two sorts of values, one sort of which (e. g. pleasure and perhaps beauty) cannot exist without someone's being to some degree aware of them, just because the facts (e. g. the very existence of pleasure and perhaps of beauty) imply the facts being experienced. The other sort (e. g. good digestion or good actions) may exist without direct consciousness or cognition of value just because the facts (good digestion or good actions) may exist without our being directly conscious of them. Nevertheless, whether known or not-and certainly most of the values of the greatest importance for human life do for the most part involve a high degree of consciousness-values are inconceivable out of all relation to mind in one or another of its aspects. Our general view, then, so far, is that values are not objective in the sense of existing entirely out of relation to minds. But it is important to urge that this denial of the complete objectivity of value does not commit us to accepting subjectivism. If I say that it is good that I should speak the truth I do not mean that the goodness of truthspeaking is something which exists merely in my mind: nor do I mean that the goodness of truth-speaking arises merely through my cognising. When I say that truth-speaking is good, my judgment is objective in the sense that it claims to be a discovery of an objective state of affairs beyond my conscious cognition. In making the judgment I claim that the judgment is objective, and I am prepared to prove its truth in the only way that proof is possible, i. e., by showing it to be coherent with the body of knowledge. Truth-speaking is good because to speak the truth fits in best with the system of the purposes of human existence. So far as its relation to my cognising is concerned, the truth of the proposition "truth-speaking (by me or anyone else) is good" is as independent of my consciousness as is the truth of the proposition about the three angles of a triangle being to gether equal to two right angles. On the other hand, the avoidance of subjectivism does not imply the acceptance of what has already been rejected, i. e., the complete objectivity of values. To say that the value of truth-speaking is independent of cognition, is as independent of cognition as the fact that the three angles of a triangle are together equal to two right angles, is not to say that it is as independent of mind. It is at least arguable, and it is usually held, that the fact of the three angles of a triangle being together equal to two right angles exists apart from mind. But it is inconceivable that truth-speaking should be good absolutely apart from the existence of any minds who should express themselves in that way, and who should reap the benefit of truth-speaking. When I predicate that truth-speaking is independently good, I mean merely that good truth-speaking is in its being independent of cognition (though apprehended by it). Apart from this, values seem to be constituted or at least partially conditioned by minds and relationships between them. Objective conditions entirely apart from minds (e. g. natural conditions) may be the material, so to speak, out of which values are made, but apart from the active life of mind in relation to that material it is scarcely possible to conceive of them existing. The question how mind conditions value is one which we must discuss. For the moment let us examine briefly two other possible relationships which the apprehending mind might have to the object of value apprehended. We have seen that it is not purely qua known that value is dependent upon mind for its being. May it not be dependent qua desired or qua felt? Let us first briefly examine the view that the value which we apprehend is constituted by some relation to desire. This view has been widely held in the history of philosophy; it is typical of Greek thought. Its best-known protagonist in recent times is perhaps Ehrenfels. Ehrenfels defines In his System der Werttheorie. value as desirability, meaning by desirability not that which we ought to desire, but that which we actually do desire. The value of a thing is in proportion to the strength with which we desire it. The criticism of such a view which naturally arises is obvious and has been often stated. If desirability meant "worthy of being desired" the objections might fall, for in that case desire itself would not be the criterion, but worthiness to be desired, which is another matter. But if the meaning of the doctrine is that it is actual desire which determines worth, it is certainly not true. We desire things which we recognise to be unworthy. Worth of course might be defined as what the ideal man would desire, but this once more raises the conception of ideality, which is irreducible to terms of desire. The same arguments apply to the included notion that the value of an object is in proportion to the strength of desire. Experience shows that the more we desire an object, the more our conscience may tell us that it is unworthy. The doctrine that value is a function of feeling, again, and that it is in proportion to the strength of feeling (also a familiar contention in the history of philosophy and held in his youth by Meinong) can be dealt with in much the same way. Feeling may be, indeed it is, a very important factor in the full mature apprehension of value, but it is obvious that my actual feeling in relation to a thing does not determine its worth: a fortiori, the strength or intensity of my feeling does not determine the degree of worth. Professor Urban, in criticising these two views, points out first that thought of worth may exist without the existence of desire. E. g., "When I think of an absent friend, I may feel his worth to me without the slightest trace of actual desire for his immediate presence, although the presupposition of that feeling is a disposition so to desire." In his Psychologische-ethische Untersuchungen zur Wertheorie. Again, he thinks' that desire cannot be coextensive with valuation because there are fleeting desires which do not attain to the level of valuation,-perhaps a disputable point. On the other hand, desire is not, for Urban, coextensive with feeling, although he thinks feeling more important than desire. "There can be no sense of worth without a meaning which may properly be described as felt meaning, while there can very well be a sense of worth without that qualification which we describe as desire and volition—e. g. aesthetic and mystical states of repose where actual desire is in abeyance. More specifically, even in those experiences which we call explicit desire or volition, the essence of the desire can be equally well described in terms of feeling without doing violence to our speech. The essence of desire is the feeling of lack or want. We 'feel' the 'need' of something." Urban's summary of the situation may be quoted with advantage:-"(1) Feeling of positive worth may exist side by side with unpleasant experiences and feeling of negative worth with pleasant. (2) Degree of worth feeling may increase with decrease of hedonic intensity, and there are numerous instances where worth feelings are practically intensity-less." Again there may be feeling of value with irrelevant hedonic accompaniments. There is for example in anger the feeling of negative worth which may be accompanied by pleasure: this pleasure however does not belong to the anger as such but to the organic disturbance pleasantly toned. Once again there are "the so-called intensity-less attitudes or acts of valuation and preference. . . . A quiet sense of obligation may reveal a degree of worth of an ideal object which the intensest passion or emotion does not suggest. And so on. 999 9910 This is Urban's view. Whilst agreeing with it as far as it goes, I should like to consider further very briefly the place which feeling plays in making judgments of value. Thereafter, having discussed valuation and defended value's independence of valuation, we may go on to say a little about the genesis of value. For the moment, what part does feeling play in value-judgment? Let us take the example of a moral judgment. Suppose I say that generosity has moral worth or value. In doing so I am offering a judgment upon an objective state of affairs which is (as we have argued) entirely beyond my present consciousness, although no doubt in judging and in approving of generosity the object becomes related to my consciousness. In this judgment of value two elements of consciousness, cognition and feeling, are prominent; conation or striving or desire is not so prominent and may be left out of consideration for the moment. In judging that generosity has worth, I am cognising generosity and predicating value of it. There is also present, I think we may say, feeling, at any rate in the original judgment of value. It is true that I may make the proposition "generosity is good" without much, if any, feeling. I may make it because I have heard someone else say so, or because I myself have come by now as a matter of course to regard it as having worth. But if I make the judgment, having direct, fresh, living acquaintance with generosity as an intrinsic value, then I make it feelingly. If I am to probe into the meaning of generosity as an intrinsic, actually realised value (and not merely as instrumental to some other end) I have to feel its value. There is always the disposition, as Urban says, to feel. Feeling indeed plays a most important part in the genesis. of the original moral judgment. Suppose that by peculiar circumstances I have never before been acquainted with gen |