Andrew, your clarification about simplicity was helpful to me. As I understand you, internal differentiation does not necessarily make a ground composite, provided that unity itself is ontologically prior to multiplicity. For the question I was trying to clarify, that is enough for me for now.
Your question about whether I have any thoughts of my own on the distinction between a person and a subject suggested a different way of approaching the problem. Rather than trying to begin with a universal definition of personhood, I thought I would start with a small thought experiment on my own case.
Before the experiment itself, I want to preserve a useful distinction that @Tim raised earlier. Personal status, degree of independence, actual responsibility, and legal restrictions do not all move on the same scale. An infant has full personal status even though the infant cannot yet make and carry out many adult decisions independently. A prisoner may have freedom of movement lawfully restricted without thereby losing personal status. The same is true when someone’s ability to make decisions independently is seriously limited: practical capacities may change, and sometimes the degree of responsibility may change as well, while personal status remains.
That distinction matters because I do not want the experiment itself to become a functional test for deciding which human beings count as persons. Human cases are already familiar to me through my own first-person life, interpersonal experience, and our established practice of recognizing other human beings as persons. So, for me, an individual human being does not begin from an evidential zero point each time and does not have to re-establish personal status by displaying a current set of functions. This gives me a strong epistemic presumption in the already familiar human case. At the same time, I do not restrict the concept of personhood to biological membership.
Now for the experiment.
I begin with what is directly available to me. In my own experience I have not only experience itself — “I am in pain,” for example, or “I see this” — but also a relation to my own history: my past, actions, obligations, and future belong to me as one continuing “I.” I take this as first-person material directly available to me, while leaving its metaphysical explanation as a separate question.
Then comes the counterfactual part of the experiment. I conceptually separate things that normally come together in my own experience and ask how my own way of recognizing the case changes.
For example, imagine that intelligence, perception, memory, and a rich subjective life remain, but the relation to the past as one’s own disappears. A record that a promise was made yesterday can remain, while the relation “I made that promise, so it still binds me today” disappears. Future states can still be predicted perfectly without being related to as one’s own future.
I do not picture this as a single slider running from zero to one hundred percent personhood. These are simply a few conceptual switches that let me see which differences matter to my own recognition.
In very rough form, my current map looks something like this.
My first marker for a subject of experience is fairly simple. If the total evidence convinces me that a being is actually in pain, that is already enough for me to regard it confidently as a subject of experience — as someone for whom something is being experienced.
I have no direct access to another being’s pain, just as I have no direct access to another human being’s pain. But that does not prevent us from forming more or less well-grounded judgments about another’s experience. This is why the example of a dog seems useful to me. If a dog looks “guilty,” my judgment remains fairly uncertain: is it actually experiencing shame, anticipating its owner’s reaction, displaying learned behavior, or something else? But if an injured dog whines, protects the injured area, and avoids a movement that causes pain, I judge with much greater confidence that the dog really is in pain. And once I have reached that judgment, the question of whether there is a subject of experience is, for me, practically settled.
Pain is not a necessary condition for subjectivity here. I use it only as an especially clear example of a situation in which the available evidence gives me sufficient grounds to recognize another being as a subject of experience.
My intuition about personhood changes somewhere else.
What matters to me here is not memory, intelligence, or richness of experience by themselves. I am provisionally calling the structure I have in mind autobiographical self-relation: a subject relates to its own life through time as one continuing history.
Not merely, “this information is stored in memory,” but “this happened to me.”
Not merely, “such an action occurred yesterday,” but “I did this.”
Not merely, “a promise was made yesterday,” but “I made that promise, and it still binds me today.”
Not merely, “a future state can be predicted,” but “this is my future.”
If I encountered a completely new subject in whom this structure appeared consistently, my willingness to take it seriously as a possible person would increase sharply. For me, that would be very strong positive evidence in recognition. I am not offering it as a universal formula for personhood, and it does not become a condition that an already recognized human person must continuously display.
Alongside this, another question arises for me that I want, for now, to keep distinct: the “I–you” relation.
It is one thing to model another, predict their behavior, and take their inner states into account. Relations such as “I promised this to you,” “I am answerable to you,” “you are entitled to call me to account,” and “what I did changed our relationship” look different to me.
I do not yet know whether this is another expression of the same autobiographical self-relation or a distinct dimension. But for my own recognition, this structure also gives me substantially stronger grounds for speaking not merely of a subject of experience, but of a possible person.
At that point, the digital example becomes a useful counterfactual test case. Your skepticism about whether digital experience is possible can remain entirely intact. For the sake of the experiment, let us simply suppose that the question of subjectivity has somehow already been settled and that two systems, A and B, really are subjects of experience.
A is extraordinarily intelligent. It has enormous memory, excellent language, and a highly accurate model of its own states. It retains exhaustive information about its history. But in its self-description, that history remains primarily information: past actions and obligations are available as data, but they are not organized around an ongoing relation such as “I did this, and it still concerns me”; future states are predicted accurately but do not form one continuing biography of its own.
B may be less intelligent and remember less. But its stable self-reports, decisions, and interactions reproduce the autobiographical pattern I described above: its own history, authorship of its actions, continuing obligations, and its own future. Its relations with another subject also display an “I–you” structure: a promise made to the other, acknowledgment of a past action as its own, and recognition that the other is entitled to call it to account.
Here too, we would still be dealing with evidence available to us and with the judgments we form from that evidence, rather than with direct access to another first-person perspective.
But for me, the difference between A and B would be substantively significant. Despite A’s intellectual superiority, B would give me much stronger grounds for taking the new candidate seriously as a possible person.
So I am curious whether this distinction seems useful to you at all in thinking about personhood. Is there anything in the difference between A and B that, in your view, actually helps clarify the distinction between a subject of experience and a personal subject? And if so, what is it?