nevertheless, the justification for these laws can be
found only in immaterial, vital principles. As he sees it, matter could
not, without miracle, conform to the laws of mechanics — laws that
display an evident fitness and presuppose the conservation of force —
unless it were everywhere constituted from entelechies operating ac-
cording to teleological principles. The most interesting feature of
Leibniz's solution to the problem of how matter acquires activity is
that it relies on our drawing a sharp distinction between the sensible
and the intelligible. Contrary to both mechanists and vitalists, he
maintains that we can only fully understand the dynamical properties
of matter when we cease to conceive of bodies as they are presented to
our senses — as things extended in space and enduring through time
— and instead conceive of them as they are in themselves: pluralities
of soullike monads.
The Relation of Matter to Monads: A Summary

It is indicative of the integrity of Leibniz's philosophical vision that his
account of the grounding of the physical forces of matter in the active
and passive forces of monads does not stand in isolation from the rest
of his metaphysical system. His response to the question of how a
mechanical conception of nature can be reconciled with an explana-
tion of force and final causation is closely tied to his doctrines of
panorganicism and preestablished harmony. Again, we are presented
with a picture of some complexity.
Bodies are presented to finite perceivers as extended things located
in space and time, things that exhibit dynamical properties of force
and resistance. For a variety of reasons, Leibniz holds that these per-
ceptions cannot be representations of reality as it is in itself. So repre-
sented, bodies fail to satisfy the necessary conditions for something's
254 NATURE
being a per se reality or substance. Nevertheless, Leibniz maintains

that certain features of bodies - their multiplicity, force, and resis-
tance - point us back to a ground in reality. He argues that properties
such as these could only exist under the condition that there existed
certain prior things: multiplicity presupposes unity; force, an en-
telechy or principle of action; resistance, primary matter or a princi-
ple of limitation. Leibniz does not claim that his analysis of the physi-
cal properties of matter amounts to a direct demonstration of the
existence of monads grounding our perceptions of bodies. The con-
clusion of his argument remains conditional: If our perceptions are
veridical, then the beings they represent must be very different from
what they seem.
This account supports the thesis that any existing body must be
some plurality of monads; however, it does not permit us to proceed
any further in identifying the monads that ground the actions of a
body. Although Leibniz grants the possibility of an analysis of the
general concepts implicated in our understanding of matter as a phe-
nomenon, he rules out any sort of analysis that would lead us from
the phenomenal representation of a particular body to the monads
grounding that phenomenon. It is obviously tempting to see this re-
striction as a product of the limited cognitive capacity of created
minds. We must, however, be careful in where we locate this limita-
tion. Although Leibniz is not completely explicit on this point, a case
can be made that the relevant limitation comes not simply in a created
mind's finite powers of analysis, but in the very mode of its perceptual
representation. That is, it is plausible to think that even God would
not have the resources necessary to undertake an analysis of a mo-
nad's phenomenal representation of a body that would terminate in a
representation of the particular monads - qua primitive active and
passive forces - grounding that body.49 In conceiving of the relation-
ship between particular monads, or between the contents of one mo-
nad's perceptions and the monads grounding those perceptions, Leib-
niz turns to a different type of relation altogether, that of expression.
If we wish to designate the specific relations which obtain between two
or more monads, he suggests, we have no alternative but to refer to
the correspondence among the phenomena perceived by those mo-
nads. 50
We have explored at length how Leibniz sees such intermonadic
relations as being determined. A relation R will be predicable of two
or more monads, just in case those monads agree in their expression
of themselves as standing in an i?-type relation to one another.
Routinely, such relations will be defined in terms of a monad's expres-
sion of itself as an embodied creature, which is spatiotemporally
and causally related to the universe of other bodies (including the
bodies of other monads). We have seen how we can exploit this scheme
in making sense of the grounding of the bodies perceived by individu-
al monads. In general, we may say that one monad expresses certain
other monads as a body, just in case the latter monads agree in their
expression of themselves as the ground of that phenomenon.
In a 1711 letter to Christian Wolff, Leibniz suggests how such a
story might be told in the case of dynamical phenomena:
You ask how the primitive force may be modified, for example, when the
motion of a weight is accelerated in descent; I respond that the modification
of the primitive force which is in the monad itself cannot be better explained
than by explaining how the derivative force may be changed in the phenome-
na. For what is exhibited extensively and mechanically in the phenomena is,
concentratedly and vitally, in monads.
He goes on to elaborate this account with a description of the forces
exerted by two colliding bodies. He then returns to the question of the
grounding of these forces in monads:
[W]hat is exhibited mechanically and extensively through the reaction of the
resisting body and the restoration of the compressed body is concentrated
dynamically and monadically (as I have already said) in the entelechy itself, in
which there is the source of mechanism and a representation of mechanical
things; for phenomena result from monads (which alone are true substances).
And while mechanical things are determined by external circumstances, by
that fact, in the source itself, the primitive entelechy is modified harmonically
through itself, since it can be said that a body has all its derivative force from
itself. (GLW 138-9)
What Leibniz appears to indicate here is that our only means of desig-
nating the monads that ground the forces exerted by a body is in
terms of the phenomena that would be perceived by those monads.
We may assume that monads invariably express the same universe of
phenomena. Internally, then, their perceptions will appear to evolve
according to the same mechanical laws as govern the operations of all
bodies.51 If we are now asked to specify more precisely the monads
that ground the forces exerted by a particular body, Leibniz implies
that these will have to be identified as the monads that express them-
selves, qua entelechies, as the origin of those forces. "[W]hat is.exhib-
ited mechanically and extensively through the reaction of the resist-
ing body and the restoration of the compressed body," he writes, "is
concentrated dynamically and monadically . . . in the entelechy itself,
in which there is the source of mechanism and a representation of
mechanical things."52 In general, if we pose the question of the rela-
tionship between a given phenomenon and the monads that ground
the phenomenon, our answer will have to be framed in terms of the
harmonious phenomena that would be perceived by those grounding
monads. Thus, if we ask which monads ground the active and passive
256 NATURE
forces exerted by a given body, our answer will be: those monads
(i.e., those instances of entelechy and primary matter) that express
themselves as the origin of those forces.
To complete our account of Leibniz's position, we must appeal to
the thesis of monadic embodiment. It is a central tenet of his philoso-
phy that every monad expresses itself as a creature endowed with an
organic body - a body to which it is related as a principle of motion
and unity. We may thus infer that to the extent that a monad ex-
presses itself as the ground for certain dynamical forces, it does so in
the guise of an organic creature. From the perspective of the monad,
this is what the grounding of dynamical force will look like: The
monads grounding a given force will be those which represent their
organic bodies as acting or reacting in ways that account for that
force. In understanding the physical forces exerted by two colliding
bodies, then, we will conceive of those forces as grounded in monads
that express themselves as corporeal creatures acting on, or reacting
to, other corporeal creatures. Taking up the perspective of the
grounding monads, the collision of two bodies is transformed into a
melee of organisms. This, at least, is how it would appear if, like God,
we were able to occupy simultaneously the perspectives of all the
relevant monads. 53
We can, however, go further than this. Within the best of all possible
worlds, each monad does not simply express itself as an embodied
creature; in addition, it is guaranteed that there exist monads answer-
ing to the content of its perception of itself as embodied - monads
expressing themselves as the functional components of that body.
Under this condition, we can speak of the latter monads as "resulting"
in an aggregate that is identifiable with the organic body of the domi-
nant monad. In Leibniz's terminology, this means simply that in con-
ceiving of these grounding monads in relation to each other - a
relatedness that can only be conceived in terms of the relations among
what they express as their organic bodies — we are invariably led from
a conception of those monads to a conception of the organic body
they ground. This has obvious consequences for our understanding
of the structure of matter. Assuming that phenomenal bodies are in
general well founded, the monads grounding the dynamical proper-
ties of matter will be simultaneously the entelechies, or soullike prin-
ciples, of masses of other monads. Thus matter, which is observed to
operate everywhere in accordance with mechanical laws, must also be
conceived as having a structure determined by the infinite envelop-
ment of organic creatures. Indeed, Leibniz states that matter would
not have the dynamical properties it is observed to have - the proper-
ties of an elastic medium - unless it were everywhere composed of
organisms enveloped within organisms:
The laws of nature are of two types: dynamic and plastic or organic. There is
nevertheless this semblance of the organic in dynamic laws, that they could
not hold unless matter were everywhere elastic, nor would matter be every-
where elastic unless systems were arranged within systems. In this the dy-
namic corresponds to the plastic, which always has organs within organs.
(BH 51-2)54
From dynamics, then, we are ineluctably led back to the doctrine of
panorganicism. The forces exerted by what are seemingly inorganic
bodies are ascribed to their composition from an infinity of organ-
isms. Thus, no matter is ever truly inanimate: The "living forces"
exerted by bodies are, from another point of view, the endeavors of
living creatures.
I argued in the preceding chapter that we should interpret Leibniz's
account of created nature as involving an attempt to capture in theo-
retical terms the multiplicity of harmonies that divine wisdom has
bestowed on the best of all possible worlds. To this end, Leibniz sees
himself as justified in weaving together a variety of theoretical per-
spectives. Conceived in itself, the created world consists of an infinity
of soullike monads. To any one of these monads, however, nature is
represented as a plenum of bodies: bodies that move and interact in
accordance with the laws of mechanics but that also have a complex
organic structure. Finally, each created monad represents itself as
the soul of a single organic body, which it rules as a principle of
unity and action. It is the combination of these different perspec-
tives that underwrites the interplay of harmonies within the best of
all possible worlds. Grounding the physical forces of bodies are mon-
ads that, in agreement, express their organic bodies as the origin of
those forces. And, taken collectively, these same monads determine,
through their expression of their embodiment, an organic structure
that agrees with the structure that is observed everywhere in matter.
(See Fig. 1.)
Leibniz acknowledges that these agreements and harmonies are not
ones immediately apparent to finite creatures: "[OJnly the Supreme
Reason, who overlooks nothing, can distinctly grasp the entire infinite
and see all the causes and all the results" (RB 57). Nevertheless, as
rational minds, we are "capable of knowing the system of the uni-
verse, and of imitating something of it" through our models of its
order and harmony (GP VI 621/P 192—3). Nothing demonstrates this
better, Leibniz believes, than the science of dynamics. Through it, he
writes, "wonderful harmonies are revealed, from which it appears
most clearly that nature is the work of a supreme wisdom; and in this,
for one who acknowledges it and dwells in it, consists the greatest of
meditations and indeed the greatest satisfaction of our entire life" (A
I 13, 524).
Phenomena Reality
(kingdom of bodies, efficient causes) (kingdom of souls, final causes)
Monads
Matter (entelechies operating in accordance
(bodies operating in accordance with laws of appetite)
with laws of mechanics)
compose individually,
represent (express)
themselves as
Living Organisms
(mass unified by a
dominant monad),
Fig. 1. Schema of matter-monad relations
Notes
1. See Gueroult 1967; Iltis 1971; Westfall 1971, chap. 6; Costabel 1973;
Garber 1995.
2. A good example of the significance Leibniz attaches to dynamics is his
claim that this science demonstrates the error of Descartes's account of
mind—body interaction and the corresponding truth of his own theory of
preestablished harmony. See GP III 607/L 655; GM VI 247/L 444-5. For
discussions of this claim, see Garber 1983; McLaughlin 1993.
3. In a 1691 article in the Acta Eruditorum, he writes: "[T]here is in motion
something other than what is purely geometrical, that is, than extension
and its bare modification. And in order to consider it properly, we must
recognize that it is necessary to add to it some higher or metaphysical
notion — namely that of substance, action and force. This consideration
seems to me important, not only in order to become acquainted with the
nature of extended substance, but also so as not to exclude from physics
higher and immaterial principles, [which would be] to the detriment of
piety" (GP IV 465). As late as 1715, Leibniz emphasizes to Remond the
importance he attaches to his work on dynamics: "My dynamics would
require a work of its own, for I have not yet said or communicated all that
I have to say on the matter. You are right, Sir, to judge that it is in good
measure the foundation of my system, because there we learn the differ-
ence between truths whose necessity is brute and geometric, and truths
which have their origin in fitness [convenance] and ends. And this is like a
commentary on the beautiful passage from Plato's Phaedo which I cited
somewhere in a journal, that while supposing that an Intelligence pro-
duces all things, it is necessary to discover their origins in final causes"
(GP III 645). Cf. A I 10, 140.
4. Brevis demonstratio erroris memorabilis Cartesii et aliorum circa legem naturalem,
Acta eruditorum, March 1686 (GM VI 117—19/L 296—8). For the details of
Leibniz's argument, see the works cited in note 1.
5. Leibniz describes this principle as his "general axiom, on which depends
all of mechanics" (GP I 393). Cf. GP II 62/M 71.
6. See his letter to Simon Foucher of 23 May 1687: "It is established that the
laws of M. Descartes do not agree with experience; but I have shown the
real reason for this, namely that he has misconstrued the notion of force"
(GP I 393). Cf. GP I 415; GP II 195/L 523; GM VI 246/L 444.
7. Cf. GP VI 588/L 624; GLW 34.
8. Theodicy, "Preliminary Discourse," §2. Significantly, Leibniz concludes this
section by noting that the "general reasons of good and order" that have
prompted God to this choice "may be overcome in some cases by stronger
reasons of a superior order." In this case God performs a miracle, by
producing in creatures "that which their nature does not bear" (GP VI
50/H 74). We return to this point later in this section.
9. To Wolff, Leibniz writes: "The principles of mechanics depend on higher
principles. . . . Such is the axiom that the whole effect is equal to the full
cause, which is certainly metaphysical, but has its ultimate foundation in
divine wisdom, which chooses the most fitting [convenientissimum] (GLW
129). See also GP III 636/L 659; GP III 645; GP VI 319-20/H 332-3.
10. See Chapter 2. One of Leibniz's fullest discussions of this topic is found in
his essay Tentamen Anagogicum (GP VII 270-79/L 477-85). Given our
insight into the principles of wisdom, he argues, it is possible to investi-
26O NATURE
gate the laws of nature "either by experience, that is, a posteriori, or by

reason and a priori, that is, by considerations of the fitness of things
which have led to their choice" (GP VI 50/H 74). The ^Tentamen demon-
strates how the latter is done in the case of the laws of optics.
11. Leibniz sometimes suggests that this conclusion follows directly from
Descartes's identification of matter and extension (see GP III 636/L 659).
Elsewhere he points to Descartes's claim in the Principles of Philosophy (Part
III, Art. 47) that matter takes on all possible forms. See Leibniz's letter to
Claude Nicaise of 15 February 1697: "Although I very much want to
believe that this author has been sincere in the profession of his religion,
nevertheless the principles which he assumes conceal strange conse-
quences about which not enough care is taken. After having turned phi-
losophers away from final causes, or, what is the same thing, the consider-
ation of divine wisdom in the order of things, which in my view must be
the highest aim of philosophy, he gives a glimpse of the reason for it in a
passage in his Principles, where wanting to be excused for seeming to have
attributed to matter particular figures and motions, he says that he was
right to do so, since matter takes successively all possible forms, and thus
it is necessary that it should eventually come to those which he assumed.
But if what he says is true, if every possible must occur and if there is no
possible fiction (however absurd and unworthy it may be) which does not
occur at some time and in some place in the universe, it follows that there
is neither choice nor providence, that what does not occur is impossible,
and that what does occur is necessary, just as Hobbes and Spinoza have
maintained in clearer terms. Thus one can say that Spinoza has only
cultivated seeds of the philosophy of M. Descartes" (GP II 562-3).
13. For more on this principle and its applications, see Rutherford 1992,
1993. In the 1993 paper, I discuss the role played by the principle of
intelligibility in Leibniz's rejection of occasionalism.
14. See GP III 529, 532.
15. In Theodicy §220, Leibniz ascribes to Aristotle, and affirms himself, the
position that "that is termed natural which is most fitting [le plus conven-
able] to the perfection of the nature of the thing" (GP VI 250; cf. GP IV
592, 594). In the New Essays, he articulates this fittingness in terms of a
property's being explainable as a modification of some fixed nature: "[I]t
must be borne in mind above all that the modifications which can occur to
a single subject naturally and without miracles must arise from limitations
and variations . . . of a constant and absolute inherent nature. . . . When-
ever we find some quality in a subject, we ought to believe that if we
understood the nature of both the subject and the quality, we would
conceive how the quality could arise from it. So within the order of nature
(miracles apart) it is not at God's arbitrary discretion to attach this or that
quality haphazardly to substances. He will never give them any which are
not natural to them, that is, which cannot arise from their nature as
explicable modifications" (RB 65-6). For statements linking the principle
of intelligibility to the operation of divine wisdom, see GP IV 483/AG
143; GP IV 594; RB 66.
16. For Leibniz's criticism of such "occult" qualities, see his letter to Hart-
soeker of 8 February 1712 (GP III 532—5); the preface to the New Essays
(RB 65-7); and Antibarbarus physicus (GP VII 337-44/AG 312-20).
17. New Essays, Preface (RB 65—6). In a 1716 letter to Conti, Leibniz defines a
miracle as "any event that can only occur through the power of the
creator, its reason not being in the nature of creatures" (GB 277). Cf. GP
III 517-18, 529; GP IV 520/L 494; GP IV 594; GP VI 240-1/H 257; GP
VII 417/AG 344. Leibniz accepts that in certain circumstances, for ex-
traordinary reasons of grace, God has seen fit to grant things qualities
that do not follow from their natures. In general, however, he is loath to
multiply miracles beyond necessity. Many events that pass for miracles
can be ascribed to the "ministry of invisible substances, such as angels,"
which "act according to the ordinary laws of their nature, being combined
with bodies more rarified and more vigorous than those we have at our
command" (Theodicy §249; GP VI 265/H 280). In places he appears to
limit the scope of the miraculous to religious mysteries, such as the Cre-
ation and the Incarnation (cf. Robinet 1955, 413)- For more on this topic,
see Sleigh 1990, 163—4; Rutherford 1993.
18. To Bourguet, Leibniz writes: "They [Newtonians] commit a shrewd so-
phism to give themselves an air of reasonableness and to make us appear
in the wrong, as if we were opposing those who assume gravity, without
giving reason for it. This is not at all true; we rather oppose the method
of those who assume irrational qualities, as the Scholastics once did, that
is, primary qualities which have no natural reason, to be explained by the
nature of the subject to which the quality must belong" (GP III 580/L
663). Cf. C 11-2/P 172-3; GLW 113; GP III 519; GP VII 337-44/AG
312-20. For a discussion of the range of Newtonian views on gravity, see
McMullin 1978, chap. 3.
19. Although this essay has little to say about the details of the science of
dynamics, its full title indicates how Leibniz sees the establishment of the
correct principles of this science as related to a clarification of the nature
of body: On Nature Itself, or On the Innate Force and Actions of Created Things,
for the Purposes of Confirming and Illustrating Their Dynamics (GP IV
504—16/AG 155—67/L 498—507).
20. Cf. his rejoinder to Malebranche in the Conversation ofPhilarete andAriste:
"[T]he principles of mechanism, of which the laws of motion are conse-
quences, could not be drawn from what is purely passive, geometrical or
material, nor proved by the axioms of mathematics alone. . . . [T]o justify
dynamical rules, it is necessary to have recourse to the true metaphysics
and to principles of fitness, which concern souls and have no less exact-
ness than those of geometers" (G VI 588).
21. Our concern in this section is limited to the attempts Leibniz makes to
ground the dynamical properties of matter in properties of monads. It
does not extend to the general question of the relationship between
corporeal forces and substantial principles of force, about which he may
have held different views at different points in his career. For a treatment
of the broader topic, which focuses on Leibniz's works from the 1680s
and 1690s, see Garber 1985, 1995.
22. As we shall see, he recognizes a further distinction within the categories
of primitive and derivative force between active forces and passive forces.
For the moment, we restrict our attention to the former.
23. LBr 258 Bl. 235. Cf. GP III 457; GM VII 242.
24. C 590/AG 91.
25. For a fuller discussion of Leibniz's reasoning about the relativity of mo-
tion, see Garber 1995, sec. 4.2.
26. Cf. GP II 257-8/L 532; GP II 262/L 533.
262 NATURE
27. For an explanation of this distinction, see the Specimen dynamicum (GM VI
237—9/L 437—9). For useful discussions of these concepts, see Gueroult
1967; Westfall 1971, chap. 6; Robinet 1984.
28. Cf. GM V 325.
29. The relationship between conatus and vis viva (the force acquired by a
body through motion) is less easily explained. In some texts, such as the
Specimen dynamicum, Leibniz describes living force as arising "from an
infinite number of continuous impressions of dead force" (GM VI 238/L
438). However, living force cannot be regarded as a simple integration
over time of dead force. This yields impetus rather than vis viva, the
crucial point being that in uniformly accelerated motion (e.g., free fall),
where an equal infinitesimal increment of velocity is added at each mo-
ment, vis viva actually increases in proportion to the square of velocity (or
time). For this reason, Leibniz claims that if conatus is represented by the
quantity dv, living force will be represented by the integral fvdv (= v2),
which indicates the compounding (and not the simple addition) of con-
atus over time (GP II 155-6). As Westfall notes, it would be simpler to
treat living force as a function of space, since a body gains vis viva in
direct proportion to the distance it has fallen. That Leibniz did not adopt
this approach is probably best explained by the fact that an integration
over space had no clear metaphysical meaning for him (Westfall 1971,
300—1). For a more sophisticated treatment of these issues, see Bertoloni
Meli 1993, 84—91.
30. Cf. GP II 262/L 533; GP II 270/L 537; Westfall 1971, 301.
31. See his letter to De Voider of January 21, 1704: "You speak as if you do
not understand what I intend when I say that derivative forces are mere
modifications and that the active cannot be a modification of the passive.
Don't you understand, then, what is meant by modification, by active and
passive? . . . [F]rom the very fact that they are active and yet modifica-
tions, [I infer] that there is something primary and active of which they
are modifications" (GP II 262/L 533). Cf. GP II 171; GP II 257-8/L 532;
GP II 263/L 534; GP II 270/L 537; GP III 457; GLW 103, 130, 140.
32. It is presumably Leibniz's view that the monads grounding the resistance
of matter are those that are overwhelmingly confused or matter-bound in
their perceptions of the world, i.e., "brute monads" or "souls sunk in
matter." If this is so, it would be natural to posit some sort of propor-
tionality between the degree of confusion of monads and the resistance
of the matter they ground. As far as I know, this idea is never exploited by
Leibniz.
33. To De Voider, he writes that "it can be said that matter is real insofar as
the reason for what is observed to be passive in the phenomena is in
simple substances" (GP II 276).
34. Leibniz repeats this argument on many occasions. See GP II 183—4/L
519; GP II 241/L 527; GP II 269/L 536; FN 328; GP IV 467.
35. Leibniz sometimes links the property of extension directly to a monad's
primitive passive power, which he describes as involving a "striving [exi-
gentia] for extension" (GP II 306). An interesting variation occurs in a
1707 letter to Des Bosses, where he explains extension as the "continu-
ous, simultaneous repetition of position," and remarks that "simple sub-
stance, although it does not have extension in itself, nonetheless has
position, which is the foundation of extension" (GP II 339). I take it that
he is here propounding a view like that advanced in Chapter 7. Although
a monad is not itself an extended thing, it acquires a spatial position by
virtue of expressing itself as being located in an extended body.
36. Cf. NE II, xxi, 72 (RB 210-11); GP III 606/L 655.

37. Cf. GP II 258, 275.
38. "But in the interior of things, since absolute reality is only in monads and
their perceptions, it is necessary that these perceptions be well-regulated,
that is, that the rules of fitness [convenance] be observed, for it is this which
dictates that the effect not exceed its cause*' (GP III 636). Cf. GP III 72.
39. To De Voider, he writes: "I fear that the force which is conceived to be in
extension or matter, as if outside of perceivers and their phenomena, is of
the same [illusory] nature. For there can be nothing real in nature except
simple substances and the aggregates resulting from them. But in the
simple substances themselves we know nothing besides perceptions or the
reasons for them. Whoever assumes more must give marks by which
these additional natures are to be verified and proved" (GP II 281—2).
See also the draft of this letter at GP II 281-2.
40. In a manuscript fragment, Leibniz writes: "[I]n sensible qualities there is
nothing real except force and resistance, or to dynamikon. The rest is owed
to imagination or opinion or convention [to norno]" (LH IV II, 2e, Bl. 14).
41. "[E]ntelechy, primary and inborn [insita] force, can indeed be distinctly
understood, but cannot be explained in terms of images" (GP IV 507). Cf.
GP II 270.
42. To De Voider, Leibniz writes: "[Y]ou see that once we begin an analysis of
concepts, we always arrive at last at the view which I am urging. It is really
not surprising that the Cartesians have failed to understand the nature of
corporeal substance and to arrive at true principles, since they consider
extension as something absolute, irresolvable, ineffable, or primitive. For
trusting their sense perceptions, and perhaps also seeking the applause
of men, they were content to stop where their sense perceptions stopped,
even though they also boasted, elsewhere, that they had distinguished
sharply between the sensible and the intelligible realms" (GP II 269/L
5 36 )7 ) .
43. For a discussion of this point, see the last section of Rutherford 1995a.
44. The best example of this is the position of Henry More, who advances an
immaterial "hylarchic principle," precisely so as to be able to account for
the activity and law-governed ness of matter. In his Immortality of the Soul
(1659), More describes this principle as "a substance incorporeal, but
without Sense and Animadversion, pervading the whole Matter of the
Universe, and exercising a plastical power therein according to the sun-
dry predispositions and occasions in the parts it works upon, raising such
Phaenomena in the World, by directing the parts of the Matter and their
Motions, as cannot be resolved into meer Mechanical powers." Quoted in
Hall 1990, 115.
45. Cf. GM VI 246/L 444-5.
46. For a valuable discussion of Leibniz's rejection of the "theo-mechanist"
position, see C. Wilson 1989, chap. 4.
47. Cf. A I 10, 60; Becco 1978.
48. In a 1698 letter to Johann Bernoulli, Leibniz writes: "From soul or form
. . . I deduce no particular phenomena, but only the nature of body and
forces in general. I hold that gravity, elastic force, attractions, repulsions,
magnetic directions and all other things of this type can be explained
mechanically; but the principles themselves I derive from the dynamic or
from forms, as if these had been introduced by God and are now the
innate laws of corporeal nature. For it is not to be thought that nature
wanders by the order of God, as if by an edict issued to a subordinate"
(GM III 544-5)-
264 NATURE
49. Leibniz does attribute to God the capacity to "read" in the perceptions of
any monad the state of every other monad in the universe. I take it this
means that given his knowledge of any one monad's perceptions, God
would be able to draw conclusions, based on correlations among monadic
points of view, regarding the corresponding perceptions of every other
monad (cf. C 15/8 176—7; D II 2, 154). This, however, does not entail the
type of conceptual analysis envisioned in the text: an analysis leading
from particular corporeal properties to particular monadic ones.
50. Cf. GP II 444/L 602.
51. Cf. GP II 275; GP III 636.
52. Cf. GP II 503/L 613.
53. If this is difficult to imagine, think of a crowd of people pressing against a
closed door. To an external observer who did not distinguish this mass as
a mass of human bodies, the outcome of this situation —whether the door
did or did not resist the force impressed on it — could be described
entirely in terms of the laws of mechanics. From the perspective of each
human being involved, on the other hand, the scene would be first and
foremost one of intentional effort.
54. On the importance of the notion of elasticity and its relation to the
infinite division of matter, see Westfall 1971, 294-5; Breger 1984; Gar-
ber 1995, sec. 4.4.
10
Corporeal Substance and
the Union of Soul and Body
Although Leibniz's later metaphysics is dominated by his theory of

monads, we have found that it also incorporates a complex set of views
about the nature and structure of matter, including the thesis that
matter is everywhere composed of an infinity of organic creatures.
According to the interpretation advanced here, there is no inconsis-
tency between this thesis and the claim that reality consists solely of
monads, for we have seen that we may construe the panorganic struc-
ture of matter as a "result" of monads and their intrinsic modifica-
tions. Nevertheless, from the 1680s on, Leibniz shows signs of being
drawn toward a more robust conception of the reality of organic
creatures. Some authors have contended that he embraces such crea-
tures as true corporeal substances. In writings from his middle peri-
od, it has been argued, Leibniz "recognizes two distinct and genuinely
different varieties of substance": soullike substances and corporeal
substances, "forms or souls united to bodies, and understood on the
model of living things."1 Going this far, it has been only natural to see
traces of this position — one recognizing the reality of corporeal sub-
stances - in Leibniz's later writings, even when it is clear that his
primary conception of substance has stabilized around the notion of
the monad.2
I have already expressed some skepticism concerning this reading.3
In this chapter, I examine in a more systematic way the extent of
Leibniz's commitment to corporeal substances. I propose to do this by
focusing on his treatment of the union of soul and body. If Leibniz is
committed to the existence of corporeal substances, a paradigm of
which is the embodied human being, then he owes us some account of
how such substances are possible. In his considered view, it is a neces-
sary condition for something's being a substance that it be a "true
unity," or unum per se. In the case of a corporeal substance, however,
we are presented with an entity that is prima facie not a unity but a
plurality: a composite of a soul, which is a true unity or substance, and
a body, which is itself composed of a plurality of other substances. The
easiest way for Leibniz to surmount this difficulty is to offer some
account of the union by which a soul and a body are conjoined so as to
form a single entity. And in fact, this is just what he does. Throughout
his mature writings we find intensive discussion of the problem of
266 NATURE
soul-body union in conjunction with the larger topic of corporeal

substance. In what follows, I concentrate on two questions. First, what
type of union does Leibniz take to be necessary in order that the
composite of a soul and its body form an unum per se, or substance?
Second, to what extent is he committed to this type of substantial
union? My response to these questions will favor the conclusion that
once he is aware of the full cost of such a union, Leibniz is inclined not
to defend its existence or the existence of composite corporeal sub-
stances.
From the Discourse to

the Correspondence with De Voider
As far back as the Discourse on Metaphysics, Leibniz is eager to deflate
the problem of the union of the soul and the body. The "great mys-
tery" of this union is equated in DM §33 with the problem of the
mutual agreement of the soul and the body, that is, the problem of
how stimulation of the body's sensory organs gives rise to appropriate
sensations in the soul and how volitions of the will terminate in appro-
priate bodily motions. As we have seen, Leibniz maintains that this
agreement can only be intelligibly explained in terms of the "concomi-
tance" - or preestablished harmony - of the operations of the soul
and the body. Thus, the reason for the agreement of the soul and the
body, and hence for their union, is that each has been created from
the start such that through the exercise of its own natural powers
there follow just those operations which correspond to those of the
other.
There is evidence that during the 1680s Leibniz believed that this
type of union was sufficient to render the composite of a human soul
and a human body an unum per se, or substance. The section of the
Discourse announcing his account of union is immediately followed by
one that begins: "Assuming that the bodies that make up an unum per
se, as does man, are substances, that they have substantial forms . . . "
(Le 87/AG 65).4 And a similar pattern is observed in the Arnauld
correspondence, where Leibniz defends the "hypothesis of concomi-
tance" as an account of soul-body union, and also maintains that the
soul is the substantial form of the body, which produces a "substantial
unity" in what is otherwise only an unum per accidens (GP II 76-7/M
94-5) or "unity of aggregation" (GP II 100/M 125). In one passage,
he appears to link these two theories inferentially: "The s o u l . . . is the
form of its body because it is an expression of the phenomena of all
bodies in accordance with their relationship to its own" (GP II 58/M
65-6). This evidence is by no means decisive, but it does suggest that
during this period Leibniz was disposed to think that insofar as the
CORPOREAL SUBSTANCE AND SOUL-BODY UNION 267
hypothesis of concomitance offers an explanation of the union of the

soul and the body, it also supplies a basis for understanding the hu-
man soul as a substantial form that endows its body with the per se
unity of a substance.5
There is at least one text, however, that might lead us to question
this conclusion. In De mundo praesenti, a piece written around the time
of the Discourse, Leibniz has this to say:
Substantial form is a principle of action, or a primitive force of acting. But
there is in every substantial form some thought, that is, the expression or
representation of external things in some individual thing, according to
which [secundum quam] the body is an unum per se, namely in the substantial
form itself; and this representation is joined with a reaction or endeavor
[conatu] or appetite, which agrees with the thought of acting. (LH IV 7C Bl.
111-14 [V 417-8])
As he presents his position here, the unity of a corporeal substance
depends on two factors. First, the substantial form is itself an unumper
se, which "endures by its own nature." Second, this form provides its
body with a principle of unity by virtue of representing it as a single
enduring thing. Regardless of how its parts may change, the body
remains the thing it is, insofar as it continues to be perceived as such
by the soul. Now this seems to be essentially the position that Leibniz
also advances to Arnauld. In this passage, however, we encounter an
interesting wrinkle. Accepting that a substantial form unifies its body
simply by representing it as a unity, Leibniz draws the conclusion that
the body is an unum per se only in the substantial form itself. This is a
significant admission, which might make us suspect that in this period
Leibniz either had no coherent notion of substantial unity or was
prepared to be less than fully forthright in his claims about the unity
of corporeal substance. To suggest that the body is an unumper se only
in the substantial form is tantamount to admitting that their composite
— an embodied creature — is not an unum per se. Only the form has this
property, and the unity it confers on its body is a mind-dependent
one. Throughout the 1680s, Leibniz sharply distinguishes between
composite beings, whose unity is mind-dependent, and substances,
whose unity is intrinsic to their being.6 According to the explanation
offered in De mundo praesenti, it would seem to be the lesser type of
unity that a substantial form bestows on its body: The body of a
corporeal substance remains one only by virtue of being represented
as such by its substantial form. The whole issue, however, remains
quite obscure. As noted already, in the Arnauld correspondence Leib-
niz holds that the soul is the form of its body because of a certain
relation of expression. On the face of it, this would seem to support
only a mind-dependent unity. Nevertheless, in the same correspon-
dence, Leibniz insists that by virtue of its substantial form an embod-
268 NATURE
ied creature becomes an unum per se. A man, he writes, is "an entity
endowed with a genuine unity conferred on him by his soul, notwith-
standing the fact that the mass of his body is divided into organs,
vessels, humors, spirits, and that the parts are undoubtedly full of an
infinity of other corporeal substances endowed with their own en-
telechies" (GP II 120/M 154).
We can best understand the problem Leibniz is struggling with in
the 1680s if we see him as attempting to accommodate an orthodox
conception of the unity of corporeal substance within the novel con-
straints of his own metaphysics. It is helpful in this context to compare
his view of soul—body union with that of Suarez. According to Suarez,
the union of any form with its matter - and hence of the human soul
with the human body - is a product of the "causality of form," or that
by which the form "necessarily communicates itself through itself to
matter, that is, not by effecting some other similar thing, but by com-
municating its own perfection and being to the latter, and by in this
way actuating it."7 Through the causality by which a form actuates its
matter and is thereby united with it, there arises a "composite substan-
tial nature," which is a unity per se. An example of this is the embod-
ied human being.8 Now, it is plausible to think that Leibniz has his
sights set on a position like this, consonant with religious doctrine and
a certain sort of common sense. However, he is bound by very differ-
ent starting points. He regards the soul as playing the role of a sub-
stantial form with respect to its organic body. The soul provides its
body with a principle of identity: The body persists as the thing it is
only to the extent that it is associated with the soul. Furthermore, it is
only through the body that the soul is located with respect to other
things and that it is able to act on and be acted on by other things. Yet
Leibniz is convinced that there is no direct contact or communication
between a soul and its body, not even a "causality of form." At most,
there is an agreement between the operations of the two, an agree-
ment grounded in the soul's capacity to express in an immediate man-
ner the state of its particular body. In virtue of this agreement, it is
possible to make assertions about the actions of the soul on the body,
or vice versa. However, such assertions must be understood solely in
terms of correlations among their respective states. One thing is
judged to act on another insofar as it expresses the latter more dis-
tinctly, or there is found within it an explanation of the changes that
occur in the latter.9
Because Leibniz limits what he calls the "physical" union of the soul
and the body to their preestablished harmony, he can at best mimic
Suarez's account of the unity of the soul—body composite. For Leibniz,
the soul is united with its body to the extent that it represents that
body as a single enduring thing, within which it is located and on
CORPOREAL SUBSTANCE AND SOUL —BODY UNION 269
which and through which it acts. Yet all of this amounts simply to a set
of facts about the correlation between the actions of the soul and
those of the body. If preestablished harmony is the correct explana-
tion of soul—body union, then there is no deeper truth about how the
soul unifies the plurality of lesser creatures that make up its body. In
Leibniz's view, we may justifiably claim that there is within any living
creature a genuine unum per se: its soul. However, we cannot conceive
of this soul as conferring the true unity of a substance on the multi-
plicity of its body.10
We are left, I would suggest, with two possible explanations of
Leibniz's treatment of corporeal substance during the 1680s. At this
time, he may simply not have thought through the full consequences
of his doctrine of preestablished harmony for the unity of the soul-
body composite. Alternatively, he may have been well aware of these
consequences, yet willingly accepted the advantage of seeming to
defend the orthodox position that the soul—body composite is an
unum per se, when, strictly speaking, he could claim this only of the
soul itself. Although the latter hypothesis may hint too strongly of the
"preference for cheap popularity" that Russell discerned in Leibniz's
character,11 we shall find that in his later career Leibniz did not hesi-
tate to tailor the presentation of his views on corporeal substance to
match the expectations of his audience. In the present context, how-
ever, this is not an adequate explanation of the confusion we find in
his writings.12 This confusion is instead rooted, I believe, in the blur-
ring of two different conceptions of the necessary conditions for the
existence of a corporeal substance. According to the weaker of these
conceptions, for a living body to qualify as a corporeal substance
nothing more is required than that there be a substantial form that
functions as a principle of unity and identity for that body: a principle
according to which that body can be understood as enduring through
change as the same one body.13 As we have seen, by virtue of its
capacity to express the operations of its body, a substantial form can
be regarded as playing this role. As a result, there is reason for Leib-
niz to view the soul-body composite as an enduring corporeal sub-
stance.
We have also discovered, however, a stronger conception of sub-
stantial unity that lies at the very heart of Leibniz's metaphysics. Ac-
cording to this conception, something qualifies as a substance only if it
is intrinsically a unity, or an unum per se. It is this conception of unity
that cannot plausibly be ascribed to the soul-body composite. Al-
though the soul is itself an unum per se, the basis for its union with the
body is, in Leibniz's view, limited to the preestablished harmony of
their operations. This type of union does not support the assertion of
an intrinsic, or per se, unity. Consequently, in the strictest sense of the
27O NATURE
term, the soul—body composite should not be identified as a corporeal

substance. We shall see in the next section that this point was eventually
brought home to Leibniz in his exchange with Tournemine. During
the 1680s and 1690s, however, we find no explicit recognition of this
point. Instead, a persistent blurring of the difference between these
two conceptions of substantial unity allows Leibniz to maintain both
that preestablished harmony is the correct explanation of soul-body
union and that embodied living creatures are corporeal substances.14
Almost a decade after the Discourse, when preparing to make public
for the first time his view of the soul-body relationship, Leibniz writes
to the French prelate Bossuet:
I am working now to put into writing the way that I believe to be unique in
explaining intelligibly the union of the soul with the body, without having
need of recourse to a special concourse of God or of employing expressly the
intervention of the first cause for what occurs ordinarily in secondary causes.
(A I 10, 143)
The piece that Leibniz announces himself to be at work on is his New
System, the complete title of which reads: New System of the Nature and
Communication of Substances, and of the Union of the Soul and the Body. In
another letter to Bossuet, which enclosed the manuscript of this essay
for his approval, Leibniz writes confidently: "I believe I have resolved
the great problem of the union of the soul and the body. My explana-
tion will be presented as a hypothesis, but I take it to be demon-
strated."15 In the New System itself, he frames his solution as follows:
[T]he organized mass, in which the point of view of the soul lies, being
expressed more closely by the soul, is in turn ready to act by itself, following
the laws of the corporeal machine, at the moment when the soul wills it to act,
without the one disturbing the laws of the other. . . . [I]t is this mutual rela-
tion, regulated in advance in each substance of the universe, which produces
what we call their communication,16and which alone constitutes the union of soul
and body. (GP IV 484-5/AG 144)
What we are led to understand from the New System is that a soul is
united with an organic body to the extent that it expresses most dis-
tinctly the operations of that body: It perceives itself as having a
"presence" in that body and as interacting with other bodies through
the instrumentality of that body. The union of the soul and the body
thus consists of nothing more than the fact that the perceptions of the
soul occur in harmony with the states of its body. Given this, we should
again conclude that the soul and its body together form only an acci-
dental unity, one dependent on the agreement between their respec-
tive states.17
Nevertheless, during this period, Leibniz continues to speak freely
of "corporeal substances." Typical of the way he presents his position
is a passage from a letter to Thomas Burnett, written around 1700:
In bodies, I distinguish corporeal substance from matter, and I distinguish

primary matter from secondary matter. Secondary matter is an aggregate or
composite of many corporeal substances, just as a herd is a composite of many
animals. But each animal, and each plant as well, is a corporeal substance,
having in itself the principle of unity which makes it that it is truly a substance
and not an aggregate. And this principle of unity is what is called a soul, or
else something that is analogous to a soul. But besides the principle of unity,
corporeal substance has its mass or secondary matter, which is still an aggre-
gate of other smaller corporeal substances, and this goes to infinity. (GP III
260—1)
On the basis of statements like this, it is certainly tempting to see

Leibniz as embracing the reality of corporeal substances. Yet given his
insistence that the union of the soul and the body is limited to a
relation of harmony, it is difficult to see how he could defend the
claim that the soul and the body together form an unum per se. In the
New System, at least, Leibniz seems to reject this position. There he
refers to living creatures as "corporeal substances," and even main-
tains that it is not just the soul "but the animal itself and its organic
machine" that are conserved through all change, including the ap-
pearance of death (GP IV 481/AG 141). He also asserts, however, that
the only "real unities" are unextended, soullike forms: "Only meta-
physical points or points of substance (constituted by forms or souls)
are exact and real, and without them there would be nothing real,
since without true unities there would be no multitude" (GP IV
483/AG 142).
This same pattern of commitments is observed when Leibniz begins
to defend the doctrine of monads. While reaffirming in this theory
the role of organisms as units of natural order, he insists that at a
fundamental level we are to conceive of such organisms as mere re-
sults: aggregates composed of a single dominant monad and a plu-
rality of lesser masslike monads.18 As we have seen, his general under-
standing of "beings through aggregation" is that they possess only an
accidental unity: a unity that exists insofar as a plurality of distinct
entities is related in such a way as to be conceived as one. While the
relation of a dominant monad to its bodily monads must be quali-
tatively distinguishable from the relations of other monads, it, too, for
Leibniz is merely a relation of harmony or correspondence. "With
regard to the relation between the different unities, and in particular
the relation between the mind and matter," he writes to the Electress
Sophie, "I have conceived the system of preestablished harmony" (K
IX 174). And Leibniz makes it clear that preestablished harmony is
precisely the sort of relation that results in no more than the acciden-
tal unity of a being through aggregation:
Beings through aggregation, such as a herd, a pool full of fish, a machine, are
only semibeings [semientia], whose reality consists in the union which a mind
272 NATURE
makes or in an extrinsic denomination or relation. Such is distance or the

preestablished harmony, which makes it that one thing seems to influence
another; these are therefore mental or relational results. (LH IV, III, 5c,
Bl. 23)
If the only relation uniting a dominant monad to the enmassed
monads of its body is that determined by their preestablished harmo-
ny, we have little choice but to conclude that a dominant monad does
not endow its body with the per se unity of a substance. Yet, again,
Leibniz persists in speaking of "corporeal substances." Representative
is a well-known letter to Burcher De Voider of 20 June 1703:
If you think of mass as an aggregate containing many substances, you can still
conceive of one preeminent substance, or a thing animated by a primary
entelechy, in it. On the other hand, in the monad or complete simple sub-
stance, I unite with an entelechy only a primitive passive force which is related
to the whole mass of the organic body. The remaining subordinate monads
placed in the organs do not make up a part of it, though they are immediately
required for it, and they combine [concurrunt] with the primary monad to
make the organic corporeal substance, or the animal or plant. I therefore
distinguish: (1) the primitive entelechy or soul; (2) primary matter or primi-
tive passive power; (3) the complete monad formed by these two; (4) mass or
secondary matter, or the organic machine in which innumerable subordinate
monads combine; and (5) the animal or corporeal substance which the domi-
nant monad makes into one machine. (GP II 252/L 530)
Two points are worth noting about this text. First, Leibniz is adamant
in this letter and in the rest of his correspondence with De Voider
that, strictly speaking, the only true unities are monads. 19 Given the
emphasis he places on this point, we must be extremely cautious in
how we interpret any references to "corporeal substance." Second, the
language he uses in this passage to describe how bodily monads "com-
bine" (concurrunt = "run together" or "coincide") with a dominant
monad is very weak, and need not be assumed to imply anything more
than an accidental unity. Based on what he says here, we have every
reason to think that the dominant monad makes its mass of subordi-
nate monads into "one machine" simply by virtue of representing
them as a single extended entity, as opposed to the plurality they
are. 20
We can, I believe, draw the following conclusions concerning Leib-
niz's view of corporeal substance, circa 1703. Every organism or living
creature is an aggregate composed of a dominant or soullike monad
and a mass of subordinate monads that constitute its organic body.
Between a dominant monad and its body there is only a "physical"
union, based on the harmony preestablished between the operations
of the former and those of the latter. Nevertheless, Leibniz feels war-
ranted in describing organic creatures as "corporeal substances,"
stressing in this way the role played by the dominant monad as the
substantial form of its body. Assuming that it defines the point of view
from which an organism represents the world, the dominant monad
functions as that organism's principle of unity and identity: Regard-
less of how its body (or the monads constituting its body) may change,
the dominant monad will continue to represent it (them) as the same
persisting body. Likewise, assuming the subordination of the body's
monads to the dominant monad, it is the latter that defines the char-
acteristic activity of the organism: The lesser monads of the body
necessarily represent their bodies as commanded by that of the domi-
nant monad, that is, by the body as a whole. These correlations
among the perceptions of monads support the notion that the domi-
nant monad acts as the substantial form of its body. At the same time,
however, this explanation of the monadic reality underlying the phe-
nomena demonstrates that, in the strictest sense, there is no unitary
organism, if this is understood as the composite of a soullike monad
and its associated corporeal mass. If Leibniz accepts the theory of
monads, he is committed to the rejection of organic creatures as ani-
mated bodies that possess the property of being an unum per se. At the
deepest level, the unity of the organism resides in the soul alone,
which persists as an embodied creature insofar as it always represents
some plurality of lesser monads as its organic body.21
I suggest that these conclusions define the central thrust of Leib-
niz's late metaphysics. Because it is a view contrary to both ordinary
experience and orthodox Christianity, it is, unsurprisingly, not one
for which Leibniz was able to find many ready adherents. Conse-
quently, during the last two decades of his life, he was forced to
expend considerable energy responding to critics of his metaphysics,
as well as simply explaining it to those who found its details bewilder-
ing. In the course of these efforts to reconcile his views with accepted
opinions, we find signs of what might appear to be retreats on Leib-
niz's part from the more extreme consequences of his position. This
applies especially to his account of corporeal substance. It remains for
us, then, to look more closely at these hesitations and to offer some
conclusion concerning the steadfastness of Leibniz's commitment to
the theory of monads.
The Challenge of Father Tournemine

One of the most significant challenges to Leibniz's late metaphysics
was initiated by Father Rene-Joseph de Tournemine, editor of the
Jesuit Journal de Trevoux, in an article published in May 1703. While
praising the doctrine of preestablished harmony as an improvement
over the "Cartesian" account of the soul-body relation, Tournemine
disputed Leibniz's claim to have offered an adequate explanation of
274 NATURE
their union. Seeing to the heart of Leibniz's position, he observed that
no simple harmony between the operations of the soul and body
could make it the case that the two together formed one substance, a
single human being. Hence, Leibniz had failed to explain the basis of
their union. 22 Tournemine identifies precisely the problem we
struggled with in the last section. To the extent that we embrace
Leibniz's account of union as preestablished harmony, we are barred
from providing an explanation of how the soul and the body combine
to form an unum per se.
Leibniz's reply to Tournemine, published in the same journal in
1708, is a masterful exercise in diplomacy.23 Respectful of the political
influence of the Jesuits, he has no interest in appearing overly innova-
tive. He is thus careful to insist that with his account, he does not deny
the possibility of a true "metaphysical" union between the soul and
the body:
I must admit that it would have been very wrong of me to object to the
Cartesians that the agreement God immediately maintains, between soul and
body, according to them, does not bring about a true union, since, to be sure,
my pre-established harmony would do no better than it does. My intent was to
explain naturally what they explain by perpetual miracles, and I tried to
account only for the phenomena, that is, for the relation that is perceived
between soul and body. But since the metaphysical union one adds is not a
phenomenon, and since no one has ever given an intelligible notion of it, I did
not take it upon myself to seek a reason for it. However, I do not deny that
there is something having this nature. (GP VI 595/AG 196—7)
On the surface, at least, this passage sees Leibniz recanting his strong
claim, in the New System and elsewhere, to have provided a solution to
the problem of soul—body union. Surely he is being disingenuous
when he writes in the same reply that he does not remember having
claimed that his preestablished harmony accounts for soul-body
union in a way that the Cartesian position does not. In any case, he
adds, "I declare that if I did ever make [this claim], I renounce it from
now on"; and he goes on to offer the preceding statement in its place. A
second crucial point is that Leibniz implicitly acknowledges here that
by itself the preestablished harmony of soul and body is insufficient to
render their composite an unum per se. For this, some additional meta-
physical union is necessary. Thus, whatever view he may have held in
the past concerning the relationship between the doctrine of pre-
established harmony and the substantiality of the soul-body compos-
ite, Leibniz now admits that the former is not enough. For the soul
and the body to form a composite substance, some stronger notion of
their unity is required.
It remains unclear exactly how much Leibniz commits himself to in
his reply to Tournemine. Is he really prepared to make room in his
philosophy for a metaphysical union between the soul and the body,
or is he merely engaged in a philosophical sleight of hand designed to
placate his Jesuit critic? Over and above the interest this question
holds from the point of view of Leibniz's later ontology, it takes us to
the very heart of his conception of the rational order of nature. The
crucial sentence in his reply is the following: "But since the metaphysi-
cal union one adds is not a phenomenon, and since no one has ever
given an intelligible notion of it, I did not take it upon myself to seek a
reason for it." The cynical reading of Leibniz's "recantation" would be
that while he does not rule out a metaphysical union as logically
impossible, he not only recognizes no grounds for believing that such
a union exists but positively discourages us from supposing its exis-
tence, since it has no phenomenal effects and no intelligible notion
can be formed of it.
Support for this reading can be found in his contemporary corre-
spondence with De Voider. In his last letter to De Voider, dated 19
January 1706, Leibniz writes:
You rightly despair of obtaining from me what I can give you no hope of
receiving and what I neither hope nor desire to find for myself. The Scholas-
tics commonly sought things which were not only ultramundane but Utopian.
The brilliant French Jesuit, Tournemine, recently gave me an excellent ex-
ample of this. He gave general approval of my pre-established harmony,
which seemed to him to supply a reason for the agreement which we perceive
between soul and body, but said that he still desired one thing - to know the
reason for the union between the two, which he held to differ from their
agreement. I replied that this mysterious [nescio quam] metaphysical union
which the School assumes in addition to their agreement is not a phenome-
non and that there is no concept [notionem] and, therefore, no knowledge
[notitiam] of it. So neither could I think of a reason that might be given for it.
(GPII 281/L 538-9)
While again not ruling out the possibility of a metaphysical union,
Leibniz is clearly much less sanguine here about its prospects. In
effect, he tells De Voider: Assume such a union if you want to engage
in pointless speculation; I who am interested in founding my meta-
physics on intelligible concepts alone will have no truck with it.24 The
contents of the De Voider correspondence strongly suggest that while
he is not prepared to deny outright the existence of a metaphysical
union, he also recognizes no positive grounds for asserting it. Seen
from this perspective, his reply to Tournemine must seem somewhat
contrived: an attempt to blunt the full force of his philosophy for the
sake of his critic.25
This conclusion is, I believe, essentially correct. It does not, how-
ever, quite represent the full story, for in certain contexts Leibniz
defends doctrines that though not contrary to reason, are nonetheless
"above reason." Creation, the Holy Trinity, the Incarnation, and the
276 NATURE
Eucharist all represent religious mysteries that surpass human reason
yet are not contrary to reason, because they do not contradict "abso-
lutely certain and indispensable truths." In this respect, they are ac-
ceptable as dogmas of religion: Because they are neither demon-
strated by reason nor oppose reason, they are properly the province
of faith.26 Now, the critical question for us is whether he believes that
the situation is the same for the metaphysical union of soul and body.
Can this be described as a "mystery" that surpasses reason yet is de-
fensible on the basis of faith? Both in his reply to Tournemine and in
the Theodicy, Leibniz associates soul-body union with the religious
mysteries in that, in both cases, we are capable of only a partial,
analogical understanding of the relevant notions. Although he does
not go so far as to claim that the metaphysical union of soul and body
is itself a mystery whose acceptance faith demands,27 in the Theodicy
he does appear confident of the existence of such a union:
[W]e also mean something when we speak of the union of the soul with the
body to make thereof one single person. For although I do not hold that
the soul changes the laws of the body, or that the body changes the laws of the
soul, and I have introduced the preestablished harmony to avoid this de-
rangement, I nevertheless admit a true union between the soul and the body,
which makes a supposition of them. This union belongs to the metaphysical,
whereas a union of influence would belong to the physical. ("Preliminary
Discourse," §55; GP VI 81/H 104)28
On the basis of the Theodicy alone, we would have to conclude that
Leibniz is quite sympathetic to the idea of a metaphysical union, and
hence to the idea of the human being as an unum per se or corporeal
substance.29 But we must remember that this is the Theodicy, a book
that Leibniz was prepared to release to the general public and for
which he craved the widest possible support. Working on the assump-
tion that a strong sense of caution directs all of Leibniz's actions, I
would suggest that this text is not the best guide to his deepest
thoughts. Some of these thoughts are, however, expressed in his late
correspondence with another Jesuit, Bartholomew Des Bosses, the
Latin translator of the Theodicy.
Des Bosses and the Vinculum Substantiate

Leibniz's correspondence with Des Bosses spans a ten-year period
(1706-16) and comprises more than 130 letters. What follows is thus
unavoidably a highly selective account of the ins and outs of this
complicated exchange. Before proceeding to the main issue, it is
worth quoting one passage in support of the claim that these letters
provide a more dependable guide to Leibniz's metaphysical views
than published works such as the Theodicy or his reply to Tourne-
mine. Fairly early on in their correspondence, Leibniz offers Des

Bosses the following admonition:
I do not think that those things which we have discussed concerning philo-
sophical matters are suited for communication in any public way. . . . I have
written these things for you, namely for the wise, not for any one at all. And
thus they are hardly appropriate for the Memoires de Trevoux, which is in-
tended more for a popular audience; I hope that you, by virtue of your
goodwill toward me, would not allow them to appear in such an unsuitable
place. (GP II 328)
This is as explicit a statement as one could hope for of Leibniz's
conviction that certain things are suited for communication in a pub-
lic forum and certain things are not: philosophical matters, which are
only safely debated with the "wise." If this is so, we should be able to
count on the Des Bosses correspondence to offer some insight into
Leibniz's most considered views concerning a metaphysical union.
The topic of substantial unity first surfaces in the correspondence
as part of Des Bosses's attempt to sound Leibniz out on the affinities
between his philosophy and that of the schools. In his second letter,
Des Bosses poses the question u[I]s there or is there not a true sub-
stantial unity in all the water which is, for example, contained in an
urn?" (GP II 297). Leibniz's response is predictable: "I think that
there is no more a substantial unity in water than in a group of fish
swimming in that very same pool" (GP II 300). In the draft of this
letter, however, in a deleted passage, he elaborates on his answer:
The union which I find some difficulty explaining is that which joins the
different simple substances or monads existing in our body with us, such that
it makes one thing [unum] from them; nor is it sufficiently clear how, in
addition to the existence of individual monads, there may arise a new existing
thing, unless they are joined by a continuous bond [continui vinculo], which
the phenomena display to us. (LBr 95 Bl. 11)
This passage is, so far as I know, the earliest instance of Leibniz's
appealing to the idea of a substantial "bond" in order to account for
the union of a plurality of monads within a single living creature. It
demonstrates that he had conceived of this device, and was sensitive
to the problem it was designed to solve, several years before his actu-
ally proposing it to Des Bosses during their discussion of transubstan-
tiation. At the time that this passage was written, Leibniz appears
reluctant to enter into any extended discussion of substantial
union. 30 In his first letter to Des Bosses, he had enclosed the auto-
graph of his reply to Tournemine. His intention in doing so, how-
ever, was simply to see whether Des Bosses could expedite its reach-
ing the Journal de Trevoux?1 On the topic of union, Leibniz is content
to reiterate his position that he does not deny a metaphysical union
278 NATURE
between the soul and the body, although he also does not see any
connection between this union and the phenomena.32
In September 1709, the correspondence takes a new turn. The
catalyst is Des Bosses's broaching the issue of how the doctrine of the
real presence of Christ's body in the Eucharist can be explained on
Leibniz's principles (GP II 388). Leibniz's response to this query is
revealing. As a Lutheran, he writes, he is personally committed to
neither transubstantiation (the orthodox Catholic position), nor con-
substantiation; that is, he himself believes neither that the substance
of the bread is transformed into the substance of the body of Christ,
nor that the substance of Christ's body comes to coexist with that of
the bread. All that he is prepared to accept is that Christ's body is
"present" in the sense that it is perceived (by God and the blessed) at
the time that the bread is received. While disengaging himself in this
way from the Catholic position, Leibniz nevertheless goes on to sug-
gest how transubstantiation might be accounted for in his philosophy.
Addressing the Catholic doctrine of real accidents, he hypothesizes
that the monads of the bread may be destroyed with respect to their
substantial nature — their primitive active and passive powers — while
preserving their accidents or derivative forces, and that the monads of
Christ's body may be substituted for them, with those new monads
exhibiting the phenomena of the bread by virtue of the preservation
of its accidents.33
Des Bosses is heartened by this response, yet raises an important
objection. He points out that unlike accidents, which are "absolute,"
Leibniz's derivative forces are modifications of primitive forces.
Hence, their being is wholly dependent on that of the primitive
forces, and with these destroyed the derivative forces will also be
destroyed (GP II 396). When Leibniz comes to reply to this criticism
he adopts a completely different tack. Now, instead of maintaining it is
the constitutive monads of the bread that are destroyed at the conse-
cration, he claims it is a certain "superadded union" that is destroyed,
to be replaced by "some divinely substituted equivalent" union:
Since bread is not in fact a substance, but a being through aggregation [ens per
aggregationem] or a substantiatum resulting from innumerable monads through
some superadded union, its substantiality resides in this union; thus it is not
necessary for your view that those monads be destroyed or changed by God,
but only that there be removed that through which they produce a new being
[ens novum], namely that union. In this way, the substantiality residing in them
will cease, although there will remain the phenomenon, which now will not
arise from those monads, but from some divinely substituted equivalent for
the union of those monads. Thus no substantial subject will in fact partici-
pate. However, those of us who reject transubstantiation have no need of such
things. (GP II 399)
CORPOREAL SUBSTANCE AND SOUL—BODY UNION 279
Although it is not identified by name or fully defined, there appears

here the first public hint of Leibniz's doctrine of the vinculum substan-
tiate or "substantial bond." Two years later, he provides Des Bosses
with a fuller statement of this theory in the letter that introduces the
term itself:
If a corporeal substance is something real, over and above monads, just as a
line is held to be something over and above points, then we will have to say
that corporeal substance consists in a certain union, or better, in a real unify-
ing thing that God superadds to the monads. . . . And so one must say one of
the following two things: either bodies are mere phenomena, and so exten-
sion will also be only a phenomenon and the monads alone will be real, [and]
the union will be provided by the operation of the perceiving mind on the
phenomena, or, if faith compels us to accept corporeal substances, we must
say that the substance consists in that unifying [unionalis] reality that adds
something complete (and therefore substantial), though in flux, to those things
that are to be united. Your transubstantiation must be located in its change,
for monads aren't really ingredients of this thing which is added, but requi-
sites for it, although they are required not by absolute and metaphysical
necessity, but things merely needed for it. And so the monads can remain, as
well as the sensible phenomena grounded on them, even if the substance of
the body is changed. . . . To speak candidly, however, I should prefer to
explain the accidents of the Eucharist through phenomena; then we will not
need nonmodal accidents, for which I care very little. (GP II 435—7/AG
i98"99)
The first thing to note about these last two letters is the way Leibniz
explicitly distances himself from the position he is describing. "Those
of us who reject transubstantiation have no need of such things," he
says at the end of the first passage; and at the end of the second: "To
speak candidly . . . I should prefer to explain the accidents of the
Eucharist through phenomena." Nevertheless, he goes on for several
years discussing with Des Bosses the details of this account of substan-
tial union and its implications for the doctrine of transubstantiation.
Very briefly, his conclusions are these:34
1. A plurality of monads that together make up an organism (i.e., a
plurality that includes a dominant monad to which the remaining
monads are subordinated) will qualify as an unum per se, or corporeal
substance, if and only if its members are united by a vinculum substan-
tiate', otherwise, they will form only an ens per aggregationem, and the
body will be no more than a phenomenon. 35
2. A vinculum substantiate is itself a substantial thing, not a mode or
accident; it is identified with what is proper to a corporeal substance.
In Leibniz's terms, the addition of a substantial bond "realizes" or
"substantializes" the phenomenon of a body.
3. A given set of monads is naturally required by the substantial
bond that unifies them, but not essentially required by it. The monads
28O NATURE
can continue to exist without that bond (although they will then form
only an ens per aggregationem); and, conversely, that bond can through
a miracle be united with a completely different set of monads.
4. The phenomenal accidents of bodies are grounded in (or are
results of) their constitutive monads; nevertheless, in a secondary
sense these accidents are also modifications of the substantial bond,
which naturally receives its modifications from the monads it unites
"as an echo" (GP II 495-6/L 610-11).
5. Although bread is not itself a corporeal substance, it is an aggre-
gate of corporeal substances. Transubstantiation can now be ex-
plained as follows: At the moment of the consecration, God destroys
the substantial bonds of the monads constitutive of the bread and
substitutes for them the bond definitive of the substantiality of
Christ's body. Because the monads of the bread remain, the same
phenomena will remain. But those phenomena now miraculously be-
come modifications of the substantial bond of Christ's body. A sub-
stantial change thus occurs without any change occurring in the mo-
nads themselves or in the phenomena that result from them (GP II
459, 482).
This does not cover all the intricacies of the theory Leibniz presents
to Des Bosses, but it is sufficient for our purposes. It is, to say the
least, a theory of baroque complexity. It is also a theory that never
completely convinces Des Bosses, who persistently presses Leibniz on
the need for real accidents. Most important of all, the theory strikes
one as being little more than an academic exercise for Leibniz, as he
himself at one point all but admits to Des Bosses.36 From the outset,
Leibniz makes it clear that he personally does not accept the doctrine
of transubstantiation. Thus, he can hardly be held responsible for a
theory that is introduced solely for the purposes of accounting for
that doctrine. 37 On its own, the theory of substantial bonds is some-
thing of an embarrassment. Leibniz holds that the addition of a sub-
stantial bond to an aggregate of monads has no effect on the phenom-
ena that result from that aggregate. The bond can be added or
removed by God at will without any discernible change. At the same
time, corporeal accidents are claimed as modifications of substantial
bonds, which they receive "as an echo" from the monads they unite.
It is little wonder that Leibniz periodically comes back to reassert his
own preference for the theory of monads. Midway through the corre-
spondence he writes: "I consider the explanation of all phenomena
solely through the perceptions of monads functioning in harmony
with each other, with corporeal substances rejected, to be useful for a
fundamental investigation of things" (GP II 450/L 604).38 He presses
Des Bosses to suggest a way in which transubstantiation can be recon-
ciled with "the hypothesis of bodies reduced to phenomena" (GP II
CORPOREAL SUBSTANCE AND SOUL-BODY UNION 28l
452). Yet at bottom Leibniz seems to realize that such a reconciliation

is impossible. For his own part, he remains satisfied to explain the
miracle of the Eucharist in terms of the perceived presence alone of
Christ's body.39
Coda
The Des Bosses correspondence is of critical importance for empha-
sizing the point that, within the theory of monads, composite corpo-
real substance is only conceivable on the condition that there is admit-
ted a real union among monads, in the form of something like a
vinculum substantiale. Such a union does not come cheaply in Leibniz's
philosophy. In contemporary notes, he suggests that a real union
would require an act of divine will over and above the act that issues in
the creation of monads and their preestablished harmony.40 Al-
though a handful of passages show Leibniz seriously pondering such
a device, the most reliable texts come down firmly on the side of
monads alone, with real union and composite substance rejected. And
this is exactly what we should expect given his deep and abiding
commitment to the ideality of relations.41
When presented with challenges to this conclusion we can only
proceed on a case-by-case basis, paying careful attention to context. I
end with one such case. A passage that seems on the face of it to
acknowledge the existence of composite substance is §3 of the Princi-
ples of Nature and of Grace:
[E]ach distinct simple substance or monad, which makes up the center of a
composite substance (an animal, for example) and is the principle of its unity,
is surrounded by a mass composed of an infinity of other monads, which
constitute the body belonging to this central monad. (GP VI 598-9/AG 207)
To assess the significance of this passage, we should be aware of three
things.42 First, the reference to "composite substance" does not ap-
pear in the first draft of the Principles. There Leibniz merely writes
that "each simple substance or monad is surrounded by a mass com-
posed of an infinity of other monads, which constitute its organic
body."43 Second, the Principles were specifically prepared for a popu-
lar audience: on the one hand, Prince Eugen in Vienna; on the other,
the circle of the Due d'Orleans in Paris. Third, at the same time he was
preparing the Principles, Leibniz composed another summary of his
system, which was intended for Nicolas Remond, chief counselor to
the Due d'Orleans, who had been pleading for a further elaboration
of his views. The document Leibniz prepared is remarkable in being
one of the most explicit statements extant of his reduction of matter
to monads; it contains no mention of real union or corporeal sub-
stances.44 It ends with this cautionary remark to Remond:
282 NATURE
But I fear that this letter so full of abstract thoughts far removed from what is
commonly imagined may repel you. I would ask that you not meditate on it
for too long at one time; it would be better to return to it. I want you to note,
however, how I value you and honor you in writing to you what I would not
readily write to others. Thus, this letter must be only for you. Many others
would find it absurd or unintelligible. (GP III 624)
Leibniz in fact never sent this document to Remond. He instead for-
warded a copy of the less abstract Principles of Nature and of Grace, now
emended to include a mention of "composite substance." We can only
conclude that on reflection he decided that Remond was not among
"the wise" and that it would be imprudent to reveal his mind too
openly to him. 45
In this small incident of a text drafted and a text withdrawn, two
valuable lessons are contained. Reinforced is the point that Leibniz's
deep metaphysics - the "abstract thoughts" that many would find
"absurd or unintelligible" - is the metaphysics of monads, in which all
other beings, including living creatures, are no more than "phenome-
na" and "results." Underscored at the same time is the importance of
the remark once made to Placcius, "whoever knows me only by what I
have published does not know me" (D VI 1, 65). Whatever the under-
lying motivation, there is no doubt that Leibniz was prepared to tailor
his message to suit the needs and expectations of his audience. As
readers of his works, we must be sensitive to these differences, capa-
ble of distinguishing the discours exoterique from the discours acromati-
que. Nowhere is this more critical than in the case of Leibniz's lifelong
engagement with the question of corporeal substance. 46
Notes
1. Garber 1985, 63. Cf. Broad 1975, 87-90.
2. See Garber 1985, 65—6; C. Wilson 1989, 191—4.
3. See Chapter 6.
4. As noted in Chapter 6, Leibniz's views concerning body and corporeal
substance remain unsettled in the Discourse. In early drafts in particular, a
number of sections raise doubts about whether there are any corporeal
substances, or whether minds alone are substances and bodies only phe-
nomena. See DM §§11, 12, 14, 34, 35.
5. In the Arnauld correspondence, Leibniz initially appears uncertain how
far to extend the doctrine of corporeal substances. In his letter of 8
December 1686, he writes: "[I]f I am asked in particular what I say about
the sun, the earthly globe, the moon, trees, and other similar bodies, and
even about beasts, I cannot be absolutely certain whether they are ani-
mated, or even whether they are substances, or, indeed, whether they are
simply machines or aggregates of several substances. But at least I can say
that if there are no corporeal substances such as I claim, it follows that
bodies would be only true phenomena, like the rainbow. . . . And if there
were none, it then follows that, with the exception of man, there is noth-
ing substantial in the visible world" (GP II 77/AG 80). What is most
striking about this passage is Leibniz's confidence that "man" is an excep-
tion. The explanation is perhaps found in the following remark to Ar-
nauld from the same letter: "Besides, the last Lateran council declares
that the soul is truly the substantial form of our body" (GP II 75/AG 78).
Later in the correspondence, Leibniz seems more willing to assert the
existence of an infinity of lesser substantial forms. See his letters of 30
April and 9 October 1687 ( G P H 99-100/M 124-5; G P H 118-20/M
151-4)-
6. See his letter to Arnauld of 30 April 1687: "One will never find any fixed
principle for making a genuine substance from many beings through
aggregation; for example, if those parts which conspire towards one and
the same end are more fitted for composing a genuine substance than
those which are contiguous, all the officers of the Dutch East Indies
Company will form a real substance, much better than a heap of stones.
But what is the common end, if not a likeness, or else an order of active
and passive relationships which our mind perceives in different things?"
(GP II 101/M 127). As I understand Leibniz's account of soul—body
union, it is likewise based on nothing more than an "order of active and
passive relationships." Hence, it determines only a being through aggre-
gation.
7. Disputationes Metaphysicae XV, vi, 7 (Suarez 1965, vol. 1, 520).
8. Disputationes Metaphysicae XV, vi, 10; XV, i, 6 (ibid., 524, 499).
9. See DM §15; GP II 69-71/M 84-8.
10. In earlier writings, Leibniz had advanced an account of soul-body union
that is much closer to that of Suarez. According to the theory of "hyposta-
tic union," a mind A unifies a body B just in case (1) A is a thing which
subsists per se, (2) A can only act on other things through B, and (3) A acts
immediately on B and not through anything else. See De incarnatione dei
seu de unione hypostatica, 1669—70 (A VI 1, 532—5), and the discussion in
Mercer and Sleigh 1995. Whether or not we accept this theory as offering
a coherent account of the unity of the soul-body composite, it clearly
cannot have the same force once Leibniz begins to interpret causal rela-
tions in terms of preestablished harmony. When he makes this move, he
rules out the possibility of the mind's unifying the parts of the body
through a direct action on them. Once again, there will be at most a
unification of the body in the mind, which represents the parts of the
body as a persisting whole.
11. Russell 1937, vi.
12. Note that the text that most clearly indicates this confusion, De mundo
praesenti, consists of Leibniz's private working notes.
13. In notes ca. 1678—82, Leibniz writes: "Substantial form or soul is the
principle of unity and duration, matter that of multitude and change"
(LH XXXV 11, 14 Bl. 16-21 [V 2039]).
14. Glenn Hartz has objected that even if Leibniz cannot give an explanation
of how the soul and the body unite to form an unum per se, his many
references to corporeal substance show he believes they must (cf. Hartz
1992, 540). I would find this objection more compelling if Leibniz did not
go out of his way to urge the doctrine of preestablished harmony as a
solution to the problem of soul—body union. In offering such a "solu-
tion," Leibniz is claiming to know what makes the soul and the body a
single composite entity; however, his account defines the soul—body com-
284 NATURE
posite as an unum per accidens rather than an unum per se. In response, it
might be argued that Leibniz's account of union as preestablished harmo-
ny does not rule out his entertaining a stronger notion of union that
could succeed in rendering the soul—body composite an unum per se. As
we shall see, this is a position to which Leibniz is driven — but not until the
early years of the eighteenth century.
15. Bossuet 1912, vol. 6, 348.
16. See also the draft of the New System (GP IV 476).
17. This, I take it, is the significance of Leibniz's cryptic statement that "the
soul has its seat in the body by an immediate presence which could not be
greater, since the soul is in the body as unity is in the resultant [resultat] of
unities, which is a multitude" (GP IV 485/AG 144). I assume he is using
the term "resultant" in the sense discussed in Chapter 8. Five years after
the publication of the New System, Leibniz's position has, if anything, only
hardened. He writes to the Electress Sophie on 12 June 1700: "I do not
agree that it is impossible for human reason to conceive of that in which
consists the union of the soul with the body. I would believe instead that
this problem is now entirely resolved by a system explained elsewhere"
(GP VII 555).
18. GP VII 501-2; D III 499-500; C 13-14/P 175.
19. See GP II 250/L 529; GP II 256, 261-2; GP II 265/L 535; GP II 269/L
537; GP II 275-8; GP II 281-2/L 539.
20. In the same letter, Leibniz stresses that a dominant monad exerts no
influence on the enmassed monads of its body: "Properly and rigorously
speaking, perhaps, we should not say that the primitive entelechy impels
the mass of its body, but only that it is joined with a primitive passive
power which it completes, or with which it constitutes a monad. Nor can it
influence other entelechies, not even the substances existing in the same
mass" (GP II 250).
21. Although this point is usually left implicit, it does have textual support. In
a letter to De Voider of 9/20 January 1700, Leibniz writes: "When I say
that the soul or entelechy cannot affect the body, I do not mean by this a
corporeal substance, of which it is the entelechy which is one substance, but an
aggregate of all the other corporeal substances constituting our organs,
for one substance cannot influence another and thus also cannot influ-
ence an aggregate of others" (GP II 205; emphasis added). See also his
1698 letter to Johann Bernoulli: "But although the body of an animal, or
my organic body, is composed in turn of innumerable substances, nev-
ertheless these are not parts of the animal or of me" (GM III 537); and his
letter to Fardella of March 1690 (FN 324/V 2157). A good example of
Leibniz's effort to preserve the vocabulary of "corporeal substance," while
at the same time claiming that reality consists only of monads, is his letter
to Bierling of 12 August 1711: "I call corporeal substance that which con-
sists of a simple substance or monad (that is, a soul or soul-analogue) and
an organic body that is united to it. But mass is an aggregate of corporeal
substances. . . . [A]ny mass contains innumerable monads, for although
any one organic body in nature has its corresponding [dominant] monad,
it nevertheless contains in its parts other monads endowed in the same
way with organic bodies subservient to the primary one; and the whole of
nature is nothing else, for it is necessary that every aggregate result from
simple substances, as if from true elements" (GP VII 501-2).
22. Referring to Leibniz's figure of the soul and the body as two clocks work-
ing in perfect harmony, Tournemine writes: "[C]orrespondence, har-

mony, does not bring about either union or essential connection. What-
ever resemblance one might suppose between two clocks, however justly
their relations might be considered perfect, one can never say that the
clocks are united just because the movements correspond with perfect
symmetry" (AG 196). For the original text, see "Conjectures sur l'Union
de l'Ame et du Corps," Journal de Trevoux, ou Memoires pour servir a Vhis-
toire des sciences et des arts, vol. Ill (1703), 869—70. In raising this objection
to Leibniz's position, Tournemine is defending church doctrine (cf.
Leibniz's reference in note 5 to the declaration of the Fifth Lateran Coun-
cil), as well as the standard position of Jesuit scholastic philosophy. Con-
cerning the latter, see Boehm 1962.
23. "Remarque de Monsieur de Leibnits sur un endroit des Memoires de
Trevoux du mois de Mars 1704," Journal de Trevoux, vol. VII (1708), 488-
91. The date cited in the article's title is an error.
24. Garber (1985, 110, n. 60) recognizes this passage as less positive toward
the idea of a metaphysical union but suggests this is because it was written
before Leibniz's reply to Tournemine. This is not correct. Although
Leibniz's reply did not appear in the Journal de Trevoux until 1708, it was
submitted to Tournemine before his last letter to De Voider in January
1706, as this letter in fact suggests. There Leibniz clearly states that he has
replied [respondi] to Tournemine. The evidence that Leibniz had already
sent his reply to the Journal and that it had been lost along the way
appears in the first letters he exchanged with Des Bosses. See Leibniz's
letters of 2 February and 14 February 1706 (GP II 296, 301). It seems that
his reply eventually reached Tournemine through the intercession of
Des Bosses (GP II 354). If this is right, then the rather more negative tone
of his January 1706 letter to De Voider tells us something about Leibniz's
true attitude toward the idea of a metaphysical union.
25. See also his letter to the Electress Sophie of May 1706: "[I]f in addition to
the relation between the mind and the body, by which what happens in
one corresponds by itself to what happens in the other, I am still asked in
what consists their union, I am not in a position to reply. For this union is
not a phenomenon which makes itself known by any sensible effects
beyond those of this relation, and we cannot here go above and beyond
the phenomena" (K IX 174-5).
26. See Theodicy, "Preliminary Discourse," §5 (GP VI 52/H 76); §23 (GP VI
64/H 88).
27. This might be thought to be contradicted by his letter to Des Bosses of 5
February 1710: "[I]f faith compels us to accept corporeal substances, we
must say that the substance consists in that unifying reality that adds
something complete (and therefore substantial), though in flux, to those
things that are to be united" (GP II 435/AG 198). This passage, however,
must be read with the knowledge that Leibniz's Lutheran faith did not
compel him to accept the grounds being offered for corporeal substances
(namely, transubstantiation). We return to this point in the next section.
28. See also Theodicy, Preface (GP VI 45/H 68-9); §59 (GP VI 135/H 155).
29. Interestingly, the same view is defended in the New Essays II, vi, 24, 42
(RB 317-18, 328-9). Cf. GP III 35.
30. This reluctance is suggested by another passage deleted from the same
draft: "Those things you add concerning a union inferred from the exis-
tence of a composite perhaps belong to a higher inquiry, for it will be one
286 NATURE
that specifies that union is of the essence of a composite. But it is not

necessary now to enter into these more difficult [spinosiora] matters" (LBr
95 Bl. 11).
31. See note 24.
32. Cf. GP II 296, 301, 354; GP II 371/L 598.
33. See Leibniz's letter of 8 September 1709 (GP II 390-1).
34. See Leibniz's letters of 20 September 1712 (GP II 457-6I/L 605-7); 24
January 1713 (GP II 473-5/L 607-8); 23 August 1713 (GP II 481-3); 21
April 1714 (GP II 485-6/L 609); 29 April 1715 (GP II 495-6/L 610-11);
19 August 1715 (GP II 502-5/L 613-15).
35. In a letter of 26 May 1712, Leibniz writes: "Monads do not constitute a
complete composite substance, since they do not make up an unum per se
but merely an aggregate, unless some substantial bond is added" (GP II
444/L 602). See also his letter of 5 February 1712 (GP II 435—6/L 600-1),
and the preliminary study to this letter (GP II 438-9/AG 199-200), and
his letters of 16 July 1712 (GP II 451/L 604), 20 September 1712 (GP II
457—60/L 605—7), 19 August 1715 (GP II 504/L 614), 13 January 1716
(GP II 511), and 29 May 1716 (GP II 517/AG 204).
36. "I fear that the things I have written you at different times on the subject
do not sufficiently agree among themselves, since I have certainly treated
this argument concerning the raising of phenomena to reality or compos-
ite substances only on the occasion of your letters" (30 June 1715; GP II
499). Cf. Russell: "Thus the vinculum substantiate is rather the concession
of a diplomatist than the creed of a philosopher" (1937, 154).
37. This is not quite true; we have seen that Leibniz was concerned about the
problem of the unity of monadic aggregates before their discussion of
transubstantiation and even proposed a "continuous bond" to account
for this unity. Nevertheless, in the course of the correspondence, the only
reason he acknowledges for admitting such a bond is its ability to explain
transubstantiation.
38. See also his letter of 10 August 1712 (GP II 461). It should be noted,
however, that in two of Leibniz's last letters from 1716, he speaks of "mea
doctrina de substantia composita," and aligns himself openly with the posi-
tion of the schools. Cf. GP II 510-1; GP II 519-20; and the ontological
table appended to his letter of 19 August 1715 (GP II 506/L 615). Re-
garding the latter, Catherine Wilson (1989, 184) plausibly suggests that it
was added for Des Bosses's benefit. In earlier letters, Leibniz opposes his
"hypothesis of mere monads" to the "popular hypothesis [vulgarem Hy-
pothesin]" (GP II 474/L 608) or "common doctrine" of corporeal sub-
stances (GP II 495/L 610).
39. "If . . . composite beings are mere phenomena, it would have to be said
that the substance of bodies consists in true phenomena — phenomena,
namely, which God himself perceives in them through scientia visionis as
do also angels and the blessed, to whom it is given to see things truly. So
God and the blessed would perceive the body of Christ where only bread
and wine appear to us" (GP II 473/L 607-8). Cf. GP II 482.
40. "If there are real unions which do not result from the simple positing of
unities, these do not exist through the divine understanding alone, like
mere relations, but in addition through his will, which produces a new
entity. Such unions are necessary for corporeal masses to be true beings,
and they add to monads something besides a mere relation" (LH IV 8 Bl.
60 [V 1083]). Cf. GP II 438/AG 199.
41. One of the few texts in which he presents the theories on an equal footing
is an undated fragment, likely composed during the Des Bosses corre-
spondence: "Two systems: one of monads, the other of real composites.
Real composites are of two sorts: immobile or unchangeable, space;
changeable, bodies, and these are either aggregates from corporeal sub-
stances or substances. Corporeal substances must therefore have some-
thing real besides ingredients, or else there will be nothing left except
monads. This real superaddition is what makes the substantiality of
body" (LH IV I, la, Bl. 7).
42. See Andre Robinet's introduction to his critical edition of the Principles
(Robinet 1986). My quotation from the draft of the Principles is taken
from this text.
43. Significantly, the only union mentioned in any version of the text is the
"physical" union, determined by the "perfect harmony between the per-
ceptions of the monad and the motions of bodies" (GP VI 599/AG 208).
44. The following is an excerpt from this text: "I believe that the entire
universe of creatures consists only of simple substances or monads and
their collections [assemblages]. . . . The collections are what we call
'body'. . . . However, all these bodies and all that we attribute to them are
not substances, but only well-founded phenomena, or the foundations of
appearances, which are different in different observers, but which are
related and come from the same foundation, like different appearances
of the same city viewed from several sides" (GP III 622).
45. Leibniz later sent Remond a letter, dated 4 November 1715, that includes
an explicit acknowledgment of composite substances: "Secondary matter
(as, for example, the organic body) is not a substance, b u t . . . a collection
[awas] of many substances, like a pool full of fish or like a herd of sheep;
and consequently it is what is called an unum per accidens, in a word, a
phenomenon. A true substance (such as an animal) is composed of an
immaterial soul and an organic body, and it is the composite of these two
that is called an unum per se. . . . [S]ouls agree with bodies, and among
themselves, by virtue of the preestablished harmony, and not at all by a
mutual physical influence, save for the metaphysical union of the soul
and its body, which makes them compose an unum per se, an animal, a
living being" (GP III 657-8). This letter should be compared with his
letter to Pierre Dangicourt of 11 September 1716: "I am also of the
opinion that, to speak exactly, there is no extended substance. . . . The
true substances are only simple substances or what I call 'monads.' And I
believe that there are only monads in nature, the rest being only phenom-
ena which result from them. Each monad is a mirror of the universe
according to its point of view and is accompanied by a multitude of other
monads which compose its organic body, of which it is the dominant
monad" (D III 499—500).
46. Leibniz appeals to the distinction between exoteric and acromatic (or
esoteric) writings on several occasions. See A VI 2, 416; D V 26; F 234;
NE II, xxix, 12 (RB 260—1). For an insightful discussion of Leibniz's
philosophical method, which goes some way toward undermining
Russell's charge of his duplicity, see Cook 1992. Special attention must be
paid here to Leibniz's irenical aims. Undoubtedly, part of his intention is
to show that his philosophy is consistent with a wide range of religious
commitments. Thus, if the issue of metaphysical union were one on
which reason was genuinely indifferent, it would be open to Leibniz to
288 NATURE
decline such a union while at the same time granting it to Catholics like
Tournemine, Des Bosses, or Remond. In this case, he could claim that
his basic principles were consistent both with the system of monads and
with a richer ontology that embraces corporeal substances. I am doubtful,
however, whether Leibniz's foundational views concerning unity and re-
lations would support such a move.
Conclusion
The details of Leibniz's metaphysics are sufficiently difficult, and in

many cases sufficiently obscure, that it is easy to lose track of the
central thread of his thought - the basic idea that motivates his meta-
physical inquiries and justifies us in regarding them as offering an-
swers to some of philosophy's deepest perennial concerns. For this we
must see Leibniz's metaphysics as an intellectual project guided by a
moral vision. As I have tried to suggest, the primary importance of
metaphysics for him is that it embodies our efforts to discern a ratio-
nal order in the created world, thereby strengthening our conviction
about the operation of divine wisdom. Reason gives us the power to
overcome the limited perspective of our senses, to comprehend (so
far as it is humanly possible) the world as it is in itself, and thus to
appreciate the perfection that justifies our belief in this as the best of
all possible worlds.
The force of Leibniz's moral vision is nowhere better expressed
than in a brief allegory, entitled by one of his later editors "Leibniz's
Philosophical Dream."1 The story opens with the narrator (we may
call him "Leibniz") deeply troubled by the human condition: "the
hardships to which we are subjected, the shortness of our life, the
vanity of glory, the improprieties that are born of sensual pleasure,
the illnesses that overwhelm even our spirit; finally, the annihilation
of all our greatness and all our perfections in the moment of death."
Exhausted by these thoughts, Leibniz falls asleep and is next aware of
himself trapped in an underground cavern. All around him, men
rush helter-skelter, without concern for their safety, "in pursuit of
luminous trifles they call 'honors' or glittering little flies they call
'riches,'" or "bright bits of rotten wood they call 'sensual pleasures.'"
Many of them die in the pursuit, or are left "wretched and often
mad," yet always there are others ready to take their place in the
chase. Attending to voices that most of his companions choose to
ignore, Leibniz comes to focus his attention on the roof of the cavern,
where traces of daylight enter through small cracks. Concentrating on
this light, he finds himself able to navigate in the darkness. After
testing many positions, he is at last led to "the most advantageous
[place] in the cave, a place reserved for those whom the divinity
wished to remove completely from this darkness." There he finds "the
whole cave and its miseries" fully disclosed to his eyes.
2gO CONCLUSION
No sooner has Leibniz achieved this vantage point than he is visited

by the image of a young man whose beauty and majesty enchant him.
Overwhelmed by the presence of this celestial messenger, he feels
himself starting to faint, until he is revived by the touch of "a bough
imbued with a marvelous liquor." Immediately he is transported to
the top of a high mountain, where, with a newly acquired telescopic
vision, he is able to see the entire face of the earth in all its detail.
Emboldened by his new powers, Leibniz begs his guide that his mind
should be clarified in the same way as his eyes. To this wish his guide
readily accedes, responding with a speech that is worth quoting at
length:
Your wish is granted . . . since you hold wisdom above the pleasure of those
vain spectacles the world presents to your eyes. . . . Your understanding being
fortified from above, it will discover everywhere the brilliant lights of the
divine author of things. You will recognize only wisdom and happiness, wher-
ever men are accustomed to find only vanity and bitterness. You will be
content with your creator; you will be enraptured with the vision of his works.
Your admiration will not be the effect of ignorance as it is with the vulgar. It
will be the fruit of knowledge of the grandeur and marvels of God. Instead of
scorning with men the unraveled secrets which in earlier times they regarded
with astonishment, you will find that when you are admitted into the interior
of nature your raptures will go on growing the farther you advance. For you
will only be at the beginning of a chain of beauties and delights which go on
growing into infinity. The pleasures which enchain your senses and that Circe
of your legends who changes men into beasts will have no hold on you, so long
as you attach yourself to the beauties of the soul, which never die and never
disappoint.
The message of this allegory, with its allusions to Plato and Dante,
appears baldly in the essay's final paragraph: "Go, therefore, and
raise your spirit above all that is mortal and perishable, and cleave
only to the eternal truths of the light of God." In this near-ecstatic
vision of the liberation of the soul through knowledge of the perfec-
tion and harmony of the universe, we discover the deepest sources of
Leibniz's philosophy. When engaged in the effort to unravel the com-
plex doctrines of his metaphysics, we must always keep in mind that it
is this Christian-Platonic vision of moral perfection through the exer-
cise of reason that gives life to his inquiry.
Note
1. LH IV, VIII, 10 Bl. 51-2 (BH 108-11).
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Index
action, see substance categories, see being; concepts

aggregates, 134; determined by rela- cause, definition of, 112-15
tions, 221—2; lack per se unity, 136, characteristic, universal, 100-1, 103,
271-2; mind-dependence of, 222; as 116
results, 221—3; see also matter Chrysippus, 166 n.11
aggregation of monads: relations that combinations, see art of combinations
determine, 222—6; role of divine mind Comenius, Jan Amos, 100
in, 223, 235 compossibility, 181-8
agreement, see universal harmony conatus, see force, derivative
alphabet of human thoughts, 104-5 concepts: analysis of, 74-6, 103-4; cate-
Alsted, Johann Heinrich, 100, 124 n.i, gories of, 104—15; and combinatorial
126 n.g method, 100, 103-5; complete, see
apperception, 80 substance; impossibility of reaching
Aristotle, 121, 123, 129 n.28, 132 n.58, genuinely primitive, 91 n.12, 103-4;
134-6 and method of division, 104—15,
art of combinations, see general science 124 n. 1; see also ideas
Augustine, St.: and doctrine of divine contingency: of factual truths, 92 n.18;
ideas, 91 n.16, 116; and view of evil, of laws of nature, 239-40, 243; of
7, 20 n.16 world's existence, 181-2, 189
continuity principle, 29—31, 165, 200
Bayle, Pierre, 19 n.6, 232 n.2 Cook, Daniel, 287 n.46
being: abstract and concrete, 107—9, corporeal substance: as form-matter
116-18; through aggregation {ens per composite, 155—8, 266—8, 272—3; in
aggregationem), 221-2; categories of, 1680s and 1690s, 154-9, 266-71; and
75, 99, 105-11; definition of, 74-5; theory of monads, 157, 271-82; as
as equivalent to possibility, 74-5; of unumperse, 265-9, 273-4, 279
sensible things, 73, 85-90, 219-20; as correspondence, see universal harmony
subject of metaphysics, 74—5, 85, 89— Couturat, Louis, 50, 100
90; see also definition; intellect
best of all possible worlds: competing ac- definition: basis of demonstrations, 72—
counts of, 12-15, 46; contains greatest 3, 76-7; of corporeal properties, 86-
perfection and greatest happiness, 7; Leibniz's preoccupation with, 66
48-9, 51-4, 62; different theoretical n.29, 72—9, 84—5, 105—15; real versus
models of, 212-13; and pre- nominal, 74-5, 121—2; see also being;
established harmony, 227—8; and sys- possibility
tem of monads, 177-8 denominations: extrinsic grounded in
Bisterfeld, Johann Heinrich: as Ramist, intrinsic, 145-8, 183; see also monads;
124 n. 1; and system of universal har- universal connection; universal ex-
mony, 36-40, 166 n.11 pression
Blumenfeld, David, 42 n.22, 63 n.3, Des Bosses, Bartholomew, and corre-
64 n.9, 65 n.23, 210 n.50 spondence with Leibniz, 276-81
body, see matter Descartes, Rene, 100, 148, 155, 213,
Bossuet, Jean-Benigne, 270 217, 238—9, 244, 245, 252
Brown, Gregory, 42 n.23, 44 n-42> De Voider, Burcher, and correspon-
63 n.3, 65 n.23 dence with Leibniz, 151-4, 246, 272,
Brown, Stuart, 165 n.3 275
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298 INDEX
divine justice: definition of, 12; and bodies, 215—16, 230—2; maximization
retribution, 15-17, 54, 59-60; see also of, 31-4, 39-40, 199-200, 214, 226-
divine wisdom; theodicy 32; multiple levels of, 32-4, 199,
divine wisdom: and infinite division of 227—9, 231—2, 257—8; and perfection,
matter, 87; and panorganicism, 202- 32-5, 53, 200; see also divine wisdom;
3; and preference for perfection and preestablished harmony, of soul and
harmony, 13—14, 31—4, 214; and prin- body; universal harmony
ciple of intelligibility, 240-4; in rela- Hartz, Glenn, 283 n.14
tion to divine justice, 12; in relation to Helmont, F. M. van, 172 n.67, 2 5 2
world's fitting construction, 14, 17, Hippocrates, 38, 166 n.11
227, 232, 239—40; see also metaphysics
division, method of, see concepts ideas: analysis as mark of distinct, 83-5;
dynamics, science of: and conception of distinct versus confused, 83—5; of di-
substance, 148—54, 238; developed in vine understanding, 75, 77, 103-4,
opposition to Cartesian physics, 237- 115—16, 118—19, 128 n.24; expressive
40, 244 of essence, 83-5; innate, 83-5; as
objects of thought and dispositions,
encyclopedia: of all human knowledge, 82-3; relation between human and di-
100-5; a n d demonstration of truths, vine, 75, 77; see also concepts; intellect
76-7, 101-2 identity of indiscernibles, 142-3, 160
entelechy: as ground of laws of mo- impetus, see force, derivative
tion, 243-4, 249-50; see also force; infinitesimal calculus, 246
monads; substance intellect: and reflection, 80-5; as source
Epicurus, 7 of distinct ideas, 83—5; as source of
essence, see being knowledge of being, 71, 73, 84-5
evil: permitted by God, 7, 10—11; prob- intelligibility: principle of, 240-2, 252;
lem of, see theodicy; three species of, principle of continuity and, 30—1; and
distinguished, 10-11, 20 n.17 rational order of nature, 2, 242, 243;
expression: definition of, 38—9; see also of reality, 50—1, 74—5; see also order
universal expression
extension, analysis of, 248-9 Jolley, Nicholas, 96 n.46, 115
Jungius, Joachim, 132 n.61
fittingness: of laws of nature, 28-9, 239, justice: as "charity of the wise," 12, 54—
243; of organic body to dominant 5; three grades of human, 55-6; see
monad, 227—8; of world's construc- also divine justice; piety
tion, 14-15, 17; see also divine wisdom
force: derivative, 245-7; living versus Kant, Immanuel, 79, 89, 94 n.32,
dead, 245; primitive active, 148—53, 95 n-44> 233 n.9
247; primitive passive, see primary kingdom of souls and kingdom of bod-
matter ies, 215-16, 230—2
freedom of divine will, 11 — 12 knowledge, see ideas; intellect; senses;
truth
Gale, George, 23 Kulstad, Mark, 94 n.38, 96 n.46
Garber, Daniel, 158, 170 n.58, 172 n.67,
285 n.24 labyrinth of continuum, 221
general science, 100-3, 105 law of series, see substance
goodness: conflict among different spe- laws of motion: grounded in appetitions
cies of, 14-15, 17-18, 46—9; three of monads, 249-50; natural to matter,
species of, distinguished, 14, 47; see 238-41, 243-4; see also contingency;
also perfection dynamics, science of
Locke, John, 100, 133
Hacking, Ian, 165 n.3 Loffler, Friedrich Simon, 150
happiness: and intellectual enlighten- love, disinterested, 56—8; see also piety
ment, 47, 51-4, 58-9, 61-2, 240-1; Lullism as influence on Leibniz, 100-1,
maximization of, 13-14, 46-54; and 125 n.5
pleasure, 49-51
harmony: definition of, 13-14, 31-2; of Malebranche, Nicolas, 40 n.5, 252
kingdom of souls and kingdom of Mates, Benson: on compossibility, 185—
INDEX 299
8; on Leibniz's nominalism, 115-16, relations of, 161, 188-97; simplicity
131 n.51 of, 159
matter: as aggregate of monads, 219, More, Henry, 263 n.44
221—5; analysis of properties of, 86— motion: laws of, see laws of motion; un-
9, 220-1, 226, 227, 237—8, 241—2, reality of, 245
246—9, 254; as confused appearance Mugnai, Massimo, 173 n.75
of monads, 219, 226, 238, 249—50; multitude, analysis of, 220-1, 237
elasticity of, 256—7; essence of, 218-
21, 238—9, 241-4; as grounded in re- nature: laws of, 26-9, 239, 243; rational
ality of substances, 88-9, 220, 224-5, order of, 2, 242, 243
227—8, 249—50; as infinitely divided, nominalism, Leibniz's, 115-18
87, 220; as multitude, 220-1, 248;
primary, see primary matter; as result occasionalism, 213-14, 260 n.13
of monads, 222, 225-6, 228-9; unre- occult powers, 242, 260 n.16
ality of mechanical properties of, 87, order: of arrangement (situs), 111, 189-
155-7; a s well-founded phenomenon, 90; definition of, 32-3; as means to
222, 227-9 greatest harmony, 32-3, 201; as
mechanism: Leibniz's reaction to, 86—9, means to greatest perfection, 26-31,
244; reconciled with vitalism, 217, 200—4; as not in conflict with variety,
251—3; relies on abstractions, 87-8 23—4; principle of, see continuity prin-
Mencke, Otto, 150 ciple; as satisfying to reason, 29—31,
Mercer, Christia, 165 n.2, 166 n.5 33—4; and simplicity, 26—31; space-
Merchant, Carolyn, 172 n.67 time, 189—92; of succession, 111-15,
metaphysical goodness, see goodness; 189-90; temporal grounded in causal,
perfection 191, 195-6
metaphysics: and analysis of sensory ex- organisms, 201-4, 218, 230-1; and
perience, 73, 85—90; as demonstrative grounding of dynamical force, 256; as
science, 72—9; Leibniz's conception of, results and well-founded phenomena,
71-9, 85-90; moral purpose of, 2-3, 224-5, 227-30, 256
289—90; as science of divine under-
standing, 63, 73; as science of divine panorganicism, 201—4, 212, 218, 228—
wisdom, 63, 73; see also being 31, 235 n.27; as consistent with theory
minds: as capable of indefinite increases of monads, 229-30
in perfection, 52-4, 60-1; as creators Parkinson, G. H. R., 131 n.52, 147,
of perfection, 58, 61-2, 66 n.30; form 172 n.67
moral kingdom with God, 15—16, 59— perception: confused versus distinct,
60, 62-3, 165; limited cognitive ca- 80—2; and petites perceptions, 80, 164,
pacity of, 87-9, 225, 254; possess 206 n.17; as property of all sub-
greatest perfection, 48—9, 52—3, 164- stances, 37-9, 79; as property of mo-
5; share common mode of under- nads, see monads; and universal
standing with God, 241; see also ideas; expression, 39-40, 146-7; and uni-
reflection versal harmony, 37-40
miracles as violations of principle of in- Pereboom, Derk, 95 n.44
telligibility, 241 perfection: of creatures, 25, 47, 178—81;
monads: actions and passions of, 162-4, of God, 24—5; identified with meta-
192—3; appetitions of, 160—4, 17&— physical goodness, 24; maximization
80; conditions for aggregation of, of, 22—6, 180—1, 199—200, 203—4; in
222—5; degrees of perfection of, 162, relation to harmony, see harmony; in
164, 178-81; dominant, 203, 218, relation to variety and order, 22—6,
224; as ground of force and resistance 200-1; world's progress in, 52, 58-62,
of matter, 244-50; as immediate req- 65 n.20
uisites of matter, 221, 251; incor- persistence, see substance
poreality of, 162; intercourse phenomenalism, 225—6
(commercio) of, 191-3, 195-6; intrinsic piety: as highest degree of justice, 56—
denominations of, 161-2, 184; as nev- 62; and love of God, 60—2; presup-
er without organic body, 193—4, 203- poses belief in divine justice, 59-60;
4, 215; perceptions of, 160-4, 178— in relation to love, 56, 58
80; in relation to matter, 250-1, 253; Placcius, Vincent, 282
3°° INDEX
Platonism, 8, 19 n.7, 91 n.16 expression, 168 n.34; on universal

pleasure as perception of perfection, harmony, 198
49-52 soul: as substantial form of body, 202,
possibility: grounded in divine under- 266—9, 272-3, 282-3; see also mo-
standing, 75; proved by real defini- nads; preestablished harmony, of soul
tion, 74, 84; see also being and body; union of soul and body
possible world, 181—2, 187—90; space- Sturm, J. C., 233 n.5
time order as essential to, 189—92 Suarez, Francisco: and conception of
power, see force metaphysics, 71—2; on soul-body
predicate-in-subject principle, see truth, union, 268
concept containment theory of substance: complete concept theory of,
predication, see truth 109-11, 119-24, 138-46, 149-53,5^
preestablished harmony: as contingent also truth; corporeal, see corporeal
feature of best of all possible worlds, substance; dynamical theory of, 148-
227—8; and panorganicism, 228—31; 54, 238; essential properties of, 133—
and theory of monads, 214-15, 227- 7; individuation of, 136, 141-4, 152;
32; of soul and body, 213—18, 266, law of series as individual nature of,
271-2 135, 151-4, 247; persistence through
preformation, 201-3 change of, 135—6, 140-1, 152; as
primary matter, 158, 162—4; a s ground principle of action, 37—9, 135, 137—
of matter's resistance, 247-8; vs. sec- 41, 148-54; spontaneity of, 139-40,
ondary matter, 233 n.8 149; as ultimate subject of predica-
progressive spirit of Leibniz's philoso- tion, 109-10, 121-4, 134-5, 138-9;
phy, 2—3, 52, 61-2 as unum per se, 110—11, 136, 141, 152;
see also monads
Ramism, 99-100, 104, 127 n.17 sufficient reason, principle of, and con-
reduction: of matter to monads, 225-6, cept containment theory of truth,
231—2; of relations, 184 76-7
reflection: on mind's nature and proper-
ties, 82-5; as necessary for thought, terms identified with concepts, 106
80—2; as property of minds alone, 80— theodicy: criticisms of, 7—8; origin of
2, 95 n.44; see also intellect term, 18 n.i; philosophical basis of,
relations: as entia rationis, 131 n.46, 8-10; and problem of evil, 7-11; in
183—4, 222; of monads, see monads; relation to metaphysics, 1—3, 9, 62—3,
results 177—8, 214, 232; see also divine justice
Remond, Nicolas, 281-2 Thomasius, Christian, 150
requisites, mediate and immediate, 113, thought: distinct versus confused, 81—2;
221; see also monads distinguished from sensation, 81-2;
Rescher, Nicholas: on composition of not equivalent to intellection, 80—2;
Discourse on Metaphysics, 124 n.2; on see also reflection
compossibility, 182—6; formula of, for Tournemine, Rene-Joseph de, 273-4
perfection, 22-4 transubstantiation, 278-81
results: definition of, 22^-2; relations truth: complete concept theory of, 119—
as, 184, 186-7, l9A~5> 2 2 3 ' see also 24; concept containment theory of,
matter; organisms 75-7; and demonstration, 76—8; and
Russell, Bertrand, 269 divine understanding, 75, 77, 115—16,
118—19; and predication, 117-19
sensation, see thought
senses as source of knowledge of exis- union of soul and body, 265—7; meta-
tence, 73, 84-90; see also ideas; physical, 274-6; as "mystery," 275-6;
thought physical, 268-9
simplicity as characteristic of laws of na- universal connection: expressed as "all is
ture, 26-9 connected," 36, 38, 137, 181-3, 187-
Sleigh, Robert C, Jr.: on composition of 90, 196—8; and no purely extrinsic
Discourse on Metaphysics, 125 n.2; on denominations thesis, 145—8, 194-5;
theory of substance, 132 nn.55,57, in relation to universal expression,
140, 167 n.16, 171 n.61; on universal 38-9, 137, 146, 186—7, X97' requires
INDEX 3O1
monadic embodiment, 193—7; a s vinculum substantiate, 276—81

source of petites perceptions, 80 virtue, 47—8, 54; see also justice; piety
universal expression, 36; and compos- Voltaire, 1, 233 n.9
sibility, 185—8; and intermonadic rela-
tions, 254-6; and no purely extrinsic
denominations thesis, 147-8, 184-7; Weigel, Erhard, 72
in relation to complete concept theory, well-founded phenomena (phaenomena
144-6; in relation to perception, 39- bene fundata), 222; see also matter; or-
40, 146-7; Sleigh on, 168 ganisms
universal harmony: as necessary for any will, divine, 11-12
possible world, 186-8, 197-9, 22^» Wilson, Catherine, 166 n.14, 167 n.19
system of, 36-40; see also harmony Wolff, Christian, 34-5

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Contents

Part II: First Philosophy

Part III: Nature

A significant weakness of many modern studies of the philosophy of

foundations of Leibniz's conception of metaphysics as a rational sci-

God's justice, we are motivated to imitate that justice ourselves and to

Leibniz's doctrine of theodicy is a modern response to an ancient

pear to offer a counterexample to the superior perfection of the

relation to all possible worlds in order to determine one of them, and

however, to say that "the formal character of evil has no efficient

however, that this moral necessity is consistent with God's freedom.

Goodness and the Best of All Possible Worlds

him not to be affected by the most perfect harmony" (A II 1, 117/L

— happiness and virtue — are properties that belong exclusively to

whereby they are rewarded and punished in proportion to how well

both metaphysical and moral - of different possible worlds, there

We have reviewed in this chapter the main outlines of Leibniz's the-

lible demonstrations; and as a consequence, all objections drawn from

Optimization versus Maximization

course on Metaphysics, in which Leibniz writes: "God has chosen the

fulness of phenomena. At bottom, I see Leibniz as advancing a type of

The Maximization of Perfection

When we conceive of creation in these terms, it is hard not to

tion, God will be obliged to create as many different substances as

The Optimization of Order

This passage is noteworthy for the explicitness of its statement that

Leibniz understands by the "simplicity" of the laws of nature. 24 Nev-

This is unquestionably a different sense of "simplicity" than that can-

nected that it is impossible to insert between two of them some other

The Maximization of Harmony

relationship. Understood in this way, the harmony of a system is a

ship between them. 36 Put differently, for things to exist as ordered is

which contains the greatest possible harmony, because it is the world

thing's degree of perfection, the greater the quantity of general ob-

The System of Universal Harmony

Real immeation is the intimate union of things in nature, and an ineffable

where there exists an exact one-to-one correspondence between their

does in part by ensuring an agreement or correspondence among the

be able to say exactly which properties count as divine perfections. In DM

identical individuals must be distinguished by their degrees of perfec-

53. We return to this theme in Chapter 7. It is worth noting that insofar as

Many of Leibniz's writings represent the creation of rational minds as

possibility that a broader set of considerations - namely, those bear-

for the maximization of perfection will be the production of as many

The Happiness of Rational Creatures

a sense of perfection, and pain a sense of imperfection, each being

content of reality, which, we may suppose, is an intrinsically pleasur-

In sketching earlier the strategy that Leibniz ascribes to God in

While the present world is optimistically judged by him to be the

Virtue and the Life of Piety

short of justice in the fullest sense on account of its essential incom-

To love truly and in a disinterested manner is nothing else than to be led to

through the acquisition of rational knowledge, so the appreciation of

perfection and happiness. Progress in perfection, however, does not

may undergo any number of changes in the distinctness of its percep-

In Leibniz's view, recognizing this world as the best of all possible

From Theodicy to Metaphysics

citizenship in the City of God, necessarily lies through metaphysics.

1. Memoir for Enlightened Persons of Good Intention, §9. In what follows, I

great intelligence and a corrupt will). I offer an explanation of this in

22), as well as Grua 1956; Hostler 1975. For Leibniz's presentation of

Leibniz offers several definitions of the science of metaphysics. In one

physics. What emerges is a conception of metaphysics as an a priori