Review	of	Vincent	Descombes,	Puzzling	Identities	(trans.	Stephen	Adam	Schwartz, Harvard	University	Press,	2016) This	rich	and	engaging	book	addresses	a	nest	of	questions	that	have	been	mostly neglected	in	recent	Anglophone	philosophy.	These	questions	concern	ordinary	uses of	the	concept	'identity'	in	speaking	e.g.	of	identity	crises,	of	one's	identity	as something	that	can	be	lost	or	maintained,	of	identification	with	certain	groups,	traits, values,	or	beliefs,	and	so	on.	That	there	are	these	uses,	and	that	they	are	an important	feature	of	contemporary	culture,	is	beyond	question:	witness	the difficulty	in	helping	undergraduates	focus	in	the	classroom	on	what	'we'	(that	is, professional	philosophers	working	in	the	tradition	of	Locke,	Reid,	Williams,	and Parfit)	mean	by	personal	identity,	where	this	meaning	is	supposed	to	be	distinct from	the	substantive	use	of	'identity'	to	mean	something	that	a	person	has,	and	that can	change	or	be	replaced	over	the	course	of	their	continued	life.	Seemingly connected	to	this	popular	understanding	of	identity	are	other	ordinary	concepts	like those	of	self-discovery	(or	'finding'	oneself)	and	authenticity	('being'	oneself),	and the	seriousness	with	which	people	ask	and	try	to	answer	questions	like	'Who	am	I?' To	understand	these	uses	would	be	to	understand	a	main	part	of	the	contemporary conception	of	a	person. The	difficulty	in	every	case	is	manifold.	In	particular,	it	is	simply	not	clear	in	the	first place	what	people	who	use	the	language	of	'identity'	in	these	ways	suppose	it	is	to discover	oneself	or	be	oneself,	to	change	one's	identity	or	come	to	identify	with such-and-such,	or	to	ask	or	answer	the	question	'Who	am	I?'	One	thing	that's	evident is	how	different	all	this	is	supposed	to	be	from	the	discovery,	change,	etc.	of ordinary	facts,	including	facts	about	other	human	beings:	discovering	oneself	is nothing	like	picking	one's	image	out	in	a	crowded	photograph,	and	a	person wondering	who	she	is	is	not	going	to	be	satisfied	by	being	told	her	name,	occupation, and	so	on.	But	this	only	compounds	the	further	problem	of	understanding	what	any of	this	talk	has	to	do	with	the	concept	'identity'	as	it	is	used	in	making	judgments	of the	form	'A	=	B'.	Is	it	just	a	lexical	accident	that	the	same	word	used	in	speaking about	the	persistence	and	individuation	of	objects	is	also	used	in	connection	with these	gripping	but	somewhat	inarticulate	existential	concerns? A	pessimistic	view	might	accept	that	this	is,	indeed,	a	mere	accident	of	usage.	More radically,	one	might	even	hold	that	the	supposed	conception	of	identity	that's	at stake	in	a	question	like	'Who	am	I?',	where	this	cannot	be	answered	just	by	saying	'I am	NN'	or	'I	am	the	F	that	is	G',	is	simply	incoherent	and	calls	for	philosophical therapy	rather	than	conceptual	analysis.	(Certainly	the	push	for	clarification	tends to	dumbfound	most	undergraduates.)	But	Descombes	rejects	these	responses.	He insists	that	there	is	something	real,	and	of	real	human	importance,	at	stake	in	this aspect	of	ordinary	'identity'-talk,	and	that	its	meaning	cannot	be	entirely disconnected	from	the	concept	of	personal	identity	that	has	received	more	attention in	the	recent	philosophical	literature.	The	aim	of	Puzzling	Identities	is	to	discover this	connection	and	use	it	to	shed	light	on	the	significance	of	ordinary	'identity'-talk and	what	this	reveals	about	our	concept	of	a	person. Stemming	from	this	aim	arise	further	questions,	which	I	will	not	be	able	to	discuss in	detail	here,	about	similar	uses	of	the	language	of	identity	in	connection	with	the nature	and	status	of	human	collectivities.	Just	as	a	person	may	puzzle	over	her identity	in	asking	herself	'Who	am	I?',	so	members	of	a	collectivity-such	as	an ethnic	community,	a	religious	body,	a	neighborhood,	or	a	nation-state-may	see	its identity	at	stake	in	posing	the	question	'Who	are	we?'	All	of	the	same	complexities arise	here	as	with	talk	of	the	identities	of	individual	persons,	yet	for	obvious	reasons the	resolution	of	them	cannot	be	just	the	same.	As	Descombes	shows	in	discussing these	matters	in	the	final	part	of	his	book,	part	of	what	is	at	stake	in	them	is	the question	what	it	is	to	be	(what	I	am	here	calling)	a	genuine	collectivity	rather	than an	aggregate	or	a	merely	classificatory	human	group:	for	only	by	members	of	a collectivity	can	the	question	'Who	are	we?'	really	be	asked,	and	only	such	a	body	can be	said	to	have	an	identity,	where	this	involves	something	more	than	merely	being identified	(which	is	to	say:	categorized)	as	such-and-such	a	group	according	to certain	criteria. Descombes's	treatment	of	'identity'-talk	as	applied	to	individual	humans	will	be	the focus	of	the	present	essay.	He	proposes	to	help	us	'relearn'	the	meaning	and significance	of	our	ordinary	concept	of	personal	identity,	beginning	with	its	use	in factual	identity	judgments	of	the	form	'This	is	NN'.	Consider	the	lived	concerns	to which	these	judgments,	and	thus	the	conditions	of	their	truth,	are	relevant:	they	are taken	for	granted	in	our	practices	of	promising	and	keeping	promises,	incurring	and resolving	debts,	and	admitting	and	denying	responsibility,	and	generally	in	the	ways we	regard	one	another	as	the	appropriate	targets	of	attitudes	like	love,	gratitude, fear,	resentment,	and	so	on.	As	Descombes	observes,	what	is	presupposed	in	all	of this	is	not	a	concept	of	identity	but	rather	a	concept	of	a	person	as	someone	who	can exist	over	time	despite	changes	in	certain	of	her	qualities.	Possessing	such	a	concept requires	having	a	grasp,	usually	implicit	and	perhaps	vague	at	some	of	its boundaries,	of	what	individuates	a	person-a	grasp,	that	is,	of	the	conditions	under which	a	given	person	can	be	picked	out	by	a	certain	proper	name	or	definite description. But	as	we	have	seen,	articulating	these	conditions	would	not	be	enough	to	explain what	people	mean	in	talking	of	identity	in	the	puzzling	senses	that	are	Descombes's real	interest.	That	is	because	in	contrast	to	merely	'factual'	statements	of	who	soand-so	is,	these	'moral'	uses	of	the	concept	of	personal	identity	are	in	a	way subjective:	meant	in	this	distinctive	way,	the	question	'Who	am	I?'	differs	from	'Who is	she?'	because	its	answer	has	to	come	from	the	very	person	who	asks	it.	Consider an	illustrative	passage	from	Ralph	Ellison's	Invisible	Man,	in	which	the	anonymous narrator	struggles	with	his	identity	after	the	destruction	of	his	youthful	illusions: I	had	no	doubt	I	could	do	something,	but	what,	and	how?	I	had	no	contacts and	I	believed	in	nothing.	And	the	obsession	with	my	identity	which	I	had developed	in	the	factory	hospital	returned	with	a	vengeance.	Who	was	I,	how had	I	come	to	be?	Certainly	I	couldn't	help	being	different	from	when	I	left the	campus;	but	now	a	new,	painful	contradictory	voice	had	grown	up	within me,	and	between	its	demands	for	revengeful	action	and	Mary's	silent pressure	I	throbbed	with	guilt	and	puzzlement.	I	wanted	peace	and	quiet, tranquility,	but	was	too	much	aboil	inside.	(Vintage	International,	2nd	ed., 1995,	p.	259) The	narrator's	obsession	with	understanding	his	identity	develops	after	an operation	that	leaves	him	unable	to	remember	his	name	or	the	name	of	his	mother, but	continues	even	after	this	knowledge	has	been	restored.	This	reveals	that	for	him, the	question	who	he	is	cannot	be	answered	just	by	appeal	to	facts	about	his	name, parentage,	place	of	birth,	and	so	on.	Asked	by	someone	else,	questions	of	the narrator's	identity	concern	whether	or	not	he	is	X,	where	'X'	is	a	proper	name	or definite	description,	and	answering	these	questions	is	a	matter	of	ascertaining	the relevant	facts.	For	the	narrator	himself,	something	further	is	at	stake. Descombes	distinguishes	two	ways	we	might	understand	the	idea	that	first-personal questions	of	identity	are	'subjective'.	The	first,	which	is	broadly	Lockean,	treats	the identity	of	a	person	as	a	matter	of	private	knowledge,	the	object	of	a	consciousness that	a	person	has	of	herself	which	can	be	shared	only	indirectly	with	others. Descombes	argues	that	this	will	not	do:	in	order	for	there	to	be	such	a	thing	as knowing,	in	a	way	that	only	a	person	herself	can,	that	one	is	the	same	person	(or 'self')	as	so-and-so,	there	would	have	to	be	criteria	for	making	such	judgments,	and	a possibility	of	getting	them	wrong.	Yet	none	of	this	can	be	explained	in	terms	of	a theory	of	subjective	identity	as	an	object	of	inner	knowledge. The	other	possibility,	which	Descombes	favors,	is	to	ground	the	subjectivity	of	moral identity	in	the	idea	that	a	person's	answer	to	the	question	'Who	am	I?'	is	an expression	of	who	she	is,	amounting	to	a	decision	on	her	part	to	identify	herself	in one	way	or	another.	This	is	suggested	in	the	passage	quoted	above	from	Invisible Man,	where	the	narrator's	obsession	with	his	identity	can	only	be	satisfied	by resolving	the	ways	that	contradictory	voices	inside	him	give	opposing	answers	to the	questions	what	to	do	and	believe.	These	questions	are,	as	Descombes	puts	it, practical	rather	than	cognitive:	they	are	questions	that	concern	what	to	make	of oneself,	what	to	be	or	become.	As	such,	something	different	is	at	stake	in	them	than in	a	mere	question	of	who	so-and-so	is,	where	this	is	a	request	for	information	in virtue	of	which	a	given	person	can	be	identified	and	so	engaged	with	appropriately.1 What	is	it	for	a	person	to	pose	to	herself	the	question	'Who	am	I?',	meaning	this question	so	that	it	can	be	answered	only	by	the	person	herself,	where	this	answer manifests	not	some	private	knowledge	but	a	decision	on	her	part	to	be	as	she identifies	herself	to	be?	Descombes	considers	two	possible	accounts.	The	first	treats questions	of	identity	as	resting	on	a	'radical	choice'	of	the	sort	envisioned	by	Sartre and	other	existentialists.	In	such	a	choice	'the	entire	existence	of	the	subject	is	at 1	For	some	similar	observations	in	connection	with	the	nature	and	moral	importance	of	selfknowledge,	see	Richard	Moran,	Authority	and	Estrangement	(Princeton	University	Press,	2001). stake'	(92):	the	choice	is	an	attempt	to	determine	who	she	is	in	a	way	that	does	not presuppose	any	practical	identity	that	has	been	given	to	her	as	a	result	of	birth, upbringing,	social	status,	and	so	on.	In	this	way,	the	subject's	responsibility	for herself	is	supposed	to	be	'expanded	to	every	one	of	[her]	attributes'	(95)-not	in	the sense	that	she	can	choose	whether	or	not	to	have	been	so	born,	brought	up,	etc.,	but because	she	refuses	to	grant	these	attributes	any	normative	significance	that contributes	to	determining	who	she	will	be. Descombes	argues	that	this	concept	of	radical	choice	is	incoherent,	or	in	any	case not	something	that	could	supply	an	answer	to	the	question	'Who	am	I?'	On	the account	we	are	considering	that	question	is	a	practical	one,	calling	for	a	decision	on the	part	of	the	subject	to	identify	herself	in	one	way	or	another.	But	any	practical question	must	be	finite:	it	must	ask	'what	should	I	do,	here	and	now,	knowing	that	I have	this	or	that	possibility	open	to	me?'	(130).	And	the	subject	who	purports	to make	a	radical	choice	cannot	frame	the	question	in	this	way,	since	'he	has	no	reason to	envisage	one	possibility	as	preferable	to	another	from	the	perspective	of	the	ends that	he	would	have	if	he	were	an	individuated	agent'.	That	is,	such	a	subject	'has	no reasons	that	are	his	own,	reasons	that,	by	indicating	what	he	should	do,	allow	him	to think	of	his	decision	as	an	expression	of	himself,	of	what	he	is	and	of	what	he	wants in	life'	(ibid.).	As	Iris	Murdoch	asks,	'If	we	are	so	strangely	separate	from	the	world at	moments	of	choice'	as	the	existentialist	view	depicts	us,	then	in	these	supposed decisions	'are	we	really	choosing	at	all,	are	we	right	indeed	to	identify	ourselves	with this	giddy	empty	will?'2	Descombes	agrees	with	Murdoch	that	the	answer	will	be 'No'. I	believe	there	are	two	distinct	points	that	are	not	always	kept	sufficiently	separate in	this	discussion.	First,	a	practical	question	can	be	asked	only	by	an	individuated agent-someone	who	is	in	a	particular	place	in	the	world	with	certain	possibilities open	to	her,	e.g.	to	take	one	of	two	paths	at	a	crossroads.	This	means	that	such	a question	'can	be	raised	only	by	an	agent	who	is	sure	of	the	conditions	of	his	choice, conditions	that	result	from	his	individuation	in	a	particular	place	in	the	world'	(130131).	Second,	for	a	choice	to	be	deliberate	it	must	be	grounded	in	some	reason	that bears	on	the	choiceworthiness	of	the	options:	I	may	choose	this	path	because	it leads	to	A,	or	choose	the	other	because	it	leads	to	B,	or	choose	to	flip	a	coin	because	I am	simply	indifferent	between	these	options.	Descombes	envisions	the	subject	of	a purported	radical	choice	as	paralyzed	in	both	respects:	this	subject	'suppresses	the normative	fact	of	her	individuation	and	thus	loses	every	given	practical	identity', thereby	'deny[ing]	herself	any	reasons	that	she	might	personally	have	to	make	one choice	rather	than	another'	(128;	emphasis	added).	The	phrase	I	have	italicized makes	it	clear	that	there	are	supposed	to	be	two	distinct	but	related	ideas	at	work here,	but	more	could	be	said	about	the	connection	between	them.	In	exactly	what sense	must	the	subject	of	a	radical	choice	ignore	(or	pretend	to	ignore)	her particular	place	in	the	world?	And	what	is	the	connection	between	the	de	facto 2	Iris	Murdoch,	'The	Idea	of	Perfection',	in	The	Sovereignty	of	Good	(1970,	London:	Routledge, 2001),	at	p.	35. limits	imposed	by	such	material	particularity	and	any	properly	normative considerations	that	would	bear	on	the	subject's	'practical	identity'? Still	it	is	clear	that	there	is	serious	trouble	here	for	the	idea	that	practical	identity	is grounded	in	radical	choice	of	who	one	will	be.	Charles	Taylor	puts	this	well	in commenting	on	Sartre's	story	of	the	young	man	who	must	choose	whether	to	leave his	mother	or	join	the	Resistance:	as	Taylor	writes,	the	man's	situation	is	indeed	'a cruel	dilemma',	but	it	is	so	'only	because	the	claims	themselves	are	not	created	by radical	choice'.3	If	the	respective	claims	of	the	man's	country	and	his	mother	did	rest on	such	a	choice,	then	the	man	'could	do	away	with	the	dilemma	at	any	moment	by simply	declaring	one	of	the	rival	claims	as	dead	and	inoperative'	(ibid.).	This	is	not to	say	that	the	man	cannot	call	these	claims	into	question:	he	might	e.g.	consider whether	to	reject	any	allegiance	to	his	family.	But	it	is	only	insofar	as	he	has	such	an allegiance	that	the	question	can	arise	in	this	way	at	all.	And	only	in	light	of	what Taylor	calls	a	'contrastive	characterization'	of	the	respective	options	as	loyal	or disloyal,	cowardly	or	courageous,	and	so	on	can	they	be	appreciated	as	meriting consideration	in	the	first	place,	such	that	a	choice	of	one	over	the	other	can	be	made explicable	and	thus	be	seen	as	the	sort	of	thing	with	which	the	man	might	identify himself. What	alternative	is	there	to	the	theory	of	radical	choice	for	understanding	the distinctively	practical,	indeed	existential	force	of	the	question	'Who	am	I?'	Here Descombes	draws	directly	on	Taylor's	work,	arguing	that	the	possibility	of	defining one's	moral	identity	presupposes	what	Taylor	calls	the	'great	disembedding'	of individual	persons	from	inherited	roles,	traditions,	and	social	structures.4	Taylor suggests	that	person's	conception	of	herself	as	an	individual	in	the	modern	sense	is manifested	in	her	ability	to	entertain	thoughts	of	how	she	would	have	been	even	if the	circumstances	of	her	birth	and	childhood	had	been	radically	different-had	she been	born	in	a	different	era,	or	to	parents	with	different	jobs	or	social	statuses,	or raised	in	a	different	religion,	or	had	skin	of	a	different	color.	A	person	who	thinks	of herself	in	these	ways	has	disembedded	her	self-conception	from	the	social	and material	circumstances	in	which	she	finds	herself,	which	then	raises	the	question what,	if	not	these	circumstances,	determines	the	kind	of	person	she	is	going	to	be. Such	a	person	must	address	the	question	'Who	am	I?'	in	a	way	that	one	whose	selfconception	has	not	been	disembedded	in	this	way	will	not. In	one	of	the	best	sections	of	Puzzling	Identities,	Descombes	uses	a	pair	of	Pascal's works	to	illustrate	the	process	by	which	a	modern	individual	can	come	to	ask	and answer	the	question	'Who	am	I?'	in	such	a	disembedded	way.	One	of	these	works records	conversations	that	Pascal	had	with	a	young	nobleman,	whom	he	instructs	to imagine	himself	as	akin	to	a	man	who	has	been	shipwrecked	on	an	island	and mistaken	by	its	inhabitants	for	their	king.	Pascal's	point	is	that	the	respect	the 3	Charles	Taylor,	'Responsibility	for	Self',	in	A.	O.	Rorty,	ed.,	The	Identities	of	Persons	(Berkeley: University	of	California	Press,	1976),	at	p.	291. 4	See	Charles	Taylor,	A	Secular	Age	(Cambridge:	Harvard	University	Press,	2007),	pp.	146-158. nobleman	receives	in	virtue	of	his	inherited	title	is	analogous	to	that	received	by	the man	who	was	shipwrecked,	since	there	is	nothing	in	his	'natural	condition'	or personal	achievements	in	virtue	of	which	this	unequal	treatment	is	deserved. Descombes	suggests	that	this	exercise,	which	any	of	us	can	engage	in	as	well,	is	a form	of	'self-definition	through	disembedding',	through	which	one	learns	'to	stop thinking	of	oneself	as	being	naturally-and	thus	legitimately-what	one	is	as	a result	of	one's	genealogy'	(119). However,	as	Descombes	notes	the	'double	thought'	that	Pascal	recommends	to	the young	nobleman-that	is,	the	thought	that	while	he	is	truly	undeserving	of	unequal respect,	to	conform	with	his	society	he	will	embrace	that	respect	in	his	external actions-is	inherently	unstable,	and	one	who	adopts	this	strategy	will	likely	'aspire to	a	more	"authentic"	existence,	one	that	is	more	in	accordance	with	the	demand	for a	match	between	the	internal	and	the	external'	(121-122).	In	one	of	his	Pensées Pascal	describes	what	Descombes	calls	a	'spiritual	danger'	(123)	that	threatens	any person	who	has	such	an	aspiration:	after	we	have	removed	all	the	'borrowed qualities'	that	a	person	has	only	contingently	and	thus	cannot	identify	with	her	'true self',	the	purely	abstract	subject	or	'self'	that	remains	is	no	longer	recognizable	as worthy	of	love	or	esteem	at	all.	As	Descombes	writes,	'It	is	absurd	and	unjust	to	ask to	be	loved	for	oneself,	for	there	is	nothing	lovable	in	the	fact	of	being	oneself' (127)-nothing,	that	is,	in	the	mere	fact	of	being	oneself	that	warrants	any particular	respect. The	problem,	in	other	words,	is	that	for	the	disembedded	subject	to	identify	herself with	more	than	the	empty	'I	am	I',	she	must	choose	some	given	characteristic	to identify	herself	with.	As	we	have	seen,	in	order	for	this	self-identification	to	be intelligible	as	such,	the	subject	must	understand	the	characteristic	with	which	she identifies,	not	as	simply	necessitated,	but	as	choiceworthy	in	light	of	some	reason	for identifying	herself	as	this	or	that.	And	this	means	that	there	is	a	limit	to	how	far	a person's	self-conception	can	be	disembedded	from	her	contingent	circumstances: 'in	order	to	make	his	choice	after	having	considered	the	reasons	he	might	have	for doing	or	not	doing	something,	the	subject	will	have	had	to	accept	the	ontological	fact of	his	individuation.	He	will	have	had	to	accept	that	his	identity	is	defined	by	his human	origins	rather	than	by	pure	subjective	fiat'	(131). I	expect	that	the	phrase	'defined	by'	in	that	last	sentence	is	not	quite	what Descombes	is	after.	(It	is	not	a	mistranslation,	though:	the	French	phrase	it translates	is	simply	'défini	par'.)	If	there	were	a	direct	line	to	be	drawn	from	a person's	origins	to	the	definition	of	her	identity,	then	moral	identity	would	not	be subjective	in	any	sense.	Instead	it	would	just	be	a	matter	of	recording	the circumstances	of	one's	birth	and	upbringing,	which	could	be	done	just	as	well	by	a third	party	as	by	the	person	herself.	Descombes's	point	is	rather	that	the	definition of	one's	identity	is	not	so	purely	subjective	as	to	render	the	objective	facts	of	a person's	individuation	normatively	irrelevant,	or	relevant	only	insofar	as	the	person chooses	ex	nihilo	to	regard	them	as	such.	This	makes	a	person's	origins	definitive only	in	the	limited	sense	that	they	establish	the	context	within	which	the	question 'Who	am	I?'	can	meaningfully	be	answered.	But	within	this	context	there	will	be	a way	of	answering	this	question	that	can	only	come	from	the	subject	herself,	since the	given	facticity	that	situates	her	answer	and	renders	it	intelligible	as	an expression	of	personal	choice	does	not	thereby	define	who	she	is.	At	the	very	least, it	seems	to	be	part	of	our	modern	conception	of	the	person	that	this	is	so. This	book	really	is	a	pleasure	to	read	and	think	through.	It	is	'analytic'	in	the	best sense:	short,	carefully	argued,	attentive	to	linguistic	nuance	without	being	pedantic, and	largely	free	of	obscure	or	technical	terminology.	Descombes's	erudition	is	on display	throughout	as	he	engages	creatively	with	texts	from	a	range	of	eras, traditions,	and	disciplines.	And	Stephen	Adam	Schwartz,	who	has	also	translated several	more	of	Descombes's	books,	renders	the	text	in	a	clear	and	almost conversational	English	that	seems	to	convey	the	rhythm	and	style	of	the	original French.	Puzzling	Identities	will	not	be	the	final	word	on	the	subjects	it	treats.	But	it deserves	to	help	set	the	terms	of	our	discussion.5 John	Schwenkler Department	of	Philosophy,	Florida	State	University jlschwenkler@gmail.com 5	I	am	grateful	to	David	DiQuattro,	Stephen	Schwartz,	Angela	Schwenkler,	and	Joel	Smith	for	some discussion	and	feedback.