Functionalist identity theorists (functionalists, for short) argue that if physical states of the central nervous system (CNS) have the same function (the same input and output) as pain, pains should be identified with those physical states. Many objections have been raised against this position. My aim in this paper is to defend it against opponents who argue that it leads to an absurd result: the ascription of pains to things which cannot reasonably be thought to be capable of suffering, or of having any conscious states. In doing this, I will outline a version of the functionalist position which I think is plausible. It departs in several respects from versions commonly found in the literature.

La logique intervient doublement dans les discussions sur l'identité personnelle. D'une part, certaines théories de l’identité personnelle ont été critiquées pour ne pas respecter les propriétés logiques de l’identité, d'autre part, l’identité personnelle a été présentée comme un contreexemple à Ia logique de l’identité, justifiant une révision radicale de celle-ci.

Ainsi, Ia logique de l’identité est le garde fou des théories de l’identité personnelle et l’identité personnelle est Ia pierre d'achoppement de Ia théorie logique de l’identité.

L’identité logique est caractérisée par le fait d'être une relation d'équivalence, et par le principe de substitutivité. Or certaines situations comme par exemple les cas de dedoublement de personnalité, semblent déroger à ce principe. Si l'on peut dire que a et b sont le même homme mais pas Ia même personne, alors le principe, selon lequel si deux individus sont identiques ce qui est prédicable de l'un est prédicable de l'autre, ne s'applique plus.

In part I of this paper I argue that on his theory of the mind as the idea of an actually existing body Spinoza is unable to account for the ability of the mind to have adequate knowledge, and I suggest that his theory of the eternity of the mind can be viewed as his solution to this problem. In part II I deal with the question of the meaning of ‘eternity’ in Spinoza (i.e., whether eternity involves timelessness or not, and why), in regard both to God and the human mind, and I sketch a line of thought which I believe may have provided him with further motivation for his theory that a part of the mind is eternal.

According to Myles Brand, ‘[t]he key to advocating a particularist account of events -or any account of events - is to provide adequate identity conditions’ . He thinks that the function of an identity condition is ‘to specify the nature of’ events.

To state an identity condition for events is to provide a way to complete the formula:

The mere fact that a proposed completion of (IC) is true does not imply that it is an informative identity condition for events or that it plays any role in specifying the nature of events.

'Contentment with our existence, ‘Kant observes, ‘is not, as it were, an inborn possession or a bliss, … it is rather a problem imposed upon us by our finite nature as a being of needs.’ Happiness is an inescapable problem for man; is it, however, the central problem of morality? Kant thinks not. The central problem of morality is the tension between two sets of demands, between two goods- virtue and happiness.

Happiness, according to Kant, is the fulfillment of all of one's wants. It is ‘a rational being's consciousness of the agreeableness of life which without interruption accompanies his whole existence.'

Everyone knows what it is to feel a conflict between a ‘non-rational’ desire and reason, as e.g., when we want a second dish of ice cream but think it would be unwise to take it. In such cases we commonly think of our desires as unreasonable: they prompt us to perform some action contrary to our deliberations. Nevertheless, most of us assume that reason can move us: that simply recognizing an act as the most reasonable thing to do gives us a motive to do it — even if in fact we do not perform that action. If we do not eat the second dish of ice cream we are disposed to think that we did not because we judged it unwise. If, on the other hand, we do eat the second dish, we are disposed to think we did because we were more strongly inclined toward eating than not eating, even though we were inclined toward refraining because we judged eating unwise. This is the position of the man on the street. It is the commonsensical notion of reason, motivation, and their relationship.

When I first began to study philosophy I was introduced to the discipline in that magically traditional way by being assured that what lay before me was the love of wisdom. Why this had any adolescent appeal still puzzles me, but, like many others, I joined in as spectator to and occasionally as a removed participant in all the rough and tumble of a Socratic sparring match in the Athenian marketplace. There was some talk of wisdom, to be sure, which seemed to link it with a humble admission of ignorance or a pitch against yielding to temptation, but neither was ever deeply revealing. I waited for more. My next encounter a few years later turned up little more than the surname of an English disciple of Wittgenstein. Somehow the trail had gone to brush, despite the apparent health and energy of philosophy.