_Who it is that is the vilest, who most unredeemed of men_,
it is the traitor who would always be named before any one else. Well,
Euthycrates (as Demosthenes puts it) ‘_roofed his house with the timber
got from Macedon_‘. Philocrates received a large sum of gold and
proceeded to buy ‘_strumpets and fish_‘. Euphorbus and Philagrus, who
betrayed Eretria, received lands [Sidenote: C] from the Persian king.
But the babbler is a traitor who volunteers his services without pay,
not in the way of betraying horses or fortresses, but of divulging
secrets connected with lawsuits, party feuds, or political manœuvres.
Instead of any one thanking him, he actually has to thank people for
listening to him. The line addressed to a man who was recklessly
squandering his money by giving indiscriminate presents—
_Not generous, you: ’tis your disease; you love to be a-giving_—
fits the prater also. ‘You do not give this information out of
friendliness and goodwill. ’Tis your disease; you love to be a-talking
and a-babbling.’
These remarks are not to be regarded as simply an indictment of
garrulity. They are an attempt to cure it. An ailment is [Sidenote: D]
overcome by diagnosis and treatment, but diagnosis comes first. No one
can be trained to avoid or to rid his mental constitution of a thing
which causes him no distress. That distress we learn to feel at our
disorders, when reason leads us to perceive the injury and shame which
result from them. Thus in the present instance we perceive that the
babbler is hated where he desires to be liked, annoys where he wishes to
ingratiate himself, is derided where he thinks he is admired, and spends
without gaining anything by it. He wrongs his friends, assists his
[Sidenote: E] enemies, and ruins himself. The first step, therefore, in
physicing this disorder, is to reflect upon the disgrace and pain which
it causes. The second is to consider the advantages of the contrary
behaviour, constantly hearing, remembering, and keeping at our call the
praises of reticence, the solemn and sacramental associations of
silence, and the fact that it is not by your unbridled talker at large
that admiration, regard, and reputation for wisdom are won, but by the
man of short and pithy speech, who can pack much sense into few words.
We find Plato commending such persons, and saying that, in [Sidenote: F]
their deliverance of crisp, terse, and compact utterances, they resemble
a skilful javelineer. Lycurgus, again, forced his fellow-citizens to
acquire this gift of compression and solidity by applying the pressure
of silence from their earliest childhood.
The Celtiberians produce steel from iron by first burying it in the
ground and then clearing away the earthy surplusage. So is it with
Lacedaemonian speech. It has no surplusage, but is steadily hardened
down to absolute effectiveness by the removal of everything unessential.
And this knack of theirs of saying a pithy thing, or making a keen and
nimble retort, is the result of a great habit of silence.
[Sidenote: 511] We must not omit to give our chatterer examples of such
brevities, in order to show how pretty and effective they are. For
instance:
_The Lacedaemonians to Philip_: _Dionysius at Corinth_;
and, again, when Philip wrote to them ‘_If I enter Laconia, I will turn
you out_‘, they wrote back, ‘_If._’ When King Demetrius shouted in his
indignation, ‘Have the Lacedaemonians sent only one envoy to _me_?‘, the
envoy replied undismayed, ‘One to one.’ Among our ancient worthies also
we admire [Sidenote: B] the men of few words. It was not the _Iliad_ or
the _Odyssey_ or the paeans of Pindar that the Amphictyons inscribed
upon the temple of the Pythian Apollo, but the maxims _Know Thyself_:
_Nothing in Excess_: _Give pledge, and Mischief is nigh_, which they
admired for their simple and compact expression, with its
closely-hammered thought in small compass. And does not the god himself
show a love of conciseness and brevity in his oracles, deriving his name
of ‘Loxias’ from the fact that he would rather be obscure than
garrulous?
Do we not also particularly praise and admire those who can say, by
means of a symbol and without speaking a word, all that [Sidenote: C] is
necessary? For instance, when his fellow-citizens insisted upon
Heracleitus proposing some measure for the promotion of concord, he
mounted the platform, took a cup of cold water, sprinkled it with
barley-meal, stirred it with a slip of pennyroyal, drank it off, and
went home. This was his way of intimating that to be satisfied with the
commonest things, and to have no expensive wants, is the way to maintain
a community in peace and concord. Another case is that of Scilurus, the
Scythian king, who left behind him eighty sons. When he was dying, he
called for a bundle of small spears, and bade them take and break it in
pieces, tied together as it was, and in the mass. When they gave up the
task, he himself drew the spears out one by one and snapped them all
with ease, thereby demonstrating [Sidenote: D] how invincible was their
strength if harmoniously united, how weak and short-lived if they did
not hold together.
Any one, I believe, who constantly recalls these and the like examples,
will cease to take a pleasure in chattering. But—speaking for
myself—there is a story of a certain slave which greatly discourages me,
when I reflect how hard it is to be so careful of our words as to make
sure of our purpose. The orator Pupius Piso, not wishing to be troubled,
ordered his slaves to talk only in answer to questions, and not a word
more. Subsequently, being anxious to welcome Clodius in his official
position, he gave orders for him to be invited to dinner, and prepared
what was, of course, a splendid banquet. When the hour arrived, the
other guests were all present and waiting for [Sidenote: E] Clodius. The
slave who regularly carried the invitations was repeatedly sent out to
see whether he was on his way. When evening came and he was given up in
despair, Piso said to the slave, ‘Of course you took him the
invitation?’ ‘I did,’ he answered. ‘Then why has he not appeared?’
‘Because he refused.’ ‘Then why did you not tell me so at once?’
‘Because you did not ask me that question.’
So much for the slave at Rome, whereas at Athens he will tell his master
while digging
_What terms are named i’ the treaty_,
so great in all things is the force of habituation. To habituation let
us now turn.
[Sidenote: F] We cannot check the babbler by taking, as it were, a grip
on the reins. The malady can only be overcome by habit.
In the first place, therefore, when questions are asked of your
neighbours, train yourself to keep silent until they have all failed to
answer.
_Counsel hath other ends than running hath_,
says Sophocles, and so has speech or answer. In running, the victor is
the man who comes in first, but here the case is different. If another
makes a satisfactory reply, the proper course is to lend approval and a
word of support, and so win credit for good [Sidenote: 512] feeling. If
he fails, there is nothing invidious or inopportune in giving the
information which he does not possess, or in supplementing his
deficiencies. But above all things let us be on our guard, when a
question is put to another person, that we do not anticipate him and
take the answer out of his mouth. In any case in which a request is made
of another it is, of course, improper for us to push him aside and offer
our own services. By doing so we shall appear to be casting a slur on
both parties; as if the one were incapable of performing what is asked,
and as if the other did not know the right quarter from which to get
what he asks for. But it is especially in connexion with answers to
questions that such impudent forwardness is an outrage on [Sidenote: B]
manners. To give the answer before the person questioned has time,
implies the remark, ‘What do you want _him_ for?‘, or ‘What does _he_
know?‘, or, ‘When _I_ am present, nobody else should be asked that
question.’
Yet we often put a question to a person, not because we need the
information, but by way of eliciting from him a few words of a friendly
nature, or from a wish to lead him on to converse, as Socrates did with
Theaetetus and Charmides. To take the answer out of another’s mouth, to
divert attention to yourself and wrest it from another, is as bad as if,
when a person desired to be kissed by some one else, you ran forward and
kissed him yourself, or as if, when he was looking at another, you
twisted him round in your own direction. The right and proper [Sidenote:
C] course, even if the person who is asked for information cannot give
it, is to wait, to take your cue to answer from the wish of the
questioner—his invitation not having been addressed to you—and then to
meet the situation in a modest and mannerly way. If a person of whom a
question is asked makes a mistake in answering it, he meets with a due
measure of indulgence; but one who pushes himself forward and insists on
answering first, receives no welcome if he is right, while, if he is
wrong, he becomes an object of positive exultation and derision.
The second item of our regimen concerns the answering of questions put
to ourselves. Our garrulous friend must be particularly careful with
these. In the first place he must not be deceived into giving serious
replies to those who merely provoke him into a discussion in order to
make a laughing-stock of him. [Sidenote: D] Sometimes persons who
require no information simply concoct a question for the amusement and
fun of the thing, and submit it to a character of this kind in order to
set his foolish tongue wagging. Against this trick he must be on his
guard. Instead of promptly jumping at the subject as if he were
grateful, he should consider both the character of the questioner and
the necessity for the question. And when it is clear that information is
really desired, he must make a habit of waiting and leaving some
interval between question and answer. There will then be time for the
inquirer to add anything he wishes, and for himself to reflect upon his
reply, instead of overrunning and muddling the question, hurriedly
giving [Sidenote: E] first one answer and then another while the
question is still going on.
The Pythian priestess, of course, is accustomed to deliver oracles on
the instant, even before the question is asked, inasmuch as the God whom
she serves
_Understandeth the dumb, and heareth a man though he speak not._
But if you wish your answer to be to the purpose, you must wait for the
questioner’s thought to be expressed, and discover [Sidenote: F]
precisely what he is aiming at. Otherwise it will be a case of the old
saying:
_Asked for a bucket, they refused a tub._
In any case that ravenous greed to be talking must be checked. Otherwise
it will seem as if a stream, which has long been banked up at the
tongue, is taking joyful advantage of the question to disgorge itself.
Socrates used to control his thirst on the same principle. He would not
permit himself to drink after exercise without pouring away the first
jugful drawn from the well, thereby training his irrational part to wait
until reason named the time.
[Sidenote: 513] There are three possible kinds of answer to a
question—the barely necessary, the polite, and the superfluous. For
instance, to the inquiry, ‘Is Socrates at home?‘, one person may reply,
in an offhand and apparently grudging way, ‘Not at home;’ or, if he is
disposed to adopt the Laconian style, he will omit the ‘at home’ and
merely utter the negative. Thus the Lacedaemonians, when Philip had
written to ask, ‘Do you [Sidenote: *] receive me into your city?‘, wrote
a large _No_ on a piece of paper and sent it back. Another, with more
politeness, answers, ‘No, but you will find him at the bankers’
tables’—going so far, perhaps, as to add, ‘waiting for some strangers.’
But, [Sidenote: B] third, our inordinate chatterbox—at any rate, if he
happens also to have read Antimachus of Colophon—will say, ‘No; but you
will find him at the bankers’ tables, waiting for some strangers from
Ionia, concerning whom he has had a letter from Alcibiades, who is near
Miletus, staying with Tissaphernes, the Great King’s Satrap, the same
who used formerly to help the Lacedaemonians, but who is now attaching
himself to the Athenians, thanks to Alcibiades; for Alcibiades is
anxious to be recalled from exile, and is therefore working upon
Tissaphernes to change sides.’ In fact he will talk the whole eighth
book of Thucydides and will deluge the questioner with it, until, before
he has done, there is war with Miletus and Alcibiades has been exiled
for [Sidenote: C] the second time.
Here especially should loquacity be repressed. It should be forced to
follow in the footsteps of the question, and to confine the answer
within the circle of which the questioner’s requirement gives the centre
and radius. When Carneades, before he became famous, was once
discoursing in the gymnasium, the superintendent sent and requested him
to lower his voice, which was a very loud one. Upon his replying ‘Give
me my limit for reach of voice’, the officer aptly rejoined ‘The person
who is speaking with you’. So, in making an answer, let the limit
[Sidenote: D] be the wishes of the questioner.
In the next place remember how Socrates used to urge the avoidance of
those foods and drinks which induce you to eat when you are not hungry
and to drink when you are not thirsty. So those subjects in which he
most delights, and in which he indulges most immoderately, are the
subjects which the babbler should shun, and whose advances he should
resist. For example, military men are given to prosing about wars. Homer
introduces Nestor in that character, making him relate his own deeds of
prowess time after time. Take, again, those who have scored a victory in
the law-courts, or who have met with surprising success at the courts of
governors or kings. Generally [Sidenote: E] speaking, they are chronic
sufferers from an itch to talk about it, and to describe over and over
again how they came in, how they were introduced, how they played their
parts, how they talked, how they confuted some opponent or accuser, and
what eulogies they won. Their delight is more loquacious than that
‘sleepless night’ in the comedy, and is perpetually fanning itself into
new flame and keeping itself fresh by telling over the tale. They are
therefore prone to slip into such subjects at every pretext. For not
only
_Where the pain is, there also goes the hand_;
[Sidenote: F] no less does the part which feels pleasure draw the voice
and twist the tongue in its own direction, from a desire to dwell
perpetually on the theme. It is the same also with amorous persons, who
chiefly occupy themselves with such conversation as brings up some
mention of the object of their passion. If they cannot talk to human
beings about it, they do so to inanimate things:
_O bed most dear!_
or
_Bacchis thought thee a god, thou blessed lamp;
And greatest god thou art, methinks, through her._
No doubt it makes not a pin’s difference to the chatterer [Sidenote:
514] what subject of conversation may arise. Nevertheless, if he has a
greater predilection for one class of subjects than for another, he
ought to be on his guard against that class and force himself to hold
aloof from it, since those are the subjects which can always tempt him
furthest into prolixity for the pleasure of the thing. It is the same
with those matters in which the talker thinks that his experience or
ability gives him a superiority over other people. Through egotism and
vanity such a person
_Giveth the most part of the day to that
Wherein he showeth to the most advantage._
With the much-read man it is general information; with the [Sidenote: B]
expert in letters, the rules of literary art; with the much-travelled
man, accounts of foreign parts. These subjects also must therefore be
shunned. They are an enticement to loquacity, which is led on to them
like an animal towards its wonted fodder. One admirable feature in the
conduct of Cyrus was that, in his matches with his mates, he challenged
them to compete at something in which he was not more, but less, expert
than they. Thus, while he caused no pain by eclipsing them, he also
derived advantage from a lesson. With the chatterer it is the other way
about. If any subject is mooted which gives him the opportunity of
asking and learning something he does not know, he cannot even pay so
small a fee [Sidenote: C] for it as merely holding his tongue, but he
blocks the topic and elbows it aside, working steadily round till he
drives the conversation into the well-worn track of stale old twaddle.
We have had an example of this among ourselves, where a person who
happened to have read two or three books of Ephorus used to weary every
one to death, and put any convivial party to rout, by everlastingly
describing the battle of Leuctra and its sequel, until he earned the
nickname of ‘Epaminondas’. If, however, we are to choose between evils,
this is the least, and we must divert loquacity into this channel.
Talkativeness will be [Sidenote: D] less disagreeable when its excess is
in an expert connexion.
In the next place such persons should habituate themselves to putting
things in a written or conversational form when alone. The case is not
as with Antipater the Stoic. He gained his sobriquet of ‘Pen-Valiant’
because, being—as it would appear—unable and unwilling to come out and
meet the vehement attacks made by Carneades upon the Porch, he kept
filling his books with written disputations against him. But if the
babbler turns to writing and valiantly fights shadows with his pen, the
occupation will keep him from attacking people at large and will render
him daily more bearable to his company. It will be as with dogs. Let
them vent their anger on sticks and stones, and they are less ferocious
to human beings. [Sidenote: E]
Another extremely beneficial course for talkers to adopt is to associate
continually with their superiors and elders, out of respect for whose
standing they will develop a habit of holding their tongues.
As part and parcel of this training we should always vigilantly apply
the following reflection, when we are on the point of talking and the
words begin running to our mouths: ‘What _is_ this remark that is so
pressing and importunate? With what object is my tongue so impatient?
What honour do I get by speaking, or what harm by keeping quiet?’ If the
thought were an oppressive weight to be got rid of, the matter would be
[Sidenote: F] different; but it remains with you just as much, even if
it is spoken. When men talk, it is either for their own sake, because
they want something, or it is to help the hearer; or else they seek to
ingratiate themselves with each other by seasoning with the salt of
rational conversation the pastime or business in which they happen to be
engaged. But if a remark is neither of advantage to the speaker nor of
importance to the hearer, if it contains nothing pleasant or
interesting, why is it made? The [Sidenote: *] meaningless and futile is
as much to be avoided in words as it is in deeds.
Over and above all this, we should keep in lively recollection
[Sidenote: 515] the saying of Simonides that he ‘had often repented of
talking, but never of holding his tongue’. We should remember also that
practice is a potent thing and overcomes all difficulties. People get
rid even of the hiccoughs or a cough by resolutely resisting them. Yet
this involves trouble and pain, whereas silence not only, as Hippocrates
says, ‘prevents thirst;’ it also prevents pain and suffering.
Footnote 43:
The Homeric σιγαλόεντα (‘glossy’) is brought, either in error or by a
deliberate pun, into relation with σιγή (‘silence’).