Every year for the past 20+ years, since I was first introduced to Dr King’s “Letter from the Birmingham Jail,” I have endeavored to read one of his letters on “MLK-J Day.” This introduced me to one of my favorite works of literature, his 1967 Christmas Sermon where he noted, ironically, that “our world is sick with war…”, from a time when it was much colder that the current fever of our present vantage point. Today, given the peaceful snow that has me forced to enjoy some quiet time by the fire, I reread the long version of my original inspiration for this ritual. In that spirit, please pardon my long post today – if I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter. Our nation is at such a critical inflection point that we must take the risk to engage in a deeper, more thoughtful, and dare I say lengthy dialogue.

CS Lewis once noted the difference between “looking at and looking along” while he was meditating on the light coming through a window sitting in a toolshed. Lewis noted that “…you can’t think at all – and therefore, of course, can’t think accurately – if you have nothing to think about. …a great deal of contemporary thought is, strictly speaking, thought about nothing…”. If you have the time, I encourage you to read his entire essay, where he dissects the quick human reaction to ascribe “truth” to something we have merely looked “at” without taking the time to really look “along” and fully grasp it. Lewis was one to regularly note that we live (speaking in the relatively quiet time of the 1940’s prior to the advent of cable news, the internet, or social media) in an age starved of solitude, silence, and friendship. He was simply talking about the “wireless” (aka, the radio)! Have we come to the point that we are so enamored by brevity, looking “at” our American experience that we have refused to actually look “along” it?

I have commented before that for one to really think deeply requires a broad exposure to the thoughts of others, particularly those deeper thoughts you can seldom access from singular verses of prose. In an age where brevity reigns supreme, the wisdom encapsulated in Blaise Pascal’s 17th-century reflection, “Je n’ai fait celle-ci plus longue que parce que je n’ai pas eu le loisir de la faire plus courte” (“I have made this longer than usual because I have not had time to make it shorter”), seems almost prophetic. This seemingly paradoxical statement has a profound relevance in today’s era of truncated social media discourse and the often-overlooked value of thoughtful solitude. I discovered Pascal’s quote, in spite of already having been a fan of a brief introduction to his other works, when looking up the source of my oft quoted “If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter,” thinking that it’s origin was much more contemporary (and, obviously, American) from Ben Franklin. Tracing the lineage of this thought, I came to find its earliest semblance in a translation of a Roman text, which ascribes a similar sentiment to Cicero: “Cicero excuses himself for having written a long letter, by saying he had not time to make it shorter.” This ancient echo forms a bridge across centuries to Pascal’s articulation and beyond. The idea finds resonance in the words of Martin Luther (the German, Dr. King’s namesake but not his relation), albeit not directly linked to his published works, where he reportedly mused, “If I had my time to go over again, I would make my sermons much shorter, for I am conscious they have been too wordy.”

The evolution of this concept can be seen in the adaptations by other notable figures. John Locke’s iteration, “But to confess the Truth, I am now too lazy, or too busy to make it shorter,” injects a self-aware, almost humorous recognition of the effort required in brevity. Benjamin Franklin’s polite version, “I have already made this paper too long, for which I must crave pardon, not having now time to make it shorter,” further emphasizes the paradox of time and conciseness. While often misattributed to Mark Twain, his actual words, “You’ll have to excuse my lengthiness—the reason I dread writing letters is because I am so apt to get to slinging wisdom & forget to let up. Thus much precious time is lost,” reflect a similar sentiment albeit in a self-reflective, almost whimsical tone. Woodrow Wilson’s anecdote illuminates the inverse relationship between the length of speech and the preparation required: “the shorter the speech, the greater the effort.” I find this ironic in recent times, as it appears to have flipped on its end and we ascribe depth of thinking to nearly spastic reactions to post irrelevant abbreviations of thoughtless rants without taking the effort to first think before we speak and, then only after wrestling with our thinking, take the detailed time to summarize meaningful prose (“slinging wisdom” is still my favorite quip!).

Perhaps the most poignant modern embodiment of this principle is found in Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from the Birmingham Jail.” Yes, you can see that I have come back full circle. I hope that you take the time to read the very work that inspired this article, else you may miss the thinking behind it entirely. Written in the confines of a jail cell, he reflects, “Never before have I written a letter this long… I’m afraid it is much too long to take your precious time. I can assure you that it would have been much shorter if I had been writing from a comfortable desk, but what else is there to do when you are alone for days in the dull monotony of a narrow jail cell other than write long letters, think strange thoughts, and pray long prayers?” This statement fails to fully capture, of course, Dr. King’s full letter (on which I regularly reflect); it does, however, drive home that the essence of thoughtful, prolonged discourse is anathema to hysteria and hype; truth is born instead out of solitude and reflection, joined together with fellowship by others who think differently and can help you refine your understanding. You can only get so far looking “at” and you must trust the heart of one who has looked “along” even if you have reason for disagreeing with their premise. Meaningful dialogue should stand in stark contrast to the quick, fragmented communication that characterizes much of today’s social interactions.

In commemorating Dr. King’s life and legacy, particularly today, it is imperative to recognize the value of deep, interconnected dialogue. The current trend of abbreviated communication, prevalent in social media’s 140-character quips, often fails to foster the necessary depth for addressing societal issues. The wisdom passed down through centuries, from Cicero to King, underscores the importance of taking time for thoughtful expression. It is in the laborious process of refining our thoughts, of embracing the solitude necessary for clarity, that we can move beyond the superficiality of fragmented discourse to engage in meaningful conversations that address the real issues facing our society.

Please do not mistake me for advocating silence of the inward soul to mean silencing the voices of others. Freedom of speech is worth dying for. Silence of the kind I am speaking about can only be found inwardly. I have a challenging time reading in public precisely because it takes me longer to silence my own inward distractions; I am amazed at someone that can read a book in the airport or a cafe. The brevity that our current mediums encourage is a double-edged sword. It has democratized discourse, allowing more voices to be heard than ever before. However, this democratization comes at a cost – the depth and nuance of conversation are often sacrificed on the altar of convenience and speed. The pithy, concise statements that dominate social media feeds and news sound bites may capture attention, but they seldom capture the complexity of the issues they purport to address.

Brevity can be powerful. This is evident in the power of rapid administration of drugs to numb the pain of surgery; in the hands of a skilled surgeon, such administration can save. We all know the effects of such, however, under the abuse of one who peddles brevity for pain relief without bothering to address the underlying cancer itself. Indeed, the very quotes explored above demonstrate that the deepest thinkers of history have often advocated for the potency of well-chosen words. I am on the long journey myself of learning to effectively summarize. However, the cultivation of such brevity is an art that demands time, thought, and, perhaps most importantly, the willingness to engage deeply with one’s subject. In an era where attention is fragmented and time is reduced to a commodity, the act of creating concise and meaningful discourse becomes a rebellious assertion of the value of deep thought. From precisely such rebellion of thought came our Declaration of Independence. I cannot help but think, upon reading it again that it was as much a declaration of our “interdependence” as it was of our freedom from outside meddling. I am sure Dr. King was far more well versed than I on our nation’s charter document, outlining the impact of “insurrections …which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence” and that calls for discourse over despotism. Perhaps it is time that we, as a nation, look “along” our founding principles rather than simply looking “at” them.

As we reflect on these things, let us remember that the length of a discourse is not merely a matter of word count. It is a reflection of the time and thought invested in it. The challenge for us, in this era of instant communication, is to resist the temptation of superficiality and embrace the thoughtful solitude that fosters true understanding. In doing so, we honor not only the legacy of thinkers like Pascal, Lewis, and King, but also the very essence of meaningful communication. We must rely on one another, for our fates are bound together in interdependence. The most radical thing you can do is love your neighbor the way you love yourself. In this society we are compelled to navigate the complexities of modern discourse, which contains both the most well reasoned thinking of our existence as well as more thoughtlessly posted words than all the rest of human history combined. Be that as it may, let us strive to find the balance between brevity and depth. Let us take the time to make our words not just shorter, but sharper – a beacon of clarity and insight in an often murky sea of information. For in the thoughtful articulation of ideas, we find not just the essence of good communication, but the very heartbeat of a society striving to understand itself and the world around it. I hope Dr. King would agree with me, or at least take the time to show me how to think more clearly.