Speech, like thoughts and intentions, can be very easily hijacked by automatic, reactive impulses. The fact that we can all speak is indeed miraculous. Some animals can mimic us, some communicate in their own ethereal languages (whales jump to mind, here), and still others can learn to communicate with us in our sign language. But it is clear that spoken or written language is a particularly human pursuit. We love, as a species, to express ourselves aloud, echoing the divine act of creation. When wielded without conscious intent, speech most often serves our ego. But when borne with the appropriate levels of sobriety and intention, speech can be a powerful force.
When I was on the debate team, we were having a preparatory session, in which two teams (each with two members) were on stage, going through a practice debate and receiving feedback from the coach and other students. My team was first up, but I had run late to class for reasons beyond my control. This would automatically disqualify me, by the team’s rules, from the next tournament. Furthermore, I had not incorporated any of the constructive criticisms my coach had previously provided to me. So, after I finished my turn, the coach calmly said that I was disqualified from the next tournament, and in any case hadn’t done anything to improve my arguments.
I got to visit with Mrs. Sawyer (we all called her Mama Saw) last year, not long before she passed away. She was a pivotal figure in my adolescence. She showed me great love, compassion and care, as she did with many students. She also saw something in me and nurtured it incredibly. I had some of my best academic experiences under her tutelage and mentorship, experiences which had profound ripple effects on the rest of my life (I have no doubt that my success on her debate team was crucial to my admittance to UC Berkeley). We had a very deep and special relationship, in other words. She recounted this story as being a key moment for her, just as it proved to be for me, because of what came next.
My reaction was stunning and jarring. I threw my pages in the air to scatter, and loudly said to her: “You’re a bitch!” and stormed out of the room. Note that I had never spoken to a teacher this way, before or since. I had wiped this episode from my memory, and I was mortified by myself upon hearing it. Mama Saw thought hard that afternoon and evening about how to handle it. The obvious, and completely fair and reasonable, answer would be to kick me off the team, to report me to the principal and to my parents. I was so unbelievably rude, in front of everyone, that surely I had earned this punishment.
Instead, she reflected on how out of character this episode was for me, and on her own role in the incident. She decided there must have been extreme circumstances to cause me to act this way, and that maybe her not asking me privately if everything was ok, instead of just going by the books and being a bit cold about things. She, after all, was a warm and nurturing mother figure in my life, and here she was castigating and rejecting me. So, when she called my home that evening, I rushed to answer the phone, dreading my parents finding out.
I was shocked to hear that she, in fact, only wanted to speak to me. I started off by apologizing profusely. I was so embarrassed at my behavior. She calmly waited for me to finish, and said that she was calling to apologize to me. She explained her reasons, and I burst out in tears.
This was a long story, but you can see how impactful words were from it. Her choice of words, in that context, triggered me in an unprecedented way. My highly regrettable choice of words in response was shocking to me. I couldn’t recognize myself. Moreover, those words could have carried repercussions that would have affected me for the rest of my life. Her decision to pause and consider things, rather than to react in the moment, allowed her to make a deeply compassionate choice. And her choice of what to say and what not to say next, aligned with that intention of compassion, did change my life forever.
I mentioned my friend Michael Russo before. He is a unique individual, who has written for himself a code of conduct that he abides by: “The Way of the Gentleman.” There are several elements of this code, but the most germane for now is paraphrased like this: “Your word is your bond. If you say you will do it, you will do it. If it is not totally within your control to do it, then do not say you will do it without qualification of what is outside of your control.” Imagine a loved one is returning home from a trip abroad and has requested a ride from the airport. You commit to picking her up. Under the rules of the Way of the Gentleman, you would be required to pick up your loved one, no matter what happens to your own car, to your finances, to your health. A more authentic way of offering the ride would be something like, “I’ll make every reasonable effort to come pick you up.” Or, simply, “I will plan to come get you.” The difference isn’t trivial. It’s about a radical kind of honesty that begins with oneself.
Modern, western culture has instilled in us the notion that “Talk is cheap.” But I beg to differ. Talk can be highly effective, and also quite expensive. Many spiritual traditions honor the importance of speech, as a form of commitment and accountability, as an act of devotion or manifestation, or as a pure, intrinsic embodiment of our intentions. Sometimes speech is the ultimate fulfillment of an intention. If you have an intention to forgive someone who has wronged you, simply saying to them, “I forgive you,” completes the cycle of volition for that intention. Science has also verified the importance of speech as a manifestation of intention, both in improving our inner experience, and in achieving external outcomes. But, just as intentions are a bridge between thoughts and speech, speech itself is not always (or even usually) the end of the line. In many circumstances, we must act on what we’ve intended and spoken into the world. We turn to actions next.