IDEAS.[13]
I now pass on to consider the only distinction which in my opinion
can be properly drawn between human and brute psychology. This is the
great distinction which furnishes a full psychological explanation of
all the many and immense differences that unquestionably do obtain
between the mind of the highest ape and the mind of the lowest savage.
It is, moreover, the distinction which is now universally recognized
by psychologists of every school, from the Romanist to the agnostic in
Religion, and from the idealist to the materialist in Philosophy.
The distinction has been clearly enunciated by many writers, from
Aristotle downwards, but I may best render it in the words of Locke:—
“If it may be doubted, whether beasts compound and enlarge their ideas
that way to any degree; this I think I may be positive in, that the
power of abstracting is not at all in them; and that the having of
general ideas is that which puts a perfect distinction betwixt man and
brutes, and is an excellency which the faculties of brutes do by no
means attain to. For it is evident we observe no footsteps in them of
making use of general signs for universal ideas; from which we have
reason to imagine, that they have not the faculty of abstracting, or
making general ideas, since they have no use of words, or any other
general signs.
“Nor can it be imputed to their want of fit organs to frame articulate
sounds that they have no use or knowledge of general words; since
many of them, we find, can fashion such sounds, and pronounce words
distinctly enough, but never with any such application; and, on the
other side, men, who through some defect in the organs want words,
yet fail not to express their universal ideas by signs, which serve
them instead of general words; a faculty which we see beasts come
short in. And therefore I think we may suppose, that it is in this
that the species of brutes are discriminated from men; and it is that
proper difference wherein they are wholly separated, and which at
last widens to so vast a distance; for if they have any ideas at all,
and are not bare machines (as some would have them), we cannot deny
them to have some reason. It seems evident to me, that they do some
of them in certain instances reason, as that they have sense; but it
is only in particular ideas, just as they received them from their
senses. They are the best of them tied up within those narrow bounds,
and have not (as I think) the faculty to enlarge them by any kind of
abstraction.”[14]
Here, then, we have stated, with all the common-sense lucidity of this
great writer, what we may term the initial or basal distinction of
which we are in search: it is that “proper difference” which, narrow
at first as the space included between two lines of rails at their
point of divergence, “at last widens to so vast a distance” as to end
almost at the opposite poles of mind. For, by a continuous advance
along the same line of development, the human mind is enabled to think
about abstractions of its own making, which are more and more remote
from the sensuous perception of concrete objects; it can unite these
abstractions into an endless variety of ideal combinations; these, in
turn, may become elaborated into ideal constructions of a more and
more complex character; and so on until we arrive at the full powers
of introspective thought with which we are each one of us directly
cognisant.
* * * * *
We now approach what is at once a matter of refined analysis, and a
set of questions which are of fundamental importance to the whole
superstructure of the present work. I mean the nature of abstraction,
and the classification of ideas. No small amount of ambiguity still
hangs about these important subjects, and in treating of them it is
impossible to employ terms the meanings of which are agreed upon by all
psychologists. But I will carefully define the meanings which I attach
to these terms myself, and which I think are the meanings that they
ought to bear. Moreover, I will end by adopting a classification which
is to some extent novel, and by fully giving my reasons for so doing.
Psychologists are agreed that what they call particular ideas, or
ideas of particular objects, are of the nature of mental images,
or memories of such objects—as when the sound of a friend’s voice
brings before my mind the idea of that particular man. Psychologists
are further agreed that what they term general ideas arise out of an
assemblage of particular ideas, as when from my repeated observation
of numerous individual men I form the idea of Man, or of an abstract
being who comprises the resemblances between all these individual men,
without regard to their individual differences. Hence, particular
ideas answer to percepts, while general ideas answer to concepts: an
individual preception (or its repetition) gives rise to its mnemonic
equivalent as a particular idea; while a group of similar, though not
altogether similar perceptions, gives rise to its mnemonic equivalent
as a conception, which, therefore, is but another name for a general
idea, thus _generated_ by an assemblage of particular ideas. Just as
Mr. Galton’s method of superimposing on the same sensitive plate a
number of individual images gives rise to a blended photograph, wherein
each of the individual constituents is partially and proportionally
represented; so in the sensitive tablet of memory, numerous images of
previous perceptions are fused together into a single conception, which
then stands as a composite picture, or class-representation, of these
its constituent images. Moreover, in the case of a sensitive plate it
is only those particular images which present more or less numerous
points of resemblance that admit of being thus blended into a distinct
photograph; and so in the case of the mind, it is only those particular
ideas which admit of being run together in a class that can go to
constitute a clear concept.[15]
So much, then, for ideas as particular and general. Next, the term
abstract has been used by different psychologists in different
senses. For my own part, I will adhere to the usage of Locke in the
passage above quoted, which is the usage adopted by the majority of
modern writers upon these subjects. According to this usage, the term
“abstract idea” is practically synonymous with the term “general
idea.” For the process of abstraction consists in mentally analysing
the complex which is presented by any given object of perception, and
ideally extracting those features or qualities upon which the attention
is for the time being directed. Even the most individual of objects
cannot fail to present an assemblage of qualities, and although it is
true that such an object could not be divided into all its constituent
qualities actually, it does admit of being so divided ideally. The
individual man whom I know as John Smith could not be disintegrated
into so much heat, flesh, bone, blood, colour, &c., without ceasing to
be a man at all; but this does not hinder that I may ideally abstract
his heat (by thinking of him as a corpse), his flesh, bones, and blood
(by thinking of him as a dissected “subject”), his white colour of
skin, his black colour of hair, and so forth. Now, it is evident that
in the last resort our power of forming general ideas, or concepts,
is dependent on this power of abstraction, or the power of ideally
separating one or more of the qualities presented by percepts, _i.e._
by objects of particular ideas. My general idea of heat has only been
rendered possible on account of my having ideally abstracted the
quality of heat from sundry heated bodies, in most of which it has
co-existed with numberless different associations of other qualities.
But this does not hinder that, wherever I meet with that one quality, I
recognize it as the same; and hence I arrive at a general or abstract
idea of heat, apart from any other quality with which in particular
cases it may happen to be associated.[16]
This faculty of ideal abstraction furnishes the _conditio sine quâ
non_ to all grades in the development of thought; for by it alone
can we compare idea with idea, and thus reach ever onwards to higher
and higher levels, as well as to more and more complex structures
of ideation. As to the history of this development we shall have
more to say presently. Meanwhile I desire only to remark two things
in connection with it. The first is that throughout this history
the development is a _development_: the faculty of abstraction is
everywhere the same in _kind_. And the next thing is that this
development is everywhere dependent on the faculty of _language_. A
great deal will require to be said on both these points in subsequent
chapters; but it is needful to state the facts thus early—and they
are facts which psychologists of all schools now accept,—in order
to render intelligible the next step which I am about to make in my
classification of ideas. This step is to distinguish between the
faculty of abstraction where it is not dependent upon language,
and where it is so dependent. I have just said that the faculty of
abstraction is _everywhere_ the same in kind; but, as I immediately
proceeded to affirm that the _development_ of abstraction is dependent
upon language, I have thus far left the question open whether or not
there can be any rudimentary abstraction without language. It is to
this question, therefore, that we must next address ourselves.
On the one hand it may be argued that by restricting the term abstract
to ideas which can only be formed by the aid of language, we are
drawing an arbitrary line—fixing upon one degree in the continuous
scale of a faculty which is throughout the same in kind. For, say some
psychologists, it is evident that in our own case most of our more
simple abstract or general ideas are not dependent for their existence
upon words. Or, if this be disputed, these psychologists are able to
point to infants, and even to the lower animals, in proof of their
assertion. For an infant undoubtedly exhibits the possession of simple
general ideas prior to the possession of any articulate language;
and after it begins to use such language it does so by spontaneously
widening the generality of signification attaching to its original
words. In proof of both these statements numberless observations might
be quoted, and further on will be quoted; but here I need only wait
to give one in proof of each. As regards the first, Professor Preyer
tells us that at eight months old,[17] and therefore long before it
was able to speak, his child was able to classify all glass bottles
as resembling—or belonging to the order of—a feeding-bottle.[18]
As regards the second, M. Taine tells us of a little girl eighteen
months old, who was amused by her mother hiding in play behind a piece
of furniture, and saying “Coucou.” Again, when her food was too hot,
when she went too near the fire or candle, and when the sun was warm,
she was told “Ça brûle.” One day, on seeing the sun disappear behind
a hill, she exclaimed, “‘A b’ûle coucou,” thereby showing both the
formation and combination of general ideas, “not only expressed by
words which we do not employ (and, therefore, not by any other words
that she can have previously employed), but also corresponding to
ideas, _consequently to classes of objects and general characters_
which in our cases have disappeared. The hot soup, the fire on the
hearth, the flame of the candle, the noonday heat in the garden, and
last of all, the sun, make up one of these classes. The figure of the
nurse or mother disappearing behind a hill, form the other class.”[19]
Coming next to the case of brutes, and to begin with the simplest
kind of illustrations, all the higher animals have general ideas of
“Good-for-eating,” and “Not-good-for-eating,” quite apart from any
particular objects of which either of these qualities happens to be
characteristic. For, if we give any of the higher animals a morsel of
food of a kind which it has never before met with, the animal does
not immediately snap it up, nor does it immediately reject our offer;
but it subjects the morsel to a careful examination before consigning
it to the mouth. This proves, if anything can, that such an animal
has a general or abstract idea of sweet, bitter, hot, or, in general,
Good-for-eating and Not-good-for-eating—the motives of the examination
clearly being to ascertain which of these two general ideas of kind
is appropriate to the particular object examined. When we ourselves
select something which we suppose will prove good to eat, we do not
require to call to our aid any of that higher class of abstract ideas
for which we are indebted to our powers of language: it is enough to
determine our decision if the particular appearance, smell, or taste of
the food makes us feel that it probably conforms to our general idea
of Good-for-eating. And, therefore, when we see animals determining
between similar alternatives by precisely similar methods, we cannot
reasonably doubt that the psychological processes are similar; for,
as we know that these processes in ourselves do not involve any of
the higher powers of our minds, there is no reason to doubt that the
processes, which in their manifestations appear so similar, really
are what they appear to be—the same. Again, if I see a fox prowling
about a farm-yard, I infer that he has been led by hunger to go where
he has a general idea that there are a good many eatable things to be
fallen in with—just as I myself am led by a similar impulse to visit
a restaurant. Similarly, if I say to my dog the word “Cat,” I arouse
in his mind an idea, not of any cat in particular—for he sees so many
cats,—but of a Cat in general. Or when this same dog accidentally
crosses the track of a strange dog, the scent of this strange dog makes
him stiffen his tail and erect the hair on his back in preparation for
a fight; yet the scent of an unknown dog must arouse in his mind, not
the idea of any dog in particular, but an idea of the animal Dog in
general.
Thus far, it will be remembered, I have been presenting evidence in
favour of the view that both infants and animals show themselves
capable of forming general ideas of a simple order, and, therefore,
that to the formation of such ideas the use of language is not
essential. I will next consider what has to be said on the other
side of the question; for, as previously remarked, many—I may say
most—psychologists repudiate this kind of evidence _in toto_, as not
germain to the subject of debate. First, therefore, I will consider
their objections to this kind of evidence; next I will sum up the whole
question; and, lastly, I will suggest a classification of ideas which
in my opinion ought to be accepted by both sides as constituting a
common ground of reconciliation.
To begin with another quotation from Locke, “How far brutes partake
in this faculty [_i.e._ that of comparing ideas] is not easy to
determine; I imagine they have it not in any great degree: for though
they probably have several ideas distinct enough, yet it seems to me
to be the prerogative of human understanding, when it has sufficiently
distinguished any ideas, so as to perceive them to be perfectly
different, and so consequently two, to cast about and consider in what
circumstances they are capable to be compared: and therefore I think
beasts compare not their ideas further than some sensible circumstances
annexed to the objects themselves. The other power of comparing, which
may be observed in men, belonging to general ideas, and useful only to
abstract reasonings, we may probably conjecture beasts have not.
“The next operation we may observe in the mind about its ideas, is
composition; whereby it puts together several of those simple ones it
has received from sensation and reflection, and combines them into
complex ones. Under this head of composition may be reckoned also that
of enlarging; wherein, though the composition does not so much appear
as in more complex ones, yet it is nevertheless a putting several
ideas together, though of the same kind. Thus, by adding several units
together, we make the idea of a dozen; and by putting together the
repeated ideas of several perches, we frame that of a furlong.
“In this, also, I suppose, brutes come far short of men; for though
they take in, and retain together several combinations of simple ideas,
as possibly the shape, smell, and voice of his master make up the
complex idea a dog has of him, or rather are so many distinct marks
whereby he knows him; yet I do not think they do of themselves ever
compound them, and make complex ideas. And perhaps even where we think
they have complex ideas, it is only one simple one that directs them
in the knowledge of several things, which possibly they distinguish
less by sight than we imagine; for I have been credibly informed that
a bitch will nurse, play with, and be fond of young foxes, as much as,
and in place of, her puppies; if you can but get them once to suck her
so long, that her milk may go through them. And those animals, which
have a numerous brood of young ones at once, appear not to have any
knowledge of their number: for though they are mightily concerned for
any of their young that are taken from them whilst they are in sight
or hearing; yet if one or two be stolen from them in their absence, or
without noise, they appear not to miss them, or have any sense that
their number is lessened.”[20]
Now, from the whole of this passage, it is apparent that the
“comparing,” “compounding,” and “enlarging” of ideas which Locke has
in view, is the _conscious_ or _intentional_ comparing, compounding,
and enlarging that belongs only to the province of reflection, or
thought. He in no way concerns himself with such powers of “comparing
and compounding of ideas” as he allows that animals present, unless
it can be shown that animals are able to “cast about and consider
in what circumstances they are capable to be compared.” And then he
adds, “Therefore, I think, beasts compare not their ideas _further
than some sensible circumstances annexed to the objects themselves_.
The _other_ power of comparing, which may be observed in men,
_belonging to general ideas, and useful only to abstract reasonings_,
we may probably conjecture beasts have not.” So far, then, it seems
perfectly obvious that Locke believed animals to present the power
of “comparing and compounding” “simple ideas,” up to the point where
such comparison and composition begins to be assisted by the power of
reflective thought. Therefore, when he immediately afterwards proceeds
to explain abstraction thus: “The same colour being observed to-day
in chalk or snow, which the mind yesterday received from milk, it
considers that appearance alone, makes it a representative of all of
that kind; and having given it the name whiteness, it by that sound
signifies the same quality, wheresoever it be imagined or met with;
and thus universals, whether ideas or terms, are made”—when he thus
proceeds to explain abstraction, we can have no doubt that what he
means by abstraction is the power of _ideally contemplating qualities
as separated from objects_, or, as he expresses it, “_considering_
appearances alone.” Therefore I conclude, without further discussion,
that in the terminology of Locke the word abstraction is applied only
to those higher developments of the faculty which are rendered possible
by reflection.
Now, on what does this power of reflection depend? As we shall see
more fully later on, it depends on Language, or on the power of
affixing names to abstract and general ideas. So far as I am aware,
psychologists of all existing schools are in agreement upon this point,
or in holding that the power of affixing names to abstractions is at
once the condition to reflective thought, and the explanation of the
difference between man and brute in respect of ideation.
It seems needless to dwell upon a matter where all are agreed,
and concerning which a great deal more will require to be said in
subsequent chapters. At present I am only endeavouring to ascertain
the ground of difference between those psychologists who attribute,
and those who deny to animals the faculty of abstraction. And I think
I am now in a position to render this point perfectly clear. As we
have already seen, and we shall frequently see again, it is allowed
on all hands that animals in their ideation are not shut up to the
special imaging (or remembering) of particular perceptions; but that
they do present the power, as Locke phrases it, of “taking in and
retaining together several combinations of simple ideas.”[21] The
only question, then, really is whether or not this power is the power
of abstraction. In the opinion of some psychologists it is: in the
opinion of other psychologists it is not. Now, on what does an answer
to this question depend? Clearly it depends on whether we hold it
essential to an abstract or general idea that it should be incarnate
as a word. Under one point of view, to “take in and retain together
several combinations of simple ideas,” is to form a general concept of
so many percepts. But, under another point of view, such a combination
of simple ideas is only then entitled to be regarded as a concept, when
it has been conceived by the mind _as_ a concept, or when, in virtue
of having been bodied forth in a name, it stands before the mind as
a distinct and organic offspring of mind—so becoming an object as
well as a product of ideation. For then only can the abstract idea be
known _as_ abstract, and then only can it be available as a definite
creation of thought, capable of being built into any further and more
elaborate structure of ideation. Or, to quote M. Taine, who advocates
this view with great lucidity, “Of our numerous experiences [_i.e._
individual perceptions of a show of araucarias] there remain on the
following day four or five more or less distinct recollections, which
obliterated themselves, leave behind in us a simple, colourless,
vague representation, into which enter as components various reviving
sensations, in an utterly feeble, incomplete, and abortive state. But
this representation is not the general or abstract idea. It is but
its accompaniment, and, if I may say so, the one from which it is
extracted. For the representation, though badly sketched, is a sketch,
the sensible sketch of a distinct individual; in fact, if I make it
persist and dwell upon it, it repeats some special visual sensation;
I see mentally some outline which corresponds only to some particular
araucaria, and, therefore, cannot correspond to the whole class: now,
my abstract idea corresponds to the whole class; it differs, then, from
the representation of an individual. Moreover, my abstract idea is
perfectly clear and determinate; now that I possess it, I never fail
to recognize an araucaria among the various plants I may be shown; it
differs, then, from the confused and floating representation I have of
some particular araucaria. What is there, then, within me so clear and
determinate, corresponding to the abstract character, corresponding
to all araucarias, and corresponding to it alone? A class-name, the
name araucaria.... Thus we conceive the abstract characters of things
by means of abstract names which _are_ our abstract ideas, and the
formation of our abstract ideas is nothing more than the formation of
names.”[22]
The real issue, then, is as to what we are to understand by this term
abstraction, or its equivalents. If we are to limit the term to the
faculty of “taking in and retaining together several combinations of
simple ideas,” _plus_ the faculty of giving a name to the resulting
compound, then undoubtedly animals differ from men in not presenting
the faculty of abstraction; for this is no more than to say that
animals have not the faculty of speech. But if the term in question be
not thus limited—if it be taken to mean the first of the above-named
processes irrespective of the second,—then, no less undoubtedly,
animals resemble men in presenting the faculty of abstraction. In
accordance with the former definition, it necessarily follows that
“we conceive the abstract characters of things _by means of abstract
names which_ ARE _our abstract ideas_;” and, therefore, that “the
formation of our abstract ideas is nothing more than the formation of
names.” But, in accordance with the latter view, great as may be the
importance of affixing a name to a compound of simple ideas for the
purpose of giving that compound greater clearness and stability, the
essence of abstraction consists in the act of compounding, or in the
blending together of particular ideas into a general idea of the class
to which the individual things belong. The act of bestowing upon this
compound idea a class-name is quite a distinct act, and one which is
necessarily subsequent to the previous act of compounding: why then, it
may be asked, should we deny that such a compound idea is a general or
abstract idea, only because it is not followed up by the artifice of
giving it a name?
In my opinion so much has to be said in favour of both of these views
that I am not going to pronounce against either. What I have hitherto
been endeavouring to do is to reveal clearly that the question whether
or not there is any difference between the brute and the man in respect
of abstraction, is nothing more than a question of terminology. The
real question will arise only when we come to treat of the faculty
of language: the question before us now is merely a question of
psychological classification, or of the nomenclature of ideas. Now, it
appears to me that this question admits of being definitely settled,
and a great deal of needless misunderstanding removed, by a slight
re-adjustment and a closer definition of terms. For it must be on
all hands admitted that, whether or not we choose to denominate
by the word abstraction the faculty of compounding simple ideas
without the faculty of naming the compounds, at the place where this
additional faculty of naming supervenes, so immense an accession to
the previous faculty is furnished, that any system of psychological
nomenclature must be highly imperfect if it be destitute of terms
whereby to recognize the difference. For even if it were conceded by
psychologists of the opposite school that the essence of abstraction
consists in the compounding of simple ideas, and not at all in the
subsequent process of naming the compounds; still the effect of this
subsequent process—or additional faculty—is so prodigious, that
the higher degrees of abstraction which by it are rendered possible,
certainly require to be marked off, or to be distinguished from, the
lower degrees. Without, therefore, in any way prejudicing the question
as to whether we have here a difference of degree or a difference of
kind, I will submit a classification of ideas which, while not open to
objection from either side of this question, will greatly help us in
our subsequent treatment of the question itself.
The word “Idea” I will use in the sense defined in my previous
work—namely, as a generic term to signify indifferently any product of
imagination, from the mere memory of a sensuous impression up to the
result of the most abstruse generalization.[23]
By “Simple Idea,” “Particular Idea,” or “Concrete Idea,” I understand
the mere memory of a particular sensuous perception.
By “Compound Idea,” “Complex Idea,” or “Mixed Idea,” I understand the
combination of simple, particular, or concrete ideas into that kind of
composite idea which is possible without the aid of language.
Lastly, by “General Idea,” “Abstract Idea,” “Concept,” or “Notion,” I
understand that kind of composite idea which is rendered possible only
by the aid of language, or by the process of naming abstractions as
abstractions.
Now in this classification, notwithstanding that it is needful to
quote at least ten distinct terms which are either now in use among
psychologists or have been used by classical English writers upon
these topics, we may observe that there are really but three separate
classes to be distinguished. Moreover, it will be noticed that, for
the sake of definition, I restrict the first three terms to denote
memories of particular sensuous perceptions—refusing, therefore, to
apply them to those blended memories of many sensuous perceptions
which enable animals and infants (as well as ourselves) to form
compound ideas of kind or class without the aid of language. Again,
the first division of this threefold classification has to do only
with what are termed percepts, while the last has to do only with what
are termed concepts. Now there does not exist any equivalent word to
meet the middle division. And this fact in itself shows most forcibly
the state of ambiguous confusion into which the classification of
ideas has been wrought. Psychologists of both the schools that we are
considering—namely, those who maintain and those who deny that there
is any difference of kind between the ideation of men and animals—are
equally forced to allow that there is a great difference between what
I have called a simple idea and what I have called a compound idea. In
other words, it is a matter of obvious fact that the only distinction
between ideas is _not_ that between the memory of a particular percept
and the formation of a named concept; for between these two classes
of ideas there obviously lies another class, in virtue of which even
animals and infants are able to distinguish individual objects as
belonging to a sort or kind. Yet this large and important territory of
ideation, lying between the other two, is, so to speak, unnamed ground.
Even the words “compound idea,” “complex idea,” and “mixed idea,” are
by me restricted to it without the sanction of previous usage; for, as
above remarked, so completely has the existence of this intermediate
land been ignored, that we have no word at all which is applicable to
it in the same way that Percept and Concept are applicable to the
lands on either side of it. The consequence is that psychologists of
the one school invade this intermediate province of ideation with terms
that are applicable only to the lower province, while psychologists
of the other school invade it with terms which are applicable only to
the higher: the one matter upon which they all appear to agree being
that of ignoring the wide area which this intermediate territory
covers—and, consequently, also ignoring the great distance by which
the territories on either side of it are separated.
In addition, then, to the terms Percept and Concept, I coin the word
_Recept_. This is a term which seems exactly to meet the requirements
of the case. For as perception literally means a _taking wholly_, and
conception a _taking together_, reception means a _taking again_.
Consequently, a recept is that which is taken again, or a _recognition_
of things previously _cognized_. Now, it belongs to the essence of
what I have defined as compound ideas (recepts), that they arise in
the mind out of a repetition of more or less similar percepts. Having
seen a number of araucarias, the mind _receives_ from the whole mass
of individuals which it _perceives_ a composite idea of Araucaria,
or of a class comprising all individuals of that kind—an idea which
differs from a general or abstract idea only in not being consciously
fixed and signed as an idea by means of an abstract name. Compound
ideas, therefore, can only arise out of a _repetition_ of more or less
similar percepts; and hence the appropriateness of designating them
recepts. Moreover, the associations which we have with the cognate
words, Receive, Reception, &c., are all of the _passive_ kind, as the
associations which we have with the words Conceive, Conception, &c.,
are of the _active_ kind. Now, here again, the use of the word recept
is seen to be appropriate to the class of ideas in question, because
in receiving such ideas the mind is passive, as in conceiving abstract
ideas the mind is active. In order to form a concept, the mind must
intentionally bring together its percepts (or the memories of them),
for the purpose of binding them up as a bundle of similars, and
labelling the bundle with a name. But in order to form a recept, the
mind need perform no such intentional actions: the similarities among
the percepts with which alone this order of ideation is concerned, are
so marked, so conspicuous, and so frequently _repeated_ in observation,
that in the very moment of perception they sort themselves, and,
as it were, fall into their appropriate classes spontaneously, or
without any conscious effort on the part of the percipient. We do
not require to name stones to distinguish them from loaves, nor fish
to distinguish them from scorpions. Class distinctions of this kind
are conveyed in the very act of perception—_e.g._ the case of the
infant with the glass bottles,—and, as we shall subsequently see, in
the case of the higher animals admit of being carried to a wonderful
pitch of discriminative perfection. Recepts, then, are _spontaneous
associations, formed unintentionally_ as what may be termed
_unperceived abstractions_.[24]
One further remark remains to be added before our nomenclature of
ideas can be regarded as complete. It will have been noticed that
the term “general idea” is equally appropriate to ideas of class or
kind, whether or not such ideas are named. The ideas Good-for-eating
and Not-good-for-eating are as general to an animal as they are to a
man, and have in each case been formed in the same way—namely, by
an accumulation of particular experiences spontaneously assorted in
consciousness. General ideas of this kind, however, have not been
contemplated by previous writers while dealing with the psychology of
generalization: hence the term “general,” like the term “abstract,”
has by usage become restricted to those higher products of ideation
which depend on the faculty of language. And the only words that I can
find to have been used by any previous writers to designate the ideas
concerned in that lower kind of generalization which does not depend
on language, are the words above given—namely, Complex, Compound,
and Mixed. Now, none of these words are so good as the word General,
because none of them express the notion of _genus_ or _class_; and the
great distinction between the idea which an animal or an infant has,
say of an individual man and of men in general, is not that the one
idea is simple, and the other complex, compound, or mixed; but that the
one idea is _particular_ and the other _general_. Therefore consistency
would dictate that the term “general” should be applied to _all_
ideas of class or kind, as distinguished from ideas of particulars
or individuals—irrespective of the _degree_ of generality, and
irrespective, therefore, of the accident whether or not, _quâ_ general,
such ideas are dependent on language. Nevertheless, as the term has
been through previous usage restricted to ideas of the higher order of
generality, I will not introduce confusion by extending its use to the
lower order, or by speaking of an animal as capable of generalizing. A
parallel term, however, is needed; and, therefore, I will speak of the
general or class ideas which are formed without the aid of language as
_generic_. This word has the double advantage of retaining a verbal
as well as a substantial analogy with the allied term _general_. It
also serves to indicate that generic ideas, or recepts, are not only
ideas of class or kind, but have been _generated_ from the intermixture
of individual ideas—_i.e._ from the blended memories of particular
percepts.
My nomenclature of ideas, therefore, may be presented in a tabular form
thus:—
{ General, Abstract, or Notional = Concepts.
IDEAS { Complex, Compound, or Mixed = Recepts, or Generic Ideas.
{ Simple, Particular, or Concrete = Memories of Percepts.[25]