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I've based several past posts on passages from Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography. Recently I happened to notice some large differences among different editions, and so I took a look at the Library of Congress page "Finding Benjamin Franklin: A Resource Guide", which lists 16 "significant" early editions of Franklin's Autobiography, as well as a guide to that work's "complex early history". From that I learned that, well, its history is complicated — which is also clear from the Wikipedia entry. But in the course of making some textual comparisons, I happened on a passage that (in all its variants) raises the question, what did Franklin have against Edinburgh?

One of the two earliest English-language editions seems to have been published in London in 1793, under a typically-expansive title that starts "The Private Life of the late Benjamin Franklin, LL.D., Late Minister Plenipotentiary From the United States of America to France, &c. &c. &c., Originally written by Himself and Now Translated from the French".

On p. 18 of that version, we find

There was another young man in the town, a great lover of books also, called John Collins, with whom I was intimately acquainted. We had frequent disputes with each other; we loved argument, and liked nothing better than to be by the ears together. This contentious turn of mind, by the bye, is apt to become a very bad habit, which often renders a person insupportable in company, because it can only be exercised through the medium of contradiction; and, besides the animosity and trouble which it occasions in conversation, it frequently produces dislike, and even enmities between those who have the greatest occasion to cultivate each others friendship. I acquired this turn at first, by reading books on polemical divinity, when I lived with my father. I have since observed, that sensible people rarely fall into this error, except those who belong to the law, the wranglers of the university, and men of all professions who have received their education at Edinburgh.

In another 1793 edition, also published in London, under the title "Works of the late Doctor Benjamin Franklin: Consisting of his Life Written by Himself together with Essays, Humorous Moral & Literary, Chiefly in the Manner of the The Spectator", the same passage reads (on p. 32 of volume I)

There was in the town another young man, a great lover of books, of the name of John Collins, with whom I was intimately connected. We frequently engaged in dispute, and were indeed so fond of argumentation, that nothing was so agreeable to us as a war of words. This contentious temper, I would observe by the by, is in danger of becoming a very bad habit, and frequently renders a man's company insupportable, as being no otherwise capable of indulgence than by indiscriminate contradiction. Independently of the acrimony and discord it introduces into conversation , it is often productive of dislike , and even hatred, between persons to whom friendship is indispensibly necessary. I acquired it by reading, while I lived with my father, books of religious controversy. I have since remarked, that men of sense seldom fall into this error; lawyers, fellows of universities, and persons of every profession educated at Edinburgh, excepted.

The first American version was published in 1794 in New York, and it renders that passage in almost the same way, with a few different spellings like "by the bye" in place of "by the by".

The version at Project Gutenberg seems to have been based on an 1868 version due to John Bigelow, at the end of a process described this way:

The first edition of the Autobiography was published in French at Paris in 1791. It was clumsily and carelessly translated, and was imperfect and unfinished. Where the translator got the manuscript is not known. Le Veillard disclaimed any knowledge of the publication. From this faulty French edition many others were printed, some in Germany, two in England, and another in France, so great was the demand for the work.

In the meantime the original manuscript of the Autobiography had started on a varied and adventurous career. It was left by Franklin with his other works to his grandson, William Temple Franklin, whom Franklin designated as his literary executor. When Temple Franklin came to publish his grandfather's works in 1817, he sent the original manuscript of the Autobiography to the daughter of Le Veillard in exchange for her father's copy, probably thinking the clearer transcript would make better printer's copy. The original manuscript thus found its way to the Le Veillard family and connections, where it remained until sold in 1867 to Mr. John Bigelow, United States Minister to France. By him it was later sold to Mr. E. Dwight Church of New York, and passed with the rest of Mr. Church's library into the possession of Mr. Henry E. Huntington. The original manuscript of Franklin's Autobiography now rests in the vault in Mr. Huntington's residence at Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, New York City.

When Mr. Bigelow came to examine his purchase, he was astonished to find that what people had been reading for years as the authentic Life of Benjamin Franklin by Himself, was only a garbled and incomplete version of the real Autobiography. Temple Franklin had taken unwarranted liberties with the original. Mr. Bigelow says he found more than twelve hundred changes in the text. In 1868, therefore, Mr. Bigelow published the standard edition of Franklin's Autobiography.

In that version, the passage in question reads like this:

There was another bookish lad in the town, John Collins by name, with whom I was intimately acquainted. We sometimes disputed, and very fond we were of argument, and very desirous of confuting one another, which disputatious turn, by the way, is apt to become a very bad habit, making people often extremely disagreeable in company by the contradiction that is necessary to bring it into practice; and thence, besides souring and spoiling the conversation, is productive of disgusts and, perhaps enmities where you may have occasion for friendship. I had caught it by reading my father's books of dispute about religion. Persons of good sense, I have since observed, seldom fall into it, except lawyers, university men, and men of all sorts that have been bred at Edinborough.

There's more to the John Collins story, including the consequences of their argument over women in science, the start of which is described this way in the three versions cited above:

(1) There arose one day, I know not how, a dispute between Collins and me, relative to the education of women; namely whether it was proper that they should be instructed in the sciences, and if they had talents to profit by study? He supported the negative, and asserted that that line was above their powers.

(2) Collins and I fell one day into an argument relative to the education of women; namely, whether it were proper to instruct them in the sciences , and whether they were competent to the study . Collins supported the negative , and affirmed that the task was beyond their capacity. I maintained the opposite opinion , a little perhaps for the pleasure of disputing .

(3) A question was once, somehow or other, started between Collins and me, of the propriety of educating the female sex in learning, and their abilities for study. He was of opinion that it was improper, and that they were naturally unequal to it. I took the contrary side, perhaps a little for dispute's sake.

They "parted without settling the point", and because Franklin was not satisfied with his own arguments, he undertook a program of self-improvement in writing and speaking that he credits with his later success as a politician and diplomat. That's all worth reading about — but none of it explains what he had against "men of all sorts that have been bred at Edinborough".

I hoped to learn the answer in Michael Atiyah's 2006 paper "Benjamin Franklin and the Edinburgh Enlightenment", but that work depicts a thoroughly positive relationship all around.

I finally got a clue from this description of a recent performance, which suggests that it was a friendly joke:

Ben Franklin loved Edinburgh. He visited twice, in 1759 and 1771 at the height of the Scottish Enlightenment. He was pals with all the luminaries, including David Hume, Adam Smith and James Hutton, enjoying lively debates in the Old Town’s famous Oyster Club late into the night.

In this funny and informative show, Rick Conte tells the tale of his fellow countryman’s encounters in the city, and how they shaped the founding of the American Constitution.

He also shares his own experiences of Edinburgh, the city that took him in 34 years ago and is yet to spit him out.

 

January 11, 2025 @ 1:59 pm · Filed by Mark Liberman under Pragmatics

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