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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:—

IDEAS

General, Abstract, or Notional = Concepts. Complex, Compound, or Mixed = Recepts, or Generic Ideas. Simple, Particular, or Concrete = Memories of Percepts. [25]