The Origin of Ideas

11. Every one will readily allow, that there is a considerable difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the perceptions of the senses; but they never can entirely reach the force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigour, is, that they represent their object in so lively a manner, that we could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind be disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry, however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the description be taken for a real landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the dullest sensation.

11. Everyone will readily agree that there is a considerable difference between two kinds of mental perception. One is feeling the pain of excessive heat or the pleasure of moderate warmth. The other is remembering that sensation afterward or imagining it in advance. Memory and imagination may imitate or copy the perceptions of the senses. But they can never fully match the force and vividness of the original sensation. Even when memory and imagination are working most powerfully, the most we can say is that they represent their object so vividly that we could almost say we feel or see it. But unless the mind is disturbed by disease or madness, these perceptions can never become vivid enough to be completely indistinguishable from sensations. However splendid the colors of poetry, they can never portray natural objects so well that the description is mistaken for a real landscape. The most vivid thought is still weaker than the faintest sensation.

We may observe a like distinction to run through all the other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a very different manner from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and form a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake that conception for the real disorders and agitations of the passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its objects truly; but the colours which it employs are faint and dull, in comparison of those in which our original perceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.

We may observe a similar distinction in all the mind’s other perceptions. A person in a fit of anger is affected very differently from someone who only thinks about anger. If you tell me that someone is in love, I easily understand what you mean. I can form an accurate idea of that person’s situation. But I can never mistake that idea for the real turmoil and agitation of love. When we reflect on our past feelings and emotions, our thoughts are like a faithful mirror. They copy those feelings and emotions accurately. But the colors they use are faint and dull compared with those of our original perceptions. It takes no special insight or philosophical mind to see the distinction.

12. Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The other species want a name in our language, and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that word in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations or movements above mentioned.

12. We may therefore divide all perceptions of the mind into two classes, distinguished by their different degrees of force and liveliness. The less forceful and lively perceptions are commonly called Thoughts or Ideas. The other class has no name in our language or in most others. I suppose this is because only philosophy needed a general term for these perceptions. So let us take a little liberty and call them Impressions. We will use the word in a sense somewhat different from its usual meaning. By impression, I mean all our more lively perceptions when we hear, see, feel, love, hate, desire, or will. Impressions differ from ideas, which are the less lively perceptions we are aware of when we reflect on any of these sensations or movements.

13. Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than the thought of man, which not only escapes all human power and authority, but is not even restrained within the limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the thought can in an instant transport us into the most distant regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe, into the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or heard of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond the power of thought, except what implies an absolute contradiction.

13. At first, nothing may seem more limitless than human thought. It escapes all human power and authority and is not even confined by the limits of nature and reality. The imagination can create monsters and combine mismatched shapes and appearances as easily as it can picture the most natural and familiar objects. The body is confined to one planet, where it creeps along with pain and difficulty. But thought can carry us in an instant to the most distant regions of the universe. It can even carry us beyond the universe, into the boundless chaos where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion. We can imagine what has never been seen or heard of. Nothing is beyond the power of thought except what involves an absolute contradiction.

But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this creative power of the mind amounts to no more than the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we can conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thinking are derived either from our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and composition of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or, to express myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or more feeble perceptions are copies of our impressions or more lively ones.

But although our thoughts seem to have unlimited freedom, closer examination shows that they are really confined within very narrow limits. All the mind’s creative power amounts to combining, rearranging, enlarging, or reducing the materials provided by our senses and experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we simply join two compatible ideas, gold and mountain, that we already know. We can imagine a virtuous horse because we can understand virtue from our own feelings. We can then join that idea to the form and shape of a horse, an animal familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thought come from either our outward or our inward experience. Only the mixing and combining of these materials belongs to the mind and will. Or, to put it in philosophical terms, all our ideas, or weaker perceptions, are copies of our impressions, or more vivid perceptions.

14. To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, be sufficient. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however compounded or sublime, we always find that they resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas, which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry to what length we please; where we shall always find, that every idea which we examine is copied from a similar impression. Those who would assert that this position is not universally true nor without exception, have only one, and that an easy method of refuting it; by producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source. It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception, which corresponds to it.

14. To prove this, I hope the following two arguments will be enough. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however complex or lofty, we always find that they consist of simple ideas copied from an earlier feeling or sensation. Even ideas that at first seem furthest from this origin turn out, on closer examination, to come from it. Our idea of God as an infinitely intelligent, wise, and good Being comes from reflecting on how our own minds work and extending the qualities of goodness and wisdom without limit. We can carry this inquiry as far as we please. We will always find that every idea we examine is copied from a similar impression. Anyone who claims that this principle is not universally true and has exceptions has one easy way to refute it. They need only produce an idea that they believe does not come from this source. Then, if we wish to maintain our principle, we must produce the corresponding impression, or vivid perception.

15. Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ, that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation, we always find that he is as little susceptible of the correspondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense in which he is deficient; by opening this new inlet for his sensations, you also open an inlet for the ideas; and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Laplander or Negro has no notion of the relish of wine. And though there are few or no instances of a like deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species; yet we find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and generosity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess many senses of which we can have no conception; because the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the only manner by which an idea can have access to the mind, to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation.

15. Second. If a defect in a person’s sense organs prevents them from experiencing a kind of sensation, they cannot form the corresponding ideas either. A blind person can have no idea of colors, and a deaf person can have no idea of sounds. Restore the missing sense, and the person gains a new way to receive sensations and ideas. They then have no difficulty imagining those things. The same is true if the object that produces a sensation has never been brought into contact with the relevant sense organ. A Laplander or a Black person has no idea of the taste of wine. There are few, if any, cases of a similar lack in the mind. That is, few people, if any, have never felt or are entirely incapable of a feeling or passion that belongs to their species. Even so, we find the same pattern to a lesser degree. A mild-mannered person can have no idea of deep-seated revenge or cruelty. Nor can a selfish person easily imagine the heights of friendship and generosity. We readily admit that other beings may have many senses we cannot imagine. We cannot imagine them because the ideas of those senses have never reached us in the only way an idea can enter the mind: through actual feeling and sensation.

16. There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which may prove that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound, which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the same colour; and each shade produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual gradation of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most remote from it; and if you will not allow any of the means to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds except one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank, where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous colours than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion that he can: and this may serve as a proof that the simple ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the correspondent impressions; though this instance is so singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does not merit that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.

16. There is, however, one contrary example. It may show that ideas can arise without corresponding impressions, even if this is unusual. The eye receives distinct ideas of different colours, and the ear receives distinct ideas of different sounds. I believe it will readily be agreed that these ideas really differ from one another, though they also resemble one another. If this is true of different colours, it must also be true of different shades of the same colour. Each shade produces a distinct idea, independent of the others. Suppose someone denies this. By moving gradually through shades, we can pass almost imperceptibly from one colour to a very different one. If no intermediate shades are allowed to differ, then it would be absurd to deny that the extremes are the same. Suppose, then, that a person has been able to see for thirty years. He has become perfectly familiar with all kinds of colours, except for one particular shade of blue, for example. He has never happened to encounter that shade. Now place all the different shades of blue before him, except for that one shade. Arrange them gradually from the deepest to the lightest. He will clearly see a gap where the missing shade should be. He will notice that the difference between the neighbouring shades is greater there than anywhere else. Now I ask whether he can use his imagination to fill this gap. Can he form an idea of that particular shade, even though his senses have never presented it to him? I believe few people would disagree that he can. This may serve as proof that simple ideas are not always derived from corresponding impressions. Still, this example is so unusual that it is scarcely worth noting. It does not deserve to make us change our general rule on its account alone.

17. Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, in itself, simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible, and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally faint and obscure: the mind has but a slender hold of them: they are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas; and when we have often employed any term, though without a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a determinate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and vivid: the limits between them are more exactly determined: nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from what impression is that supposed idea derived? And if it be impossible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light we may reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise, concerning their nature and reality.¹

17. Here, then, is a proposition that seems simple and clear in itself. If properly used, it might also make every dispute equally clear. It might banish all the jargon that has dominated metaphysical reasoning for so long and brought it into disrepute. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally faint and obscure. The mind has only a weak grasp of them. They are easily confused with other, similar ideas. And when we have often used a term, even without a clear meaning, we tend to imagine it has a definite idea attached to it. By contrast, all impressions, meaning all sensations, whether outward or inward, are strong and vivid. The boundaries between impressions are more precisely defined. Nor is it easy to make a mistake about them. Suppose, then, that we suspect a philosophical term is being used without any meaning or idea. This happens all too often. We need only ask, from what impression is that supposed idea derived? If we cannot identify any impression, this will help confirm our suspicion. By bringing ideas into such a clear light, we may reasonably hope to remove all disputes about their nature and reality.¹