PINCHBECK SILENCE.
Tillnotion that the habit of silence is a virtuous habit is assing away. It is part of the ascetic ideal in .which we no longer believe, and it is strange to recollect how assidu- ously this invented virtue WS pressed upon the world by religious men of all shades of opinion. Abstinence from talk was one of the abstinences which lay at the root of monasticism. Even the reasonable rule of the original Benedictines which allowed to every man a pint of wine and a pound of bread daily, as well as a sufficiency of other good food, exhorted the brethren to let their words at all times be "spare and whole- some," as well as setting aside certain hours for complete silence. That words might be many and yet wholesome seems to have been a conception outside the imagination of monks. But the belief that silence is to speech as gold is to silver by no means melted away in England at the time of the dissolu- tion of the monasteries. The early Evangelicals regarded much silence as a counsel of " perfection, and Law in his "Serious Call" relates how the worldly Flavia was "always talking," and relates it as one of the difficulties in the way of her extremely problematical salvation; while with Miranda — the model Miranda— it was quite other- wise. Her conversation, we are told, was always calculated to make any companion wiser "who should chance to be in company when she thought fit to speak." Not so very long ago children were directed to talk little, and this not only with the reasonable intention of giving their elders time to speak, but also to impress upon their young minds the intrinsic value of silence. Before they spoke they were told to ask them- selves if what they were about to say was not only "true and kind," but also if it was necessary." Outside religion many wits and moralists have upheld Silence, or at least advised great reserve and chariness of speech. La Rochefoucauld sums up a chapter on conversation by a piece of general advice to speak little, adding the perfectly futile rider,— "and nothing that we can ever regret." William Penn in b's "Fruits of Solitude" recommends his readers to "speak little —and last." In this case the two last words rather take the moral flavour out of the sentence. Perhaps the old Quak„ was thinking less of a virtuous habit than of a verbal victoa. the more signal perhaps the smaller the expenditure ct
words. - - -
Montaigne, on the other hand, is a great advocate of talk, "The most natural and fruitful exercise of the mind in my opinion is conversation," he declares, and" I find the use of it more sweet than any other action in life." So strongly does he hold his opinion that he professes himself more willing to lose his sight than his hearing. Conversation is not, however, an art which can in his eyes be legitimately practised by all "ill-bred people and fools," and all who are "so unhandsome as to fight in play" should be prohibited from arguing. But if truculent arguers destroy conversation, they are at least less depressing company than those who are what is called "very reserved." Reserved people are usually wet. blankets, and might often be as well described as empty people, only there is a general belief that emptiness always accompanies frivolity and never solemnity. Occasionally, no doubt, silent men have much wisdom, to which they could give utterance if they would, just as some cold manners are assumed to protect unusually warm and sensitive hearts; .hat such instances are uncommon. Men whose exterior entirely belies their character are like rough diamonds—metaphori- cally speaking—very rare. Those of whom it is really true to say that they are reserved—that they have a great deal in them which they do not care to give out—are for the most part unsocial people, and quite without charm. It is true that they are often liked by a. few friends; but that is because with those few they cease to be reserved, and their confidence is valued not only for its own sake, but also because it is looked upon in the light of a favour. Silent people maintain a perpetual attitude of defence. They risk nothing, and avoid the many shrewd knocks sustained by the mentally restless and venturesome. Their impregnable position is often, however, a lonely one, and" they suffer in alertness of mind from a sedentary mental habit. The theories of boobs can be assimilated and answered at leisure, but there is a certain promptness of attention and an easy suppleness of thought which can only be fostered by talk. Among the " reserved " and "unsocial" we do not count those who are habitually silent because they are shy. Shy people would often gladly talk, but they want the resolution to step at the right moment into the conversational pool, and they miss their opportunity of speech till they become too much dis- couraged to watch for it. .Such people are often very good listeners,—that is, they cause other men to talk well by some how making them aware of a sympathetic audience. Marcus Aurelius, who was the prototype of Matthew Arnold in his ardent defence of "sweet reasonableness,". teaches that every man who has realised that "the good" for all men is "a social good" should be ready to expose his thoughts to any one who asks him at any given moment, and thus prove to his friend and himself that he has no thoughts but such as are" simple and benevolent."
Without perhaps agreeing with this stringent exhortation to openness, it is nevertheless a fact that all social life depends on the goodwill which men throw into the inter. change of ideas, and there can be no doubt that an increased habit of conversation has had a wonderfully civilising effect upon the middle and upper classes. Oddly enough, it is talk, and not silence, which has put a curb upon self-indulgence. The pleasure in dining out is no longer chiefly derived from the food and drink consumed at the table, but this is a fact which a West End lady would find it difficult to explain to her Whitechapel sisters. Gluttony has been killed by conver- sation, and drunkenness—convivial drunkenness at least—is no longer seen. Below a certain standard of education we find very little social life. Friendship is not very common in the lower classes, and where it exists it is almost invariably founded upon obligation. Kindness in time of necessity is a firm basis on which to build a friendship; it offers few oppor- tunities for keeping the edifice in repair, especially among those who have neither much time nor much money to expend in charity. Those who have no interests in common drift apart, and the number of old people in London who live wholly alone, and have no visitors whatever of their own class, is positively astonishing. Unfortunately they have lived their live; without realising the truth of the sentence ascribed to woman, "Sweet language will multiply friends, and a fair- sposIdng tongue will increase kind greetings." One reason that compulsory education seems to have had less result in improving the civilisation of the lower classes than its ad- vocates hoped is that the children have no encouragement to discuss at home what they learned at school, and consequently they very soon forget it. The lower classes have not yet attained to the habit of rational conversation. Even when they are making love they have nothing to say.
No doubt the old veneration for silence—the remains of which we see to-day petrified in a proverb—arose largely from the Apostolic warning that "of every idle word a man shall speak he must give account." But he must also give account—as some ready person replied when the text was quoted to him—of every idle silence. Total abstinence from speech is impossible outside La Trappe, and we should think that regrettable words break upon idle silence quite as often as upon animated talk. As a moral agent the habit of silence is found out. It is unsocial, and therefore makes against civilisation. But there is one golden rule of silence a man should always observe, because it is the first rule of conversation,—he should not talk out of his turn.
Previous page
