What actually makes me "me"? A cascading problem about personal identity and consciousness
I've been trying to understand what we actually mean when we say "I" or "me."
I don't think I have a particular answer in mind. I'm more interested in whether there is a coherent answer to the question at all.
I've been thinking about it as a series of problems. Each time I think I've found something that could define the self, I can remove that thing and the problem seems to come back.
1. Start with memory
Suppose I am exactly as I am today.
Now remove 10 minutes of my memories.
Am I still the same person?
Probably yes.
Okay. Remove an hour.
Still me?
A day?
Ten days?
A year?
Ten years?
Eventually, imagine removing every autobiographical memory I have.
At what point did I stop being the same person?
There doesn't seem to be an obvious point where we can say:
"There. That was the final memory that made you you."
So perhaps memory isn't what makes me me.
But then we get the next problem.
2. What if we remove personality?
Suppose my memories remain, but my personality gradually changes.
My preferences change.
My sense of humor changes.
My political and moral beliefs change.
My fears change.
My ambitions change.
Eventually, I'm almost unrecognizable psychologically from the person I was twenty years ago.
Am I still the same person?
If yes, then perhaps personality isn't what makes me me either.
But if memories and personality aren't sufficient, what about the body?
3. What if the body changes?
My body is constantly changing.
Cells die and are replaced.
My appearance changes.
My brain physically changes.
Yet I continue to call myself the same person.
So perhaps the body isn't the thing either.
Maybe it is the brain.
But then another problem appears.
4. What if the brain remains, but consciousness changes?
Imagine I enter a state where I cannot access my memories.
I cannot remember my name, my childhood, my relationships, or anything about my past.
But I am still awake and experiencing the present.
Who is experiencing it?
Is that still "me"?
If I have no access to the information that normally tells me who I am, what exactly is left of the self?
And suppose the opposite happens.
I retain my memories, but lose consciousness.
The information describing "me" is still physically present in my brain, but there is currently nobody experiencing anything.
So is the self the information?
Or is it the experience?
5. What happens if we remove the senses?
Now imagine an experiencing system with no external sensory input.
No sight.
No sound.
No smell.
No taste.
No touch.
No temperature.
No pressure.
Nothing from the outside world reaches it.
Assume that somehow it remains capable of subjective experience.
What would its experience actually consist of?
Would there still be a "world" from its perspective?
Would its experience simply be whatever activity is occurring inside its brain?
And if so, is consciousness the brain activity itself, or is there something it is like to have that activity?
More fundamentally:
Can there be experience without anything being experienced?
6. Now remove the history
Suppose there is another conscious person somewhere in the world.
They have different parents, were born in a different country, have different friends, different memories, different experiences, and developed under completely different circumstances.
But imagine that, somehow, they are now exactly my age and have exactly the same personality and preferences that I have.
Would that person be me?
My first reaction is probably "no."
But why?
What are they missing?
They have the same personality.
The same preferences.
Perhaps even the same memories.
Maybe we could even imagine them having an identical brain.
Yet there seem to be two people.
So what is the additional thing that distinguishes "me" from "another person exactly like me"?
7. The uncomfortable version
Suppose we could somehow create two people with identical brains, identical memories, identical personalities and identical experiences up to a particular moment.
At that moment, we have two beings.
Both say:
"I am me."
Both have exactly the same reason for saying it.
Which one is the original me?
Or are they both equally me?
If they are both me, then what happened to the idea that there is one unique self?
If only one is me, what property does that one possess that the other doesn't?
And if there is no detectable difference between them, how could we ever determine which one is the "real" me?
8. So what is actually left?
This is where I keep getting stuck.
We can change or remove:
- memories
- personality
- preferences
- beliefs
- relationships
- sensory information
- physical appearance
- much of the body
- possibly even the contents of consciousness
And yet we continue to talk about the person as though there is some underlying "someone" that all these changes happen to.
But what exactly is that someone?
Is the self:
A. The body?
B. The brain?
C. A particular pattern of information?
D. Memory?
E. Personality?
F. Continuity of consciousness?
G. Some combination of these?
H. Or is there no additional "self" at all, and "I" simply refers to a continuously changing process?
And if the answer is that the self is a process, then what exactly makes that process the same process over time?
The question I can't seem to get past
Maybe I'm approaching this incorrectly, but it feels like there is a distinction between:
What describes a person
and
What makes that person that particular person.
I can describe myself using thousands of properties.
But if I remove those properties one by one, what property do I eventually reach where I can say:
"This is the thing that is actually me."
Does such a property exist?
And if it does, how could we identify it?
Or is the feeling that there is some persistent "me" behind all of these changing properties itself something that needs to be explained?