Essays on Philosophical & Psychological Theories of Personhood & Identity
The following are two essays—and an addendum— I wrote on ontological personhood and identity while in my undergraduate program. While I have edited them here and there, and am possibly planning to include them in some type of “omnibus” work, I felt it rather fitting to include them here as a part of one of my very first posts. Perhaps you may find something here that rings true to what you believe, or even better, challenges some of your presuppositions.
Philosophical: The Same, Ever-Changing Identity
The topic of identity is no stranger to philosophical anthropology or ontological circles. How our identity persists, if it persists at all, is a question many ask – assuming we only have one identity. Perhaps we consist of multiple identities, allowing us to be considered as a “different person” over time. Philosophers, psychologists, and even politicians, have pondered the topic of identity for hundreds of years. Are we who we are because we remain in the same body? Perhaps we develop different identities given our ever-changing memories? Or perhaps we are defined by actions, and when or where we exercised them. Ironically enough, the discussion of identity has changed just as much, if not more, than personal identity itself.
Therefore, this essay will be providing a stance on identity and how we remain to be the same person over time, despite seemingly and legitimate ever-changing qualities. In this essay, we will engage with philosophers, psychologists, and age-old thought experiments for contextualization of different avenues of identity. With the given contextualization by the end, I will provide my own constitution of essentiality to identity.
To begin, I would like to refer to the thought experiment known as The Ship of Theseus. The thought experiment goes as follows: assume Theseus takes in his ship for repairs. These repairs may consist of cleaning the deck, replacing the planks of wood, fixing the armory, or even washing the sails. After these repairs, be they drastic or not, would it still be considered the same ship? If so, what exactly is the difference that forces that change? Most solutions to this thought experiment can be categorized by two (2) camped theories: the body theory and the memory theory.
Some of us may be prone to credit our bodies with identity. After all, I appear to be the same person on account of the body I possess from the day I started bodily development in my mother’s womb. Let us think of the ship’s repairs though, for a moment. What if parts of the body were to change or be replaced, piece by piece? What if I scraped my knee and after several weeks my body provides me with new skin and tissue to cover what was once lost? What if as I sit here, dead skin cells rub off my body onto my jeans and shirt? What if over the course of thirteen years of my life I am unable to grow visible facial hair, but radically do on my fourteenth birthday?
An example of the body theory can be found within the Dà zhìdù lùn (DZDL), a collection of Mahayana Buddhist doctrine. The reader is given a story of an unfortunate encounter between a traveling man and two demons, one of which is holding a corpse. As one demon tears apart the living man’s body pieces, bit by bit, the other demon replaces them with identical parts from the corpse. The traveler is then left to answer the question “What has become of me?” 1 One solution to the DZDL’s interpretation of the body theory comes from This story obviously functions similarly to The Ship of Theseus experiment, as both are concerned with replacing or removing different parts in hopes of sustaining the same original total. Asian philosopher, Nāgārjuna. Nāgārjuna believes that if a concept cannot be clearly answered from “Is it F? Or not? Or both? Or neither?”, then the concept itself must be flawed and absurd, and therefore not worthwhile. What becomes of Nāgārjuna’s impression on existence is one that denies essential properties of being and the self.
However, a lot of us may be quick to provide our memories to our identity: we are who we are because we remember parts of ourselves in the past. But again, imagine yourself as Theseus’ ship: if parts of you were to be taken apart, changed, or replaced, would you remain the same you? While the memory solution is helpful, what are we to make of falsified memories, or a loss of memories? We don’t remember every moment of our lives – like our being born. Does that lack of memory mean we aren’t the same person that came out of the womb? There is to be some credit given to the memory theory, though, as I, and only I, remember certain aspects of life and the world around me. I remember what it felt like getting a bike wreck outside my house in Mt. Juliet, Tennessee, in 2005. I remember falling asleep to lullaby music while holding a giraffe toy. Some of these memories are memories from my perspective that only I could have from specific places and time. But would I be me without these memories?
English philosopher and physician, John Locke, is found to favor the memory theory. According to Locke, identity resides in one’s own consciousness or memories. This would mean that you are who you are because of what you think and feel, and the way you think and feel them. If any part of those things were to change in any way, whether they be added to or subtracted from, you would qualify as a different person. Concerning the objections such as memory loss or falsified memories, Locke also believes you should not be held responsible for a crime if you could not genuinely remember it. Despite occasions such as memory loss, Locke would affirm that you may remember yourself in a time in which you did remember the thing which you have currently forgotten. This chain of memories is what makes up your identity. Each individual part of the chain may be different and far removed from one another, but they are all connected, nonetheless.
Between Nāgārjuna and Locke’s differing approaches to identity, I personally find myself to favor Locke. While I believe the objections pertaining to memory loss, falsified memories, or outright lies are genuine and important objections to be had, I believe Locke’s chain of memories can be further simplified. It should be noted that discussions of identity arise because of the diversity of how innately ready people are to discuss them. To say I am not the same person I was when I exited my mother’s womb would be a true statement under the body or memory theory. The body theory, however, would seem like it would have to draw a very hard line with the brain or other specific organs that are always subject to change. The memory theory, on the other hand, has room for ambiguity within the answer of memories itself.
Therefore, I would like to suggest a third theory which retains the structure of Locke’s memory theory while also accounting for the body. For this synthesis, I would like to credit identity to mere experiences. We may have experiences of the body that we may not necessarily remember, and we may also have experiences of memory that do not necessitate specific bodily movement. However, we may be unable to provide an account of all of our experiences when asked to do so. The structure of Locke’s chain is to ensure some help given its expression of how all the links are universally connected on the same chain without being individually related, link by link. But how would one credibly relate the chain and its links to the vastly diverse properties of life from the outside? As opposed to our bodies or our memories, experiences are a constant. We may lose parts of our bodies or our memories, but that loss in and of itself is an experience. What ought to be asked is how we as individuals relate to other parts of our chain – other parts of ourselves – from the inside.
I find Joseph Luft and Harrington Ingham’s cognitive psychological technique, the Johari window, to provide a helpful application. According to the Johari window, there are four (4) categories of the self: (1) the open arena where parts of ourselves are known by ourselves and others, (2) the blind spot where parts of ourselves are known by others but not ourselves, (3) the façade in which parts of ourselves are known by ourselves but not by others, and (4) the unknown where things are not known by ourselves or by others. However, each of these categories have one thing in common – a continual self.
The chain of experiences is then what would constitute our identity, which we call the self. As we gain new experiences, our chain gains new links. These links may connect to other parts of the chain, causing interlinks as opposed to remaining in a linear formation. These interlinks may be dormant or active at will or by subconscious efforts, and may even be invisible to our recollection. These interlinks may best be described as the categories of the Johari window, and how each window calls for some different recollections of our experiences.
Therefore, the chain would be different in the manner of accounting for new experiences. However, these new experiences may possibly add up to a numerically equal whole. The conclusion would be that while the chain of experiences – our self and identity – is different by every second, those seconds may not necessarily add or contribute to our interlinks. Thus, we are found with the same, ever-changing identity.
(Addendum) The Same, Ever-Changing Identity: Apología Katà Pantheïsmou
This subchapter that I have included is not included amongst the essays on personhood that I wrote through my undergraduate program. As such, this is complete, newly original work as I have developed this theory of self. As I have continuously developed this theory of self, I have extended it to include non-rational things. This would mean to say, quite literally, that all existent things have identity and personhood. The maroon shirt I have on now, has its own identity. The countless, individual strands of hair that run up my arm all have individual identities apart from one another. Each hair is different. The two, seemingly identical lamps that sit across from me in this room right now are still, yet, technically different in their personhood.
I find this to be true on account of their differing experiences. As was evident from the last chapter, I find that experiences are what constitutes identity. Well, in a very literal sense, the strands of hair on your arm have – technically speaking – different experiences. They grew at different rates, on different spots on your arm. Perhaps they may even be the slightest different shade of color. One may clearly be longer than the other. But perhaps most importantly, the atoms they are made up of are different for these very same reasons too. Even existing differently when compared to another, would count as a differing experience. The same is true for the lamps that sit across from me. While they may appear identical in every single way, they are not atomically tied together. If I break one lamp, the other remains. Now, if they shared identical, substantiative ontology (that is, shared ontology between both particulars), then they would both have to break. But they do not, and because, the differing personhood between both lamps, and all strands of hair, would naturally follow logically.
Now, it has been brought to my attention that this theory of personhood and self would seemingly have to naturally entail of pantheism. If the personhood of all things constitutes to the personhood of another, then all that exists is the shared personhood between all things. My individual personhood is made up of the experiences I alone possess, including the experiences (and thus personhood) of the hairs on my arm, or cells in my organs.
While I understand this concern, I believe it incorrectly assumes and inflates the individual totality of the persons. The framework I propose posits that personhood does not exist in and of itself but emerges as the sum of its parts. Each part—whether a physical component, such as a strand of hair, or an intangible component, such as an idea—possesses its own personhood derived from unique experiences. This personhood contributes relationally to a larger composite, such as an individual’s overall personhood. For example, the hair on one’s arm contributes to their personhood by virtue of its physical connection, its experiential history (e.g., growth, exposure to sunlight), and its ongoing relational dynamics with the host body.
This framework inherently acknowledges that each part within a composite personhood is distinct and evolving. The hair, while contributing to the host’s personhood, retains its own identity as a strand of hair. It has experiences that are unique to it, such as being brushed or shed, which do not fully integrate into the host’s total personhood. Instead, these experiences inform the relational network that constitutes the individual’s personhood.
If one were to apply the same reasoning to larger systems, such as the relationship between a person and their surroundings, the question arises: Does the personhood of entities external to the individual, such as a tree, contribute to the individual’s personhood simply by sharing universal experiences? This question is particularly significant in assessing whether this framework collapses into pantheism.
To understand how personhoods relate to one another, it is critical to distinguish between shared experiences and relational relevance. Shared experiences refer to categories or events that multiple entities participate in simultaneously, such as "being located on Earth." Relational relevance, on the other hand, refers to the active contribution of one entity’s experiences to another’s personhood through meaningful interaction or interdependence.
Take, for instance, the hair on one’s arm and a tree located across the world. Both share the experience of "being on Earth," a universal category that applies to all terrestrial entities. However, this shared experience is passive and does not imply relational relevance. For the hair’s personhood to contribute to the tree’s personhood (or vice versa), there must be a relational dynamic in which their experiences actively influence or depend on one another.
Consider a scenario in which the tree provides shade to a person, affecting the hair on their arm. In this case, the tree’s personhood becomes relationally relevant to the hair’s personhood through their shared experiential network. Absent such interaction, their shared categorical experience of "being on Earth" does not establish a relational connection.
This distinction is crucial in preserving the individuality of personhoods. While entities may share universal categories, such as existing within the same biosphere or participating in the same physical laws, these categories do not equate to relational contribution. Personhood remains localized to the specific relational networks in which an entity participates.
Personhood, as I have argued, is not static but dynamic. Each moment of existence represents a "new" personhood shaped by the sum of experiences at that moment. This dynamic nature ensures that relationships between entities are continually evolving based on their interactions.
In the example of the hair on one’s arm, its personhood is directly tied to its relational contributions to the host body. The hair’s experiences—growing, being brushed, or being exposed to sunlight—inform the composite personhood of the individual. This relationship is bidirectional: changes to the host body, such as movement or environmental exposure, also affect the hair’s experiences.
However, the relational network does not extend indiscriminately to all entities. For example, while the hair on one’s arm may share the universal experience of "existing on Earth" with a distant tree, their relational connection is limited to their immediate interactions. Even if the tree’s pollen were to affect the host body and, by extension, the hair, this interaction would be highly localized and context-dependent. The tree’s broader experiences—such as photosynthesis or root growth—remain isolated from the hair’s personhood unless mediated by a shared relational network.
This localized approach ensures that relational contributions are meaningful and context-specific, rather than universal and indiscriminate. It preserves the individuality of personhoods while allowing for dynamic interactions within defined networks.
One might argue that proximity itself establishes a relational connection between entities. For example, the hair on one’s arm and a tree within a certain distance could share the experience of "being located on Earth" or "being in close proximity to one another." Does this shared proximity imply a relational connection?
The answer lies in distinguishing between proximity as a potential for interaction and proximity as an actual relational dynamic. Proximity creates the conditions for potential relational relevance but does not, in itself, establish a contribution to personhood. For example, two trees located in the same forest may share the experience of "being part of the forest ecosystem," but their personhoods remain distinct unless their experiences actively intersect, such as through shared root systems or mutual influence on the surrounding environment.
In the case of the hair on one’s arm and a distant tree, their shared proximity as entities on Earth does not establish a relational connection. Their experiences remain distinct unless mediated by direct interaction, such as environmental factors that link them. This framework avoids the pitfall of collapsing all personhoods into a universal whole, as relational contributions are contingent on active interdependence rather than passive categorization.
Pantheism asserts that all entities are fundamentally interconnected and unified into a single essence or being. My framework, while acknowledging the relational nature of personhood, avoids pantheism by maintaining the distinctiveness of entities and their relational networks. Simply because certain personhood may interact and contribute to others, it does not make the prior personhood obsolete, and therefore distinctively different.
While entities may share broad experiential categories, such as "being on Earth," these categories do not collapse their personhoods into a single essence. Relational connections are context-specific and contingent on meaningful interaction. Personhood remains localized to the sum of relational contributions within a specific network. The personhood of the hair on one’s arm contributes to the composite personhood of the host body but does not extend to unrelated entities, such as a distant tree. Each entity’s personhood is shaped by its unique experiences and relational dynamics. This distinctiveness ensures that personhoods remain separate even when participating in shared categories.
Thus, my framework explicitly rejects the notion of a universal personhood encompassing all entities. Instead, personhood is relationally emergent, arising within localized networks rather than as a universal essence.
The framework of personhood I have proposed, rooted in the sum of experiences, allows for rich relational dynamics without collapsing into pantheism. By distinguishing between shared categorical experiences and relational relevance, this model preserves the individuality of entities while acknowledging their interdependence within localized networks. Proximity and shared categories, such as "being on Earth," may create the potential for relational connections but do not establish universal personhood. Instead, relational contributions are context-specific and contingent on meaningful interaction.
Through this lens, the relationship between the hair on one’s arm and a distant tree is defined not by their shared existence on Earth but by the absence of direct relational relevance. This preserves the distinctiveness of their personhoods and avoids the pitfalls of pantheistic monism, ensuring that personhood remains a dynamic, localized, and contextually emergent phenomenon.
Psychological: Broken Identity in the Face of Faith
Identity and the questions surrounding it can be found riddling the field of philosophy just as much, if not more, as it can be found haunting the field of psychology. Identity, personhood, the self – these are all terms that contribute to such conversations. In philosophy, we ask ourselves what makes us who we are because of our curiosity to better understand human nature. In psychology, we ask ourselves what makes us who we are because of our security, or lack thereof, to understand ourselves. Psychology greets philosophy’s riddles with a personal involvement at stake, and as a result the riddles must be answered personally as well. Such answers, in my opinion, need to be as universally applicable as much as possible for the sake of consistency. Faith, as a universally personal system, is not an exception to this.
This essay will aim to approach philosophy’s riddles through a personal, psychological lens for the purpose of applying it ones’ faith. How a sense of identity – secure or not – affects faith and vice versa is what the heart of this essay will attempt to provide.
To begin, I would like to refer to the Johari window experiment. The Johari window is a cognitive psychological technique devised by Joseph Luft and Harrington Ingham. Within the Johari window, there are four (4) categories of the self: (1) the open arena where parts of ourselves are known by ones’ self and others, (2) the blind spot where parts of ourselves are known by others but not ourselves, (3) the façade in which parts of ourselves are known by ourselves but not by others, and (4) the unknown where things are not known by ourselves or by others. The purpose of this window is to provide a constituted, single identity (the wholistic window) through avenues of perspective (the quartered categories of the window). As I discuss elsewhere, I find the Johari window to be compatible with the structure of John Locke’s chain of memories identity theory. However, in order to account for philosophy’s bodily and memory- based approaches to identity, I find a necessity to synthesize the window and the chain to make a whole new structure built upon individual experiences.
While this experience-based structure works for the individual person within the field of philosophy, and perhaps even theology, psychology itself proposes other instances that need to be taken into consideration. Such cases entail of the rare and extreme, but plausible, instances of dissociative identity disorder, schizophrenia, and more. How victims of these types of disorders view themselves is incredibly important, especially in regards to personalized faith and systematized theology.
Very rarely are these disorders active from birth. Rather, they usually develop as a defense mechanism to cope with trauma. According to Mayo Clinic, symptoms depend on what strand of such disorder one may have, but they include: memory loss, sense of detachment from yourself and others around you, blurred identity, significant stress, inability to cope well with emotional stress, and mental health problems, such as depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and behaviors. These symptoms, usually with a history of traumatic events, may lead to dissociative amnesia, depersonalization-derealization disorder, and – previously and infamously known as “multiple personality disorder” – dissociative identity disorder. Each of these may create a sense of a “broken” or “shattered” identity, whether that is observed by the self or by others around them. It is important to note that not all of these symptoms have to be present for a person to be diagnosed with DID and not every person with DID will present all of these symptoms. These types of disorders, like many others, vary from person to person on account of innumerable factors.
In light of such instances, though, philosophy should attempt to adhere to these cases, be they extreme or not. Likewise, those in theology and faith ought to account for these real and very personal cases. Philosophy, theology, and faith ought to work together in order to (1) make sense of the world in which we live, (2) make sense of what it means to be human, (3) further explore God’s creation, and (4) further spread the Good News of Christ.
These strands of identity disorders manifest themselves in ways that tend to vary from person to person. However, that is not to say they are indiscernible. Rather, what ought to be noted is how these disorders show themselves and to what extremities. The question of how identity exists within the diagnosed individual not only still persists, but I believe demands an answer for the aim of this essay. How, then, is identity rendered for someone of dissociative identity disorder or other identity-related disorders?
I believe the answer for this question can still be found within the experience model of identity I conjure in my previous essay. However, this time we have to work with it in regard to these strands of dissociative identity disorder (DID). For the purpose of this experiment, we will be working with two (2) differing ways DID reveals itself: (1) in the instance of having “multiple” separate and unique personalities, perhaps even claiming their own names or other characteristics that differ from the original host, and (2) the case of having “parts” of the original host manifest as seemingly separate identities that highlight specific characteristics of the host. An example of this first case would be the original host, John, hosting different, self-claiming “identities” such as the high-sex drive alter, Tom, and the always-happy, woman alter, Isabella. An example of the second case would be the original host, Billy, hosting different “identities” that focus on specific character traits ranging from specific emotions to older childhood mannerisms, and may or may not inherently claim individuality and independency from the host. Keep in mind that both cases tend to result from traumatic events and act as defensive coping mechanisms from the original host.
Under the philosophical body theory, all these hosts and their alters would be considered the same person. Such a view is evident in political logistics. In the case of physical crimes, their physical body is the normally counted as the victim, witness, suspect, or perpetrator. The philosophical memory theory already has its hosts of issues through amnesia or mere dishonesty. The experience view I propose in my previous essay aims to constitute a singular, always-changing identity on account of continual experiences one garners consciously or subconsciously. If this theory is true, how would it relate to these cases of DID?
Let us look at the first scenario, where we have the original host person, John, who has two (2) alters: Tom and Isabella. Within this case of DID, not all alters share all of the same experiences. Some of them may be aware of the others, some may not. Some may share thoughts, interests, or even mannerisms not present in the others. Despite sharing a single body, these examples of alters share such strikingly different characteristics that for all intent and purposes, they are individually different people – they have individual identities. The chains and interlinks of their experiences may overlap as far as having some of the same subconscious or unintentional experiences are concerned. All the alters may share the same exact experience of having dead skin cells rub off onto their clothes, being at the same place at the same time, or all alters resting peacefully in the same bed. Despite this, however, they do have some differences. I find these differences to constitute different “identities” from each alter. The identity chains of experience from John, Tom, and Isabella are different, but they do overlap like that of a Venn diagram.
The second scenario is trickier to work with as the alters are more subtle. Rather than being radically dynamic identities like Tom or Isabella, alters through this stem are emphasized by character traits of the host. For example, the host, Bill, may revert to his nine-year-old self through his traumatic trigger. This younger alter of Bill may or may not give itself its own name, but I find the alter to be just that–a younger variant of Bill. Because these alters are inherently built from pre-existing experiences or personas from the host, I currently do not find enough evidence to consider them as separate identities. The chains and interlinks of the host and the alters may technically overlap, but I believe it would be better to describe the experiences split and more a part of the host’s subconscious arenas of the chain. Thus, Bill’s alters’ experiences would functionally look more like a pie chart than anything else.
The next questions to be asked, beyond the scope of this essay, are questions in regards to the application of these branches of identity. Is someone dating John also dating Isabella? Can Tom apply for a driver’s license, enabling him to drive but not the other alters? If someone sleeps with Bill, can Bill accuse them of sexual misconduct through his alters? Can John be saved by the Spirit while Tom is possessed by a demonic force? These types of questions are important within integrating identity-focused psychology and philosophy into theology and ones’ faith. Perhaps with this synthesis of theological, philosophical, and psychological identity in mind, we may not only better understand the world in which we sail, but also understand ourselves.
