——scilicet, ut non
Sit mihi prima fides; et verè quod placet, ut non
Acriter elatrem!
—“To propose with diffidence.” Certainly very prudent, especially for one sort of free-conjecturers; and, by the way, no bad hint to the person you glance at, whose vice it is thought to be, above that of most other writers, never to trouble himself with composing a book on any question, of whose truth he is not previously and firmly convinced——“And to dissent with civility.” A candid insinuation, which amounts to this, “That, when a writer hath done his best to shew his learning or his wit, the man at whose expence it is, especially if he be a friend, is, in consideration of such services, not to take it amiss.”
I have been the freer to open the meaning of this introductory paragraph, because it lets us into the spirit with which you mean to carry yourself in this learned contention. For a contention it is to be, and to good purpose too, if old Hesiod be any authority. Ἀγαθὴ δ’ ἔρις ἥδε βροτοῖσι, quoth old Hesiod. Though to make the application quite pat the maxim should have run thus, Ἀγαθὴ δ’ ἔρις ἥδε φιλοῖσι, which I do not find in old Hesiod.
However the reason of the thing extends to both. And as friends after all are but men, and sometimes none of the best neither, what need for standing on this distinction?
Yet still the question returns, “Why so cool in the entrance of this friendly debate? Where had been the hurt of a little amicable parlying before daggers-drawing? If a man, in the true spirit of ancient chivalry, will needs break a lance with his friend, he might give him good words at least and shake hands with him before the onset. Something of this sort might have been expected, were it only to save the reputation of dissenting with civility.”
Now in answer to this question, which comes indeed to the point, and which I hear asked in all companies, I reply with much confidence, first, that the very foundation of it is laid in certain high fantastic notions about the duties of friendship, and in that vicious habit of civility that hath so long been prevalent among learned friends; both which props and pillars of the cause I may presume with great modesty to have entirely overturned.
But secondly and chiefly I say that the whole is an arrant misrepresentation; for that you have indeed proceeded in this affair, with all that civility and even friendliness that could in reason be expected from you: I mean so far as the sobriety and Retenuë, as the French term it (it is plain the virtue hath not been very common amongst us from our having no name to call it by) of a true critical friendship will allow.
Now there are several ways by which a writer’s civility to his friend may appear without giving into the formal way of address: just as there are several ways of expressing his devotion to his patron, without observing the ordinary forms of dedication; of which, to note it by the way, the latest and best instances I have met with, are, “A certain thing prefatory to a learned work, entitled, The Elements of Civil Law,” and “Those curious two little paragraphs prefixed to The Six Dissertations on different Subjects.”
You see the delicacy of the learned is improving in our days in more respects than one. And take my word for it, you have contributed your share to this good work. For as you began, so you conclude your volume with a master stroke of address, which will deserve the acknowledgment and imitation of all your brethren, as I now proceed distinctly and with great exactness of method to unfold.
The first way of distinguishing a learned friend, without incurring the guilt of downright compliment, is by writing on the same subject with him. This is an obvious method of paying one’s court to a great writer. For it is in effect telling him that the public attention is raised to the argument he hath been debating; and that his credit hath even brought it into such vogue that any prate on the same subject is sure of a favourable reception. This I can readily suppose to have been your first motive for engaging in this controversy. And the practice is very frequent. So when a certain edition of Shakespear appeared, though it had been but the amusement of the learned editor, every body went to work, in good earnest, on the great poet, and the public was presently over-run with editions and criticisms and illustrations of him. Thus too it fared with the several subjects treated in the D. L. Few were competent judges of the main argument, or disposed to give it a candid interpretation. But every smatterer had something to say to this or that occasional disquisition. Thus Sykes, and Stebbing grew immortal, and, as the poet says truly, in their own despite. And what but some faint glimmering of this bright reversion, which we will charitably hope may be still kept in reserve for them, could put it into the heads of such men as Worthington, H. G. C.[120] and Peters, to turn critics and commentators on the book of Job?