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.
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.
