I began to raise the question as to whether or not we should

distinguish two questions that we would normally be inclined to

run together. We've been asking ourselves,

what does it take for me to survive, for me to continue to

exist? But it's possible,

I suggested, that we really shouldn't focus

on the question, what does it take for me to

survive? but rather, what is it that I

care about? What is it that matters

in survival?" Because it's possible,

logically speaking, that there could be cases in

which I survive, but I don't have what I

normally have when I survive, and so I don't have what

matters. I don't have what I wanted,

when I wanted to survive. It could be that in the typical

cases of survival I've got that extra thing.

But we can think of cases in which I would survive,

but I don't have that extra thing, and so I wouldn't have

everything that matters to me. So as it were,

we might say, it might be that mere survival

or bare bones survival doesn't really give me what matters.

What I want is survival plus something else.

And I tried to motivate this question by having you think

about perhaps the possibility, if the soul view was the truth

about personal identity, but imagine a case of complete

irreversible amnesia, while nonetheless,

it's still your soul continuing.

But the soul is going to then, having been scrubbed clean,

get a brand new personality. A new set of memories,

new set of desires, new set of beliefs.

No chance of recalling your previous, current,

personality. And when I think about that

case, I find myself wanting to say, all right,

I'll survive, but so what?

I don't care. It doesn't matter that it's me,

in that case. Because I don't just want it to

be me, I want to have there be somebody that's me with my

personality. Similarly, suppose we thought

that the body view was the correct view and we imagine,

again, some sort of case of complete amnesia.

And so then we get a new personality and you say,

"Oh look, that's going to be you, your body,

your brain. You're still around."

And I say, "It could be true, but so what?"

It doesn't give me what I want, when I want to survive.

What I want isn't just for it to be me.

I want it to be me with my personality.

So should we conclude, therefore, that what really

matters is not just survival but having the same personality?

Would that--Suppose the personality view of personality

identity was correct. Would that then give us not

just personal survival, but what matters?

I think that's close, but no cigar.

Not quite good enough. To see that,

recall the fact that according to the personality view,

as a theory of personality identity,

the crucial point isn't that my personality stay identical.

It's not that I have to keep all exactly the very same

beliefs, desires, and memories.

Because of course, if we said that,

then I'd die as soon as I got a new belief.

I'd die as soon as I forgot anything at all of what I was

doing 20 minutes ago. No, according to the

personality theory, what personal identity requires

isn't item-for-item the same personality,

but rather the same evolving personality.

I gain new beliefs, new desires,

new goals. I may lose some of my previous

beliefs, lose some of my previous memories,

but that's okay as long as it's a slowly-evolving personality

with enough overlap. Okay, so now let's consider the

following case. I start off.

Here I am. I've got a set of beliefs,

a set of--I believe I'm Shelly Kagan, a set of memories about

growing up in Chicago. I have a certain set of desires

about wanting to finish my book in philosophy and so forth.

And I get older and older and older.

And I get some new memories and some new desires and some new

goals. Suppose that I get very,

very, very old. I get 100 years old,

200 years old, 300 years old.

Somewhere around 200, suppose that my friends give me

a nickname. They call me Jo-Jo.

Who knows why, they call me Jo-Jo.

And after a while, somewhere the name spreads and

by the time I'm 250 years old, everybody's calling me Jo-Jo.

Nobody calls me Shelly anymore. And by the time I'm 300,350,

400, I've forgotten anybody used to call me Jo-Jo .

And I no longer remember growing up in Chicago.

I remember things about my youth when I was a lad of 100.

But I can't go back to what it was like in the early days,

just like you can't go back to what it was like to be four or

three. And suppose that all this is

going on as I'm getting older and older.

My personality is changing in a variety of other ways.

I lose my interest in philosophy and take up an

interest in, I don't know, something that completely

doesn't--organic chemistry holds no interest to me whatsoever.

I become fascinated by the details of organic chemistry.

And my values change. Now I'm a kind--now,

over here--I'm a kind, compassionate,

warm individual who cares about the downtrodden.

But around 300, I say, "The downtrodden.

Who needs them?" And by the time I'm 500,

I become completely self-absorbed and I'm sort of a

vicious, cruel, vile person.

Here I am, 800 years old, 900 years old.

Methuselah, in the Bible, lives for 969 years.

He's the oldest person. So okay, here I am,

969 years old. I'm like Methuselah.

Call this the Methuselah case. And the crucial point about the

case is that we stipulate that at no point was there a dramatic

change. It was all gradual,

slow, evolving. In just the way it happens in

real life. It's just that as Methuselah,

I live a very, very, very long time.

And by the end of it, and indeed, let's say somewhere

around 600 or 700, I'm a completely different

person, as we might put it. I don't mean literally.

I mean in terms of my personality.

Now, remember, according to the personality

theory of personal identity, what makes it me is the fact

that it's the same evolving personality.

And I stipulated that it is the same evolving personality.

So that's still me that's going to be around 600 years from now,

700 years from now. But when I think about that

case, I say, "So what? Who cares?"

When I think about that case, I say, "True,

we'll just stipulate that will be me in 700 years.

But it doesn't give me what I want.

That person is so completely unlike me.

He doesn't remember being Shelly Kagan.

He doesn't remember growing up in Chicago.

He doesn't remember my family. He has completely different

interests and tastes and values."

I say "It's me, but so what? It doesn't give me what I want.

It doesn't give me what matters."

When I think about what I want, it's not just that there be

somebody at the tail end of an evolving personality.

I want that person to be like me,

not just be me. I want that person to be like

me. And in the Methuselah case,

I've stipulated, it ends up not being very much

like me at all. So it doesn't give me what I

want. When I think about what I

want--and I'm just going to invite you to,

each one of you, to ask yourself what is it that

you want, what matters to you in survival?--when I think about

what matters to me, it's not just survival.

It's not just survival as part of the same ongoing personality.

It's survival with a similar personality.

Not identical, item for item,

but close enough to be fairly similar to me.

Give me that, and I've got what matters.

Don't give me that, and I don't have what mattes.

In fact, I'm inclined to go a little bit further.

Once you give me that, give me that there's somebody

there with my similar personality, I think that may be

all that matters. Up to this moment,

I've been saying, okay, survival by itself isn't

good enough. You need survival plus

something else. And I'm now suggesting that in

my own case at least, the something else is,

something extra, is same, similar personality.

It might be that I get what matters to me even if I have,

as long as I have, similar personality,

even if I don't have survival.

Suppose--I don't believe in souls, but suppose there really

are souls. And suppose the soul is the key

to personal identity. And suppose the thing that

Locke was worried about really does happen.