Forget everything you thought you knew about Enlightenment philosophers as detached thinkers. Justin E. H. Smith reveals Leibniz as a shrewd political operator hustling for access to autocratic power—a portrait so vivid it reframes how we view intellectual ambition today. His evidence? Leibniz’s own letters, dripping with envy, opportunism, and a startling willingness to overlook brutality for the sake of scientific progress.
The Blank Slate Fantasy
Smith dissects Leibniz’s earliest reaction to Peter’s Western tour, showing how the philosopher instantly recast Russia as a project. Justin E. H. Smith writes, "I am going to write to [Weigel] that, since the Tsar wishes to debarbarize his own country, [Weigel] will find a tabula rasa there, a sort of new earth." This isn’t abstract philosophy—it’s a pitch deck for colonial-style intellectual conquest. Smith nails how Leibniz’s "tabula rasa" framing ignored Russia’s existing culture, reducing it to raw material for Western minds. The phrase lands because it echoes modern tech-bro saviorism, yet Smith wisely avoids heavy-handed parallels, letting the 1697 letter speak for itself. Critics might note that all court philosophers flattered patrons—but Leibniz’s specificity about Russia’s "new earth" reveals a uniquely transactional vision.
"The children, parents, and friends of the executed have a wounded spirit, and that maxim that says oderint, dum metuant [Let them hate, as long as they fear] is dangerous."
Moral Compromise as Strategy
Smith doesn’t flinch from Leibniz’s moral gymnastics after Peter’s brutal suppression of the streltsy revolt. As Justin E. H. Smith puts it, Leibniz observed the executions "retains something of the Scythian" but pivoted instantly to strategic concerns: "it is a very great misfortune that domestic strife has recently forced him to resort to so many terrible executions." The core of the argument is Leibniz’s cold calculus: he condemned the cruelty yet feared it would destabilize the very regime he hoped to influence. This lands because Smith juxtaposes Leibniz’s humanitarian language with his later hope for Russia’s total defeat by Sweden—proving his "principles" bent toward opportunity. Smith overlooks how common such hypocrisy was among courtiers, but the specificity of Leibniz’s 1701 letter wishing Charles XII would reign "all the way to the Amur River" makes the case undeniable.
The Relief Map: Ambition in Miniature
The Torgau meeting crystallizes Smith’s thesis. Leibniz’s proposed "living relief map" of Russia wasn’t just flattery—it was a full-throated embrace of imperial power. Justin E. H. Smith highlights Leibniz’s vision: "the might of the great Tsar could be represented with a model of his Empire... with a representation of the battles at Poltava and on the Prut." Smith masterfully unpacks how this grotesque dinner theater—water pumped through miniature rivers, "exotic animals" placed beside conquered cities—merged Leibniz’s scientific interests with sycophancy. This matters because it shows Enlightenment thinkers didn’t just serve power; they designed its propaganda. The detail about hiding pipes under the dining hall feels ripped from a dystopian novel, yet Smith roots it in Leibniz’s actual letters, making the absurdity hauntingly real.
Bottom Line
Smith’s strongest move is using Leibniz’s own words to expose the gap between Enlightenment ideals and intellectual opportunism—a vulnerability that feels urgently modern. His biggest risk is implying Leibniz was uniquely calculating, when courtiership was the era’s norm. Watch how this foreshadows today’s academics navigating authoritarian regimes: the "tabula rasa" mindset never really left us.