4/ A First Essential Rule of the Method of Axiology

The first fundamental rule of axiology thus emerges: at the outset of an axiological investigation, we must apply a method that may run counter to all our instincts, including our moral sense. This method requires placing all axiological judgements on an equal footing, regardless of their content, with a commitment to neutrality—refusing to rule out any value position from the start, even those that seem most absurd or shocking.
We must 'give a chance' to axiological positions that are often overlooked, such as those affirming the value of evil or of nihilism.

A considerable number of works on morality attempt to establish moral principles without first engaging with—or even attending to—the fundamental content of theories that challenge morality: nihilism, immoralism, or amoralism. Yet these are precisely the theories we need to refute, and we cannot overcome what we do not truly understand.

Any attempt to refute evil consequently risks missing its target, because we do not fully grasp what this axiological position truly entails. This has been the fate of the ethics of duty and the ethics of happiness. These approaches may have succeeded in discrediting certain forms of evil—the individual who claims their wrongdoing is a duty, for instance, in the former case, or the egoist in the latter—but they appear to fall silent when confronted with other forms. The most genuine of these is radical evil: the position that asserts evil has value, or even greater value than good.

To 'give a chance' to extreme axiological positions, we must genuinely admit the possibility that, by the end of its investigation, axiology may conclude that one of these positions is the true answer to the question of what has value and what does not. We must acknowledge that our inquiry could ultimately lead to the conclusion that nothing has value, or that evil holds more value than good.

This possibility ought to provoke a sense of anguish, since the conclusions axiology might reach are uncertain and could fundamentally challenge our value judgements, our existential choices, and even the collective norms upheld by society.
If, for example, we concluded that nothing has value, what would we do? Would we reject such a discovery, or would we accept it? And if we accepted it, how would it shape our conduct? Could we—or even should we—live as nihilists?
Axiological research cannot therefore proceed in calm serenity; it must unfold in a state of anxiety and discomfort, opening as it does onto the possibility of arriving at tragic conclusions we may find unbearable.

We are now in a position to offer a final account of the axiologist's state of mind. First, we observed that they must suspend all value judgements—neither liking nor disliking anything. This seemed to bring a kind of serenity to the soul, akin to Stoic ataraxia or even the sceptical epoché, which ultimately conduces to the happiness of the wise.
We now see, however, that this is not the case. Axiological epoché manifests as profound anguish because, unlike the sceptical or Stoic epoché, its aim is not to achieve happiness or answer the question 'How can I be happy?' but rather 'What has value?'—a question that could potentially foreclose any possibility of happiness for humanity.

The axiologist is therefore far from indifferent in their investigation: they are grappling with perhaps the most important questions that can be asked. Yet for methodological reasons they must adopt a stance of neutrality—displaying impartiality towards each axiological position. As an axiologist, they must act against their own deepest convictions, even as they remain fully human throughout the investigation. This contradiction gives the axiologist's state of mind its essential character: that of an anguished suspension of all value judgements.

Finally, we must not dismiss axiological positions that strike us as absurd—such as 'The first ten digits have value', 'Pain has value', or 'What is under my brother's piano has value'.
To proceed in this way would be to fail to appreciate the radical nature of the epoché that axiology demands, which insists on genuinely 'giving a chance' to any axiological position before claiming the right to reject it. Moreover, it is often under the guise of absurdity that legitimate axiological positions—those asserting that evil, pain, sadness, nothingness, or even laughter hold value—are dismissed. The criterion of 'absurdity' is therefore fundamentally flawed: each person tends to label as absurd any axiological judgement that diverges too far from their own.

This requirement for neutrality reveals something essential about the axiological project.
If, for example, we were to state that the aim of axiology is to discover the value of things, we would implicitly suggest that only tangible objects can hold value, thereby excluding actions or immaterial entities—such as metaphysical beings—from the outset, without justification. The very formulation of the question would betray it, embedding presuppositions into its structure.
Similarly, if we claimed that axiology's aim is to uncover the value of concepts, we would dogmatically exclude everything outside the conceptual—objects, actions, metaphysical beings.
And if we said that axiology seeks the value of beings, we would be dismissing from the start anything that does not exist in reality but remains within the realm of imagination—unicorns, for instance—or that which is merely possible or even impossible.

What we need, instead, is a formulation that does not betray the question it aims to express and does not pre-emptively exclude anything from potentially possessing value. This requires a term broader than 'thing', 'concept', 'action', or 'being'. We shall use 'content of meaning'—a term that leaves open whether this meaning is embodied in a thing or an idea, whether it exists in this reality or another, and whether it is possible or impossible. It makes no assumptions about the ontological reality of whatever carries this content of meaning.

Thus, in order to avoid prematurely ruling out any axiological position and to respect the necessary epoché of value judgements, we may state that the aim of axiology is to determine, for any given content of meaning=X, whether it possesses value or not.
Put simply: the purpose of axiology is to assess the value of any given content of meaning=X.