Shakespeare, Part 4:  Silence, Speech, and the Demand to Perform.

When You’re Expected to Say Something.

Last week Rene Good was shot by an ICE officer. You already know this. I watched footage.

It seemed clear what happened.

Then I watched other footage. It seemed clear I’d been wrong. Or maybe. Then there was some other footage. Lots of other people were confident in their opinions of what happened. Why it happened. What people’s motives were. They were vocal.

I wasn’t confident. Then more footage. More angles.

I am still looking at footage. Still trying to figure out what I truly think happened. I still don’t quite know.

Angles matter. Angles of cameras. Angles of wheels. Angles of gunshots.

What doesn’t matter?

Political views. Political views have nothing to do with my interpretation of events. At least they shouldn’t.

I pray there will be an unbiased investigation and that true justice will prevail.

But we all have a predicament, especially we who have any sort of influence: writers, pastors, leaders of any kind.

People wanna know. What do you think? Whose side are you on, boy, whose side are you on?

This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this predicament. I was a pastor of a diverse church in St. Louis when Mike Brown was shot.

Then in that same church we navigated the COVID crisis and shutdowns.

Things like that.

I never understand how people can form such a quick opinion on matters before they can be truly understood and investigated.

I try always, with all my might, to seek truth over certainty and to keep my darn mouth shut until I actually have an intelligent opinion.

Why am I bringing this up? Because our friend Shakespeare brings it up, and this is our fourth and final piece in the series.

The cultural moment: when speech becomes compulsory

“Silence is violence!”

A slogan born from real injustice.

But one that now carries unchecked authority. Pressure to speak when you don’t know what you’re talking about.

Let me be clear. Sometimes silence is cowardly.

Silence can protect abusers.

Silence can preserve unjust systems.

Silence can function as consent.

Silence can be hiding when speech is required.

The problem is not that the phrase is always wrong. It’s that it is used without discernment in an age when everyone has a strong opinion and a megaphone on social media.

Everyone has a strong opinion, but you’ll notice that you can almost always tell someone’s political bias by what that opinion is, especially if the opinion is voiced immediately.

It’s just true. No, I’m not saying you do that, but lots of others do.

In that climate, when people who may be possessed by ideology are clamoring to share, it can be hard to resist signaling your side (and virtue).

What happens when speech is demanded and silence is treated as proof of guilt?

Speech is no longer about truth. It’s a test. People are getting unfollowed. The wagons are circling. The conversation is over.

It becomes performance.

Oh yeah… Shakespeare!

King Lear

Act I, Scene I – Lear’s demand

King Lear:

“Which of you shall we say doth love us most,

That we our largest bounty may extend

Where nature doth with merit challenge?

Goneril, our eldest born, speak first.”

Goneril then delivers her extravagant speech, followed by Regan, whose language escalates even further.

Then comes Cordelia.

Cordelia (aside):

“What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.”

When Lear presses her publicly, she answers:

Cordelia:

“Nothing, my lord.”

Lear:

“Nothing?”

Cordelia:

“Nothing.”

Lear responds with what becomes the plot:

King Lear:

“Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.”

Cordelia finally explains herself plainly:

“Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty

According to my bond; nor more nor less.”

She goes on:

“Why have my sisters husbands, if they say

They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,

That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care and duty.”

Lear explodes:

“So young, and so untender?”

Cordelia answers:

“So young, my lord, and true.”

King Lear has issues. He’s testing his children.

Lear’s question is not about love. It is about compelled expression.

Lear equates love with verbal display. Silence is punished. Exaggeration is rewarded. Performance becomes currency.

It’s coercion. Pressure.

Cordelia is the countercultural figure.

Cordelia’s silence is not apathy. It’s refusal to lie, to inflate language, and to perform sincerity.

Her “Nothing” costs her everything.

That cost matters. I won’t spoil the play unless you want to go read it, but in the end, Shakespeare shows us:

Silence can be faithful.

Speech can be corrupt.

And rather than “silence is violence,” demanded expression can be violent.

We debate compelled speech, meaning whether governments can make laws governing what can and can’t be said, but this is another kind of compelled speech.

By all means, if you have a genuine opinion that you think would be helpful to share, then share.

If you want to contribute honestly to the conversation, contribute.

But silence does not prove guilt. It doesn’t make one complicit, and in many cases it should not be condemned.

Jesus on the topic

Current events as moral bait

From Luke 13:1–5:

“There were some present at that very time who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.”

This is a news item.

A political atrocity.

A current event loaded with outrage.

The people demand commentary. They want Him to say something so they can categorize Him, to see which side He’s on.

Jesus does not explain Pilate, assign blame, or offer analysis.

Instead, He says, in effect:

You are asking the wrong question.

He redirects the conversation away from speculation and toward repentance and self-examination.

He doesn’t deny the horror. He just refuses to moralize it from a distance.

“Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar?”

In Matthew 22:15–22, the Pharisees ask a politically charged question designed to force a public position and trap Jesus. If Jesus answers one way, He angers Rome. If the other, He angers the people.

Instead of commenting directly, Jesus reframes the entire issue. Asking for a coin, He looks at it, points out whose image is on it, and says:

“Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”

He doesn’t give them the sound bite they want. This is not evasive silence. Jesus just never speaks out of pressure. Never. I do sometimes, but I never should.

We could talk of Ecclesiastes and the good advice that there is “a time to keep silence.” We could talk of Job and how God refuses to answer even one of his questions. We could talk of Jesus’ refusal to perform for Herod, including His refusal to speak.

But we could also talk of the prophets who spoke when God told them to speak. Isaiah said:

“The Lord GOD has given me the tongue of those who are taught,

that I may know how to sustain with a word him who is weary.

Morning by morning he awakens;

he awakens my ear to hear as those who are taught.” (Isaiah 50:4)

Other translations say an “instructed tongue.” I’ll say something when I have one of those.

We Christian writers write when God moves us. At least, that’s when we should write. And that can’t be confused with the compulsion of social pressure.

Cordelia is the hero because she is the truest. She refuses the game because she refuses to use her love for her father as a way to gain an inheritance. She sees the insincerity of her sisters and makes the boldest and most loving choice, though it costs her.

And the real loser? King Lear. And the culture that wanted a show of truth rather than truth.

So say what you have to say. But if you don’t know, say that.

Jeff B. Miller

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