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or pain of some kind or other. Of this impression there is a copy taken |
by the mind, which remains after the impression ceases; and this we call |
an idea. This idea of pleasure or pain, when it returns upon the soul, |
produces the new impressions of desire and aversion, hope and fear, |
which may properly be called impressions of reflexion, because derived |
from it. These again are copied by the memory and imagination, and |
become ideas; which perhaps in their turn give rise to other impressions |
and ideas. So that the impressions of reflexion are only antecedent |
to their correspondent ideas; but posterior to those of sensation, and |
derived from them. The examination of our sensations belongs more to |
anatomists and natural philosophers than to moral; and therefore shall |
not at present be entered upon. And as the impressions of reflexion, |
viz. passions, desires, and emotions, which principally deserve our |
attention, arise mostly from ideas, it will be necessary to reverse that |
method, which at first sight seems most natural; and in order to explain |
the nature and principles of the human mind, give a particular account |
of ideas, before we proceed to impressions. For this reason I have here |
chosen to begin with ideas. |
SECT. III. OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION. |
We find by experience, that when any impression has been present with |
the mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea; and this it |
may do after two different ways: either when in its new appearance it |
retains a considerable degree of its first vivacity, and is somewhat |
intermediate betwixt an impression and an idea: or when it entirely |
loses that vivacity, and is a perfect idea. The faculty, by which we |
repeat our impressions in the first manner, is called the MEMORY, and |
the other the IMAGINATION. It is evident at first sight, that the |
ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than those of the |
imagination, and that the former faculty paints its objects in more |
distinct colours, than any which are employed by the latter. When we |
remember any past event, the idea of it flows in upon the mind in a |
forcible manner; whereas in the imagination the perception is faint and |
languid, and cannot without difficulty be preserved by the mind |
steddy and uniform for any considerable time. Here then is a sensible |
difference betwixt one species of ideas and another. But of this more |
fully hereafter.[2] |
[2] Part III, Sect. 5. |
There is another difference betwixt these two kinds of ideas, which is |
no less evident, namely that though neither the ideas, of the memory |
nor imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas can make their |
appearance in the mind, unless their correspondent impressions have |
gone before to prepare the way for them, yet the imagination is not |
restrained to the same order and form with the original impressions; |
while the memory is in a manner tied down in that respect, without any |
power of variation. |
It is evident, that the memory preserves the original form, in which |
its objects were presented, and that where-ever we depart from it in |
recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some defect or imperfection |
in that faculty. An historian may, perhaps, for the more convenient |
Carrying on of his narration, relate an event before another, to which |
it was in fact posterior; but then he takes notice of this disorder, if |
he be exact; and by that means replaces the idea in its due position. It |
is the same case in our recollection of those places and persons, with |
which we were formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of the memory |
is not to preserve the simple ideas, but their order and position. In |
short, this principle is supported by such a number of common and vulgar |
phaenomena, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of insisting on it |
any farther. |
The same evidence follows us in our second principle, OF THE LIBERTY OF |
THE IMAGINATION TO TRANSPOSE AND CHANGE ITS IDEAS. The fables we meet |
with in poems and romances put this entirely out of the question. Nature |
there is totally confounded, and nothing mentioned but winged horses, |
fiery dragons, and monstrous giants. Nor will this liberty of the fancy |
appear strange, when we consider, that all our ideas are copyed from |
our impressions, and that there are not any two impressions which |
are perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this is an evident |
consequence of the division of ideas into simple and complex. Where-ever |
the imagination perceives a difference among ideas, it can easily |
produce a separation. |
SECT. IV. OF THE CONNEXION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. |
As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination, and may |
be united again in what form it pleases, nothing would be more |
unaccountable than the operations of that faculty, were it not guided |
by some universal principles, which render it, in some measure, uniform |
with itself in all times and places. Were ideas entirely loose and |
unconnected, chance alone would join them; and it is impossible the same |
simple ideas should fall regularly into complex ones (as they Commonly |
do) without some bond of union among them, some associating quality, |
by which one idea naturally introduces another. This uniting principle |
among ideas is not to be considered as an inseparable connexion; for |
that has been already excluded from the imagination: Nor yet are we to |
conclude, that without it the mind cannot join two ideas; for nothing |
is more free than that faculty: but we are only to regard it as a |
gentle force, which commonly prevails, and is the cause why, among other |