Leibniz and the Kabbalah by Allison P. Coudert
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Practical Poetry

I am particularly intrigued by this academic monograph because it illustrates yet another case in which scientific and philosophical thought has been inspired by religious poetry. Such poetry is arguably the most profound form of abstract thinking since it tries to address both the object of thought and the language in which it is expressed simultaneously. I have commented elsewhere on Aczel’s account of the discovery of the mathematical concept of zero in Buddhist poetry (see https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...). In Leibniz and the Kabbalah, the source of inspiration is the Jewish mystical equivalent. And the practical result is equally significant, suggesting, among other things, a basic composition of the universe which would not be confirmed for another two and a half centuries. (See also for a wider perspective on the religious inspiration of mathematics: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...).

Leibniz, it is sometimes quipped, was the last man to know everything - implying of course that by the start of the 18th century, knowledge about the world was reaching such density that no one person could assimilate it all. This may be the case; there are, after all, exponentially more stories to be told about stories already told, or propositions as Leibniz like to call them.

But it is also arguable that Leibniz was the first person, not excepting even his contemporary, Isaac Newton, to see the world as we do now - as a succession of stories, the best of which include previous stories. Our current story is of a world composed of mass (substance for Leibniz) and energy (force), two elements that Leibniz believed could be transformed into each other. Not until Einstein’s famous e=mc2 would this insight be recognised as something fundamental about the nature of the universe. But Leibniz told this story first.

Among other things, this theory of a single ‘thing’ of which the universe is made, called ‘monism’, overcomes the philosophical legacy of Descartes who had posited a two substance world of mind and matter with no clear connection between the two. In addition, Leibniz was able to maintain the idea of purpose, that is teleology, as something inherent in the order of things not as an exception to a pervasive mechanical world of cause and effect in the manner of Newton. Force, energy, has a direction; it moves toward something not away from some causal impetus.

Leibniz‘s theory of the world is contained in his Monadology, the primary components of which are atomistic particles not of matter but of energy. These particles he called monads - immaterial but sensible units of spirit or intellectual force. In short a monad is a thinker, a mind or, if one prefers theological terms, a soul. Somewhat more scientifically, a monad is a unique entity by which the force of its reflective will is self-consciously realised in the world.

Each monad, of which human beings are the primary example (Leibniz is open to the possibility of angels or even aliens), has its own perspective on the world. And since each is a unique force, it has its own direction and its own singular terminus. The interaction of these purposeful entities can take many forms, from coordinated cooperation to conflict and war. If nothing else they form complicated relationships, but not in a mechanical sense. Complexity arises primarily because of the existence of purpose and intention which are unregarded, perhaps even unconsciously held, among monads. There is therefore an ethical imperative: to find/discover/invent the purposes which include more and greater purposes as special cases.

Traces of the Monadology show up in the modern world in fields as diverse as cosmology (the multiverse and quantum time), psychology (the unconscious and the drive toward psychic integration*), political theory (the necessity for democracy and equality before the law), as well as systems theory, and perhaps even in mathematics and physics (Leibniz insisted that his science flowed from his metaphysics, and infinitesimal calculus and his anticipation of modern field theory are primary examples of this). These traces also appear most explicitly, and somewhat unexpectedly, in the American philosophy of Pragmatism developed by C.S. Peirce in the 19th century (for whom matter was also a temporary state of spirit); and thence into the 20th century European philosophies of phenomenology, existentialism, and de-construction. The terminology varies but the essential ideas of intellectual force, personal intention, and individual responsibility abide from Leibniz’s original formulation.

Coudert‘s thesis is that these essential elements are directly inspired through Leibniz’s close relationship with the Dutchman Francis van Helmont, who, although a Christian, had immersed himself in the Kabbalistic writings of the 16th century Jewish mystic, Isaac Luria. Through her detailed analysis of correspondence and various incidental documents, Coudert makes a very strong case that Leibniz directly accessed these interpretations (including van Helmont’s term ‘monad’ itself) for use in the Monadology. While others, particulately Giordano Bruno and Nicholas of Cusa (both churchmen), also clearly influenced Leibniz’s brand of Platonism, many of its unique characteristics are only to be found in Kabbalah.

Kabbalah posits what it calls an original ‘breaking of vessels’ in the creation of the world. This involves, as it were, the distribution of the cosmic divine purpose into fragments. These fragments of force are Leibniz’s monads. Their ultimate destiny is what the Kabbalah calls Tikkun or Restitution, that is the progressive re-integration of the monadic dispersion of purpose back into a coherent whole. Each monad has a responsibility to itself as well as to the whole to contribute to this Restitution, not by abandoning its particular purpose, but by articulating it and broadening it continuously toward an idealised state, called Ein Sof - literally ‘Nothing Grasped’ as a name of God, or simply Infinity.

Obviously, as with all of Kabbalah, these are metaphorical terms of a religious poetry. But I find it remarkable that its clear intent is so coincident with Aczel’s Buddhist equivalent - the ungraspable zero which is simultaneously infinite. And just as in Aczel’s story, the transition from poetry to philosophy was sudden but definite. According to Coudert, “Van Helmont's monadology remained little more than a ‘metaphysical poem’; and it was Leibnitz's ambition to solve its many inherent contradictions.”

It was just this poetic inspiration which Leibniz needed to consolidate his own experience and hypotheses. Essentially it was Luria’s rather unsystematic exposition of his “allegories, enigmas, and mysteries,” which provoked his highly systematic mind to discover just what he needed to construct his theory. So as with Aczel’s tale of the discovery of zero, the philosophical discovery of the coherent mind as a force in the world was not accomplished by commercial, or even vaguely economic, means but through the unlikely vehicle of religious metaphor.


* See, for example: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

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