Since I dislike being seen as different from who I truly am, I felt it necessary to make myself worthy of the reputation given to me. For the past eight years, this desire has driven me to move away from places where my acquaintances might interrupt me. I came to this country, where the long-lasting war has created such discipline that the armies only seem to serve the purpose of allowing the inhabitants to enjoy peace more securely. Here, among a bustling crowd focused on their own business and not overly interested in others’ affairs, I have been able to live with all the conveniences of the most populous cities, yet as solitary and secluded as if I were in the most remote deserts.
I am in doubt as to the propriety of making my first meditations in the place above mentioned matter of discourse; for these are so metaphysical, and so uncommon, as not, perhaps, to be acceptable to every one.
I know not what were the grounds of this opinion; and, if my conversation contributed in any measure to its rise, this must have happened rather from my having confessed my ignorance with greater freedom than those are accustomed to do who have studied a little, and expounded, perhaps, the reasons that led me to doubt of many of those things that by others are esteemed certain, than from my having boasted of any system of Philosophy.