Silence
Whoever talks a lot does not yet know himself
John Climacus makes two lists. In the first is talkativeness: the throne of vanity, the gate of gossip, the servant of lies, the scattering of thought. In the second is wise silence: the guardian of thought, the mother of prayer, a hidden ascent. Between them stands one sentence that measures a person better than any test: whoever has come to know his faults has mastered his tongue, and whoever talks a lot does not yet know himself.
Today it is easy to see. After company you regret something you said. You interrupt others and wait only for your turn. You find silence hard to bear, in the car, at home, at the table. You explain yourself even when no one asked.
John names three causes of talkativeness. The first is habit from an earlier life, because the tongue seeks what it has learned. The second is vanity, because we want to show ourselves. The third is the belly, because people talk most over food and drink. Whoever restrains the belly often restrains the tongue more easily too. So first you need to see which cause is yours.
The practice is simple. Before every word, three questions: is it true, is it necessary, is it good for the one who hears it. If the answer to any of them is no, keep silent. Listen to the end of the sentence and do not prepare your answer while the other is speaking. And bring in half an hour a day without words and without screens: in the morning before everyone gets up, on a walk, in the car.
Better to fall from a height than from the tongue.
Two traps stand beside this rung. The first is believing that one word is a small thing. Peter brought down with a single word what had long been built, and afterwards he wept bitterly. The second is silence out of hurt. Silence with which you punish your wife or children is not a virtue, but hidden anger. John speaks of wise silence, not hard silence.
The sign that you have climbed: your words become rarer and weightier, and you do not regret what you said after a conversation. Silence is no longer unpleasant to you; you miss it when it is gone. John himself admits this is a hard rung: few can stop water without a dam, and fewer still can tame an unbridled mouth. Do not expect a quick victory.
The question remains: if your words grow fewer, how many of those that remain are true?
N. Ž.