Preface to a Dictionary of the English Language — Background and Themes

The Lexicographer's Burden

Johnson's preface is remarkable for its frank admission of the lexicographer's lowly status. He writes that such workers are 'driven by the fear of evil, than attracted by the prospect of good,' and that the lexicographer 'can only hope to escape reproach.' This is not false modesty; it is a realistic assessment of a task that involves 'removing rubbish and clearing obstructions' for others. The metaphor of the 'slave of science' is deliberately harsh, emphasizing the thankless nature of the work. Johnson's own motivation, he implies, is not praise but a sense of duty to bring order to a language that has been 'suffered to spread, under the direction of chance, into wild exuberance.'

Principles of Selection and Authority

Johnson explains his method for choosing quotations: a word's meaning must be 'determined by the tract and tenour of the sentence.' He includes multiple examples to show 'diversities of signification' and different shades of meaning. He notes that 'one will shew the word applied to persons, another to things; one will express an ill, another a good, and a third a neutral sense.' This attention to context and nuance is central to his lexicographical practice. He also admits to occasionally tracing a 'genealogy of sentiments' by showing how one author copied another, which he calls 'a kind of intellectual history.'

Acknowledged Imperfections

Johnson does not claim perfection. He confesses that his orthography is 'still controvertible,' his etymology 'uncertain, and perhaps frequently erroneous,' and his explanations sometimes 'too much contracted, and sometimes too much diffused.' He admits that examples are 'too often injudiciously truncated' and that many senses have 'escaped observation.' This self-criticism is unusual for a preface and adds to the work's credibility. Johnson presents his dictionary not as a final authority but as a human effort, 'capable of many improvements.' The reader is left with a sense of the immense difficulty of the task and the honesty of its author.

Johnson's preface rewards readers who pay attention to its rhetorical structure as much as its content. The alternation between grand claims and humble admissions creates a dynamic argument about the nature of linguistic authority. Readers may find it useful to compare Johnson's stated principles with the actual entries in his dictionary, noting where practice diverges from theory. The preface stands as a compelling document of intellectual labor and self-awareness.

I often think of Dr. Johnson wrestling with the wild exuberance of our tongue, trying to cage it in orderly pages. It reminds me of another quiet companion on my shelves, a book about time’s slow, patient hand shaping the land. There’s a gentle kinship there—both acknowledge that change, and even chaos, have their own steady rhythm. Time and Change — Key Ideas to Explore sits beside my dictionary now, murmuring old truths.