DETESTABLE GENIUS

This entry opens the fairly short series on Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz (1646-1716), one of the greatest giants of mathematics, science, and philosophy who ever lived. Having co-invented the infinitesimal calculus (his work was done independently from Newton’s), he was the sole inventor of mathematical logic, but, having left it unpublished, it took some two hundred years after his death to have it “officially” reinvented. Also, having generated the concept of the binary system, and a score of other revolutionary ideas, he is seen as a precursor of modern cybernetics, computer science, and even quantum mechanics, among many-many other things. But as a philosopher he was no less groundbreaking, although his most spectacular philosophical ideas remained unpublished until the twentieth century.

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In his philosophical play Mozart and Saglieri, the great Pushkin argues that “genius and evil are two things incompatible,” and it is up to us to agree or disagree with him, provided only that we understand Pushkin’s point. He means, of course, a very special kind of genius, never to be confused with the supervillains on the Manichean scale, such as Ahriman, Voldemort, or Professor Moriarti. Nor does he have in mind the great statesmen of history: Alexander, Genghis Khan, Peter the Great (and later Stalin), and others, all of whom must have appeared as the consummate evil-doers to their numberless victims, but who can also be seen in a much more appreciative light, through the macroscopic lens of world history.

The kind of genius Pushkin has in mind is spelled out in the name Mozart. It is the wholesome, beneficent type of genius, who inspires admiration in the hearts and minds of humanity, and a pride to be a part of the civilization which had given him birth. It is that kind of genius, which seems totally incompatible not only with any manifestation of evil, but even with regular impropriety. We want to love such genius, not to hate him, not even to dislike him, for that matter.

It is therefore extremely unfortunate and objectively deplorable (meaning, not even aimed at the particular offender, but at the fact itself that we should be offended by his offense) when a benefactor of humanity, a great genius, whose name is spoken with reverence in professional settings, fails to elicit similar reverence as a person whose biography we were so eager to read, unsuspecting of the dismal disappointment lying in store for us.

Alas, the great Leibniz was of such kind, namely, not a nice man at all. Here is what Bertrand Russell says about him on that account:

“Leibniz was one of the supreme intellects of all time, but as a human being he was not admirable. He had, it is true, the virtues that one would wish to find mentioned in a testimonial to a prospective employee: he was industrious, frugal, temperate, and financially honest. But he was completely destitute of those higher philosophic virtues that are so notable in Spinoza. His best thought was not such as would win popularity, and he left his records of it unpublished in his desk. What he published was designed to win approbations of princes and princesses. The consequence is that there are two systems of philosophy, representing him: one, which he proclaimed, was optimistic, orthodox, fantastic, and shallow; the other, that has been slowly unearthed from his manuscripts by fairly recent editors, was profound, coherent, largely Spinozistic, and amazingly logical. It was the popular Leibniz who invented the doctrine that this is the best of all possible worlds; it was Leibniz whom Voltaire caricatured as Doctor Pangloss. It would be unhistorical to ignore this Leibniz, but the other is of far greater philosophical importance.” (Pausing right here, I am so glad that Russell is giving this proof first of Leibniz’s unadmirability. It is a crime against one’s own genius to keep it under wraps and possibly never to see the light of day, while publishing the “commercial” philosophical fare, apparently with good conscience.)

“…It was in Paris, in 1675-1676, that Leibniz invented the infinitesimal calculus, in ignorance of Newton’s previous, but unpublished work on the same subject. Leibniz’s work was first published in 1684, Newton’s, in 1687. The consequent dispute as to priority was unfortunate and discreditable to all parties.” (This is not the only such occurrence of petty ugly bickering over works of genius, and each time it looks reprehensible and utterly unworthy of genius. I may want to repeat that being a genius is not only God’s special gift, but also a social and moral obligation to behave accordingly, that is, at the highest ethical level. Unfortunately, this obligation is hardly always honored.)

“Leibniz was somewhat mean about money. When any young lady at the court of Hanover married, he used to give her what he called “a wedding present,” consisting of useful maxims, ending up with the advice not to give up washing now that she had secured a husband.” (Leaving the question of money aside, even if we are to take this last phrase about “washing” figuratively, it does sound like a very mean joke, and it is awfully unpleasant at the least.)

The last important influence on Leibniz’s philosophy was that of Spinoza, whom he visited in 1676. He spent a month in frequent discussions with him, and secured a part of the Ethica in manuscript. But in later years he joined in decrying Spinoza, and minimized his contacts with him, saying that he had met him just once, and that Spinoza had told some good anecdotes about politics.” (Such dishonesty on his part is all the more deplorable that both men were geniuses, and genius must recognize his kind, and grow an affinity to him, which ought to rise beyond all friendships!)

It is not my intention in this entry to trash poor Leibniz, but its outburst must be definitely attributed to the fact that I have admired Leibniz since my school math years (I studied advanced mathematics there, along with other advanced subjects… It was a very good school!). It is therefore still inconceivable to me how an object of my profound admiration could be so mean and ugly, so utterly unworthy of himself!