which, after all, is conspicuous to everybody, that all this labour finally comes to nothing. For, as the pretended private visions narrated in the book cannot prove themselves, the motive for bothering oneself with them could lie only in the supposition that the author might offer in substantiation happenings of the above-mentioned kind which could be confirmed by living witnesses. But nothing of the kind is found. And thus we retire with some confusion from a foolish attempt, making the rational though somewhat belated observation that it is often easy to think wisely, but unfortunately only after one has been for some time deceived.
I have treated an unfruitful subject which the inquiries and importunity of idle and inquisitive friends has forced upon me. By submitting my labours to their curiosity, I have still left their expectation unrewarded, and have satisfied neither the curious by novelties, nor the studious by reasons. If I had been animated in this work by no other intentions than those just stated, I should have wasted my time; for I have lost the confidence of the reader, whom, in his inquisitiveness and eagerness to know, I have led by a tiresome roundabout way to the same point of ignorance from which he started. But I really had an aim in view that seemed to me more important than the pretended one, and that, I believe, I have attained. Metaphysics, with which it is my fate to be in love, although only rarely can I boast of any favours from her, offers two advantages. The first is
