How to speak truth (or a reasonable facsimile) to power

One of the earliest depictions of the human form, painted on the wall of a cave in the Iberian Peninsula, seems to show a man with his middle finger extended. The gesture is probably not in this instance the near-universal sign of contempt it has become, but it may nevertheless serve as a reminder that the urge to make our feelings known has a long history. Today, that urge expresses itself most fully in our need to tell our leaders when we think they are wrong, a practice commonly known as “speaking truth to power.” But getting up the courage to do so is only half the battle. As our recent election cycle has shown, getting power to listen is a whole other matter. Leaders across the political spectrum tend to surround themselves with people who share their views, and the resulting echo chamber simply drowns out other voices. So how does one do it? The Bible has a couple of examples. In Genesis, the patriarch Abraham gets God to think twice before wiping out Sodom, the original Sin City. He does it by haggling. “Wilt thou also destroy the righteous with the wicked? Peradventure there be fifty righteous within the city,” he asks. When God agrees to spare the city if fifty righteous individuals can be found, Abraham cautiously but firmly starts bringing the number down. What about only 45, he asks. Or 30? How about 20? 10? Each time, God agrees to the new number, and we are left to believe not a single righteous person could be found in that moral cesspool. A more earthly example comes from the Second book of Samuel, where the prophet Nathan publicly shamed King David for wrongfully arranging the death of Uriah the Hittite so that he could take the voluptuous Bathsheba as his wife. Ostensibly seeking the king’s justice, Nathan shared a story about a rich landowner who nevertheless seized his neighbor’s only ewe for a feast. When David predictably exploded over this rampant injustice, Nathan sprang his trap, telling the king that this was what he had done when he lusted for Bathsheba. Even though Nathan had tricked and humiliated David, the king responded, “I have sinned against the Lord.” Abraham and Nathan were special cases. As patriarch and prophet, respectively, they had acquired the right to exercise what Greek and Roman scholars called parrhesia, literally, “frankness,” or “freedom of speech.” More ordinary folks had a problem, as the Greek philosopher Plato discovered when he travelled all the way from Athens to teach the ruler of Syracuse in Sicily how to become a philosopher-king. When Plato said that being a king or slave made no difference to a true philosopher, that ruler decided to try out the idea by selling Plato into slavery. (Legend has it that Plato used the money raised to pay his ransom to found the Academy.) Under the Romans, public speaking became a primary skill, especially when it came to getting a favorable response from the emperor. As a result, a fairly large number of speeches, and handbooks on how to deliver a successful one, survive. Here are some simple rules that can be distilled from these works. Rule one: know thyself This maxim, carved into the walls of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, serves as a reminder that demeanor is important. As Plato learned, speakers who talk down to their listeners are likely to be dismissed as holier-than-thou prigs. So, it’s more effective to offer one’s advice, like Abraham, with a dose of modesty. Rule two: know thy audience Better even then know thyself is know thy audience. If a given leader has a history of saber-rattling and plans to start a new arms race, this is probably not the best time to propose a National Endowment for the Arts. In a democracy, We the People are the ultimate court of public opinion, and in this instance, emotion is often more effective than reason. Greed was all it took to get the ancient Athenians to launch their disastrous expedition against Syracuse, while Mark Antony, in his Funeral Oration for Julius Caesar, used anger to “let slip the dogs of war.” Fear works, too. Just ask the hordes of murderers, rapists, and pedophiles waiting to unleash Armageddon on our borders. Catchy, imperative phrases can be highly effective if they encapsulate a strong emotion. “Build the wall!” and “drain the swamp!” are good examples. “Build Back Better,” not so much. Rule three: make it win-win Terrible things happened to David after he was rebuked by Nathan, but in a strictly political sense his willingness to accept the charge (rather than, say, putting Nathan on an enemies list) established David as a legitimate ruler, and not a tyrant. Similarly, that saber-rattling ruler who would never hear of an endowment for the arts might actually listen to someone who pointed out that the pen can be mightier than the sword. Rule four: flattery is good, finesse is better In the fourth century, Bishop Eusebius of Caesarea, author of an influential life of Constantine the Great, was present when a speaker dubbed the first Christian emperor a saint and told him he would surely continue to rule in the afterlife. Constantine, who cultivated a public image of prayer and humility, exploded, and that speaker was never heard from again. A speech of Eusebius’s own survives, and a modern reader might be forgiven for thinking the bishop was being just as flattering, but in fact he chose his words much more carefully. Taking note of Constantine’s well-known penchant for public applause, for instance, Eusebius claims, “The cheers of the crowds and the voices of flatterers he holds more a nuisance than a pleasure, because of his stern character and the upright rearing of his soul.” Eusebius shows he had mastered the trick that the conspirator Decius centuries later would explain in Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar” as the ability to deliver such praise while seeming not to: “But when I tell him he hates flatterers, / He says he does, being most flatterèd.” Do such rules matter in our postmodern age, when truth itself seems to be up for grabs? We are not as unique as we like to think. Two millennia ago, Pontius Pilate asked, “What is truth?” If a skilled speaker had been on hand, the subsequent course of history might have been very different indeed. Featured image: ‘The School of Athens’ by Raffaello Sanzio, c.1509-1511, via Wikimedia Commons. Recent Comments There are currently no comments.