《劉子》Vol. 6

Chapter 26 of Master Liu: "On Inevitable Flaws" explores the universal truth that nothing in this world can be perfect. Yuan Xiaozheng (a Tang Dynasty official) illustrates through historical examples that even the most sublime things inevitably bear imperfections.

Though vast and majestic, nature itself is not exempt from anomalies: the heavens may show signs of cracks, the earth may manifest ruptures, the sun and moon may experience eclipses, and the Five Planets (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) may display ominous comets. Even ancient sages were not spared criticism: Emperor Yao was accused of lacking paternal kindness, Emperor Shun was slandered for imprisoning his father, King Tang of Shang bore the infamy of exiling his sovereign, and King Wu of Zhou faced accusations of regicide. Among the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period, Duke Huan of Qi was labeled as lustful, while Duke Wen of Jin was notorious for defying his lord's authority. The famed minister Yi Yin was suspected of slandering his ruler, and Guan Zhong was condemned for overstepping his bounds.

The author employs two vivid metaphors to convey this principle: even the finest jade from Mount Jing must contain slight flaws, and the luminous pearl beneath the chin of the Black Dragon (a mythical dragon dwelling in the abyss) inevitably bears minor imperfections. The text also recounts a tale: a child once stole this priceless pearl while the dragon slept, but fearing the boy would return to the depths and be poisoned by the dragon’s venom, the villagers shattered the pearl before his eyes.

Yet truly timeless treasures, whose brilliance spans millennia and whose worth is beyond measure, are never diminished by minor blemishes. To obsess over trivial faults while overlooking greater virtues is as futile as writing in the air to seek traces or parting water to find a path. Even the greatest ministers who govern states have their flaws, yet wise rulers do not discard them for such shortcomings, knowing better than to sacrifice the greater for the lesser. To let small defects obscure great merits is not the way to seek true talent. Yi Yin was once a cook under the Xia Dynasty; Fu Yue (a celebrated Shang minister) began as a convict; Baili Xi (a Qin statesman) was a captive of Yu; and Duan Ganmu (a Wei scholar) once traded horses—yet all rose to become pillars of their age.

This passage recounts stories of several historical figures, illustrating ancient reflections on talent versus virtue.

Gan Mu was a broker in the state of Jin, a man of ability who refused to take office. Duke Wen of Wei, recognizing his worth, personally visited him. Gan Mu remained seated and did not rise to greet him, yet the duke stood respectfully by his side, patiently waiting until he finally persuaded Gan Mu to serve as his chancellor. Later, when Duke Jian of Qin planned to attack Wei, he heard that a man of such virtue as Gan Mu was serving as chancellor and feared he could not counter his strategies, so he withdrew his troops.

Duke Wen of Wei once asked Li Ke his opinion of Wu Qi. Wu Qi, a native of Wei, had bitten his own arm in front of his mother and sworn an oath to pursue an official career, not returning home for nine years. When his mother died, he did not attend her funeral, earning him a reputation for unfilial piety. Yet later, he returned home to observe mourning for three years before seeking office in Wei. Duke Wen appointed him governor of Xihe, where Wu Qi recovered five cities seized by Qin and subjugated the states of Yan and Zhao through northern campaigns, achieving great merit. Li Ke remarked that although Wu Qi was greedy for wealth and fond of women, his military talent surpassed even that of the ancient strategist Sima Rangju.

When Wei Wuzhi recommended Chen Ping to the King of Han, detractors slandered Chen Ping, claiming his handsome appearance belied a lack of true ability and spreading rumors of an affair with his sister-in-law and accepting bribes. The king distanced himself from Chen Ping and reprimanded Wei Wuzhi, who defended his choice: "I recommended a man capable of extraordinary strategies, beneficial to the state. Why let minor flaws hinder great affairs?" Later, Chen Ping was promoted to Protector of the Army, where he devised a plan that led to Fan Zeng (a key strategist for Xiang Yu) dying from a festering back wound and bribed the Xiongnu queen to lift a Han siege.

Fan Zeng was Xiang Yu’s most trusted advisor. When Xiang Yu besieged the King of Han, Chen Ping plotted to bribe the Chu generals with treasure. Upon learning of this, Xiang Yu wanted to execute them, but Fan Zeng warned it was Chen Ping’s scheme to sow discord—advice Xiang Yu ignored. These stories reveal that the ancients recognized the rarity of perfect talent and virtue in one person, emphasizing the need to weigh priorities when employing men.

Fan Zeng died from an infected sore on his back after Xiang Yu grew suspicious of him—all due to Chen Ping's stratagem. Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, overlooked Chen Ping's minor faults (qian, meaning "fault") and adopted his six ingenious stratagems; Marquis Wen of Wei disregarded Wu Qi's minor flaws and ultimately gained the merit of conquering five cities. Had these two rulers abandoned talented men over trivial faults, the survival of Wei would have been uncertain, and the outcome of the Chu-Han contention unpredictable. In that case, Wu Qi might have forever borne the stigma of being greedy and lustful, while Chen Ping would have been dismissed as a petty bribe-taker.

When ordinary people evaluate talent, they consider those who pay attention to refined manners and minor decorum as outstanding, while dismissing those who disregard trivial formalities as unworthy. This is as foolish as cutting down an entire orange tree because of one wormhole or burning a whole bolt of brocade due to a single stain.

Duke Huan of Qi admired Ning Qi and intended to promote him. His ministers slandered Ning Qi, saying, "Ning Qi is from Wei, not far from Qi. Why not send someone to inquire about his character? If he is truly virtuous, it won’t be too late to employ him." The Duke replied, "No. People often forget a man’s great merits because of minor flaws—this is precisely why talented men are lost to the world." That very night, he lit torches and elevated Ning Qi to the rank of minister. Later, Ning Qi assisted Duke Huan in uniting the feudal lords nine times and restoring order to the realm. Truly, Duke Huan was one who knew how to recognize talent.

Thus, when Confucius saw a single virtue in someone, he would forget a hundred faults, whereas Bao Shuya, upon hearing of a single misdeed, would never forget it for life. Confucius’s magnanimity was vast, while Bao Shuya’s was narrow—such was the immense difference in the temperament of sages.

A puddle left by an ox’s hoof cannot nurture great fish (fang and xu, referring to bream and silver carp), and a nest built on a curtain cannot hold a swan’s egg. High mountains and great marshes do not reject filth, and those who uphold the world do not fuss over trivialities. Why? Because a small vessel cannot hold great talent, and true pillars of the state are not diminished by minor flaws.

All men have small faults in their nature. If their character is fundamentally good, minor blemishes do no harm; but if their nature is inherently flawed, even dwelling in humble alleys (hengmen, meaning "crude gateways") and pretending to virtue cannot change their essence.

This passage recounts how several historical figures rose from humble beginnings to achieve extraordinary accomplishments.

Xiao He and Cao Shen were both minor officials in their youth, living in such poverty that their hardships were beyond measure. Ying Bu, who later became the King of Jiujiang, initially served as a gatekeeper bearing the mark of tattooed punishment (facial tattooing) - a common practice where convicts were assigned to guard palace gates. In his youth, a physiognomist predicted Ying Bu would "first endure tattooed punishment, then become a king," a prophecy that ultimately came true.

Zhou Bo (later Chancellor of the Right under Emperor Gaozu of Han) began as a court entertainer skilled in playing the xiao flute and other instruments, often performing at funerals. Such entertainers were considered lowly in social status during that era.

The text also mentions Zhang Jingyang, notorious for his debauchery in Chu yet commanding awe among feudal lords, and Yan Zhuozou, a notorious bandit from Liangfu who later became a meritorious official of Qi. Though flawed, these individuals achieved lasting fame primarily because they grasped the fundamental principles of their times.

The passage concludes with the story of Yuan Jingmu: a Chu native who collapsed from hunger on the road. When offered food by a man who revealed himself to be the bandit Hu Qiu, Yuan declared "I shall not eat food gained through unrighteous means," prostrated himself, vomited what he'd eaten, and died. This account exemplifies the ancient emphasis on moral integrity.

Bao Jiao (also known as Bao Sheng) was an extraordinary figure who neither wore silk nor hemp garments, nor consumed the five grains, sustaining himself solely by gathering wild fruits in a basket each day. When Confucius' disciple Zigong encountered him on the road and questioned his lifestyle, Bao Jiao replied: "I've heard that persisting in one's ways despite knowing they won't be understood is called courting hardship; seeking office while knowing one won't be employed is called tarnishing one's purity. I am both courting hardship and tarnishing my purity while still clinging to personal gain—this shames me deeply."

Zigong admonished him: "I've heard that those who reject their era shouldn't benefit from its provisions, and those who betray their ruler shouldn't tread upon his land. How much more so for someone who survives on wild herbs?" But Bao Jiao countered: "I've heard that noble men value advancing virtue above retreating, and principled men would rather uphold integrity through shame." With these words, he walked beneath a bridge and drowned himself in the Luo River. Scholar Lu Zhonglian later commented: "Bao Jiao's suicide from inability to adapt to worldly ways shows lack of wisdom."

This passage contrasts two approaches to life: Bao Jiao clung to his principles unto starvation, yet failed to aid society—a case of losing greater righteousness by fixating on minor integrity. Like Boyi and Shuqi who starved on Shouyang Mountain rather than eat Zhou dynasty grain—their purity was impeccable, but they severed their country's lineage. Meanwhile, the philosopher Yang Zhu advocated self-preservation. When asked, "Would you sacrifice one hair to benefit all under heaven?" he retorted, "Could the world's problems truly be solved by a single hair?" Yet figures like Mozi would willingly grind their bodies to dust if it helped mankind. Both approaches achieved renown through different paths.

The text then illustrates with metaphor: Objects have no inherent nobility—their worth lies in appropriate use. A marten-fur robe shimmers like jade amid clouds, while a straw rain-cape appears coarse and dull, yet both ward off cold equally. Those dwelling in brocaded mansions naturally wouldn't wear rain-cloaks—just as one must adapt flexibly to circumstance, like placing tools where they function best.

This passage employs vivid analogies to illustrate how all things have their appropriate contexts and cannot be judged uniformly.

Just as a luxurious fur robe, though elegant, becomes impractical in rain or snow compared to a simple straw raincoat. Singing the refined "Picking Water Lilies" melody suits summer and winter gatherings, yet the rugged work chants of boat trackers, though coarse, prove far more effective for labor. Scholar Bian Zhuangzi may be gentle and refined in daily life, but when facing a tiger, he must roll up his sleeves and roar—not because he disregards propriety, but because such ferocity is necessary to confront a beast.

The prodigy of Anling may possess extraordinary talents, yet in certain situations, people prefer the simpler performances of a blind musician. Like the tale of the snake offering a pearl in gratitude: Marquis Sui initially mistook the serpent for an attacker and nearly slew his benefactor, showing that even treasures are not always appropriate.

Further examples abound: A priceless jade disc is less effective for shooting birds than a clay pellet; the famed Tangxi sword pales beside a sickle for harvesting wheat. Most amusing is the story of Zigong retrieving a horse—Confucius sent the eloquent Zigong to reclaim a horse detained by a farmer, but the rustic dismissed his refined rhetoric. A simple stablehand succeeded by bluntly stating, "All crops under heaven belong to you—where else would the horse graze?" This proves Zigong’s failure lay not in poor eloquence, but in mismatched communication.

Similarly, the King of Yue disdained elegant flute music for rustic folk tunes. These examples collectively demonstrate: Nothing in this world is inherently superior or inferior—what matters is its fitting application.

This passage recounts several parables about "utilizing things to their fullest potential" and "recognizing that every talent has its unique strengths":

Though a groom's flute-playing may not rival the wild melodies of nature, everything has its proper use. Just as the six materials of water, fire, metal, wood, earth, and grain each serve distinct purposes, tools like compasses, squares, plumb lines, and ink markers all have their specific functions. When the legendary minister Yi Yin (of the Shang dynasty) directed construction projects, he assigned tasks according to each worker's strengths: those with long legs handled shovels, the strong-backed carried earth, the sharp-eyed took measurements, and the hunchbacked smoothed the ground.

The text then relates two famous stories of retainers:

Ning Qi originally posed as a merchant, singing while beating a cow's horn by Qi State's roadside. His metaphorical song about "fish swimming in vast waters" - representing his unrecognized talents - caught Duke Huan of Qi's attention, leading to his employment.

Feng Xuan served as a low-ranking retainer under Lord Mengchang for three years without recognition. He played his zither singing "A true man cannot even eat fish," prompting Lord Mengchang to provide fish. Later singing "A true man lacks a carriage," he received a chariot. When Lord Mengchang faced danger in Qin State, it was Feng Xuan who stole back the precious fox-fur robe (already gifted to the Qin king) to bribe a favored consort for mercy. During their escape, Feng Xuan's imitation of cockcrows and dog barks fooled the gate guards into opening the city gates at dawn, ultimately saving his lord.

These stories collectively illustrate how seemingly insignificant people or objects can prove invaluable in critical moments. Just as tools of varying lengths each have their uses, individuals with different characteristics can all find suitable positions where their talents shine.

This passage illustrates a fundamental principle through historical anecdotes: different talents serve distinct purposes, and the key lies in deploying them appropriately. It would be disastrous to have Ning Qi—a master of Shang dynasty ceremonial music (Shangge)—mingle with Lord Mengchang’s retainers, just as employing a petty thief skilled in "cockcrow" (a metaphor for dubious talents) to assist Duke Huan of Qi could never achieve hegemony.

In Chu, there was a notorious thief from the streets. When Qi invaded Chu, King Chu sent General Zifan to resist. Zifan, known for befriending extraordinary individuals, rushed out bareheaded to welcome the thief upon hearing of his arrival. For three consecutive nights, the thief infiltrated the Qi camp—first stealing the general’s tent, then his hairpin, and finally his armor—each time having Zifan return the items. Terrified, the Qi general withdrew overnight. Even legendary strategists like Sun Wu or Wu Qi might not have achieved such an outcome, yet this streetwise rogue succeeded.

In Jin, there was the treacherous minister Shuyu, who nevertheless accomplished proper tasks. When Lu sent Jisun as an envoy to Jin, the Marquis of Jin mistakenly detained him, suspecting wrongdoing. After confirming Jisun’s innocence, the envoy, feeling humiliated, refused to return unless the Marquis publicly vindicated him. Shuyu then pretended to befriend Jisun, warning that Jin’s ministers disliked him. Frightened, Jisun hastily departed. Thus, a deceitful man unexpectedly resolved the impasse.

These stories reveal that just as ceremonial Shangge music and petty "cockcrow" talents seem worlds apart, both can prove invaluable in specific contexts. The crux lies in recognizing individuals’ strengths and placing them where their abilities shine.

This passage conveys several important principles through historical anecdotes and metaphors:

The story of Shuyu (a minister of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period) illustrates how even treacherous individuals may have their uses. When the Marquis of Jin built separate quarters for Shuyu, Jisun (a Lu minister) mistakenly believed this indicated special favor and fled back to Lu overnight. This demonstrates that even notorious villains like Shuyu can serve specific purposes when properly deployed.

The text then employs woodcraft metaphors to explain how talents find different applications: Large cypress and pine trees become roof beams, smaller ones become rafters, straight pieces serve as marking lines, while curved sections make excellent hooks. A skilled administrator, like a master carpenter, recognizes the potential in every material. As the Book of Songs states: "Though you have silk and hemp, don't discard the thatch grass; though surrounded by beauties, don't scorn the plain-faced"—this encapsulates the principle.

Further contrasts demonstrate how objects serve distinct purposes: Compasses draw circles, squares require rulers; wheels suit land travel while boats cross rivers; summer demands cooling breezes, winter needs warm shelters. One shouldn't devalue felt blankets because they're unused in summer, nor disdain bamboo mats when winter comes.

The passage emphasizes the complementary nature of civil and martial arts: Military prowess dominates wartime, while governance skills shine in peacetime. Neither should be neglected—we mustn't abandon arms during tranquility nor scorn scholars during conflict. Just as the Book of Songs opens its "Airs of States" with ospreys symbolizing devoted courtesy, and its "Court Hymns" with deer calling while grazing—showing how even animals' minor virtues merit celebration—how much more should we value human talents?

The core philosophy emerges clearly: All things have their purpose, all people their strengths. Wise leadership requires recognizing these inherent qualities, employing individuals according to their capacities, and balancing civil-martial approaches as circumstances demand—the essence of utilizing everything and everyone appropriately.

This passage illustrates through historical anecdotes how different talents each have their proper use.

The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) differ in nature yet all serve humanity; literary and military skills may contrast yet both bring great benefit. When putting out fires, some carry basins while others bring jars - though the vessels differ in shape, their fire-quenching purpose remains the same. When fishing, one may shoot arrows while standing or cast lines while crouching - opposite postures achieving identical catches. Weaving requires moving forward while plowing demands stepping back - contrary motions serving the same productive ends.

Three exemplary stories demonstrate this principle:

First, the tale of Mozi (founder of Mohism) saving Song State. When Lu State attacked using siege ladders crafted by master artisan Lu Ban, Mozi invented incendiary weapons to burn them. This shows defensive technology proves equally vital as offensive capability.

Second, the story of Duan Ganmu (a Wei State recluse). When Marquis Wen of Wei visited him, the ruler remained so deferential he dared not stretch his legs. Upon learning Wei possessed such a worthy scholar, Qin State abandoned plans to invade. This demonstrates moral influence can defend a nation as effectively as military force.

Third, the experience of Emperor Gaozu of Han (Liu Bang). He initially conquered the realm through martial prowess, but after establishing the Han dynasty, summoned Confucian scholars to establish rituals and restore ceremonial music. This reveals while warfare wins empires, civil governance maintains them.

The conclusion observes how civil and martial arts serve alternately in different eras: warriors shine in turbulent times while scholars prosper in peace. Just as during Qin's collapse, a scholar's wide sleeves proved less practical than armor, yet once stability returned, literati became essential for establishing proper rites.

This passage expounds the principle of appointing talent according to inherent capacities. Through vivid analogies, the author illustrates that governing a state requires selecting suitable personnel for different eras, just as various vessels have distinct purposes.

People today suffer from a common flaw: martial practitioners belittle scholars, while literati mock warriors—each using their own strengths to negate others. This resembles using the gong musical mode to ridicule the jue mode, or employing whiteness to deny blackness, fundamentally contradicting the actual characteristics of talent.

A grand ceremonial cauldron cannot be filled with a small water cup, nor can a tiny bell contain mountain spring flows. A tree requiring ten men's embrace cannot be covered with thatch, and a thorn-made pillar cannot support a towering edifice. Why? Because small containers cannot hold large objects, and lightweight structures cannot bear heavy loads. Forcing minor capacities to undertake major tasks leads to fracture and collapse—just as making swallows emulate the roc's skyward dash, or dogs and sheep imitate swift steeds' gallop proves utterly impossible.

The author cites natural phenomena: small wasps cannot hatch bean-moths yet nurture silkworms; Yue's tiny hens cannot incubate swan eggs while Lu's large fowl succeeds. Dragons and snakes churn clouds and rain due to their massive forms; qilin steeds traverse a thousand li daily because of innate swiftness. These examples demonstrate everything possesses unique characteristics requiring employment according to their essential nature.

The mythical "kunpeng" (roc bird) mentioned—called phoenix in the south and youchang in the north—originally dwelled in deep sea corners. With one wingbeat spanning ninety thousand li, its pinions obscure sun and moon. The "yaoniao" (divine horse), one of dragon's nine offspring, runs ten thousand li daily without gathering dust. These mythological images emphasize how different beings possess inborn qualities that cannot be forcibly acquired.

This scripture expounds two core principles: talent appointment and prudent speech.

Regarding talent appointment, the text employs vivid analogies: just as ants and earthworms lack the constitution to ride clouds and mist, mediocre individuals lack the virtue (De) to govern a state. Employing those with insufficient ability for major tasks is like using a chicken-slaughtering knife to cut brocade—failure is inevitable. It particularly emphasizes: better to underutilize great talent (demote) than to overutilize small talent (misplace). A wise ruler should assign positions according to ability and confer ranks according to position. This ensures ministers neither shoulder unbearable burdens (as if carrying mountains) nor face dangers beyond their capacity (like the peril of breaking one’s legs). Three historical anecdotes illustrate this: Confucius, upon seeing Ziyou governing Wucheng, remarked, "Why use an ox-cleaver to kill a chicken?"; Zichan opposed Yin He’s appointment as city magistrate, comparing him to someone who cannot wield scissors yet attempts to tailor fine garments; and when Zipi appointed Yin He, Zichan bluntly stated his inadequacy.

Concerning prudent speech, the text likens words to the "ornamentation" (external manifestation) of a person. Just as irregularities in the sun and moon cause eclipses, and disruptions in mountains and rivers lead to collapses and droughts, improper speech invites calamity. The mouth is the gateway of speech, the tongue its lock—when the lock moves, the gate opens, and words pour forth. Good words travel a thousand miles and find resonance; harmful speech provokes opposition from afar. A stark warning: speech is like a blade held in the mouth—the slightest carelessness cuts the speaker. Thus, the ancients valued caution in speech: the heavens feature the "Curled Tongue Star" to admonish against reckless words, and the Zhou dynasty’s golden statue with "Three Seals on Its Mouth" (inscribed with "I am an ancient man of cautious speech") reminds people to guard their tongues as they would guard against faults—for the mouth is the office that summons disaster, the tongue the treasury that brings ruin, and speech a matter of life and death.

(Note: The "Curled Tongue Star" refers to an astrological constellation governing speech in ancient cosmology; the "Three Seals on Its Mouth"典故 originates from The School Sayings of Confucius, underscoring the importance of prudent speech.)

This passage discusses the grave consequences that may arise from careless speech. Words are intimately connected to a person's destiny—once spoken, they are like arrows shot from a bow that cannot be retrieved. The Book of Changes (Yijing) cautions people to be prudent in speech and action, while the Book of Songs (Shijing) warns that verbal mistakes are like flaws in jade, impossible to polish away once formed.

Two historical lessons are cited: The first concerns the mistake of Zhi Bo, a powerful minister of the Jin State during the Spring and Autumn period. When attacking Zhao Xiangzi alongside Han Xuanzi and Wei Wuzi, he besieged the Zhao capital by flooding it for three years. While surveying the waters from a high vantage point, Zhi Bo carelessly remarked that the same flood tactics could be used against the capitals of Han and Wei. This alerted the two lords, who ultimately allied with Zhao to overthrow Zhi Bo, fashioning his skull into a lacquered vessel.

The second example involves Cao Cao's verbal misstep during the Three Kingdoms era. While hosting Liu Bei at a banquet, Cao Cao declared, "The only heroes in this world are you and I—men like Yuan Shao are unworthy of mention." This remark revealed Cao Cao's wariness of Liu Bei, startling him so profoundly that he dropped his chopsticks (匕筯). Liu Bei later fled to Xuzhou and eventually established the Shu Han regime in Jing Province.

Both stories illustrate how those in positions of power must be especially cautious with their words, as a single careless remark can lead to fatal consequences. The wise speak with restraint and thus rarely err, while fools who speak recklessly often court their own destruction.

This passage illustrates how ancient rulers and sages exercised extreme caution in speech to avoid calamities arising from careless words.

During the Three Kingdoms period, when Cao Cao controlled Western Shu and Sun Quan ruled Southern Wu, the realm was divided into three. At that time, improper words led to the splitting of Xuzhou and the secession of Min-Shu, ultimately resulting in defeat and becoming a laughingstock for the world—all consequences of careless speech.

When Marquis Zhao of Han (ruler of the Han state) discussed state affairs with Lord Tangxi (a noble enfeoffed in Tangxi), he slept alone throughout the night. This was because Lord Tangxi had warned him: if a ruler’s words were leaked, it would be as dangerous as wine overflowing from a jade cup. Fearing he might reveal secrets in his sleep where his wives and concubines could hear, Marquis Zhao chose to sleep alone.

Kong Guang, the Minister of Works (equivalent to a prime minister) during the Han Dynasty, was once asked by an attendant about the trees planted in front of the Warmth Chamber Palace. He deliberately avoided answering, steering the conversation elsewhere to prevent palace affairs from being disclosed to outsiders.

The author employs metaphors to explain: words are like the wind—they have no feet yet travel far, no wings yet soar high. Once spoken, they cannot be taken back. Thus, when sages speak, they do so with trembling caution, as if facing the dangers of fire or water. Only words that align with ritual propriety bring comfort like a spring breeze, and only well-timed speech commands respect like the sound of metal and stone. Only then can one ensure actions are without fault and words without error.

Through historical anecdotes, this passage emphasizes the importance of "guarding one’s speech," particularly for rulers, as a single careless word could destabilize a nation. It also illustrates how true sages know when to speak appropriately and when to remain silent.