G. E. MOORE, Litt.D. (continued 6)

This view, therefore, that what we are judging of the ultimate subject of our judgment, when we judge "This is a so-and-so," is, in general, merely that the subject in question is a part of a thing of the kind in question, can, I think, be most clearly discussed, by asking whether, in this case, this presented object can really be identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand. If it can't, then most certainly I am not judging of it that it is a part of the surface of an inkstand at all. For my judgment, whatever it is, is true. And yet, if this presented object is not identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand, it certainly is not a part of an inkstand at all; since there is no other part, either of this inkstand or of any other, with which it could possibly be supposed to be identical.

Can we, then, hold that this sense-datum really is identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand? That everything which is true of the one is true of the other?

An enormous number of very familiar arguments have been used by various philosophers, which, if they were sound, would show that we can not. Some of these arguments seem to me to be quite clearly not sound—all, for instance, which rest either on the assumption that this sense-datum can only exist so long as it is perceived, or on the assumption that it can only exist so long as it is perceived by me. Of others I suspect that they may have some force, though I am quite unable to see that they have any. Such, for instance, are all those which assume either that this sense-datum is a sensation or feeling of mine, in a sense which includes the assertion that it is dependent on my mind in the very same sense in which my perception of it obviously is so; or that it is causally dependent on my body in the sense in which my perception of it admittedly is so. But others do seem to me to have great force. I will, however, confine myself to trying to state one, which seems to me to have as much as any. It will be found that this one involves an assumption, which does seem to me to have great force, but which yet seems to me to be doubtful. So far as I know, all good arguments against the view that this sense-datum really is identical with this part of the surface of the inkstand, do involve this same assumption, and have no more force than it has. But in this, of course, I may be wrong. Perhaps some one will be able to point out an argument, which is obviously quite independent of it, and which yet has force.

The argument I mean involves considerations which are exceedingly familiar, so familiar that I am afraid every one may be sick of hearing them alluded to. But, in spite of this fact, it seems to me not quite easy to put it quite precisely, in a way which will distinguish it clearly from other arguments involving the same familiar considerations, but which do not seem to me to be equally cogent. I want, therefore, to try to put it with a degree of precision, which will prevent irrelevant objections from being made to it—objections which would, I think, be relevant against some of these other arguments, but are not, I think, relevant against it.

The fact is that we all, exceedingly commonly, when, at each of two times, separated by a longer or shorter interval, we see a part of the surface of a material thing, in the sense in which I am now seeing this part of the surface of this inkstand, or when at one time we see such a surface and at another perceive one by touch, make, on the second occasion, the judgment "This part of a surface is the same part of the surface of the same thing, as that which I was seeing (or perceiving by touch) just now." How commonly we all do this can scarcely be exaggerated. I look at this inkstand, and then I look again, and on the second occasion I judge "This part of the surface of this inkstand is the same as, or at least contains a part which is the same as a part of, the part of its surface which I was seeing just now." Or I look at this finger and then I touch it, and I judge, on the second occasion, "This part of the surface of this finger is the same as one of those I was seeing just now." We all thus constantly identify a part of a surface of a material thing which we are perceiving at one time with a part which we were perceiving at another.

Now, when we do this—when we judge "This is the same part of the same thing as I was seeing or touching just now," we, of course, do not mean to exclude the possibility that the part in question may have changed during the interval; that it is really different, on the second occasion, either in shape or size or quality, or in all three, from what it was on the first. That is to say, the sense of sameness which we are here concerned with is one which clearly does not exclude change. We may even be prepared to assert, on general grounds, in all such cases, that the surface in question certainly must have changed. But nevertheless there is a great difference in one respect, between two kinds of such cases, both of which occur exceedingly commonly. If I watch somebody blowing air into a child's balloon, it constantly happens, at certain stages in the process, that I judge with regard to the part of the surface which I am seeing at that stage, not only that it is larger than it was at an earlier stage, but that it is perceptibly larger. Or, if I pull the face of an india-rubber doll, I may judge at a certain stage in the process that the patch of red colour on its cheek not only is different in shape from what it was at the beginning, but is perceptibly so; it may, for instance, be a perceptibly flatter ellipse than it was to start with. Or, if I watch a person blushing, I may judge at a certain stage that a certain part of the surface of his face not only is different in colour from what it was, when I saw it before he began to blush, but is perceptibly so—perceptibly redder. In enormous numbers of cases we do thus judge of a surface seen at a given time that it is thus perceptibly different in size, or in shape, or in colour, from what it was when we saw it before. But cases are at least equally numerous in which, though we might, on general grounds be prepared to assert that it must have changed in some respect, we should not be prepared to assert that it had, in any respect whatever, changed perceptibly. Of this part of this surface of this inkstand, for instance, I am certainly not prepared to assert that it is now perceptibly different in any respect from what it was when I saw it just now. And similar cases are so numerous that I need not give further instances. We can, therefore, divide cases, in which we judge, of a part of a surface which we are seeing, "This is the same part of the surface of the same material thing as the one I saw just now," into cases where we should also judge "But it is perceptibly different from what it was then," and cases in which, even though we might assert "It must be different," we are certainly not prepared to assert that it is perceptibly so.

But now let us consider the cases in which we are not prepared to assert that the surface in question has changed perceptibly. The strange fact, from which the argument I mean is drawn, is that, in a very large number of such cases, it seems as if it were unmistakably true that the presented object, about which we are making our judgment when we talk of "This surface" at the later time, is perceptibly different, from that about which we are making it when we talk of the surface I saw just now. If, at the later time, I am at a sufficiently greater distance from the surface, the presented object which corresponds to it at the time seems to be perceptibly smaller, than the one which corresponded to it before. If I am looking at it from a sufficiently oblique angle, the later presented object often seems to be perceptibly different in shape—a perceptibly flatter ellipse, for instance. If I am looking at it, with blue spectacles on, when formerly I had none, the later presented object seems to be perceptibly different in colour from the earlier one. If I am perceiving it by touch alone, whereas formerly I was perceiving it by sight alone, the later presented object seems to be perceptibly different from the earlier, in respect of the fact that it is not coloured at all, whereas the earlier was, and that, on the other hand, it has certain tactual qualities, which the earlier had not got. All this seems to be as plain as it can be, and yet it makes absolutely no difference to the fact that of the surface in question we are not prepared to judge that it is perceptibly different from what it was. Sometimes, of course, where there seems to be no doubt that the later presented object is perceptibly different from the earlier, we may not notice that it is so. But even where we do notice the apparent difference, we do still continue to judge of the surface in question: This surface is not, so far as I can tell with certainty by perception, in any way different from what it was when I saw it or touched it just now; I am not prepared to assert that it has changed perceptibly. It seems, therefore, to be absolutely impossible that the surface seen at the later time should be identical with the object presented then, and the surface seen at the earlier identical with the object presented then, for the simple reason that, whereas with regard to the later seen surface I am not prepared to judge that it is in any way perceptibly different from that seen earlier, it seems that with regard to the later sense-datum I cannot fail to judge that it is perceptibly different from the earlier one: the fact that they are perceptibly different simply stares me in the face. It seems, in short, that when, in such a case, I judge: "This surface is not, so far as I can tell, perceptibly different from the one I saw just now," I cannot possibly be judging of the presented object "This is not, so far as I can tell, perceptibly different from that object which was presented to me just now," for the simple reason that I can tell, as certainly, almost, as I can tell anything, that it is perceptibly different.

That is the argument, as well as I can put it, for saying that this presented object, is not identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand; and that, therefore, when I judge "This is part of the surface of an inkstand," I am not judging of this presented object, which nevertheless is the ultimate subject of my judgment, that it is part of the surface of an inkstand. And this argument does seem to me to be a very powerful one.

But nevertheless it does not seem to me to be quite conclusive, because it rests on an assumption, which, though it seems to me to have great force, does not seem to me quite certain. The assumption I mean is the assumption that, in such cases as those I have spoken of, the later presented object really is perceptibly different from the earlier. This assumption has, if I am not mistaken, seemed to many philosophers to be quite unquestionable; they have never even thought of questioning it; and I own that it used to be so with me. And I am still not sure that I may not be talking sheer nonsense in suggesting that it can be questioned. But, if I am, I am no longer able to see that I am. What now seems to me to be possible is that the sense-datum which corresponds to a tree, which I am seeing, when I am a mile off, may not really be perceived to be smaller than the one, which corresponds to the same tree, when I see it from a distance of only a hundred yards, but that it is only perceived to seem smaller; that the sense-datum which corresponds to a penny, which I am seeing obliquely, is not really perceived to be different in shape from that which corresponded to the penny, when I was straight in front of it, but is only perceived to seem different—that all that is perceived is that the one seems elliptical and the other circular; that the sense-datum presented to me when I have the blue spectacles on is not perceived to be different in colour from the one presented to me when I have not, but only to seem so; and finally that the sense-datum presented when I touch this finger is not perceived to be different in any way from that presented to me when I see it, but only to seem so that I do not perceive the one to be coloured and the other not to be so, but only that the one seems coloured and the other not. If such a view is to be possible, we shall have, of course, to maintain that the kind of experience which I have expressed by saying one seems different from the other—"seems circular," "seems blue," "seems coloured," and so on—involves an ultimate, not further analysable, kind of psychological relation, not to be identified either with that involved in being "perceived" to be so and so, or with that involved in being "judged" to be so and so; since a presented object might, in this sense, seem to be elliptical, seem to be blue, etc., when it is neither perceived to be so, nor judged to be so. But there seems to me to be no reason why there should not be such an ultimate relation. The great objection to such a view seems to me to be the difficulty of believing that I don't actually perceive this sense-datum to be red, for instance, and that other to be elliptical; that I only perceive, in many cases, that it seems so. I cannot, however, now persuade myself that it is quite clear that I do perceive it to be so. And, if I don't, then it seems really possible that this presented object really is identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand; since, when I judge, as in the cases supposed, that the surface in question is not, so far as I can tell, perceptibly different from what it was, I might really be judging of the two sense-data that they also were not, so far as I can tell, perceptibly different, the only difference between the two that is perceptible, being that the one seems to be of a certain size, shape or colour, and the other to be of a different and incompatible size, shape or colour. Of course, in those cases, as in that of the balloon being blown up, where I "perceive" that the surface has changed, e.g. in size, it would have to be admitted that I do perceive of the two sense-data not merely that they seem different in size, but that they are so. But I think it would be possible to maintain that the sense in which, in these cases, I "perceive" them to be different, is a different one from that in which, both in these and in the others, I perceive them to seem so.

Possibly in making this suggestion that sense-data, in cases where most philosophers have assumed unhesitatingly that they are perceived to be different, are only really perceived to seem different, I am, as I said, talking sheer nonsense, though I cannot, at the moment, see that I am. And possibly, even if this suggestion itself is not nonsense, even if it is true, there may be other fatal objections to the view that this presented object really is identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand. But what seems to me certain is that, unless this suggestion is true, then this presented object is certainly not identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand. And since it is doubtful whether it is not nonsense, and still more doubtful whether it is true, it must, I think, be admitted to be highly doubtful whether the two are identical. But, if they are not identical, then what I am judging with regard to this presented object, when I judge "This is an inkstand," is certainly not that it is itself part of the surface of an inkstand; and hence, it is worth while to inquire further, what, if I am not judging this, I can be judging with regard to it.

And here, I think, the first natural suggestion to make is that just as, when I talk of "this inkstand," what I seem really to mean is "the inkstand of which this is part of the surface," so that the inkstand is only known to me by description as the inkstand of which this material surface is part of the surface, so again when I talk of "this material surface," what I really mean is "the material surface to which this (presented object) has a certain relation," so that this surface is, in its turn, only known to me by description as the surface which has a certain relation to this presented object. If that were so, then what I should be judging of this presented object, when I judge "This is part of the surface of an inkstand," would be not that it is itself such a part, but that the thing which stands to it in a certain relation is such a part: in short, what I should be judging with regard to it, would be "There's one thing and one only which stands to this in this relation, and the thing which does so is part of the surface of an inkstand."

But if we are to adopt the view that something of this sort is what we are judging, there occurs at once the pressing question: What on earth can the relation be with regard to which we are judging, that one and only one thing stands in it to this presented object? And this is a question to which, so far as I know, none of those philosophers, who both hold (as many do) that this presented object is not identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand, and also that there really is something of which it could be truly predicated that it is this part of the surface of this inkstand (that is to say, who reject all views of the Mill-Russell type), have given anything like a clear answer. It does not seem to have occurred to them that it requires an answer, chiefly, I think, because it has not occurred to them to ask what we can be judging when we make judgments of this sort. There are only two answers, that I can think of, which might be suggested with any plausibility.

Many philosophers, who take the view that the presented objects about which we make these judgments are sensations of ours, and some even who do not, are in the habit of talking of "the causes" of these objects as if we knew, in the case of each, that it had one and only one cause; and many of them seem to think that this part of the surface of this inkstand could be correctly described as the cause of this presented object. They suggest, therefore, the view that what I am judging in this case might be: "This presented object has one and only one cause, and that cause is part of the surface of an inkstand." It seems to me quite obvious that this view, at all events, is utterly untenable. I do not believe for a moment, nor does any one, and certainly therefore do not judge, that this presented object has only one cause: I believe that it has a whole series of different causes. I do, in fact, believe that this part of the surface of this inkstand is one among the causes of my perception of this presented object: that seems to me to be a very well established scientific proposition. And I am prepared to admit that there may be good reasons for thinking that it is one among the causes of this presented object itself, though I cannot myself see that there are any. But that it is the only cause of this presented object I certainly do not believe, nor, I think, does anybody, and hence my judgment certainly cannot be "The cause of this is part of the surface of an inkstand." It might no doubt, be possible to define some kind of causal relation, such that it might be plausibly held that it and it alone causes this presented object in that particular way. But any such definition would, so far as I can see, be necessarily very complicated. And, even when we have got it, it seems to me it would be highly improbable we could truly say that what we are judging in these cases is: "This presented object has one and only one cause, of this special kind." Still, I do not wish to deny that some such view may possibly be true.

The only other suggestion I can make is that there may be some ultimate, not further definable relation, which we might for instance, call the relation of "being a manifestation of," such that we might conceivably be judging: "There is one and only one thing of which this presented object is a manifestation, and that thing is part of the surface of an inkstand." And here again, it seems to me just possible that this may be a true account of what we are judging; only I cannot find the slightest sign that I am in fact aware of any such relation.

Possibly other suggestions could be made as to what the relation is, with regard to which it could be plausibly supposed that in all cases, where we make these judgments we are in fact judging of the presented object "There is one and only one thing which stands to this object in this relation." But it seems to me at least very doubtful whether there is any such relation at all; whether, therefore, our judgment really is of this form, and whether therefore, this part of the surface of this inkstand really is known to me by description as the thing which stands in a certain relation to this presented object. But if it isn't, and if, also, we cannot take the view that what I am judging is that this presented object itself is a part of the surface of an inkstand, there would seem to be no possible alternative but that we must take some view of what I have called the Mill-Russell type. Views of this type, if I understand them rightly, are distinguished from those which I have hitherto considered, by the fact that, according to them, there is nothing whatever in the Universe of which it could truly be predicated that it is this part of the surface of this inkstand, or indeed that it is a part of the surface of an inkstand, or an inkstand, at all. They hold, in short, that though there are plenty of material things in the Universe, there is nothing in it of which it could truly be asserted that it is a material thing: that, though, when I assert "This is an inkstand," my assertion is true, and is such that it follows from it that there is in the Universe at least one inkstand, and, therefore, at least one material thing, yet it does not follow from it that there is anything which is a material thing. When I judge "This is an inkstand," I am judging this presented object to possess a certain property, which is such that, if there are things, which possess that property, there are inkstands and material things, but which is such that nothing which possesses it is itself a material thing; so that in judging that there are material things, we are really always judging of some other property, which is not that of being a material thing, that there are things which possess it. It seems to me quite possible, of course, that some view of this type is the true one. Indeed, this paper may be regarded, if you like, as an argument in favour of the proposition that some such view must be true. Certainly one of my main objects in writing it was to put as plainly as I can some grave difficulties which seem to me to stand in the way of any other view; in the hope that some of those, who reject all views of the Mill-Russell type, may explain clearly which of the alternatives I have suggested they would adopt, or whether, perhaps, some other which has not occurred to me. It does not seem to me to be always sufficiently realised how difficult it is to find any answer to my question "What are we judging in these cases?" to which there are not very grave objections, unless we adopt an answer of the Mill-Russell type. That an answer of this type is the true one, I am not myself, in spite of these objections, by any means convinced. The truth is I am completely puzzled as to what the true answer can be. At the present moment, I am rather inclined to favour the view that what I am judging of this presented object is that it is itself a part of the surface of an inkstand—that, therefore, it really is identical with this part of the surface of this inkstand, in spite of the fact that this involves the view that, where, hitherto, I have always supposed myself to be perceiving of two presented objects that they really were different, I was, in fact, only perceiving that they seemed to be different. But, as I have said, it seems to me quite possible that this view is, as I have hitherto supposed, sheer nonsense; and, in any case, there are, no doubt, other serious objections to the view that this presented object is this part of the surface of this inkstand.

THE CONCEPTION OF INTRINSIC VALUE

My main object in this paper is to try to define more precisely the most important question, which, so far as I can see, is really at issue when it is disputed with regard to any predicate of value, whether it is or is not a "subjective" predicate. There are three chief cases in which this controversy is apt to arise. It arises, first, with regard to the conceptions of "right" and "wrong," and the closely allied conception of "duty" or "what ought to be done." It arises, secondly, with regard to "good" and "evil," in some sense of those words in which the conceptions for which they stand are certainly quite distinct from the conceptions of "right" and "wrong," but in which nevertheless it is undeniable that ethics has to deal with them. And it arises, lastly, with regard to certain aesthetic conceptions, such as "beautiful" and "ugly;" or "good" and "bad," in the sense in which these words are applied to works of art, and in which, therefore, the question what is good and bad is a question not for ethics but for aesthetics.

In all three cases there are people who maintain that the predicates in question are purely "subjective," in a sense which can, I think, be fairly easily defined. I am not here going to attempt a perfectly accurate definition of the sense in question; but, as the term "subjective" is so desperately ambiguous, I had better try to indicate roughly the sense I am thinking of. Take the word "beautiful" for example. There is a sense of the term "subjective," such that to say that "beautiful" stands for a subjective predicate, means, roughly, that any statement of the form "This is beautiful" merely expresses a psychological assertion to the effect that some particular individual or class of individuals either actually has, or would, under certain circumstances, have, a certain kind of mental attitude towards the thing in question. And what I mean by "having a mental attitude" towards a thing, can be best explained by saying that to desire a thing is to have one kind of mental attitude towards it, to be pleased with it is to have another, to will it is to have another; and in short that to have any kind of feeling or emotion towards it is to have a certain mental attitude towards it—a different one in each case. Thus anyone who holds that when we say that a thing is beautiful, what we mean is merely that we ourselves or some particular class of people actually do, or would under certain circumstances, have, or permanently have, a certain feeling towards the thing in question, is taking a "subjective" view of beauty.

But in all three cases there are also a good many people who hold that the predicates in question are not, in this sense "subjective"; and I think that those who hold this are apt to speak as if the view which they wish to maintain in opposition to it consisted simply and solely in holding its contradictory—in holding, that is, that the predicates in question are "objective," where "objective" simply means the same as "not subjective." But in fact I think this is hardly ever really the case. In the case of goodness and beauty, what such people are really anxious to maintain is by no means merely that these conceptions are "objective," but that, besides being "objective," they are also, in a sense which I shall try to explain, "intrinsic" kinds of value. It is this conviction—the conviction that goodness and beauty are intrinsic kinds of value, which is, I think, the strongest ground of their objection to any subjective view. And indeed, when they speak of the "objectivity" of these conceptions, what they have in mind is, I believe, always a conception which has no proper right to be called "objectivity," since it includes as an essential part this other characteristic which I propose to call that of being an "intrinsic" kind of value.

The truth is, I believe, that though, from the proposition that a particular kind of value is "intrinsic" it does follow that it must be "objective," the converse implication by no means holds, but on the contrary it is perfectly easy to conceive theories of e.g. "goodness," according to which goodness would, in the strictest sense, be "objective," and yet would not be "intrinsic." There is, therefore, a very important difference between the conception of "objectivity," and that which I will call "internality" but yet, if I am not mistaken, when people talk about the "objectivity" of any kind of value, they almost always confuse the two, owing to the fact that most of those who deny the "internality" of a given kind of value, also assert its "subjectivity." How great the difference is, and that it is a fact that those who maintain the "objectivity" of goodness do, as a rule, mean by this not mere "objectivity," but "internality," as well, can, I think, be best brought out by considering an instance of a theory, according to which goodness would be objective but would not be intrinsic.

Let us suppose it to be held, for instance, that what is meant by saying that one type of human being A is "better" than another type B, is merely that the course of evolution tends to increase the numbers of type A and to decrease those of type B. Such a view has, in fact, been often suggested, even if it has not been held in this exact form; it amounts merely to the familiar suggestion that "better" means "better fitted to survive." Obviously "better," on this interpretation of its meaning, is in no sense a "subjective" conception: the conception of belonging to a type which tends to be favoured by the struggle for existence more than another is as "objective" as any conception can be. But yet, if I am not mistaken, all those who object to a subjective view of "goodness," and insist upon its "objectivity," would object just as strongly to this interpretation of its meaning as to any "subjective" interpretation. Obviously, therefore, what they are really anxious to contend for is not merely that goodness is "objective," since they are here objecting to a theory which is "objective;" but something else. And this something else is, I think, certainly just that it is "intrinsic"—a character which is just as incompatible with this objective evolutionary interpretation as with any and every subjective interpretation. For if you say that to call type A "better" than type B means merely that it is more favoured in the struggle for existence, it follows that the being "better" is a predicate which does not depend merely on the intrinsic nature of A and B respectively. On the contrary, although here and now A may be more favoured than B, it is obvious that under other circumstances or with different natural laws the very same type B might be more favoured than A, so that the very same type which, under one set of circumstances, is better than B, would, under another set, be worse. Here, then, we have a case where an interpretation of "goodness," which does make it "objective," is incompatible with its being "intrinsic." And it is just this same fact—the fact that, on any "subjective" interpretation, the very same kind of thing which, under some circumstances, is better than another, would, under others, be worse—which constitutes, so far as I can see, the fundamental objection to all "subjective" interpretations. Obviously, therefore, to express this objection by saying that goodness is "objective" is very incorrect; since goodness might quite well be "objective" and yet not possess the very characteristic which it is mainly wished to assert that it has.

In the case, therefore, of ethical and aesthetic "goodness," I think that what those who contend for the "objectivity" of these conceptions really wish to contend for is not mere "objectivity" at all, but principally and essentially that they are intrinsic kinds of value. But in the case of "right" and "wrong" and "duty," the same cannot be said, because many of those who object to the view that these conceptions are "subjective," nevertheless do not hold that they are "intrinsic." We cannot, therefore, say that what those who contend for the "objectivity" of right and wrong really mean is always chiefly that those conceptions are intrinsic, but we can, I think, say that what they do mean is certainly not "objectivity" in this case any more than the other; since here, just as there, it would be possible to find certain views, which are in every sense "objective," to which they would object just as strongly as to any subjective view. And though what is meant by "objectivity" in this case, is not that "right" and "wrong" are themselves "intrinsic," what is, I think, meant here too is that they have a fixed relation to a kind of value which is "intrinsic." It is this fixed relation to an intrinsic kind of value, so far as I can see, which gives to right and wrong that kind and degree of fixity and impartiality which they actually are felt to possess, and which is what people are thinking of when they talk of their "objectivity." Here, too, therefore, to talk of the characteristic meant as "objectivity" is just as great a misnomer as in the other cases; since though it is a characteristic which is incompatible with any kind of "subjectivity," it is also incompatible, for the same reason, with many kinds of "objectivity."

For these reasons I think that what those who contend for the "objectivity" of certain kinds of value, or for the "objectivity" of judgments of value, commonly have in mind is not really "objectivity" at all, but either that the kinds of value in question are themselves "intrinsic," or else that they have a fixed relation to some kind that is so. The conception upon which they really wish to lay stress is not that of "objective value," but that of "intrinsic value," though they confuse the two. And I think this is the case to a considerable extent not only with the defenders of so-called "objectivity," but also with its opponents. Many of those who hold strongly (as many do) that all kinds of value are "subjective" certainly object to the so-called "objective" view, not so much because it is objective, as because it is not naturalistic ox positivistic—a characteristic which does naturally follow from the contention that value is "intrinsic," but does not follow from the mere contention that it is "objective." To a view which is at the same time both "naturalistic" or "positivistic" and also "objective," such as the Evolutionary view which I sketched just now, they do not feel at all the same kind or degree of objection as to any so-called "objective" view. With regard to so-called "objective" views they are apt to feel not only that they are false, but that they involve a particularly poisonous kind of falsehood—the erecting into a "metaphysical" entity of what is really susceptible of a simple naturalistic explanation. They feel that to hold such a view is not merely to make a mistake, but to make a superstitious mistake. They feel the same kind of contempt for those who hold it, which we are apt to feel towards those whom we regard as grossly superstitious, and which is felt by certain persons for what they call "metaphysics." Obviously, therefore, what they really object to is not simply the view that these predicates are "objective," but something else—something which does not at all follow from the contention that they are "objective," but which does follow from the contention that they are "intrinsic."

In disputes, therefore, as to whether particular kinds of value are or are not "subjective," I think that the issue which is really felt to be important, almost always by one side, and often by both, is not really the issue between "subjective" and "non-subjective," but between "intrinsic" and "non-intrinsic." And not only is this felt to be the more important issue; I think it really is so. For the difference that must be made to our view of the Universe, according as we hold that some kinds of value are "intrinsic" or that none are, is much greater than any which follows from a mere difference of opinion as to whether some are "non-subjective," or all without exception "subjective." To hold that any kinds of value are "intrinsic" entails the recognition of a kind of predicate extremely different from any we should otherwise have to recognise and perhaps unique; whereas it is in any case certain that there are "objective" predicates as well as "subjective."

But now what is this "internality" of which I have been speaking? What is meant by saying with regard to a kind of value that it is "intrinsic?" To express roughly what is meant is, I think, simple enough; and everybody will recognise it at once, as a notion which is constantly in people's heads; but I want to dwell upon it at some length, because I know of no place where it is expressly explained and defined, and because, though it seems very simple and fundamental, the task of defining it precisely is by no moans easy and involves some difficulties which I must confess that I do not know how to solve.

I have already given incidentally the main idea in speaking of that evolutionary interpretation of "goodness," according to which, as I said, goodness would be "objective" but would not be "intrinsic." I there used as equivalent to the assertion that 'better,' on that definition, would not be 'intrinsic,' the assertion that the question whether one type of being A was better than another B would not depend solely on the intrinsic natures of A and B, but on circumstances and the laws of nature. And I think that this phrase will in fact suggest to everybody just what I do mean by "intrinsic" value. We can, in fact, set up the following definition. To say that a kind of value is "intrinsic" means merely that the question whether a thing possesses it, and in what degree it possesses it, depends solely on the intrinsic nature of the thing in question.

But though this definition does, I think, convey exactly what I mean, I want to dwell upon its meaning, partly because the conception of 'differing in intrinsic nature which I believe to be of fundamental importance, is liable to be confused with other conceptions, and partly because the definition involves notions, which I do not know how to define exactly.

When I say, with regard to any particular kind of value, that the question whether and in what degree anything possesses it depends solely on the intrinsic nature of the thing in question, I mean to say two different things at the same time. I mean to say (1) that it is impossible for what is strictly one and the same thing to possess that kind of value at one time, or in one set of circumstances, and not to possess it at another; and equally impossible for it to possess it in one degree at one time, or in one set of circumstances, and to possess it in a different degree at another, or in a different set. This, I think, is obviously part of what is naturally conveyed by saying that the question whether and in what degree a thing possesses the kind of value in question always depends solely on the intrinsic nature of the thing. For if x and y have different intrinsic natures, it follows that x cannot be quite strictly one and the same thing as y; and hence if x and y can have a different intrinsic value, only where their intrinsic natures are different, it follows that one and the same thing must always have the same intrinsic value. This, then, is part of what is meant; and about this part I think I need say no more, except to call attention to the fact that it involves a conception, which as we shall see is also involved in the other part, and which involves the same difficulty in both cases—I mean, the conception which is expressed by the word 'impossible.' (2) The second part of what is meant is that if a given thing possesses any kind of intrinsic value in a certain degree, then not only must that same thing possess it, under all circumstances, in the same degree, but also anything exactly like it, must, under all circumstances, possess it in exactly the same degree. Or to put it in the corresponding negative form: It is impossible that of two exactly similar things one should possess it and the other not, or that one should possess it in one degree, and the other in a different one.

I think this second proposition also is naturally conveyed by saying that the kind of value in question depends solely on the intrinsic nature of what possesses it. For we should naturally say of two things which were exactly alike intrinsically, in spite of their being two, that they possessed the same intrinsic nature. But it is important to call attention expressly to the fact that what I mean by the expression 'having a different intrinsic nature' is equivalent to 'not exactly alike' because here there is real risk of confusion between this conception and a different one. This comes about as follows. It is natural to suppose that the phrase 'having a different intrinsic nature' is equivalent to the phrase 'intrinsically different' or 'having different intrinsic properties.' But, if we do make this identification, there is a risk of confusion. For it is obvious that there is a sense in which, when things are exactly like, they must be 'intrinsically different' and have different intrinsic properties, merely because they are two. For instance, two patches of colour may be exactly alike, in spite of the fact that each possesses a constituent which the other does not possess, provided only that their two constituents are exactly alike. And yet, in a certain sense, it is obvious that the fact that each has a constituent, which the other has not got, does constitute an intrinsic difference between them, and implies that each has an intrinsic property which the other has not got. And even where the two things are simple the mere fact that they are numerically different does in a sense constitute an intrinsic difference between them, and each will have at least one intrinsic property which the other has not got—namely that of being identical with itself. It is obvious therefore that the phrases 'intrinsically different' and 'having different intrinsic properties' are ambiguous. They may be used in such a sense that to say of two things that they are intrinsically different or have different intrinsic properties does not imply that they are not exactly alike, but only that they are numerically different. Or they may be used in a sense in which two things can be said to be intrinsically different, and to have different intrinsic properties only when they are not exactly alike. It is, therefore, extremely important to insist that when I say: Two things can differ in intrinsic value, only when they have different intrinsic natures, I am using the expression 'having different intrinsic natures' in the latter sense and not the former:—in a sense in which the mere fact that two things are two, or differ numerically, does not imply that they have different intrinsic natures, but in which they can be said to have different intrinsic natures, only where, besides differing numerically, they are also not exactly alike.

But as soon as this is explained, another risk of confusion arises owing to the fact that when people contrast mere numerical difference with a kind of intrinsic difference, which is not merely numerical, they are apt to identify the latter with qualitative difference. It might, therefore, easily be thought that by 'difference in intrinsic nature' I mean 'difference in quality.' But this identification of difference in quality with difference in intrinsic nature would also be a mistake. It is true that what is commonly meant by difference of quality, in the strict sense, always is a difference of intrinsic nature: two things cannot differ in quality without differing in intrinsic nature; and that fact is one of the most important facts about qualitative difference. But the converse is by no means also true: although two things cannot differ in quality without differing in intrinsic nature, they can differ in intrinsic nature without differing in quality; or, in other words, difference in quality is only one species of difference in intrinsic nature. That this is so follows from the fact that, as I explained, I am using the phrase 'different in intrinsic nature' as equivalent to 'not exactly like for it is quite plain that two things may not be exactly alike, in spite of the fact that they don't differ in quality, e.g. if the only difference between them were in respect of the degree in which they possess some quality they do possess. Nobody would say that a very loud sound was exactly like a very soft one, even if they were exactly like in quality; and yet it is plain there is a sense in which their intrinsic nature is different For this reason alone qualitative difference cannot be identified with difference in intrinsic nature. And there are still other reasons. Difference in size, for instance may be a difference in intrinsic nature, in the sense I mean, but it can hardly be called a difference in quality. Or take such a difference as the difference between two patterns consisting in the fact that the one is a yellow circle with a red spot in the middle, and the other a yellow circle with a blue spot in the middle. This difference would perhaps be loosely called a difference of quality; but obviously it would be more accurate to call it a difference which consists in the fact that the one pattern has a constituent which is qualitatively different from any which the other has; and the difference between being qualitatively different and having qualitatively different constituents is important both because the latter can only be defined in terms of the former, and because it is possible for simple things to differ from one another in the former way, whereas it is only possible for complex things to differ in the latter.

I hope this is sufficient to make clear exactly what the conception is which I am expressing by the phrase "different in intrinsic nature." The important points are (1) that it is a kind of difference which does not hold between two things, when they are merely numerically different, but only when, besides being numerically different, they are also not exactly alike and (2) that it is not identical with qualitative difference; although qualitative difference is one particular species of it. The conception seems to me to be an extremely important and fundamental one, although, so far as I can see, it has no quite simple and unambiguous name: and this is the reason why I have dwelt on it at such length. "Not exactly like" is the least ambiguous way of expressing it; but this has the disadvantage that it looks as if the idea of exact likeness were the fundamental one from which this was derived, whereas I believe the contrary to be the case. For this reason it is perhaps better to stick to the cumbrous phrase "different in intrinsic nature."

So much for the question what is meant by saying of two things that they "differ in intrinsic nature." We have now to turn to the more difficult question as to what is meant by the words "impossible" and "necessary" in the statement: A kind of value is intrinsic if and only if, it is impossible that x and y should have different values of the kind, unless they differ in intrinsic nature; and in the equivalent statement: A kind of value is intrinsic if and only if, when anything possesses it, that same thing or anything exactly like it would necessarily or must always, under all circumstances, possess it in exactly the same degree.

As regards the meaning of this necessity and impossibility, we may begin by making two points clear.

(1) It is sometimes contended, and with some plausibility, that what we mean by saying that it is possible for a thing which possesses one predicate F to possess another G, is, sometimes at least, merely that some things which possess F do in fact also possess G. And if we give this meaning to "possible," the corresponding meaning of the statement it is impossible for a thing which possesses F to possess G will be merely: Things which possess F never do in fact possess G. If, then, we understood "impossible" in this sense, the condition for the "internality" of a kind of value, which I have stated by saying that if a kind of value is to be "intrinsic" it must be impossible for two things to possess it in different degrees, if they are exactly like one another, will amount merely to saying that no two things which are exactly like one another ever do, in fact, possess it in different degrees. It follows, that, if this were all that were meant, this condition would be satisfied, if only it were true (as for all I know it may be) that, in the case of all things which possess any particular kind of intrinsic value, there happens to be nothing else in the Universe exactly like any one of them; for if this were so, it would, of course, follow that no two things which are exactly alike did in fact possess the kind of value in question in different degrees, for the simple reason that everything which possessed it at all would be unique in the sense that there was nothing else exactly like it. If this were all that were meant, therefore, we could prove any particular kind of value to satisfy this condition, by merely proving that there never has in fact and never will be anything exactly like any one of the things which possess it: and our assertion that it satisfied this condition would merely be an empirical generalisation. Moreover if this were all that was meant it would obviously be by no means certain that purely subjective predicates could not satisfy the condition in question; since it would be satisfied by any subjective predicate of which it happened to be true that everything which possessed it was, in fact, unique—that there was nothing exactly like it; and for all I know there may be many subjective predicates of which this is true. It is, therefore, scarcely necessary to say that I am not using "impossible" in this sense. When I say that a kind of value, to be intrinsic, must satisfy the condition that it must be impossible for two things exactly alike to possess it in different degrees, I do not mean by this condition anything which a kind of value could be proved to satisfy, by the mere empirical fact that there was nothing else exactly like any of the things which possessed it. It is, of course, an essential part of my meaning that we must be able to say not merely that no two exactly similar things do in fact possess it in different degrees, but that, if there had been or were going to be anything exactly similar to a thing which does possess it, even though, in fact, there has not and won't be any such thing, that thing would have possessed or would possess the kind of value in question in exactly the same degree. It is essential to this meaning of "impossibility" that it should entitle us to assert what would have been the case, under conditions which never have been and never will be realised; and it seems obvious that no mere empirical generalisation can entitle us to do this.

But (2) to say that I am not using 'necessity' in this first sense, is by no means sufficient to explain what I do mean. For it certainly seems as if causal laws (though this is disputed) do entitle us to make assertions of the very kind that mere empirical generalisations do not entitle us to make. In virtue of a causal law we do seem to be entitled to assert such things as that, if a given thing had had a property or were to have a property F which it didn't have or won't have, it would have had or would have some other property G. And it might, therefore, be thought that the kind of 'necessity' and 'impossibility' I am talking of is this kind of causal 'necessity' and 'impossibility.' It is, therefore, important to insist that I do not mean this kind either. If this were all I meant, it would again be by no means obvious, that purely subjective predicates might not satisfy our second condition. It may, for instance, for all I know, be true that there are causal laws which insure that in the case of everything that is 'beautiful,' anything exactly like any of these things would, in this Universe, excite a particular kind of feeling in everybody to whom it were presented in a particular way: and if that were so, we should have a subjective predicate which satisfied the condition that, when a given thing possesses that predicate, it is impossible (in the causal sense) that any exactly similar thing should not also possess it. The kind of necessity I am talking of is not, therefore, mere causal necessity either. When I say that if a given thing possesses a certain degree of intrinsic value, anything precisely similar to it would necessarily have possessed that value in exactly the same degree, I mean that it would have done so, even if it had existed in a Universe in which the causal laws were quite different from what they are in this one. I mean, in short, that it is impossible for any precisely similar thing to possess a different value, in precisely such a sense as that, in which it is, I think, generally admitted that it is not impossible that causal laws should have been different from what they are—a sense of impossibility, therefore, which certainly does not depend merely on causal laws.

That there is such a sense of necessity—a sense which entitles us to say that what has F would have G, even if causal laws were quite different from what they are—is, I think, quite clear from such instances as the following. Suppose you take a particular patch of colour, which is yellow. We can, I think, say with certainty that any patch exactly like that one, would be yellow, even if it existed in a Universe in which causal laws were quite different from what they are in this one. We can say that any such patch must be yellow, quite unconditionally, whatever the circumstances, and whatever the causal laws. And it is in a sense similar to this, in respect of the fact that it is neither empirical nor causal, that I mean the 'must' to be understood, when I say that if a kind of value is to be 'intrinsic,' then, supposing a given-thing possesses it in a certain degree, anything exactly like that thing must possess it in exactly the same degree. To say, of 'beauty' or 'goodness' that they are 'intrinsic' is only, therefore, to say that this thing which is obviously true of 'yellowness' and 'blueness' and 'redness' is true of them. And if we give this sense to 'must' in our definition, then I think it is obvious that to say of a given kind of value that it is intrinsic is inconsistent with its being 'subjective.' For there is, I think, pretty clearly no subjective predicate of which we can say thus unconditionally, that, if a given thing possesses it, then anything exactly like that thing, would, under any circumstances, and under any causal laws, also possess it. For instance, whatever kind of feeling you take, it is plainly not true that supposing I have that feeling towards a given thing A, then I should necessarily under any circumstances have that feeling towards anything precisely similar to A: for the simple reason that a thing precisely similar to A might exist in a Universe in which I did not exist at all. And similarly it is not true of any feeling whatever, that if somebody has that feeling towards a given thing A, then, in arty Universe, in which a thing precisely similar to A existed, somebody would have that feeling towards it. Nor finally is it even true, that if it is true of a given thing A, that, under actual causal laws, any one to whom A were presented in a certain way would have a certain feeling towards it, then the same hypothetical predicate would, in any Universe, belong to anything precisely similar to A: in every case it seems to be possible that there might be a Universe, in which the causal laws were such that the proposition would not be true.

It is, then, because in my definition of 'intrinsic' value the 'must' is to be understood in this unconditional sense, that I think that the proposition that a kind of value is 'intrinsic' is inconsistent with its being subjective. But it should be observed that in holding that there is this inconsistency, I am contradicting a doctrine which seems to be held by many philosophers. There are, as you probably know, some philosophers who insist strongly on a doctrine which they express by saying that no relations are purely external. And so far as I can make out one thing which they mean by this is just that, whenever r has any relation whatever which y has not got, x and y cannot be exactly alike: That any difference in relation necessarily entails a difference in intrinsic nature. There is, I think, no doubt that when these philosophers say this, they mean by their 'cannot' and 'necessarily' an unconditional 'cannot' and 'must.' And hence it follows they are holding that, if, for instance, a thing A pleases me now, then any other thing, B, precisely similar to A, must, under any circumstances, and in any Universe, please me also: since, if B did not please me, it would not possess a relation which A does possess, and therefore, by their principle, could not be precisely similar to A—must differ from it in intrinsic nature. But it seems to me to be obvious that this principle is false. If it were true, it would follow that I can know a priori such things as that no patch of colour which is seen by you and is not seen by me is ever exactly like any patch which is seen by me and is not seen by you; or that no patch of colour which is surrounded by a red ring is ever exactly like one which is not so surrounded. But it is surely obvious, that, whether these things are true or not they are things which I cannot know a priori. It is simply not evident a priori that no patch of colour which is seen by A and not by B is ever exactly like one which is seen by B and not by A, and that no patch of colour which is surrounded by a red ring is ever exactly like one which is not. And this illustration serves to bring out very well both what is meant by saying of such a predicate as 'beautiful 'that it is intrinsic,' and why, if it is, it cannot be subjective. What is meant is just that if A is beautiful and B is not, you could know a priori that A and B are not exactly alike; whereas, with any such subjective predicate, as that of exciting a particular feeling in me, or that of being a thing which would excite such a feeling in any spectator, you cannot tell a priori that a thing A which did possess such a predicate and a thing B which did not, could not be exactly alike.

It seems to me, therefore, quite certain, in spite of the dogma that no relations are purely external, that there are many predicates, such for instance as most (if not all) subjective predicates or the objective one of being surrounded by a red ring, which do not depend solely on the intrinsic nature of what possesses them: or, in other words, of which it is not true that if x possesses them and y does not, x and y must differ in intrinsic nature. But what precisely is meant by this unconditional 'must,' I must confess I don't know. The obvious thing to suggest is that it is the logical 'must,' which certainly is unconditional in just this sense: the kind of necessity, which we assert to hold, for instance, when we say that whatever is a right-angled triangle must be a triangle, or that whatever is yellow must be either yellow or blue. But I must say I cannot see that all unconditional necessity is of this nature. I do not see how it can be deduced from any logical law that, if a given patch of colour be yellow, then any patch which were exactly like the first would be yellow too. And similarly in our case of 'intrinsic' value, though I think it is true that beauty, for instance, is 'intrinsic,' I do not see how it can be deduced from any logical law, that if A is beautiful, anything that were exactly like A would be beautiful too, in exactly the same degree.

Moreover, though I do believe that both "yellow" (in the sense in which it applies to sense-data) and "beautiful" are predicates which, in this unconditional sense, depend only on the intrinsic nature of what possesses them, there seems to me to be an extremely important difference between them which constitutes a further difficulty in the way of getting quite clear as to what this unconditional sense of "must" is. The difference I mean is one which I am inclined to express by saying that though both yellowness and beauty are predicates which depend only on the intrinsic nature of what possesses them, yet while yellowness is itself an intrinsic predicate, beauty is not. Indeed it seems to me to be one of the most important truths about predicates of value, that though many of them are intrinsic kinds of value, in the sense I have defined, yet none of them are intrinsic properties, in the sense in which such properties as "yellow" or the property of "being a state of pleasure" or "being a state of things which contains a balance of pleasure" are intrinsic properties. It is obvious, for instance, that, if we are to reject all naturalistic theories of value, we must not only reject those theories, according to which no kind of value would be intrinsic, but must also reject such theories as those which assert, for instance, that to say that a state of mind is good is to say that it is a state of being pleased; or that to say that a state of things is good is to say that it contains a balance of pleasure over pain. There are, in short, two entirely different types of naturalistic theory, the difference between which may be illustrated by the difference between the assertion, "A is good" means "A is pleasant" and the assertion "A is good" means "A is a state of pleasure." Theories of the former type imply that goodness is not an intrinsic kind of value, whereas theories of the latter type imply equally emphatically that it is: since obviously such predicates as that "of being a state of pleasure," or "containing a balance of pleasure," are predicates like "yellow" in respect of the fact that if a given thing possesses them, anything exactly like the thing in question must possess them. It seems to me equally obvious that both types of theory are false: but I do not know how to exclude them both except by saying that two different propositions are both true of goodness, namely: (1) that it does depend only on the intrinsic nature of what possesses it—which excludes theories of the first type and (2) that, though this is so, it is yet not itself an intrinsic property—which excludes those of the second. It was for this reason that I said above that, if there are any intrinsic kinds of value, they would constitute a class of predicates which is, perhaps, unique; for I cannot think of any other predicate which resembles them in respect of the fact, that though not itself intrinsic, it yet shares with intrinsic properties the characteristics of depending solely on the intrinsic nature of what possesses it. So far as I know, certain predicates of value are the only non-intrinsic properties which share with intrinsic properties this characteristic of depending only on the intrinsic nature of what possesses them.

If, however, we are thus to say that predicates of value, though dependent solely on intrinsic properties, are not themselves intrinsic properties, there must be some characteristic belonging to intrinsic properties which predicates of value never possess. And it seems to me quite obvious that there is; only I can't see what it is. It seems to me quite obvious that if you assert of a given state of things that it contains a balance of pleasure over pain, you are asserting of it not only a different predicate, from what you would be asserting of it if you said it was "good"—but a predicate which is of quite a different kind; and in the same way that when you assert of a patch of colour that it is "yellow," the predicate you assert is not only different from "beautiful," but of quite a different kind, in the same way as before. And of course the mere fact that many people have thought that goodness and beauty were subjective is evidence that there is some great difference of kind between them and such predicates as being yellow or containing a balance of pleasure. But what the difference is, if we suppose, as I suppose, that goodness and beauty are not subjective, and that they do share with "yellowness" and "containing pleasure," the property of depending solely on the intrinsic nature of what possesses them, I confess I cannot say. I can only vaguely express the kind of difference I feel there to be by saying that intrinsic properties seem to describe the intrinsic nature of what possesses them in a sense in which predicates of value never do. If you could enumerate all the intrinsic properties a given thing possessed, you would have given a complete description of it, and would not need to mention any predicates of value it possessed; whereas no description of a given thing could be complete which omitted any intrinsic property. But, in any case, owing to the fact that predicates of intrinsic value are not themselves intrinsic properties, you cannot define "intrinsic property," in the way which at first sight seems obviously the right one. You cannot say that an intrinsic property is a property such that, if one thing possesses it and another does not, the intrinsic nature of the two things must be different. For this is the very thing which we are maintaining to be true of predicates of intrinsic value, while at the same time we say that they are not intrinsic properties. Such a definition of "intrinsic property" would therefore only be possible if, we could say that the necessity there is that, if x and y possess different intrinsic properties, their nature must be different, is a necessity of a different kind from the necessity there is that, if x and y are of different intrinsic values, their nature must be different, although both necessities are unconditional. And it seems to me possible that this is the true explanation. But, if so, it obviously adds to the difficulty of explaining the meaning of the unconditional "must," since, in this case, there would be two different meanings of "must," both unconditional, and yet neither, apparently, identical with the logical "must."

EXTERNAL AND INTERNAL RELATIONS

In the index to Appearance and Reality (First Edition) Mr. Bradley declares that all relations are "intrinsical"; and the following are some of the phrases by means of which he tries to explain what he means by this assertion. "A relation must at both ends affect, and pass into, the being of its terms" (p. 364). "Every relation essentially penetrates the being of its terms, and is, in this sense, intrinsical" (p. 392). "To stand in a relation and not to be relative, to support it and yet not to be infected and undermined by it, seems out of the question" (p. 142). And a good many other philosophers seem inclined to take the same view about relations which Mr. Bradley is here trying to express. Other phrases which seem to be sometimes used to express it, or a part of it, are these: "No relations are purely external"; "All relations qualify or modify or make a difference to the terms between which they hold"; "No terms are independent of any of the relations in which they stand to other terms." (See e.g., Joachim, The Nature of Truth, pp. 11, 12, 46).

It is, I think, by no means easy to make out exactly what these philosophers mean by these assertions. And the main object of this paper is to try to define clearly one proposition, which, even if it does not give the whole of what they mean, seems to me to be always implied by what they mean, and to be certainly false. I shall try to make clear the exact meaning of this proposition, to point out some of its most important consequences, and to distinguish it clearly from certain other propositions which are, I think, more or less liable to be confused with it. And I shall maintain that, if we give to the assertion that a relation is "internal" the meaning which this proposition would give to it, then, though, in that sense, some relations are "internal," others, no less certainly, are not, but are "purely external."

To begin with, we may, I think, clear the ground, by putting on one side two propositions about relations, which, though they seem sometimes to be confused with the view we are discussing, do, I think, quite certainly not give the whole meaning of that view.

The first is a proposition which is quite certainly and obviously true of all relations, without exception, and which, though it raises points of great difficulty, can, I think, be clearly enough stated for its truth to be obvious. It is the proposition that, in the case of any relation whatever, the kind of fact which we express by saying that a given term A has that relation to another term B, or to a pair of terms B and C, or to three terms B, C, and D, and so on, in no case simply consists in the terms in question together with the relation. Thus the fact which we express by saying that Edward VII was father of George V, obviously does not simply consist in Edward, George, and the relation of fatherhood. In order that the fact may be, it is obviously not sufficient that there should merely be George and Edward and the relation of fatherhood; it is further necessary that the relation should relate Edward to George, and not only so, but also that it should relate them in the particular way which we express by saying that Edward was father of George, and not merely in the way which we should express by saying that George was father of Edward. This proposition is, I think, obviously true of all relations without exception: and the only reason why I have mentioned it is because, in an article in which Mr. Bradley criticises Mr. Russell (Mind, 1910, p. 179), he seems to suggest that it is inconsistent with the proposition that any relations are merely external, and because, so far as I can make out, some other people who maintain that all relations are internal seem sometimes to think that their contention follows from this proposition. The way in which Mr. Bradley puts it is that such facts are unities which are not completely analysable; and this is, of course, true, if it means merely that in the case of no such fact is there any set of constituents of which we can truly say: This fact is identical with these constituents. But whether from this it follows that all relations are internal must of course depend upon what is meant by the latter statement. If it be merely used to express this proposition itself, or anything which follows from it, then, of course, there can be no doubt that all relations are internal. But I think there is no doubt that those who say this do not mean by their words merely this obvious proposition itself; and I am going to point out something which I think they always imply, and which certainly does not follow from it.

The second proposition which, I think, may be put aside at once as certainly not giving the whole of what is meant, is the proposition which is, I think, the natural meaning of the phrases "All relations modify or affect their terms" or "All relations make a difference to their terms." There is one perfectly natural and intelligible sense in which a given relation may be said to modify a term which stands in that relation, namely, the sense in which we should say that, if, by putting a stick of sealing-wax into a flame, we make the sealing-wax melt, its relationship to the flame has modified the sealing-wax. This is a sense of the word "modify" in which part of what is meant by saying of any term that it is modified, is that it has actually undergone a change: and I think it is clear that a sense in which this is part of its meaning is the only one in which the word "modify" can properly be used. If, however, those who say that all relations modify their terms were using the word in this, its proper, sense, part of what would be meant by this assertion would be that all terms which have relations at all actually undergo changes. Such an assertion would be obviously false, for the simple reason that there are terms which have relation? and which yet never change at all. And I think it is quite clear that those who assert that all relations are internal, in the sense we are concerned with, mean by this something which could be consistently asserted to be true of all relations without exception, even if it were admitted that some terms which have relations do not change. When, therefore, they use the phrase that all relations "modify" their terms as equivalent to "all relations are internal," they must be using "modify" in some metaphorical sense other than its natural one. I think, indeed, that most of them would be inclined to assert that in every case in which a term A comes to have to another term B a relation, which it did not have to B in some immediately preceding interval, its having of that relation to that term causes it to undergo some change, which it would not have undergone if it had not stood in precisely that relation to B and I think perhaps they would think that this proposition follows from some proposition which is true of all relations, without exception, and which is what they mean by saying that all relations are internal. The question whether the coming into a new relation does thus always cause some modification in the term which comes into it is one which is often discussed, as if it had something to do with the question whether all relations are internal as when, for instance, it is discussed whether knowledge of a thing alters the thing known. And for my part I should maintain that this proposition is certainly not true. But what I am concerned with now is not the question whether it is true, but simply to point out that, so far as I can see, it can have nothing to do with the question whether all relations are internal, for the simple reason that it cannot possibly follow from any proposition with regard to all relations without exception. It asserts with regard to all relational properties of a certain kind, that they have a certain kind of effect; and no proposition of this sort can, I think follow from any universal proposition with regard to all relations.

We have, therefore, rejected as certainly not giving the whole meaning of the dogma that all relations are internal: (1) the obviously true proposition that no relational facts are completely analysable, in the precise sense which I gave to that assertion; and (2) the obviously false proposition that all relations modify their terms, in the natural sense of the term "modify," in which it always has as part of its meaning "cause to undergo a change." And we have also seen that this false proposition that any relation which a term comes to have always causes it to undergo a change is wholly irrelevant to the question whether all relations are internal or not. We have seen finally that if the assertion that all relations modify their terms is to be understood as equivalent to the assertion that all are internal, "modify" must be understood in some metaphorical sense. The question is: What is this metaphorical sense?

And one point is, I think, pretty clear to begin with. It is obvious that, in the case of some relations, a given term A may have the relation in question, not only to one other term, but to several different terms. If, for instance, we consider the relation of fatherhood, it is obvious that a man may be father, not only of one, but of several different children. And those who say that all relations modify their terms always mean, I think, not merely that every different relation which a term has modifies it; but also that, where the relation is one which the term has to several different other terms, then, in the case of each of these terms, it is modified by the fact that it has the relation in question to that particular term. If, for instance, A is father of three children, B, C, and D, they mean to assert that he is modified, not merely by being a father, but by being the father of B, also by being the father of C, and also by being the father of D. The mere assertion that all relations modify their terms does not, of course, make it quite clear that this is what is meant; but I think there is no doubt that it is always meant; and I think we can express it more clearly by using a term, which I have already introduced, and saying the doctrine is that all relational properties modify their terms, in a sense which remains to be defined. I think there is no difficulty in understanding what I mean by a relational property. If A is father of B, then what you assert of A when you say that he is so is a relational property—namely the property of being father of B; and it is quite clear that this property is not itself a relation, in the same fundamental sense in which the relation of fatherhood is so; and also that, if C is a different child from B, then the property of being father of C is a different relational property from that of being father of B, although there is only one relation, that of fatherhood, from which both are derived. So far as I can make out, those philosophers who talk of all relations being internal, often actually mean by "relations" "relational properties"; when they talk of all the "relations" of a given term, they mean all its relational properties, and not merely all the different relations, of each of which it is true that the term has that relation to something. It will, I think, conduce to clearness to use a different word for these two entirely different uses of the term "relation" to call "fatherhood" a relation, and "fatherhood of B" a "relational property." And the fundamental proposition, which is meant by the assertion that all relations are internal, is, I think, a proposition with regard to relational properties, and not with regard to relations properly so-called. There is no doubt that those who maintain this dogma mean to maintain that all relational properties are related in a peculiar way to the terms which possess them—that they modify or are internal to them, in some metaphorical sense. And once we have defined what this sense is in which a relational property can be said to be internal to a term which possesses it, we can easily derive from it a corresponding sense in which the relations, strictly so called, from which relational properties are derived, can be said to be internal.

Our question is then: What is the metaphorical sense of "modify" in which the proposition that all relations are internal is equivalent to the proposition that all relational properties "modify" the terms which possess them? I think it is clear that the term "modify" would never have been used at all to express the relation meant, unless there had been some analogy between this relation and that which we have seen is the proper sense of "modify," namely, causes to change. And I think we can see where the analogy comes in by considering the statement, with regard to any particular term A and any relational property P which belongs to it, that A would have been different from what it is if it had not had P: the statement, for instance, that Edward VII would have been different if he had not been father of George V. This is a thing which we can obviously truly say of A and P, in some sense, whenever it is true of P that it modified A in the proper sense of the word: if the being held in the flame causes the sealing-wax to melt, we can truly say (in some sense) that the sealing-wax would not have been in a melted state if it had not been in the flame. But it seems as if it were a thing which might also be true of A and P, where it is not true that the possession of P caused A to change; since the mere assertion that A would have been different, if it had not had P, does not necessarily imply that the possession of P caused A to have any property which it would not have had otherwise. And those who say that all relations are internal do sometimes tend to speak as if what they meant could be put in the form: In the case of every relational property which a thing has, it is always true that the thing which has it would have been different if it had not had that property; they sometimes say even: If P be a relational property and A a term which has it, then it is always true that A would not have been A if it had not had P. This is, I think, obviously a clumsy way of expressing anything which could possibly be true, since, taken strictly, it implies the self-contradictory proposition that if A had not had P, it would not have been true that A did not have P. But it is nevertheless a more or less natural way of expressing a proposition which might quite well be true, namely, that, supposing A has P, then anything which had not had P would necessarily have been different from A. This is the proposition which I wish to suggest as giving the metaphorical meaning of "P modifies A," of which we are in search. It is a proposition to which I think a perfectly precise meaning can be given, and one which does not at all imply that the possession of P caused any change in A, but which might conceivably be true of all terms and all the relational properties they have, without exception. And it seems to me that it is not unnatural that the proposition that this is true of P and A, should have been expressed in the form, "P modifies A," since it can be more or less naturally expressed in the perverted form, "If A had not had P it would have been different,"—a form of words, which, as we saw, can also be used whenever P does, in the proper sense, modify A.

I want to suggest, then, that one thing which is always implied by the dogma that, "All relations are internal," is that, in the case of every relational property, it can always be truly asserted of any term A which has that property, that any term which had not had it would necessarily have been different from A.

This is the proposition to which I want to direct attention. And there are two phrases in it, which require some further explanation.

The first is the phrase "would necessarily have been." And the meaning of this can be explained, in a preliminary way, as follows:—To say of a pair of properties P and Q, that any term which had had P would necessarily have had Q, is equivalent to saying that, in every case, from the proposition with regard to any given term that it has P, it follows that that term has Q: follows being understood in the sense in which from the proposition with regard to any term, that it is a right angle, it follows that it is an angle, and in which from the proposition with regard to any term that it is red it follows that it is coloured. There is obviously some very important sense in which from the proposition that a thing is a right angle, it does follow that it is an angle, and from the proposition that a thing is red it does follow that it is coloured. And what I am maintaining is that the metaphorical sense of "modify," in which it is maintained that all relational properties modify the subjects which possess them, can be defined by reference to this sense of "follows." The definition is: To say of a given relational property P that it modifies or is internal to a given term A which possesses it, is to say that from the proposition that a thing has not got P it follows that that thing is different from A. In other words, it is to say that the property of not possessing P, and the property of being different from A are related to one another in the peculiar way in which the property of being a right-angled triangle is related to that of being a triangle, or that of being red to that of being coloured.

To complete the definition it is necessary, however, to define the sense in which "different from A" is to be understood. There are two different senses which the statement that A is different from B may bear. It may be meant merely that A is numerically different from B, other than B, not identical with B. Or it may be meant that not only is this the case, but also that A is related to B in a way which can be roughly expressed by saying that A is qualitatively different from B. And of these two meanings, those who say "All relations make a difference to their terms," always, I think, mean difference in the latter sense and not merely in the former. That is to say, they mean, that if P be a relational property which belongs to A, then the absence of P entails not only numerical difference from A, but qualitative difference. But, in fact, from the proposition that a thing is qualitatively different from A, it does follow that it is also numerically different. And hence they are maintaining that every relational property is "internal to" its terms in both of two different senses at the same time. They are maintaining that, if P be a relational property which belongs to A, then P is internal to A both in the sense (1) that the absence of P entails qualitative difference from A; and (2) that the absence of P entails numerical difference from A. It seems to me that neither of these propositions is true; and I will say something about each in turn.

As for the first, I said before that I think some relational properties really are "internal to" their terms, though by no means all are. But, if we understand "internal to" in this first sense, I am not really sure that any are. In order to get an example of one which was, we should have, I think, to say that any two different qualities are always qualitatively different from one another: that, for instance, it is not only the case that anything which is pure red is qualitatively different from anything which is pure blue, but that the quality "pure red" itself is qualitatively different from the quality "pure blue." I am not quite sure that we can say this, but I think we can; and if so, it is easy to get an example of a relational property which is internal in our first sense. The quality "orange" is intermediate in shade between the qualities yellow and red. This is a relational property, and it is quite clear that, on our assumption, it is an internal one. Since it is quite clear that any quality which were not intermediate between yellow and red, would necessarily be other than orange; and if any quality other than orange must be qualitatively different from orange, then it follows that "intermediate between yellow and red" is internal to "orange." That is to say, the absence of the relational property "intermediate between yellow and red," entails the property "different in quality from orange."

There is then, I think, a difficulty in being sure that any relational properties are internal in this first sense. But, if what we want to do is to show that some are not, and that therefore the dogma that all relations are internal is false, I think the most conclusive reason for saying this is that if all were internal in this first sense, all would necessarily be internal in the second, and that this is plainly false. I think, in fact, the most important consequence of the dogma that all relations are internal, is that it follows from it that all relational properties are internal in this second sense. I propose, therefore, at once to consider this proposition, with a view to bringing out quite clearly what it means and involves, and what are the main reasons for saying that it is false.

The proposition in question is that, if P be a relational property and A a term to which it does in fact belong, then, no matter what P and A may be, it may always be truly asserted of them, that any term which had not possessed P would necessarily have been other than—numerically different from—A: or in other words, that A would necessarily, in all conceivable circumstances, have possessed P. And with this sense of "internal," as distinguished from that which says qualitatively different, it is quite easy to point out some relational properties which certainly are internal in this sense. Let us take as an example the relational property which we assert to belong to a visual sense-datum when we say of it that it has another visual sense-datum as a spatial part: the assertion, for instance, with regard to a coloured patch half of which is red and half yellow. "This whole patch contains this patch" (where "this patch" is a proper name for the red half). It is here, I think, quite plain that, in a perfectly clear and intelligible sense, we can say that any whole, which had not contained that red patch, could not have been identical with the whole in question: that from the proposition with regard to any term whatever that it does not contain that particular patch it follows that that term is other than the whole in question—though not necessarily that it is qualitatively different from it. That particular whole could not have existed without having that particular patch for a part. But it seems no less clear, at first sight, that there are many other relational properties of which this is not true. In order to get an example, we have only to consider the relation which the red patch has to the whole patch, instead of considering as before that which the whole has to it. It seems quite clear that, though the whole could not have existed without having the red patch for a part, the red patch might perfectly well have existed without being part of that particular whole. In other words, though every relational property of the form "having this for a spatial part" is "internal" in our sense, it seems equally clear that every property of the form "is a spatial part of this whole" is not internal, but purely external. Yet this last, according to me, is one of the things which the dogma of internal relations denies. It implies that it is just as necessary that anything, which is in fact a part of a particular whole, should be a part of that whole, as that any whole, which has a particular thing for a part, should have that thing for a part. It implies, in fact, quite generally, that any term which does in fact have a particular relational property, could not have existed without having that property. And in saying this it obviously flies in the face of common sense. It seems quite obvious that in the case of many relational properties which things have, the fact that they have them is a mere matter of fact: that the things in question might have existed without having them. That this, which seems obvious, is true, seems to me to be the most important thing that can be meant by saying that some relations are purely external. And the difficulty is to see how any philosopher could have supposed that it was not true: that, for instance, the relation of part to whole is no more external than that of whole to part. I will give at once one main reason which seems to me to have led to the view, that all relational properties are internal in this sense.