“As two men sit silent, after having exhausted all their topics of conversation; one says, ‘It is very fine weather,’ and the other says, ‘Yes;’—one blows his nose, and the other rubs his eye-brows; (by the way, this is very much in Homer’s manner;) such seems to be the case between you and me.”
All of us
recognize that uncomfortable moment when conversation flags and two brains feel
empty. This is not the same as an imbalance between speakers, one of whom is a
bore. The job of the other then becomes sneaking away while trying to minimize discourtesy.
We excuse the silence when friends talk, knowing it will resume.
William
Cowper is writing a letter on July 27, 1780 to his friend the Rev. William
Unwin. They met when Unwin was an undergraduate in theology at Cambridge and Cowper
lodged with Unwin’s parents at nearby Huntingdon. When the father died in 1767,
the widow, her daughter and Cowper moved to Olney at the invitation of the Rev.
John Newton, the evangelical preacher. Cowper had already attempted suicide
three times and been confined to an asylum. His mental state was never secure
and without friends he likely would have succeeded in eventually taking his
life.
Cowper
conceived of conversation as a form of fellowship. He would agree with Hazlitt:
“The art of conversation is the art of hearing as well as of being heard.” Today,
it’s too often reduced to mummery, a recitation of mutually approved opinions,
a tiresome ritual. There’s no surprises and nothing is learned. Real conversation
is less like a sermon than a Lester Young improvisation. Cowper writes in his poem “Conversation”
(1781):
“ . . . souls
that carry on a blest exchange
Of joys they
meet with in their heav’nly range,
And with a fearless
confidence make known
The sorrows
sympathy esteems its own,
Daily derive
encreasing light and force
From such
communion in their pleasant course,
Feel less
the journey’s roughness and its length,
Meet their
opposers with united strength,
And one in
heart, in int’rest and design,
Gird up each
other to the race divine.
But
Conversation, chuse what theme we may,
And chiefly
when religion leads the way,
Should flow,
like waters after summer show’rs,
Not as if
raised by mere mechanic powers.”
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