Seneca, Moral Letters 40.7

However, I suppose that certain styles of speech are more or less suitable to nations also; in a Greek you can put up with the unrestrained style, but we Romans, even when writing, have become accustomed to separate our words. 

 

And our compatriot Cicero, with whom Roman oratory sprang into prominence, was also a slow pacer. The Roman language is more inclined to take stock of itself, to weigh, and to offer something worth weighing. 

 

Fabianus, a man noteworthy because of his life, his knowledge, and, less important than either of these, his eloquence also, used to discuss a subject with dispatch rather than with haste; hence you might call it ease rather than speed. 

 

I approve this quality in the wise man; but I do not demand it; only let his speech proceed unhampered, though I prefer that it should be deliberately uttered rather than spouted. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 40 

 

Having grown up in a bilingual family, I was fortunate to see how matters of style are often subject to accidents of custom. An Austrian will speak at a far brisker pace than an Irishman, and yet the Austrian will sound downright sleepy compared to a German. While I might still be saying hello, the other fellow has already offered a lengthy review of the day’s railway timetables. 

 

The further blessing of travels through rural America also taught me how few will take their time to make a point as slowly as an old-timer from New Hampshire or Oklahoma. Their children, having been raised on bland television personalities, are now barely distinguishable from the folks in the big cities, but mom and pop will continue to look you up and down for a good five minutes before even opening their mouths. 

 

And please don’t start me on a Texan. I ended up marrying one, and she has already finished a conversation before I know that there is something to talk about. 

 

No, fast talking and slow talking aren’t matters of the clip alone—they are about a deeper attitude of communication, the difference between being sneaky and being genuine. I only began to discern it when I finally started to work on my own moral sense, when I first looked to whether a man was a gentleman or a cad. 

 

For myself, I have chosen to focus on the contrast between dispatch and haste, between ease and speed, between deliberation and spouting. As is usually the case, Seneca’s words are far mor fitting than any I can come up with on my own. There is no shame in this, as long as I understand something of what he means, and I pass it along it with all the integrity I can muster. 

 

Observe how often we are carried along by our words, instead of being firmly in command of our words; one man is precariously perched on a horse that goes where it pleases, while the other has a skilled hand on the reins. Where I am not guided by a clear sense of meaning and purpose, my speech will run away with me, and I might not be so happy about where I then end up. 

 

However refined the vocabulary, or sweet the tones, or hypnotic the rhythm, it will come to nothing without the inspiration of wisdom. We forget this far too often, when we assume we can pull a fast one by merely going through the motions. I inevitably find myself in trouble after careless words, but I have never had reason to regret a single utterance when I took the time to think it over. 

—Reflection written in 1/2013 

IMAGE: Victor Adam, The Runaway Horse (c. 1850)