I finished reading The Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, Volume 1 on my Kindle yesterday and immediately downloaded volume 2 so I could continue the pleasure today. What is so wonderful about the letters is the intimacy. Reading letters and diaries is such a voyeuristic undertaking especially when reading those of famous people. What do we hope to find there that we don’t know about them from their public work? Do we hope for some revelation, some scandal? Or do we just wish to know the public person as a private person too so that we may round them off and call them friend even though our lives never once overlapped?

I’m not sure I can answers those questions. But I do know that what reading these letters has done for me after I spent so much time reading all of Emerson’s published work and building a personal shrine to his genius is turn him into a human being. I have no desire to knock Emerson down into the mud and find out if he had any dirty secrets. It is a pleasure, however to find from his letters that as a person he really strove to live his philosophy. He proves over and over to be a good, kind man and generous to a fault. When I read the letter Emerson wrote when his five-year-old son died and then Carlyle’s beautiful response, my heart nearly broke. When I read letter after letter in which Emerson, trying to account to Carlyle for the books published and sold in America on his behalf, admits himself baffled by the booksellers’ numbers I laughed.

If letters can be said to have themes, one of the predominating ones that emerged particularly from Carlyle’s letters was the idea of silence. In a letter dated December 8, 1839, Carlyle writes

He knows what silence mean; let him know speech also, in its season the two are like canvas and pigment, like darkness and light-image painted thereon; the one is essential to the other, not possible without the other.

Carlyle is always encouraging Emerson to speak out his truth but not until the ideas and words are ready to be born. Carlyle thinks silence is better in all cases then cant, insincerity, stupidity. Emerson doesn’t talk about silence in quite the same way, but he does know that the books and ideas will come when they are ready. And bless him, he appears to get a bit frustrated when they don’t come as quickly as he’d like.

The idea of silence being a necessary counterpart to speech is an idea that few seem to pay much attention to these days. There is so much noise coming from every direction that it is a wonder we don’t all go crazy from it. In the mad rush to say something first, few stop to think about whether what they want to say is worth saying so we all start to sound like a bunch of gobbling turkeys. I wonder how much richer our words and deeper our thoughts would be if only we could manage to temper them with a little more silence?

Now please excuse me while I go silently contemplate the deliciousness of one of my Bookman’s chocolate chip cookies.

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