not asking you," he seemed to say to the judge and jury, "I'm telling you."
The other was winning and conciliatory. He did not thrust his views down
the jury's throats; he seemed to offer them for their consideration, and
leave it at that. He was not there to dictate to them, but to hold his
client's case up to the light, as it were, just as a draper holds a length
of silk up before his customer. Now, as a matter of fact, I think the
dogmatic gentleman had the better case and the stronger argument, but I
noticed next day that the verdict went against him. He won his argument and
lost his case.

That is what commonly happens with the dogmatic and argumentative man. He
shuts up the mind to reason. He changes the ground from the issue itself to
a matter of personal dignity. You are no longer concerned with whether the
thing is right or wrong. You are concerned about showing your opponent that
you are not to be bullied by him into believing what he wants you to
believe. Even Johnson, who was, perhaps, the most dogmatic person that ever
lived, knew that success in the argument was often fatal to success in the
case. Dr. Taylor once commended a physician to him, and said: "I fight many
battles for him, as many people in the country dislike him." "But you
should consider, sir," replied Johnson, "that by every one of your
victories he is a loser; for every man of whom you get the better will be
very angry, and resolve not to employ him; whereas if people get the better
of you in argument about him, they'll think, 'We'll send for Dr. ----,
nevertheless.'"

But Johnson fought not to convince, but for love of the argumentative
victory. A great contemporary of his, whom he never met, and whom, if he
had met, he would probably have insulted--Benjamin Franklin, to
wit--preferred winning the case to winning the argument. While still a boy,
he tells us, he was fascinated by the Socratic method, and instead of