The Art of Listening

If speaking is an art, so is listening. Whereas to speak is to create, to listen is to criticize. The purpose of speaking is to express; the purpose of listening to understand and appreciate. A person unable to speak well often can listen well, just like critics – whom writers have despised from the ancient times to the present – who cannot write or fail to write literary works, transform themselves into masters of criticism. This is similar to an unlucky thief who turns into a policeman. William Shenstone, an 18th century minor English poet, says, "A poet that fails in writing becomes often a morose critic; the weak an insipid white wine makes at length excellent lampooning; instead it sets out to understand and appreciate. If compared to criticism, listening at most can be regarded as a kind of criticism that is romantic and impressionistic.

Listening consists of three steps: give ear, understand, and appreciate. Unlike reading, listening has no free choice. Even though you don't like to listen, you cannot shut the speaker's mouth as you do a book and put it aside. We may "listen without bearing," which imitates the method of dealing with the aggressive bores: "Wear a mask and remain expressionless," whether you are absent-minded or engrossed. But this method has its disadvantage. If the speaker is a troublemaker, he can act according to the principle of "the absence of denial is acquiescence" and take advantage of the weak listener behind the mask. By comparison, "neither listening nor hearing" may be more appropriate. A priest once taught his son etiquette, saying, "When in front of a guest, you don't hum, or flip your fingers, or tap on the floor with your toes. This kind of act shows you are not paying attention." However, this kind of act can be used once in a while, to catch the speaker unawares and switch the topic in another direction. Indeed, when listening, it needs a lot of art for you to display your disaffection and at the same time not to offend the speaker.

But it needs an even higher degree of cultivation to temper ourselves into a spouse, soft and capable of absorbing to our full. This is because when listening, one's self, like a Jack-in-the-Box may suddenly pop out and shout, "Hey, I can't stand you." Probably, the self will never be contained, however hard we temper it, unless comprehension and appreciation cease to be the end of listening, which may serve another function. The 19th century English poet Sir Henry Taylor, who was also an able official, speaks about the secret of success in his Statesman, "No Siren did even so charm the ear of the listener, as the listening ear has charmed the soul of the Siren." Perhaps some successful people have discovered this trick long ago. And what is more, there are many "sirens" who like to pose as the good little girl in the fairy tale; whenever their mouths open, pearls and precious stones roll out. They overflow the ears so with both hands the listener raises a plate to collect them, carefully setting the verbal treasures I a notebook, in the hope that "the good little girl" will surely offer something more substantial. It is unnecessary to take the words of these people seriously, better not to listen at all; just looking attentive will do. Nor is it necessary to understand them, suffice to put on a complaint, admiring look. If unfortunately it is advisable to present a dumb look, the "Siren's" may not be too severe on you.

At best, the listener should, after the manner of the poet Tao Qian in reading, refrain from probing too closely. It is too trifling to fill in exhaustive notes. But on the other hand, you should catch the general drift. If you yourself, having missed the point, go on to disclaim that which has been said as bragging, flattering, lying, and slandering, then you have forgotten that in essence speaking is an art, not daily necessities such as rice, oil, salt and firewood. To blame the speaker for not speaking truthfully is similar to condemning a novel for being not-factual or a painting for not being as accurate as a photograph. Speaking is like wearing clothes, which on one hand covers the body, and on the other reveals parts of the body. None of us would condemn clothes for cloaking the truth or distorting the facts. On the contrary, we would be shocked if someone wears nothing. Would anyone go so far as to say that one's self is more beautiful than one's physical being and deserves more exposure?

Everyone knows that artistic truth is not identical with factual truth. Aristotle said long ago: Poetic truth is not historic truth. Presumably more poets have been born than historians. By "poet", I refer to the original Greek meaning, "maker." And the most ubiquitous act of making is speaking. Confucius insisted he "relate but not add anything," but who dares to argue that the saint related without adding anything! When we watch a play, or listen to a story, or appreciate other works of art, all we are looking for is "poetic truth"; though we know it is false, we are willing to believe it is true. This is what Coleridege calls "willing suspense of disbelief." In the case of listening, on the contrary, "poetic truth" cannot satisfy us and we want to know the facts. This kind of psychology, just oppose to what Coleridge says, may be called "unwilling suspense of belief." At the same time, when listening, we cannot help relying on Aristotle's principle of "the inevitable and the probable" to deduce the facts. Let me give you a few simples. If a lady sighs and says "Ah, my hair is such a nuisance. If only I were born hairless," who would believe her! According to the principle of "the probable and the inevitable," we may infer that she has abundant hair. If someone says, "That man wants me to join, but my office will not release me. It's really hard," perhaps he is trying to worm his way into that man's favor, and that his position in the office is shaky. Or perhaps he has yet to court the favor of that man, in which case he is truly in a predicament. Again, if a VIP formally and publicly denies a rumor, then in accordance with the principle of "the inevitable and the probable" we may say with safety that "Ha! It must be true!" If someone boasts excessively, we may deduce that he is unsure of himself and trying to delude himself as well; after several repetitions he will ultimately convince himself. If someone flatters you to your face, you ought to restrain yourself and not believe him. Apparently, he sees through you and is just saying what you expected. If someone extols a person behind his back, though the latter is not praiseworthy, this might be the cleverest way of fawning, designed to be delivered to that person through a few turns, which will be more pleasing than flattering to one's face. Or this might be what the priest, the same one as mentioned earlier, taught his son – an effective way of coping with an enemy – excessive praise can kindle the enemy's aversion and the adulation of one person might serve to downplay another.

If we listen too carefully – dissecting every sentence, weighing every word, we will reach that extreme condition of "water absolutely pure where no fish could survive." So we shouldn't be over alert. Everyone speaks, but those who can speak are few, just as other kinds of artists are likewise few. Clever works, however, make us admire only the speaker's art, while clumsy works make us like the speaker as a person.

The more accomplished the art of speaking is, the more we are inclined to the "unwilling suspense of belief," and we may even experience fear. Clumsy words are like Adam and Eve's covering their private parts with leaves; it only expresses their sense of shame and their desire to conceal their ugliness in the presence of the angels. It is also similar to a child's trickery: enticing grown-ups into offering goodies, the child asks roguishly, "What's this? Is it eatable?" it makes us laugh and endears the child to us. When a toad-sized man pumps himself up as large as an ox, we cannot but feel pity for him and wish he were born the size of an ox, to spare him all this effort. If we come across a clumsy flatterer, at least we know he means well. When a man honestly gives you a piece of his mind, he actually reveals his virtues, there is no malice. One who does noble deeds and is high-minded certainly commands respect, but people are fond of him rather for his weaknesses. A smart person once said, "If you want to be loved, show your faults more than your virtues." The same person also said, "People never forgive one who doesn't need to be forgiven." Thus may the psychology of listening be fathomed. We respect and admire clever words, but it is the person with clumsy words who have our sympathy and affection. In brief, to speak is but human, but a man who speaks is a divine creation.