A LETTER TO THE READER

I have put into thy hands what has been the diversion of some of my idle and heavy hours. If it has the good luck to prove so of any of thine, and thou hast but half so much pleasure in reading as I had in writing it, thou wilt as little think thy money, as I do my pains, ill bestowed. Mistake not this for a commendation of my work; nor conclude, because I was pleased with the doing of it, that therefore I am fondly taken with it now it is done. He that hawks at larks and sparrows has no less sport, though a much less considerable quarry, than he that flies at nobler game: and he is little acquainted with the subject of this treatise—the UNDERSTANDING—who does not know that, as it is the most elevated faculty of the soul, so it is employed with a greater and more constant delight than any of the other. Its searches after truth are a sort of hawking and hunting, wherein the very pursuit makes a great part of the pleasure. Every step the mind takes in its progress towards Knowledge makes some discovery, which is not only new, but the best too, for the time at least.

I put into your hands a book that entertained me during some of my idle and gloomy hours. If the book is lucky enough to entertain you too, and you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it, you will not think your money wasted, any more than I think my efforts wasted. Do not mistake this for praise of my work. Nor assume that because I enjoyed writing the book, I am now overly fond of the finished work. Someone who hunts larks and sparrows with a hawk enjoys the sport just as much as someone hunting nobler game. The prey, though, is far less important. The subject of this book is the UNDERSTANDING. Anyone who does not know the following knows little about the understanding: it is the soul’s highest faculty, and using it brings greater and more constant pleasure than using any other faculty. Its searches for truth are a kind of hunting with hawks or hounds. Much of the pleasure lies in the pursuit itself. Every step the mind takes toward knowledge brings a discovery. Each discovery is not only new but also the best, at least for the moment.

For the understanding, like the eye, judging of objects only by its own sight, cannot but be pleased with what it discovers, having less regret for what has escaped it, because it is unknown. Thus he who has raised himself above the alms-basket, and, not content to live lazily on scraps of begged opinions, sets his own thoughts on work, to find and follow truth, will (whatever he lights on) not miss the hunter’s satisfaction; every moment of his pursuit will reward his pains with some delight; and he will have reason to think his time not ill spent, even when he cannot much boast of any great acquisition.

For the mind, like the eye, judges things only by what it sees itself. So the mind cannot help taking pleasure in what it discovers. It feels less regret about what it has missed, because those things remain unknown to it. So anyone who rises above the charity basket refuses to live lazily on scraps of borrowed opinions. Instead, he puts his own thoughts to work to find and follow truth. Whatever he finds, he will enjoy the satisfaction of the hunt. Every moment of his search will reward his effort with some delight. And he will have reason to think his time well spent, even when he has gained little to boast about.

This, Reader, is the entertainment of those who let loose their own thoughts, and follow them in writing; which thou oughtest not to envy them, since they afford thee an opportunity of the like diversion, if thou wilt make use of thy own thoughts in reading. It is to them, if they are thy own, that I refer myself: but if they are taken upon trust from others, it is no great matter what they are; they are not following truth, but some meaner consideration; and it is not worth while to be concerned what he says or thinks, who says or thinks only as he is directed by another. If thou judgest for thyself I know thou wilt judge candidly, and then I shall not be harmed or offended, whatever be thy censure. For though it be certain that there is nothing in this Treatise of the truth whereof I am not fully persuaded, yet I consider myself as liable to mistakes as I can think thee, and know that this book must stand or fall with thee, not by any opinion I have of it, but thy own. If thou findest little in it new or instructive to thee, thou art not to blame me for it. It was not meant for those that had already mastered this subject, and made a thorough acquaintance with their own understandings; but for my own information, and the satisfaction of a few friends, who acknowledged themselves not to have sufficiently considered it.

This, reader, is the pleasure of those who give their thoughts free rein and follow them in writing. You should not envy them, since they offer you the chance for the same pleasure. You need only use your own thoughts as you read. I submit my work to your thoughts, if they are your own. But if you have simply accepted them from others, what you think matters little. Such thoughts do not pursue truth, but some lesser aim. It is not worth worrying about what someone says or thinks if they only follow another person’s directions. If you judge for yourself, I know you will judge fairly. Then, whatever your verdict, I will neither be harmed nor take offense. I am fully convinced of the truth of everything in this book. Yet I consider myself just as likely to make mistakes as I consider you. And I know this book must stand or fall in your judgment by your opinion, not mine. If you find little here that is new or instructive, you should not blame me. This book was not meant for those who had already mastered the subject and thoroughly understood their own minds. Instead, I wrote it to improve my own understanding and to satisfy a few friends. Those friends admitted that they had not considered the subject enough.

Were it fit to trouble thee with the history of this Essay, I should tell thee, that five or six friends meeting at my chamber, and discoursing on a subject very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand, by the difficulties that rose on every side. After we had awhile puzzled ourselves, without coming any nearer a resolution of those doubts which perplexed us, it came into my thoughts that we took a wrong course; and that before we set ourselves upon inquiries of that nature, it was necessary to examine our own abilities, and see what OBJECTS our understandings were, or were not, fitted to deal with. This I proposed to the company, who all readily assented; and thereupon it was agreed that this should be our first inquiry. Some hasty and undigested thoughts, on a subject I had never before considered, which I set down against our next meeting, gave the first entrance into this Discourse; which having been thus begun by chance, was continued by intreaty; written by incoherent parcels; and after long intervals of neglect, resumed again, as my humour or occasions permitted; and at last, in a retirement where an attendance on my health gave me leisure, it was brought into that order thou now seest it.

If it were appropriate to trouble you with the history of this Essay, I would tell you how it began. Five or six friends met in my room to discuss a subject far removed from this one. We soon found ourselves stuck, with difficulties arising on every side. For a while, we puzzled over these difficulties without getting any closer to resolving our doubts. Then I thought we had taken the wrong approach. Before starting inquiries of that kind, we needed to examine our own abilities. We needed to see what SUBJECTS our minds were, or were not, equipped to handle. I proposed this examination to the group, and all readily agreed. So we decided to make it our first inquiry. Before our next meeting, I wrote down some hurried, unorganized thoughts on a subject I had never considered before. Those thoughts became the starting point for this work. The work began by chance, and I continued it at others’ urging. I wrote it in disconnected pieces. After long periods of neglect, I returned to it as my mood or circumstances allowed. Finally, I withdrew from my usual activities to attend to my health, which gave me some free time. During that time, I arranged the work into the form you now see.

This discontinued way of writing may have occasioned, besides others, two contrary faults, viz., that too little and too much may be said in it. If thou findest anything wanting, I shall be glad that what I have written gives thee any desire that I should have gone further. If it seems too much to thee, thou must blame the subject; for when I put pen to paper, I thought all I should have to say on this matter would have been contained in one sheet of paper; but the further I went the larger prospect I had; new discoveries led me still on, and so it grew insensibly to the bulk it now appears in. I will not deny, but possibly it might be reduced to a narrower compass than it is, and that some parts of it might be contracted, the way it has been writ in, by catches, and many long intervals of interruption, being apt to cause some repetitions. But to confess the truth, I am now too lazy, or too busy, to make it shorter. I am not ignorant how little I herein consult my own reputation, when I knowingly let it go with a fault, so apt to disgust the most judicious, who are always the nicest readers. But they who know sloth is apt to content itself with any excuse, will pardon me if mine has prevailed on me, where I think I have a very good one. I will not therefore allege in my defence, that the same notion, having different respects, may be convenient or necessary to prove or illustrate several parts of the same discourse, and that so it has happened in many parts of this: but waiving that, I shall frankly avow that I have sometimes dwelt long upon the same argument, and expressed it different ways, with a quite different design. I pretend not to publish this Essay for the information of men of large thoughts and quick apprehensions; to such masters of knowledge I profess myself a scholar, and therefore warn them beforehand not to expect anything here, but what, being spun out of my own coarse thoughts, is fitted to men of my own size, to whom, perhaps, it will not be unacceptable that I have taken some pains to make plain and familiar to their thoughts some truths which established prejudice, or the abstractedness of the ideas themselves, might render difficult. Some objects had need be turned on every side; and when the notion is new, as I confess some of these are to me; or out of the ordinary road, as I suspect they will appear to others, it is not one simple view of it that will gain it admittance into every understanding, or fix it there with a clear and lasting impression. There are few, I believe, who have not observed in themselves or others, that what in one way of proposing was very obscure, another way of expressing it has made very clear and intelligible; though afterwards the mind found little difference in the phrases, and wondered why one failed to be understood more than the other. But everything does not hit alike upon every man’s imagination. We have our understandings no less different than our palates; and he that thinks the same truth shall be equally relished by every one in the same dress, may as well hope to feast every one with the same sort of cookery: the meat may be the same, and the nourishment good, yet every one not be able to receive it with that seasoning; and it must be dressed another way, if you will have it go down with some, even of strong constitutions. The truth is, those who advised me to publish it, advised me, for this reason, to publish it as it is: and since I have been brought to let it go abroad, I desire it should be understood by whoever gives himself the pains to read it. I have so little affection to be in print, that if I were not flattered this Essay might be of some use to others, as I think it has been to me, I should have confined it to the view of some friends, who gave the first occasion to it. My appearing therefore in print being on purpose to be as useful as I may, I think it necessary to make what I have to say as easy and intelligible to all sorts of readers as I can. And I had much rather the speculative and quick-sighted should complain of my being in some parts tedious, than that any one, not accustomed to abstract speculations, or prepossessed with different notions, should mistake or not comprehend my meaning.

Writing in fits and starts may have caused, among other faults, two opposite problems: saying too little and saying too much. If you find anything missing, I will be glad that my writing makes you wish I had gone further. If you think I have said too much, you must blame the subject. When I first put pen to paper, I thought one sheet would hold everything I had to say about it. But the further I went, the wider the view became. New discoveries kept leading me onward, and the work gradually grew to its present size without my noticing. I do not deny that it might be shorter, or that some parts could be cut down. Writing in short bursts, with many long interruptions, tends to cause repetition. But to tell the truth, I am now too lazy, or too busy, to shorten it. I know how little I protect my reputation by knowingly publishing the work with this fault. Repetition is especially likely to displease the most discerning readers, who are always the most exacting. But those who know that laziness readily accepts any excuse will forgive me for accepting mine. In this case, I think I have a very good excuse. So I will not defend myself by saying that one idea can have several applications. Repeating that idea may therefore help, or even be necessary, to prove or explain several parts of the same discussion. This has happened in many parts of this work. But leaving that defense aside, I freely admit that I have sometimes lingered over the same argument for another purpose. For that purpose, I have also expressed the argument in different ways. I do not claim to publish this Essay to instruct people with broad minds and quick understanding. I consider myself a student of such masters of knowledge. So I warn them beforehand not to expect anything beyond what I have worked out from my own rough thoughts. These thoughts are suited to people of my own abilities. Perhaps such readers will welcome the trouble I have taken to make certain truths clear and familiar. Deeply rooted prejudices, or the abstract nature of the ideas themselves, might make those truths difficult to understand. Some subjects need to be examined from every side. Some of these ideas are new to me, I admit. Others may find them unfamiliar, as I suspect they will. When an idea is new or unfamiliar, a single explanation will not bring everyone to understand it. Nor will a single explanation leave every mind with a clear and lasting impression. Few people, I believe, have failed to notice something similar in themselves or others. An idea that seemed very obscure in one form became clear and understandable when expressed another way. Yet afterward, the mind found little difference between the two expressions and wondered why one had been harder to understand. But the same approach does not strike everyone’s imagination in the same way. Our understandings differ as much as our tastes. Someone who expects everyone to enjoy the same truth in the same form might as well serve everyone the same cooking. The food may be the same, and the nourishment good. Yet not everyone can stomach that seasoning. For some people, even those with strong constitutions, the food must be prepared differently before they can take it in. In fact, those who advised me to publish this work urged me, for this reason, to publish it as it stands. And now that I have been persuaded to publish it, I want everyone who takes the trouble to read it to understand it. I have so little desire to appear in print that only the hope of helping others has persuaded me. I have been encouraged to think this Essay might help others, as I believe it has helped me. Otherwise, I would have shown it only to the few friends whose discussions first prompted it. Since I am publishing to be as useful as I can, I must make my meaning as clear as possible. I want readers of all kinds to understand what I have to say. I would much rather have thoughtful, quick-minded readers complain that some parts are tedious. That is better than having anyone misunderstand or miss my meaning because they are unused to abstract reasoning. The same is true of anyone whose mind is already occupied by different ideas.

It will possibly be censured as a great piece of vanity or insolence in me, to pretend to instruct this our knowing age; it amounting to little less, when I own, that I publish this Essay with hopes it may be useful to others. But, if it may be permitted to speak freely of those who with a feigned modesty condemn as useless what they themselves write, methinks it savours much more of vanity or insolence to publish a book for any other end; and he fails very much of that respect he owes the public, who prints, and consequently expects men should read, that wherein he intends not they should meet with anything of use to themselves or others: and should nothing else be found allowable in this Treatise, yet my design will not cease to be so; and the goodness of my intention ought to be some excuse for the worthlessness of my present. It is that chiefly which secures me from the fear of censure, which I expect not to escape more than better writers. Men’s principles, notions, and relishes are so different, that it is hard to find a book which pleases or displeases all men. I acknowledge the age we live in is not the least knowing, and therefore not the most easy to be satisfied. If I have not the good luck to please, yet nobody ought to be offended with me. I plainly tell all my readers, except half a dozen, this Treatise was not at first intended for them; and therefore they need not be at the trouble to be of that number. But yet if any one thinks fit to be angry and rail at it, he may do it securely, for I shall find some better way of spending my time than in such kind of conversation. I shall always have the satisfaction to have aimed sincerely at truth and usefulness, though in one of the meanest ways. The commonwealth of learning is not at this time without master-builders, whose mighty designs, in advancing the sciences, will leave lasting monuments to the admiration of posterity: but every one must not hope to be a Boyle or a Sydenham; and in an age that produces such masters as the great Huygenius and the incomparable Mr. Newton, with some others of that strain, it is ambition enough to be employed as an under-labourer in clearing the ground a little, and removing some of the rubbish that lies in the way to knowledge;—which certainly had been very much more advanced in the world, if the endeavours of ingenious and industrious men had not been much cumbered with the learned but frivolous use of uncouth, affected, or unintelligible terms, introduced into the sciences, and there made an art of, to that degree that Philosophy, which is nothing but the true knowledge of things, was thought unfit or incapable to be brought into well-bred company and polite conversation. Vague and insignificant forms of speech, and abuse of language, have so long passed for mysteries of science; and hard and misapplied words, with little or no meaning, have, by prescription, such a right to be mistaken for deep learning and height of speculation, that it will not be easy to persuade either those who speak or those who hear them, that they are but the covers of ignorance, and hindrance of true knowledge. To break in upon the sanctuary of vanity and ignorance will be, I suppose, some service to human understanding; though so few are apt to think they deceive or are deceived in the use of words; or that the language of the sect they are of has any faults in it which ought to be examined or corrected, that I hope I shall be pardoned if I have in the Third Book dwelt long on this subject, and endeavoured to make it so plain, that neither the inveterateness of the mischief, nor the prevalency of the fashion, shall be any excuse for those who will not take care about the meaning of their own words, and will not suffer the significancy of their expressions to be inquired into.

Some may accuse me of great vanity or arrogance for claiming to teach our knowledgeable age. I admit that I publish this Essay hoping others may find it useful, which amounts to nearly the same thing. But perhaps I may speak freely about writers who pretend modesty by calling their own work useless. To me, publishing a book for any other purpose seems far more vain or arrogant. An author shows little respect for the public by publishing something, and therefore expecting people to read it, without intending any benefit. Readers should find something useful to themselves or others. Even if nothing else in this work deserves approval, my purpose still will. My good intentions ought to offer some excuse for the worthlessness of my offering. Those intentions chiefly protect me from fearing criticism, which I expect no more to escape than better writers do. People differ so much in their principles, ideas, and tastes that hardly any book pleases or displeases everyone. I admit that our age is among the most knowledgeable, and therefore among the hardest to satisfy. If I am not fortunate enough to please readers, still no one ought to take offense. I tell all my readers plainly, except half a dozen, that this work was not originally intended for them. So they need not trouble themselves to become readers. But if anyone chooses to grow angry and attack the book, he may do so without fear of an answer. I shall find some better way to spend my time than in that kind of exchange. I shall always have the satisfaction of having sincerely aimed at truth and usefulness, though in a very humble way. The world of learning does not lack master builders today. Their great projects to advance the sciences will leave lasting monuments for future generations to admire. But not everyone can hope to be a Boyle or a Sydenham. Our age produces such masters as the great Huygenius and the incomparable Mr. Newton, along with others like them. In such an age, serving as a laborer is ambition enough. I can clear a little ground and remove some of the rubbish blocking the path to knowledge. Knowledge would certainly have advanced much further without the obstacles placed before clever, hardworking people. Their efforts have been greatly burdened by the learned but pointless use of strange, affected, or unintelligible terms. These terms were introduced into the sciences, where using them became an art in itself. This practice went so far that Philosophy seemed unsuitable for, or incapable of entering, cultivated society and polite conversation. Yet Philosophy is nothing but true knowledge of things. Vague, meaningless expressions and the misuse of language have long passed for the mysteries of science. Difficult, misused words with little or no meaning have gained authority through long custom. They are now entitled, as it were, to be mistaken for deep learning and lofty thought. So persuading either speakers or listeners that these words merely conceal ignorance and obstruct true knowledge will not be easy. Breaking into this sanctuary of vanity and ignorance will, I suppose, do some service to human understanding. Yet few people readily believe that they deceive others, or are themselves deceived, through the use of words. Few believe that the language of their own school of thought has faults needing examination or correction. So I hope I shall be forgiven for spending so much time on this subject in the Third Book. I have tried to make the matter plain enough to leave no excuse for certain people. Neither the problem’s long history nor the popularity of the practice should excuse their refusal to consider their words’ meanings. Nor should either excuse their refusal to let others question what their expressions mean.

I have been told that a short Epitome of this Treatise, which was printed in 1688, was by some condemned without reading, because INNATE IDEAS were denied in it; they too hastily concluding, that if innate ideas were not supposed, there would be little left either of the notion or proof of spirits. If any one take the like offence at the entrance of this Treatise, I shall desire him to read it through; and then I hope he will be convinced, that the taking away false foundations is not to the prejudice but advantage of truth, which is never injured or endangered so much as when mixed with, or built on, falsehood. In the Second Edition I added as followeth:—

I have been told that some people condemned a short summary of this work without reading it. The summary was printed in 1688, and they condemned it because it denied INNATE IDEAS. They concluded too hastily that without innate ideas, little would remain of either the concept of spirits or proof of their existence. If anyone takes similar offense at the beginning of this work, I ask that person to read it through. I then hope the reader will see that removing false foundations helps truth rather than harms it. Truth is never more harmed or endangered than when mixed with falsehood or built on it. In the Second Edition I added the following:

The bookseller will not forgive me if I say nothing of this New Edition, which he has promised, by the correctness of it, shall make amends for the many faults committed in the former. He desires too, that it should be known that it has one whole new chapter concerning Identity, and many additions and amendments in other places. These I must inform my reader are not all new matter, but most of them either further confirmation of what I had said, or explications, to prevent others being mistaken in the sense of what was formerly printed, and not any variation in me from it.

The bookseller will not forgive me if I say nothing about this new edition. He has promised that its accuracy will make up for the many errors in the previous edition. He also wants readers to know about a whole new chapter on Identity, and many additions and corrections elsewhere. I must tell my readers that these changes are not all new material. Most either provide further support for what I said or explain it more clearly to prevent misunderstandings of the earlier text. They do not reflect any change in my views.

I must only except the alterations I have made in Book II. chap. xxi.

The only exception I must make is for the changes I have made in Book II, chapter 21.

What I had there written concerning Liberty and the Will, I thought deserved as accurate a view as I am capable of; those subjects having in all ages exercised the learned part of the world with questions and difficulties, that have not a little perplexed morality and divinity, those parts of knowledge that men are most concerned to be clear in. Upon a closer inspection into the working of men’s minds, and a stricter examination of those motives and views they are turned by, I have found reason somewhat to alter the thoughts I formerly had concerning that which gives the last determination to the Will in all voluntary actions. This I cannot forbear to acknowledge to the world with as much freedom and readiness; as I at first published what then seemed to me to be right; thinking myself more concerned to quit and renounce any opinion of my own, than oppose that of another, when truth appears against it. For it is truth alone I seek, and that will always be welcome to me, when or from whencesoever it comes. But what forwardness soever I have to resign any opinion I have, or to recede from anything I have writ, upon the first evidence of any error in it; yet this I must own, that I have not had the good luck to receive any light from those exceptions I have met with in print against any part of my book, nor have, from anything that has been urged against it, found reason to alter my sense in any of the points that have been questioned. Whether the subject I have in hand requires often more thought and attention than cursory readers, at least such as are prepossessed, are willing to allow; or whether any obscurity in my expressions casts a cloud over it, and these notions are made difficult to others’ apprehensions in my way of treating them; so it is, that my meaning, I find, is often mistaken, and I have not the good luck to be everywhere rightly understood.

I thought my discussion of Liberty and the Will deserved the most careful examination I could give it. In every age, these subjects have challenged scholars with questions and difficulties. These have greatly complicated morality and theology, the fields of knowledge people most need to understand clearly. I have looked more closely at how people’s minds work and examined more carefully the motives and aims guiding them. As a result, I have found reason to change some of my earlier thinking. The change concerns what ultimately determines the Will in all voluntary actions. I must acknowledge this change publicly, as freely and readily as I first published what then seemed right to me. When truth goes against an opinion, I consider abandoning my own opinion more important than opposing someone else’s. For truth alone is what I seek. Truth will always be welcome to me, whenever and wherever it comes from. I am ready to give up any opinion or withdraw anything I have written at the first evidence of error. But I must admit that no published objection I have encountered against my book has helped me understand anything better. Nor has any argument against the book given me reason to change my view on any disputed point. Perhaps my subject often requires more thought and attention than casual readers are willing to give it. This may be especially true of readers whose minds are already made up. Or perhaps unclear wording clouds my subject, and my way of presenting these ideas makes them difficult for others to understand. Whatever the reason, I find that my meaning is often mistaken. I have not had the good fortune to be understood correctly everywhere.

Of this the ingenious author of the Discourse Concerning the Nature of Man has given me a late instance, to mention no other. For the civility of his expressions, and the candour that belongs to his order, forbid me to think that he would have closed his Preface with an insinuation, as if in what I had said, Book II. ch. xxvii, concerning the third rule which men refer their actions to, I went about to make virtue vice and vice virtue, unless he had mistaken my meaning; which he could not have done if he had given himself the trouble to consider what the argument was I was then upon, and what was the chief design of that chapter, plainly enough set down in the fourth section and those following. For I was there not laying down moral rules, but showing the original and nature of moral ideas, and enumerating the rules men make use of in moral relations, whether these rules were true or false: and pursuant thereto I tell what is everywhere called virtue and vice; which “alters not the nature of things,” though men generally do judge of and denominate their actions according to the esteem and fashion of the place and sect they are of.

The ingenious author of the Discourse Concerning the Nature of Man has recently given me an example of this. I need mention no other. His polite language, and the fairness expected of his order, prevent me from believing he meant to misrepresent me. Yet he ended his Preface by suggesting that I was trying to turn virtue into vice and vice into virtue. He referred to my discussion in Book II, chapter xxvii, of the third rule people use to judge their actions. I can only think he misunderstood my meaning. He could not have misunderstood if he had taken the trouble to consider my argument and the chapter’s main purpose. That purpose is stated clearly enough in section four and the sections that follow. For I was not laying down moral rules there. Instead, I was explaining the origin and nature of moral ideas. I was also listing the rules people use to judge the morality of actions, whether those rules were true or false. Accordingly, I described what people everywhere call virtue and vice. This description “alters not the nature of things,” though people generally judge and name their actions by local standards. Those standards reflect what is admired and customary in the place and sect they belong to.

If he had been at the pains to reflect on what I had said, Bk. I. ch. ii. sect. 18, and Bk. II. ch. xxviii. sect. 13, 14, 15 and 20, he would have known what I think of the eternal and unalterable nature of right and wrong, and what I call virtue and vice. And if he had observed that in the place he quotes I only report as a matter of fact what OTHERS call virtue and vice, he would not have found it liable to any great exception. For I think I am not much out in saying that one of the rules made use of in the world for a ground or measure of a moral relation is—that esteem and reputation which several sorts of actions find variously in the several societies of men, according to which they are there called virtues or vices. And whatever authority the learned Mr. Lowde places in his Old English Dictionary, I daresay it nowhere tells him (if I should appeal to it) that the same action is not in credit, called and counted a virtue, in one place, which, being in disrepute, passes for and under the name of vice in another. The taking notice that men bestow the names of ‘virtue’ and ‘vice’ according to this rule of Reputation is all I have done, or can be laid to my charge to have done, towards the making vice virtue or virtue vice. But the good man does well, and as becomes his calling, to be watchful in such points, and to take the alarm even at expressions, which, standing alone by themselves, might sound ill and be suspected.

If he had taken the trouble to reflect on what I said, he would have understood my views. I refer to Book I, chapter ii, section 18, and Book II, chapter xxviii, sections 13, 14, 15, and 20. Those passages explain my views on the eternal and unchanging nature of right and wrong, and what I call virtue and vice. And if he had noticed that the passage he quotes merely reports what OTHERS call virtue and vice, he would have found little to object to. For I think I am not far wrong about one rule people use as a basis or standard for moral judgments. That rule is the differing esteem and reputation given to different kinds of actions in different societies. According to that standard, those societies call actions virtues or vices. And whatever authority the learned Mr. Lowde gives his Old English Dictionary, I dare say it nowhere contradicts this point. If I were to appeal to that dictionary, it would not tell him otherwise. The same action can be respected, called a virtue, and considered virtuous in one place. Yet elsewhere, that action can be disapproved of and treated and described as a vice. I have only noted that people give actions the names ‘virtue’ and ‘vice’ according to this rule of Reputation. That is all I have done, or can be accused of doing, toward turning vice into virtue or virtue into vice. But the good man is right, as befits his calling, to watch carefully for such things. He is right to take alarm even at expressions that, taken alone, might sound bad and arouse suspicion.

‘Tis to this zeal, allowable in his function, that I forgive his citing as he does these words of mine (ch. xxviii. sect. II): “Even the exhortations of inspired teachers have not feared to appeal to common repute, Philip, iv. 8;” without taking notice of those immediately preceding, which introduce them, and run thus: “Whereby even in the corruption of manners, the true boundaries of the law of nature, which ought to be the rule of virtue and vice, were pretty well preserved. So that even the exhortations of inspired teachers,” &c. By which words, and the rest of that section, it is plain that I brought that passage of St. Paul, not to prove that the general measure of what men called virtue and vice throughout the world was the reputation and fashion of each particular society within itself; but to show that, though it were so, yet, for reasons I there give, men, in that way of denominating their actions, did not for the most part much stray from the Law of Nature; which is that standing and unalterable rule by which they ought to judge of the moral rectitude and gravity of their actions, and accordingly denominate them virtues or vices. Had Mr. Lowde considered this, he would have found it little to his purpose to have quoted this passage in a sense I used it not; and would I imagine have spared the application he subjoins to it, as not very necessary. But I hope this Second Edition will give him satisfaction on the point, and that this matter is now so expressed as to show him there was no cause for scruple.

His zeal is understandable in his role, and for that reason I forgive his way of quoting my words. He quotes this passage (chapter xxviii, section 11): “Even inspired teachers, in their exhortations, have not hesitated to appeal to common opinion, Philippians 4:8.” But he ignores the words immediately before it, which introduce the passage: “In this way, even amid moral corruption, the true boundaries of the law of nature were fairly well preserved. That law ought to be the standard of virtue and vice. So even inspired teachers, in their exhortations,” and so on. Those words, together with the rest of that section, make my purpose clear. I did not cite St. Paul to prove how people throughout the world generally measured virtue and vice. That measure was each society’s own opinion and customs. Rather, I cited him to show that, although people used that measure, they mostly stayed close to the Law of Nature. The reasons for this are given in that section. The Law of Nature is the fixed and unchangeable standard for judging the moral rightness and seriousness of their actions. People ought to use that standard when calling their actions virtues or vices. Had Mr. Lowde considered my purpose, he would have found little support for his argument in quoting the passage differently. I imagine he would also have spared us the application he adds, since it was hardly necessary. But I hope this Second Edition will satisfy him on this point. I hope the matter is now expressed clearly enough to show him there was no reason for concern.

Though I am forced to differ from him in these apprehensions he has expressed, in the latter end of his preface, concerning what I had said about virtue and vice, yet we are better agreed than he thinks in what he says in his third chapter (p. 78) concerning “natural inscription and innate notions.” I shall not deny him the privilege he claims (p. 52), to state the question as he pleases, especially when he states it so as to leave nothing in it contrary to what I have said. For, according to him, “innate notions, being conditional things, depending upon the concurrence of several other circumstances in order to the soul’s exerting them,” all that he says for “innate, imprinted, impressed notions” (for of innate IDEAS he says nothing at all), amounts at last only to this—that there are certain propositions which, though the soul from the beginning, or when a man is born, does not know, yet “by assistance from the outward senses, and the help of some previous cultivation,” it may AFTERWARDS come certainly to know the truth of; which is no more than what I have affirmed in my First Book. For I suppose by the “soul’s exerting them,” he means its beginning to know them; or else the soul’s ‘exerting of notions’ will be to me a very unintelligible expression; and I think at best is a very unfit one in this, it misleading men’s thoughts by an insinuation, as if these notions were in the mind before the ‘soul exerts them,’ i. e. before they are known;—whereas truly before they are known, there is nothing of them in the mind but a capacity to know them, when the ‘concurrence of those circumstances,’ which this ingenious author thinks necessary ‘in order to the soul’s exerting them,’ brings them into our knowledge.

I must disagree with the concerns he expresses near the end of his preface about my remarks on virtue and vice. Yet we agree more than he thinks about “natural inscription and innate notions,” discussed in his third chapter (p. 78). I will not deny him the right he claims (p. 52) to frame the question as he pleases. Especially not when he frames the question in a way that contradicts nothing I have said. For, according to him, “innate notions are conditional things. The soul can bring them into use only when several other circumstances come together.” Everything he says for “innate, imprinted, impressed notions” therefore amounts only to the following claim. (He says nothing at all about innate IDEAS.) There are certain propositions the soul does not know from the beginning, or when a person is born. Yet “with assistance from the outward senses, and some previous cultivation,” the soul may AFTERWARDS know those propositions with certainty. This is no more than I have maintained in my First Book. For I assume that by the “soul’s bringing them into use,” he means its beginning to know them. Otherwise, the soul’s ‘bringing notions into use’ is an expression I find very hard to understand. Even at best, I think the expression is very unsuitable here. For the expression misleads people by suggesting that these notions exist in the mind before the ‘soul brings them into use.’ That is, before the notions are known. In truth, before the notions are known, the mind has nothing of them except the capacity to know them. The notions become known when the necessary circumstances come together. This able author considers those circumstances necessary ‘for the soul to bring the notions into use.’

P. 52 I find him express it thus: ‘These natural notions are not so imprinted upon the soul as that they naturally and necessarily exert themselves (even in children and idiots) without any assistance from the outward senses, or without the help of some previous cultivation.’ Here, he says, they ‘exert themselves,’ as p. 78, that the ‘soul exerts them.’ When he has explained to himself or others what he means by ‘the soul’s exerting innate notions,’ or their ‘exerting themselves;’ and what that ‘previous cultivation and circumstances’ in order to their being exerted are—he will I suppose find there is so little of controversy between him and me on the point, bating that he calls that ‘exerting of notions’ which I in a more vulgar style call ‘knowing,’ that I have reason to think he brought in my name on this occasion only out of the pleasure he has to speak civilly of me; which I must gratefully acknowledge he has done everywhere he mentions me, not without conferring on me, as some others have done, a title I have no right to.

On p. 52, I find him putting it this way: ‘These natural notions are not imprinted on the soul so firmly that they naturally and necessarily become active without help. Even in children and people with intellectual disabilities, they need assistance from the outward senses or some prior education.’ Here, he says the notions ‘become active.’ On p. 78, he says that the ‘soul activates them.’ He must explain to himself or others what he means by ‘the soul’s activating innate notions’ or their ‘becoming active.’ He must also explain what ‘prior education and circumstances’ are needed for these notions to become active. Once he has done so, I suppose he will find very little disagreement between us on this point. The only exception is that he calls it ‘activating notions,’ while I use the more ordinary word ‘knowing.’ So I have reason to think he mentioned my name here only for the pleasure of speaking kindly of me. I must gratefully acknowledge that he has spoken kindly of me wherever he mentions me. He has also, like some others, given me a title to which I have no right.

There are so many instances of this, that I think it justice to my reader and myself to conclude, that either my book is plainly enough written to be rightly understood by those who peruse it with that attention and indifferency, which every one who will give himself the pains to read ought to employ in reading; or else that I have written mine so obscurely that it is in vain to go about to mend it. Whichever of these be the truth, it is myself only am affected thereby; and therefore I shall be far from troubling my reader with what I think might be said in answer to those several objections I have met with, to passages here and there of my book; since I persuade myself that he who thinks them of moment enough to be concerned whether they are true or false, will be able to see that what is said is either not well founded, or else not contrary to my doctrine, when I and my opposer come both to be well understood.

There are so many examples of this that I think I owe my reader and myself the following conclusion. Either my book is clear enough for readers who approach it with care and an open mind to understand correctly. Everyone who takes the trouble to read should bring those qualities to reading. Or I have written my book so obscurely that trying to improve it is pointless. Whichever is true, I alone am affected. So I will not trouble my reader with possible answers to the various objections to passages throughout my book. I am convinced that readers who care enough about these objections to question their truth can judge for themselves. Once both my opponent and I are properly understood, those readers will see that the objections are either unfounded or do not contradict my views.

If any other authors, careful that none of their good thoughts should be lost, have published their censures of my Essay, with this honour done to it, that they will not suffer it to be an essay, I leave it to the public to value the obligation they have to their critical pens, and shall not waste my reader’s time in so idle or ill-natured an employment of mine, as to lessen the satisfaction any one has in himself, or gives to others, in so hasty a confutation of what I have written.

If other authors have published criticisms of my Essay, anxious not to lose any of their good thoughts, so be it. They have done my Essay the honour of refusing to treat it as an essay. I leave the public to judge how much thanks they owe these critics for their writing. I will not waste my reader’s time on such a pointless or mean-spirited task as spoiling anyone’s satisfaction. I mean the satisfaction these critics take for themselves, or give others, by so hastily refuting what I have written.

The booksellers preparing for the Fourth Edition of my Essay, gave me notice of it, that I might, if I had leisure, make any additions or alterations I should think fit. Whereupon I thought it convenient to advertise the reader, that besides several corrections I had made here and there, there was one alteration which it was necessary to mention, because it ran through the whole book, and is of consequence to be rightly understood. What I thereupon said was this:—

The booksellers preparing the Fourth Edition of my Essay let me know about their plans. They wanted me to make any additions or changes I thought fit, if I had time. So I thought I should inform the reader about my revisions. Besides several corrections here and there, I had made one change that needed to be mentioned. This change affected the whole book, and it was important to understand it correctly. Here is what I said about it:

CLEAR and DISTINCT ideas are terms which, though familiar and frequent in men’s mouths, I have reason to think every one who uses does not perfectly understand. And possibly ‘tis but here and there one who gives himself the trouble to consider them so far as to know what he himself or others precisely mean by them. I have therefore in most places chose to put DETERMINATE or DETERMINED, instead of CLEAR and DISTINCT, as more likely to direct men’s thoughts to my meaning in this matter. By those denominations, I mean some object in the mind, and consequently determined, i. e. such as it is there seen and perceived to be. This, I think, may fitly be called a determinate or determined idea, when such as it is at any time objectively in the mind, and so determined there, it is annexed, and without variation determined, to a name or articulate sound, which is to be steadily the sign of that very same object of the mind, or determinate idea.

CLEAR and DISTINCT ideas are familiar terms that people often use. Yet I have reason to think not everyone who uses these terms fully understands them. Perhaps only a few take the trouble to consider precisely what they or others mean by them. I have therefore usually chosen DETERMINATE or DETERMINED instead of CLEAR and DISTINCT. These terms seem more likely to guide readers toward my meaning on this subject. By these terms, I mean an object in the mind that consequently has a definite character. That is, the object is just as the mind sees and perceives it. I think an idea may properly be called determinate or determined under the following conditions. The idea, just as it exists in the mind at any given time, is attached to a name or spoken sound. The connection must remain fixed, without variation. The name or sound must consistently stand for that very same mental object, or determinate idea.

To explain this a little more particularly. By DETERMINATE, when applied to a simple idea, I mean that simple appearance which the mind has in its view, or perceives in itself, when that idea is said to be in it: by DETERMINED, when applied to a complex idea, I mean such an one as consists of a determinate number of certain simple or less complex ideas, joined in such a proportion and situation as the mind has before its view, and sees in itself, when that idea is present in it, or should be present in it, when a man gives a name to it. I say SHOULD be, because it is not every one, nor perhaps any one, who is so careful of his language as to use no word till he views in his mind the precise determined idea which he resolves to make it the sign of. The want of this is the cause of no small obscurity and confusion in men’s thoughts and discourses.

Let me explain in a little more detail. By DETERMINATE, when describing a simple idea, I mean the simple appearance the mind sees or perceives within itself. This appearance is what the mind perceives when we say the idea is in the mind. By DETERMINED, when describing a complex idea, I mean an idea made up of a definite number of specific ideas. These component ideas are simple or less complex, and are combined in particular proportions and arrangements. The mind sees these components and their arrangement within itself when the complex idea is present. Or the mind should see them when someone gives the complex idea a name. I say SHOULD because not everyone, and perhaps no one, uses language with such care. Such care means never using a word without first bringing to mind the precise, defined idea the word will represent. The lack of this care causes considerable confusion and lack of clarity in people’s thoughts and discussions.

I know there are not words enough in any language to answer all the variety of ideas that enter into men’s discourses and reasonings. But this hinders not but that when any one uses any term, he may have in his mind a determined idea, which he makes it the sign of, and to which he should keep it steadily annexed during that present discourse. Where he does not, or cannot do this, he in vain pretends to clear or distinct ideas: it is plain his are not so; and therefore there can be expected nothing but obscurity and confusion, where such terms are made use of which have not such a precise determination.

I know no language has enough words for all the different ideas that enter people’s discussions and reasoning. But whenever someone uses a term, they can still have a definite idea in mind that the term represents. They should keep the term tied to that same idea throughout the discussion. If they do not or cannot do so, they have no basis for claiming their ideas are clear or distinct. Their ideas plainly are not. So we can expect only obscurity and confusion when people use terms without such precise meanings.

Upon this ground I have thought determined ideas a way of speaking less liable to mistakes, than clear and distinct: and where men have got such determined ideas of all that they reason, inquire, or argue about, they will find a great part of their doubts and disputes at an end; the greatest part of the questions and controversies that perplex mankind depending on the doubtful and uncertain use of words, or (which is the same) indetermined ideas, which they are made to stand for. I have made choice of these terms to signify, (1) Some immediate object of the mind, which it perceives and has before it, distinct from the sound it uses as a sign of it. (2) That this idea, thus determined, i.e. which the mind has in itself, and knows, and sees there, be determined without any change to that name, and that name determined to that precise idea. If men had such determined ideas in their inquiries and discourses, they would both discern how far their own inquiries and discourses went, and avoid the greatest part of the disputes and wranglings they have with others.

For this reason, I think determined ideas is a less misleading expression than clear and distinct ideas. When people have determined ideas about everything they reason, inquire, or argue about, many doubts and disputes will end. Most questions and controversies that trouble humanity depend on the doubtful and uncertain use of words. This amounts to having undetermined ideas that those words represent. I have chosen these terms to mean two things: (1) An immediate object that the mind perceives and holds before itself. This object is distinct from the sound used as its sign. (2) This determined idea must remain fixed to its name, and the name must remain fixed to that precise idea. By a determined idea, I mean an idea the mind has within itself, knows, and sees there. Neither the link between the idea and its name nor the idea represented by that name should change. If people had such determined ideas in their inquiries and discussions, they would recognize how far those inquiries and discussions reached. They would also avoid most of their disputes and quarrels with others.

Besides this, the bookseller will think it necessary I should advertise the reader that there is an addition of two chapters wholly new; the one of the Association of Ideas, the other of Enthusiasm. These, with some other larger additions never before printed, he has engaged to print by themselves, after the same manner, and for the same purpose, as was done when this Essay had the second impression.

Besides this, the bookseller will think I should tell readers that two entirely new chapters have been added. One concerns the Association of Ideas, the other Enthusiasm. He has agreed to print these chapters separately, along with some other substantial additions never printed before. He will do so in the same way and for the same purpose as when this Essay’s second edition appeared.

In the Sixth Edition there is very little added or altered. The greatest part of what is new is contained in the twenty-first chapter of the second book, which any one, if he thinks it worth while, may, with a very little labour, transcribe into the margin of the former edition.

Very little has been added or changed in the sixth edition. Most of the new material is in chapter twenty-one of the second book. Anyone who thinks it worthwhile can copy that material into the margins of the previous edition with very little effort.