When silence is better than speech

I’m currently dipping in and out of the recently-published English translation of the Me’iri’s commentary on Pirkei Avot (noted here). While doing so, the following thoughts occurred to me.

At Avot 1:17 Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel (referred to in the Hebrew as “Shimon his son”) offers two comments regarding self-control when speaking: “All my days I have been raised among the Sages and I found nothing better for oneself than silence … and anyone who talks excessively causes [literally “brings on”] sin”.

Rambam’s commentary on this Mishnah adds that there are five different categories of speech: in modern parlance they are (i) that which is actually forbidden; (ii) that which is undesirable; (iii) that which is effectively neutral; (iv) that which is desirable but not mandatory and (v) that which is commanded. Many later commentators cite this five-part division and give examples.

As applied to this Mishnah, the first and last of those categories do not normally cause problems. Words that are prohibited (e.g. false oaths and bad-mouthing others) may not be spoken at all. Words that are commanded (e.g. various blessings and publicly reciting readings from the Torah and the megilot) may not be suppressed. The field of choice for the speaker lies in the three middle categories. Curiously Rabban Shimon’s advice would appear to apply more to both undesirable and desirable speech than to words that are neutral, since even well-intentioned words of advice, praise and encouragement can be misunderstood and lead to ill-feeling. In contrast, utterances like “Does this bus go to the station?” or “I should like a kilo of apples and half a kilo of cherries, please” are generally devoid of friction-generating content and are in any event unlikely to be repeated excessively.

The Me’iri’s commentary on Avot cites Rambam’s five-part analysis. The manner in which he does so is a little surprising, because he brings it only after first reciting another categorisation of speech: the four-part division composed by Rabbi Shlomo ibn Gabirol, a Spanish scholar, poet and philosopher who died over 90 years before Rambam was born. This division, found in ibn Gabirol’s Mivchar HaPeninim (sha’ar hashetikah) is based not on the quality of the words themselves but on the intention of the speaker:

(i)        Words spoken in the hope that they will be beneficial but which one fears may have a less desirable outcome (e.g. speaking out against one person in order to assist that person’s opponent). Such words are better not spoken because of the likelihood that they will cause harm and that their benefit will not outweigh any loss;

(ii)      Words spoken without any expectation of benefit, where only harm is likely (e.g. gratuitously bad-mouthing others). Such words should obviously not be spoken;

(iii)      Words from which neither a benefit nor a detriment is expected to arise (e.g. recounting news of current events). While there is no harm in speaking them, a burden is shifted from one’s shoulders if one does not indulge in speaking them;

(iv)     Words from which one expects to achieve a benefit and where there is no likely downside, such as speaking of matters of wisdom and character traits. This type of speech alone is worth speaking.

The Me’iri does not discuss either of these classifications of speech; nor does he compare or contrast them. We can however recognise that Rambam’s methodology requires the putative speaker, before opening his or her mouth to speak, to look objectively at the nature and the quality of the words spoken. Once the speaker has done this, it should be clear whether they are of a kind that warrants their being spoken. Ibn Gabirol’s criteria are far more difficult to apply, since the merit and inherent acceptability of words is made to depend both on the speaker’s intention and on his or her ability to assess and predict the likely consequences, good and bad, of speaking them. While anyone can apply Rambam’s rules to the spoken word, only the speaker can determine his or her motives and know whether to say them or not.

It would be wrong to say that either Rambam’s or ibn Gabirol’s tests should be favoured, which may be why the Me’iri cites them both without comment. A person with an introspective cast of mind is likely to be drawn to ibn Gabirol’s criteria while someone in search of certainty and security in making decisions is likely to be drawn to the Rambam’s.

Incidentally, the Me’iri leaves the last word with ibn Gabirol, again citing the Mivchar HaPeninim, sha’ar hashetikah. But this time the context is that of learning Torah, where he cites the maxim “tovah atzelet hashetikah” (translated by Rabbi Yehuda Bulman as “The laziness of silence is better than the laziness of speech”). This maxim and its connection to our mishnah in Avot are explained in the following terms.

After stating that this maxim is open to misunderstanding, the Me’iri nails it down to a fairly narrow fact-specific situation in which a person is studying wisdom. In the one case his attitude is that of a sort of dilettante: totally lazy, he goes through the motions but doesn’t put any effort into doing so; he is to be contrasted with the person who does actually learn his topic of study but, being partially lazy makes no effort to put his learning to the test, to see if it can be verified. The completely lazy person is totally silent because he doesn’t know enough to engage in debate and thereby misrepresent that which he was supposed to have learned. The partially lazy person however will not be silent: he knows enough to be able to engage in debate but is deluded into thinking that he has understood what he has learning. When he opens his mouth it is only to distort wisdom and spread errors. For this person, total silene would have been far better.

In terms of the practical application of the guidance of Pirkei Avot in one’s daily life, it is well to remember that this not the only Mishnah that addresses self-imposed limitations on one’s speech. Shammai (Avot 1:15) teaches that one should say a little but do a lot, advice that superficially appears to address the quantum of speech rather than its content, and Rabbi Akiva’s maxim that silence is a fence to wisdom (Avot 3:17), a sort of counterpart to the Me’iri’s account of ibn Gabirol’s praise of the “laziness of silence”—where silence is a fence to protect a fool from appearing foolish rather than being literally a fence to protect wisdom. Both Shammai’s and Rabbi Akiva’s mishnayot are the subject of an extensive analytical literature, however, and can be taken in many different ways.