"A notoriously profane Person in a private Capacity, ruins himself, and perhaps forwards the Destruction of a few of his Equals; but a publick Hypocrite every day deceives his betters, and makes them the Ignorant Trumpeters of his supposed Godliness: They take him for a Saint, and pass him for one, without considering that they are (as it were) the Instruments of publick Mischief out of Conscience, and ruin their Country for God’s sake....
I am, Sir, Your humble Servant,"
--- SILENCE DOGOOD
Despite the archaic phrasing, we intuit the target of Silence Dogood's criticism, right?
As such, it does not refer to a candidate from either of the major American political parties. Neither party had yet come into existence. In fact, the United States of America had not come into existence.
Who was this apparent prognosticator, Silence Dogood?
None other than 16-year-old Benjamin Franklin wrote a series of fourteen letters under that name in order to get published in his brother's newspaper. You may vaguely recall Nicolas Cage's character in National Treasure mentioning those letters as containing an essential clue to a multi-generational mystery.
I love that movie, so if you haven't seen it, check it out as soon as possible!
However, we're not here to talk about movies. We're considering Benjamin Franklin's Second Virtue, Silence. Unlike with Humility, Franklin's description of Silence makes his point perfectly clear.
"Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation."
Is talking about old movies trifling conversation? Probably, but that's just how I roll. We all engage in trifling conversation, and it helps us connect with others. That watercooler talk about a football game, TV series finale or favorite album may not directly relate to our work at hand, but it keeps us all sane. We miss it when we don't have it.
Oddly, if we met in person as new acquaintances or subsequently came together as part of a larger group, you may not hear me speak about what I believe. In an interpersonal communication class at Golden West College long ago, I learned that everyone's favorite topic of conversation is themselves, so as someone who tends to be naturally bashful, I use the approach of asking others about their lives, following any thread that seems particularly interesting. I learn a lot about who other people are, and I would guess the feeling is rarely reciprocal among casual acquaintances.
I think it comes down to heeding the advice of not just Ben Franklin, but also President Abraham Lincoln, who joked "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt."
In cowboy movies the heroes spoke few words, so as a boy who imagined himself to be a cowboy quite often, I seem to have a bit of remaining silence engrained into my character. Once I'm familiar with others, whether one-on-one or in a small group, I'm more likely to express myself, though frequently it seems there's not that much of a conversational lull to enter to make my point, which therefore goes unspoken.
Admittedly, my wife Julie says I interrupt when talking with her alone or in a family setting, so apparently what I hear as a pause for me to enter is perceived as breaking into her comment mid-thought. We all feel both sides of that occasionally, and sometimes we feel overwhelmed by someone with a particularly loud voice who just steamrolls forward over an entire group conversation.
Online or on paper, without concerns of interrupting someone else's thoughts or becoming tongue-tied by innate shyness, I let it all hang out, as you have undoubtedly observed in reading this blog.
During out port day in Boston on a Canada/New England cruise, Julie and I walked past the statue of Benjamin Franklin in front of the Boston Latin School. Interestingly, despite receiving such reverant treatment, Ben did not graduate from Boston Latin or any other school. Not even close.
In a family where Ben was the youngest of ten sons and one of his father's seventeen children by two wives, there was only so much money to go around for education. That era that pre-dated free public schools.
Ben attended Boston Latin School for only two years, but he remained a voracious reader. After helping his father at their family candle- and soap-making craft for a couple of years, Ben became an Apprentice at age twelve to his older brother James at his print shop.
In search of a profit-center that could make use of underutilized printing presses, James started The New-England Courant, the first newspaper in America. It had literary and humorous content.
Not satisfied to simply be a typesetter, young Ben wrote and submitted articles for publication, but his brother rejected them out of hand. Who cared about what a teenaged boy might think?
One morning, a letter from Silence Dogood arrived under the door at the print shop with this introduction:
"It may not be improper in the first place to inform your Readers, that I intend once a Fortnight to present them, by the Help of this Paper, with a short Epistle, which I presume will add somewhat to their Entertainment.
"And since it is observed, that the Generality of People, now a days, are unwilling either to commend or dispraise what they read, until they are in some measure informed who or what the Author of it is, whether he be poor or rich, old or young, a Schollar or a Leather Apron Man, &c. and give their Opinion of the Performance, according to the Knowledge which they have of the Author’s Circumstances, it may not be amiss to begin with a short Account of my past Life and present Condition, that the Reader may not be at a Loss to judge whether or no my Lucubrations are worth his reading."
The missive follows with Mrs. Dogood's autobiography, beginning with birth on the transatlantic crossing undertaken by her parents.
"My Entrance into this troublesome World was attended with the Death of my Father, a Misfortune, which tho’ I was not then capable of knowing, I shall never be able to forget; for as he, poor Man, stood upon the Deck rejoycing at my Birth, a merciless Wave entred the Ship, and in one Moment carry’d him beyond Reprieve. Thus, was the first Day which I saw, the last that was seen by my Father; and thus was my disconsolate Mother at once made both a Parent and a Widow."
Everyone wondered who this woman might be based on the life story she revealed and the criticisms she leveled on the social institutions of Boston. Silence Dogood went on to say she had been taken in as an impoverished girl by a "Country Minister, a pious good-natur’d young Man," who over time awkwardly revealed his conjugal intentions, which would have been lurid tabloid material in those days. According to Dogood, that lust led to a happy marriage with three children, so all's well that ends well, other than the fact that the minister died to leave Silence a widow just a few years later.
Due to some political pressure from the subject of one of Silence Dogood's letters, like No. 9 quoted above, James Franklin was ordered by the government to reveal Silence Dogood's real identity. After all, no one fitting that self-described life story could possibly be found. Fake news? James refused to reveal his source and was thrown in jail until he came forward with the information.
In his brother's absence, the impudent Benjamin assumed responsibility for running the newspaper and print shop. James was forced to no longer publish The New-England Courant as a condition of release from jail. Rather than giving up his livelihood, however, James cleverly skirted the law by signing a contract that named Benjamin as the newspaper's owner. In a secret codicil, James made it clear to his brother exactly why he was doing it with the understanding that James was still the real owner.
When James returned to his shop expecting Ben to continue his Apprenticeship as before, the younger Franklin rightfully claimed he had proven himself worthy of a more active leadership role. Ben played hardball, threatening to hold James to the letter of the public contract rather than their concurrent codicil in hopes of securing his own elevated position. The hard feelings led to Benjamin fleeing Boston, finding a new home in Philadelphia, where he became world-famous. Apparently, having tasted the freedom of self-expression, Ben could not return to living his life in Silence.
A young person who would seek to match to any extent Ben Franklin's lifetime accomplishments may do well to parse his sentiments on Silence a bit more. "Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation." That does not say to not speak, but rather to speak (share) "what may benefit others or yourself."
Being of benefit to our customers or employers in our words and action will pave the road to success in our chosen fields. Advising our children wisely will lead them to happy lives and heartwarming pride during our golden years.
Most of us find time for trifling activities and conversation without being encouraged to do so.
By the way, if you wonder about the origins of the pen name Silence Dogood, it was referencing intellectual giant Cotton Mather, whose books included the recently released Silentiarius and well-known Essays to Do Good. Silence Dogood.
No comments:
Post a Comment