A dialogue with St. John Climacus on the sins of the tongue

The power and danger of words

Man spends the greater part of his life in conversation. Every day we interact with family members, friends, colleagues, shop assistants, cashiers, and service workers. Moreover, there are numerous so-called “verbal professions”: teachers, journalists, actors, psychologists. In a certain sense, the ministry of the clergy also belongs here, for apart from the divine services, the pastor speaks through preaching, confession, or informal spiritual counsel.

Herein lies one of the principal differences between the monastic and the lay life. The monk restrains his lips for the sake of contemplation, whereas the layman is constantly compelled to communicate, maintaining social bonds.

Yet every conversation can be either beneficial or harmful to the soul.

A kindly word and a smile may strengthen, comfort, and cheer the soul in time of sorrow. A harsh word may wound and dishonor. A heedless and careless word may judge, calumniate, and abase. It is no accident that the folk proverb says: “A word is not a sparrow; once it flies out, you cannot catch it.”

How then shall we govern thought and tongue, that we harm neither ourselves nor our neighbor? To this end let us turn to our venerable interlocutor, St. John Climacus. In The Ladder of Divine Ascent he devotes several steps to the “verbal passions,” as though to underscore their particular power over the soul.

Judgment – the usurpation of God’s authority

“From hatred and remembrance of wrongs is born evil-speaking,” begins the abba.

Indeed, every conversation has some cause and occasion. When we gather at table or in company, we discuss news, pressing matters, and cares. Often such discourse waxeth into strife, filled with anger and judgment of others, or of the world entire.

Then do we pour forth the venom long hidden in the soul, as from a boiling vessel, eager to cast off the burden of our passions. But instead of solace, we reap exhaustion and desolation – for we chose amiss both the theme and the manner of our words.

The writings attributed to Socrates contain a useful example in this regard. The philosopher speaks of the “three sieves” through which we should sift our speech. The first is the sieve of truth: we must ensure that what we say is true. The second is the sieve of kindness: we must ask whether our words arise from good intentions. The third is the sieve of benefit: will what we say bring profit to our listener, above all to his soul? “If in your words there is neither truth, nor kindness, nor benefit – why then speak at all?” concludes the philosopher.

Keeping these words of the ancient thinker in mind, let us return to the Sinai abbot. This is what he says:

“Evil-speaking is a subtle disease; it is a great, hidden and secret leech, which drains and destroys the blood of love.”

We may think that in condemning or criticizing we are motivated by care for the person we wish to correct. Yet St. John remains unyielding:

“If you truly love your neighbor, as you say, do not mock him, but pray for him in secret; for such a way of love is pleasing to God.”

And he warns further:

“For whatever sins we condemn our neighbor, whether of body or soul, into those very sins we ourselves shall fall; and it cannot be otherwise.”
“To judge is to shamelessly usurp the authority of God; and to condemn is to ruin one’s own soul.”

But can one discuss another person without falling into judgment? After all, it seems better to learn from another’s mistakes than to commit our own. How can we evaluate others without descending into evil-speaking? The abbot of Sinai replies:

“As a good vinedresser eats only the ripe grapes and leaves the sour, so too a wise and prudent mind carefully notes the virtues in another man; while the foolish searches out faults and shortcomings.”

Loquacity – the doorway to slander

Among the “verbal” passions there is yet another from which many of us suffer: loquacity. If the foul-mouthed sinner limits himself to a few abusive words, the loquacious man does not stop there. He speaks incessantly, unable to halt his endless stream of words. In the end, both transgress.

St. John Climacus teaches that evil-speaking takes its root in loquacity and finds its master in vainglory.

“Much talking is the throne on which vainglory loves to show itself. It is a sign of folly, the door of slander, the servant of lying, the destruction of compunction, the darkening of prayer,” says the abba.

The Book of Wisdom of Jesus son of Sirach has this saying: “It is better to slip with the foot than with the tongue” (Sirach 20:18). From this, the conclusion is evident: silence is the best friend not only of the monk, but also of the layman. It is no accident that St. Anthony the Great said: “Silence is a great weapon against all temptations.” And one recalls the words of the Roman philosopher Publilius Syrus: “I have regretted many of my words, but never my silence.”

Our interlocutor, St. John, calls silence “prudent,” naming it “the mother of prayer” and “the guardian of thoughts.” As an example of wise silence he points to Christ’s silence before Pilate, which put the cowardly governor of Judea to shame.

“The lover of silence draws near to God and, secretly conversing with Him, is enlightened by Him,” concludes the elder.

The call to prudent silence

Let us reflect on how many sins we might avoid if only we learned this “prudent silence”! For while the lips are silent, the mind is free to pray without hindrance.

A man illumined by prayer is like a brimming vessel of spring water, able to refresh and nourish the soul, hastening the growth of virtue within it. Watching carefully over our speech – avoiding judgment, idle talk, and evil-speaking – let us heed the psalmist’s exhortation: “My mouth shall speak wisdom, and the meditation of my heart shall be understanding” (Ps. 48:4).