Cardinal rule of the ninja: hold your tongue. This meant never speaking frivolously, never giving too much away, always choosing to listen far more than you speak. Long before “loose lips sink ships” became a war slogan, the ninja realized that their silence ensured their safety. In the same way, they knew the unguarded conversations of others ensured their success. The ninja would have been utter failures without the careless remarks of others.
As a way of ensuring their own held tongues, the ninja would often employ what is called a baiboku. A baiboku is a mouth gag they would use to make sure they would keep quiet during a mission. They would place a stick in their mouths, tie a string to both ends of the stick, and secure it around their heads. This literal gag could be the difference between success and defeat.
There is such simple wisdom to this. We’re tempted sometimes to view wisdom as the culmination of knowledge or experience, as the fullness of something. But it also is an emptiness. Wisdom, more often than not, is an act of saying less, doing less, responding less. Wisdom is a rejection of MORE.
I can’t possibly count the times in my life where I wished I’d had a baiboku to save me from hurtful or unnecessary comments. I’m reminded of the New Testament book of James, which compares the tongue to a rudder of a ship; it’s small, but it directs where the ship will go. With that kind of power, it’s no wonder we need wisdom to wield it well.
James goes on to describe the tongue as a small flame that has the potential to set the whole world on fire. With our tongues, he says, we bless God and curse people made in God’s image. The tongue can be a poison, but it can also be a gift, and a blessing.
And sometimes, we bless others most by holding our tongue.
One of the earliest lessons I remember learning when I began taekwondo was refraining from unnecessary speech. The dojang is not a place for small talk and babbly conversation. This feels unnatural for people like me, who often use small talk as a form of hospitality and connection. I remember wondering why we didn’t talk more during practice. And then I read it, posted right there in the rules of the dojang: Refrain from unnecessary speech.
Though this felt strange to me at first, now I find it such a welcome relief and practice. The world is filled with unnecessary speech. When we come into the dojang, we come to learn to focus, to pare down, to choose less over more. And this includes what we say to our neighbors while waiting in line during kicking drills.
Now, I love to watch people slowly learn this and talk less during class. It always takes a little while, but then a shift happens, and they succumb to the tone of the class. It’s still fun- it’s so fun!- but it’s not frivolous. (Confession: I am always working on this. I lapse into chattiness regularly, and then, like a ship’s rudder, have to steer myself back. It’s such good practice.)
As you continue in your week, how can you be more mindful and selective of your words? How can you practice holding your tongue, limiting unnecessary speech, and using your words as a gift and not a curse?
