SECT. XV.
OF THE CLASSES OF IDEAS.
- I. 1. Ideas received in tribes. 2. We combine them further, or abstract from these tribes. 3. Complex ideas. 4. Compounded ideas. 5. Simple ideas, modes, substances, relations, general ideas. 6. Ideas of reflexion. 7. Memory and imagination imperfectly defined. Ideal presence. Memorandum-rings. II. 1. Irritative ideas. Perception. 2. Sensitive ideas, imagination. 3. Voluntary ideas, recollection. 4. Associated ideas, suggestion. III. 1. Definitions of perception, memory. 2. Reasoning, judgment, doubting, distinguishing, comparing. 3. Invention. 4. Consciousness. 5. Identity. 6. Lapse of time. 7. Free-will.
I. 1. As the constituent elements of the material world are only perceptible to our organs of sense in a state of combination; it follows, that the ideas or sensual motions excited by them, are never received singly, but ever with a greater or less degree of combination. So the colours of bodies or their hardnesses occur with their figures: every smell and taste has its degree of pungency as well as its peculiar flavour: and each note in music is combined with the tone of some instrument. It appears from hence, that we can be sensible of a number of ideas at the same time, such as the whiteness, hardness, and coldness, of a snow-ball, and can experience at the same time many irritative ideas of surrounding bodies, which we do not attend to, as mentioned in Section VII. 3. 2. But those ideas which belong to the same sense, seem to be more easily combined into synchronous tribes, than those which were not received by the same sense, as we can more easily think of the whiteness and figure of a lump of sugar at the same time, than the whiteness and sweetness of it.
2. As these ideas, or sensual motions, are thus excited with greater or less degrees of combination; so we have a power, when we repeat them either by our volition or sensation, to increase or diminish this degree of combination, that is, to form compounded ideas from those, which were more simple; and abstract ones from those, which were more complex, when they were first excited; that is, we can repeat a part or the whole of those sensual motions, which did constitute our ideas of perception; and the repetition of which now constitutes our ideas of recollection, or of imagination.
3. Those ideas, which we repeat without change of the quantity of that combination, with which we first received them, are called complex ideas, as when you recollect Westminster Abbey, or the planet Saturn: but it must be observed, that these complex ideas, thus re-excited by volition, sensation, or association, are seldom perfect copies of their correspondent perceptions, except in our dreams, where other external objects do not detract our attention.
4. Those ideas, which are more complex than the natural objects that first excited them, have been called compounded ideas, as when we think of a sphinx, or griffin.
5. And those that are less complex than the correspondent natural objects, have been termed abstracted ideas: thus sweetness, and whiteness, and solidity, are received at the same time from a lump of sugar, yet I can recollect any of these qualities without thinking of the others, that were excited along with them.
When ideas are so far abstracted as in the above example, they have been termed simple by the writers of metaphysics, and seem indeed to be more complete repetitions of the ideas or sensual motions, originally excited by external objects.
Other classes of these ideas, where the abstraction has not been so great, have been termed, by Mr. Locke, modes, substances, and relations, but they seem only to differ in their degree of abstraction from the complex ideas that were at first excited; for as these complex or natural ideas are themselves imperfect copies of their correspondent perceptions, so these abstract or general ideas are only still more imperfect copies of the same perceptions. Thus when I have seen an object but once, as a rhinoceros, my abstract idea of this animal is the same as my complex one. I may think more or less distinctly of a rhinoceros, but it is the very rhinoceros that I saw, or some part or property of him, which recurs to my mind.
But when any class of complex objects becomes the subject of conversation, of which I have seen many individuals, as a castle or an army, some property or circumstance belonging to it is peculiarly alluded to; and then I feel in my own mind, that my abstract idea of this complex object is only an idea of that part, property, or attitude of it, that employs the present conversation, and varies with every sentence that is spoken concerning it. So if any one should say, "one may sit upon a horse safer than on a camel," my abstract idea of the two animals includes only an outline of the level back of the one, and the gibbosity on the back of the other. What noise is that in the street?—Some horses trotting over the pavement. Here my idea of the horses includes principally the shape and motion of their legs. So also the abstract ideas of goodness and courage are still more imperfect representations of the objects they were received from; for here we abstract the material parts, and recollect only the qualities.
Thus we abstract so much from some of our complex ideas, that at length it becomes difficult to determine of what perception they partake; and in many instances our idea seems to be no other than of the sound or letters of the word, that stands for the collective tribe, of which we are said to have an abstracted idea, as noun, verb, chimæra, apparition.
6. Ideas have been divided into those of perception and those of reflection, but as whatever is perceived must be external to the organ that perceives it, all our ideas must originally be ideas of perception.
7. Others have divided our ideas into those of memory, and those of imagination; they have said that a recollection of ideas in the order they were received constitutes memory, and without that order imagination; but all the ideas of imagination, excepting the few that are termed simple ideas, are parts of trains or tribes in the order they were received; as if I think of a sphinx, or a griffin, the fair face, bosom, wings, claws, tail, are all complex ideas in the order they were received: and it behoves the writers, who adhere to this definition, to determine, how small the trains must be, that shall be called imagination; and how great those, that shall be called memory.
Others have thought that the ideas of memory have a greater vivacity than those of imagination: but the ideas of a person in sleep, or in a waking reverie, where the trains connected with sensation are uninterrupted, are more vivid and distinct than those of memory, so that they cannot be distinguished by this criterion.
The very ingenious author of the Elements of Criticism has described what he conceives to be a species of memory, and calls it ideal presence; but the instances he produces are the reveries of sensation, and are therefore in truth connections of the imagination, though they are recalled in the order they were received.
The ideas connected by association are in common discourse attributed to memory, as we talk of memorandum-rings, and tie a knot on our handkerchiefs to bring something into our minds at a distance of time. And a school-boy, who can repeat a thousand unmeaning lines in Lilly's Grammar, is said to have a good memory. But these have been already shewn to belong to the class of association; and are termed ideas of suggestion.
II. Lastly, the method already explained of classing ideas into those excited by irritation, sensation, volition, or association, we hope will be found more convenient both for explaining the operations of the mind, and for comparing them with those of the body; and for the illustration and the cure of the diseases of both, and which we shall here recapitulate.
1. Irritative ideas are those, which are preceded by irritation, which is excited by objects external to the organs of sense: as the idea of that tree, which either I attend to, or which I shun in walking near it without attention. In the former case it is termed perception, in the latter it is termed simply an irritative idea.
2. Sensitive ideas are those, which are preceded by the sensation of pleasure or pain; as the ideas, which constitute our dreams or reveries, this is called imagination.
3. Voluntary ideas are those, which are preceded by voluntary exertion, as when I repeat the alphabet backwards: this is called recollection.
4. Associate ideas are those, which are preceded by other ideas or muscular motions, as when we think over or repeat the alphabet by rote in its usual order; or sing a tune we are accustomed to; this is called suggestion.
III. 1. Perceptions signify those ideas, which are preceded by irritation and succeeded by the sensation of pleasure or pain, for whatever excites our attention interests us; that is, it is accompanied with, pleasure or pain; however slight may be the degree or quantity of either of them.
The word memory includes two classes of ideas, either those which, are preceded by voluntary exertion, or those which are suggested by their associations with other ideas.
2. Reasoning is that operation of the sensorium, by which we excite two or many tribes of ideas; and then re-excite the ideas, in which they differ, or correspond. If we determine this difference, it is called judgment; if we in vain endeavour to determine it, it is called doubting.
If we re-excited the ideas, in which they differ, it is called distinguishing. If we re-excite those in which they correspond, it is called comparing.
3. Invention is an operation of the sensorium, by which we voluntarily continue to excite one train of ideas, suppose the design of raising water by a machine; and at the same time attend to all other ideas, which are connected with this by every kind of catenation; and combine or separate them voluntarily for the purpose of obtaining some end.
For we can create nothing new, we can only combine or separate the ideas, which we have already received by our perceptions: thus if I wish to represent a monster, I call to my mind the ideas of every thing disagreeable and horrible, and combine the nastiness and gluttony of a hog, the stupidity and obstinacy of an ass, with the fur and awkwardness of a bear, and call the new combination Caliban. Yet such a monster may exist in nature, as all his attributes are parts of nature. So when I wish to represent every thing, that is excellent, and amiable; when I combine benevolence with cheerfulness, wisdom, knowledge, taste, wit, beauty of person, and elegance of manners, and associate them in one lady as a pattern to the world, it is called invention; yet such a person may exist,—such a person does exist!—It is —— ——, who is as much a monster as Caliban.
4. In respect to consciousness, we are only conscious of our existence, when we think about it; as we only perceive the lapse of time, when we attend to it; when we are busied about other objects, neither the lapse of time nor the consciousness of our own existence can occupy our attention. Hence, when we think of our own existence, we only excite abstracted or reflex ideas (as they are termed), of our principal pleasures or pains, of our desires or aversions, or of the figure, solidity, colour, or other properties of our bodies, and call that act of the sensorium a consciousness of our existence. Some philosopher, I believe it is Des Cartes, has said, "I think, therefore I exist." But this is not right reasoning, because thinking is a mode of existence; and it is thence only saying, "I exist, therefore I exist." For there are three modes of existence, or in the language of grammarians three kinds of verbs. First, simply I am, or exist. Secondly, I am acting, or exist in a state of activity, as I move. Thirdly, I am suffering, or exist in a state of being acted upon, as I am moved. The when, and the where, as applicable to this existence, depends on the successive motions of our own or of other bodies; and on their respective situations, as spoken of Sect. XIV. 2. 5.
5. Our identity is known by our acquired habits or catenated trains of ideas and muscular motions; and perhaps, when we compare infancy with old age, in those alone can our identity be supposed to exist. For what else is there of similitude between the first speck of living entity and the mature man?—every deduction of reasoning, every sentiment or passion, with every fibre of the corporeal part of our system, has been subject almost to annual mutation; while some catenations alone of our ideas and muscular actions have continued in part unchanged.
By the facility, with which we can in our waking hours voluntarily produce certain successive trains of ideas, we know by experience, that we have before reproduced them; that is, we are conscious of a time of our existence previous to the present time; that is, of our identity now and heretofore. It is these habits of action, these catenations of ideas and muscular motions, which begin with life, and only terminate with it; and which we can in some measure deliver to our posterity; as explained in Sect. XXXIX.
6. When the progressive motions of external bodies make a part of our present catenation of ideas, we attend to the lapse of time; which appears the longer, the more frequently we thus attend to it; as when we expect something at a certain hour, which much interests us, whether it be an agreeable or disagreeable event; or when we count the passing seconds on a stop-watch.
When an idea of our own person, or a reflex idea of our pleasures and pains, desires and aversions, makes a part of this catenation, it is termed consciousness; and if this idea of consciousness makes a part of a catenation, which we excite by recollection, and know by the facility with which we excite it, that we have before experienced it, it is called identity, as explained above.
7. In respect to freewill, it is certain, that we cannot will to think of a new train of ideas, without previously thinking of the first link of it; as I cannot will to think of a black swan, without previously thinking of a black swan. But if I now think of a tail, I can voluntarily recollect all animals, which have tails; my will is so far free, that I can pursue the ideas linked to this idea of tail, as far as my knowledge of the subject extends; but to will without motive is to will without desire or aversion; which is as absurd as to feel without pleasure or pain; they are both solecisms in the terms. So far are we governed by the catenations of motions, which affect both the body and the mind of man, and which begin with our irritability, and end with it.