Should we always say what we think?

The case for a freedom of expression tempered by wisdom and restraint
There are things we want to say but don't. A disagreement, a grievance, a protest against some injustice: the words are ready, yet we hold them back. We fear giving offence, straining a relationship, inviting retaliation or losing someone's goodwill. Sometimes we remain silent; sometimes we soften our words so much that little of what we meant to say survives.
Why should speaking one's mind be so difficult? And is the answer simply to speak without inhibition? Surely freedom of expression is precious. But does it follow that everything we think must be said, in whatever manner we choose?
Two figures offer an interesting contrast: a king and a renunciant. The king speaks with the confidence of power. He has little reason to fear the consequences of his words because authority is on his side. The renunciant, though possessing neither power nor position, speaks with equal freedom. He has no stake in persuading others, winning their approval or protecting his standing. The king's fearlessness comes from what he possesses; the renunciant's, from what he has ceased to possess. One has little to lose because he has so much; the other because he has made nothing his own. Most of us belong to neither world. We have attachments to protect, reputations to preserve and relationships we do not wish to jeopardise.
Yet unrestrained speech is not necessarily freedom. The mind is as capable of compassion as it is of anger, envy, resentment and vanity. To give expression to every passing impulse would be less an assertion of freedom than a surrender to impulse. The first task, therefore, is not simply to speak, but to understand what moves us to speak.
The Bhagavad Gita has a beautiful expression for this discipline: vachana tapas, or the austerity of speech. Krishna says:
अनुद्वेगकरं वाक्यं सत्यं प्रियहितं च यत्।
स्वाध्यायाभ्यसनं चैव वाङ्मयं तप उच्यते॥
(Anudvegakaram vakyam satyam priya-hitam cha yat;
Svadhyayabhyasanam chaiva vangmayam tapa uchyate.)
Speech, he tells us, should be truthful, beneficial and agreeable, and should not needlessly disturb another. This is not a prescription for avoiding difficult truths. It is a reminder that truth does not absolve us of responsibility for how we speak. Candour need not be cruel; civility need not be dishonest.
The Manusmriti puts the dilemma more sharply:
सत्यं ब्रूयात् प्रियं ब्रूयात् न ब्रूयात् सत्यमप्रियम्।
प्रियं च नानृतं ब्रूयादेष धर्मः सनातनः॥
(Satyam bruyat priyam bruyat na bruyat satyam apriyam;
Priyam cha nanritam bruyad esha dharmah sanatanah.)
Speak the truth, speak pleasantly; do not speak an unpleasant truth, but do not speak a pleasing falsehood either. Taken literally, this raises an uncomfortable question. Should we look away from injustice because speaking about it may displease someone? Surely not. There are times when an unwelcome truth must be spoken, whatever the discomfort it causes. The distinction lies not in whether the truth is pleasant, but in the purpose and spirit with which it is expressed. Are we seeking to expose a wrong, or merely to wound the person we disagree with?
Kabir offers a gentler, perhaps more enduring, counsel:
ऐसी बानी बोलिए, मन का आपा खोय।
औरन को शीतल करे, आपहुं शीतल होय॥
(Aisi baani boliye, man ka aapa khoy;
Aurana ko sheetal kare, aapahu sheetal hoy.)
Let speech shed its ego; let it bring a measure of calm to others and to oneself. Kabir is not asking us to conceal the truth, but to speak without the burden of self-importance. Even a bitter truth need not be delivered with bitterness.
Our silence, however, is not always born of consideration. Often it is the price we pay to preserve the image we have fashioned of ourselves. We wish to be thought agreeable, wise and acceptable. We fear disapproval, damage to our reputation or the loss of someone's affection. So we gradually begin to edit our thoughts to suit the expectations of others. Perhaps we are less captive to the world than to the image we wish to maintain in it.
How, then, do we decide when to speak and when to hold our peace? There is no ready formula, but a few questions may help: Is what I am about to say true? Does it need to be said? Could it clarify a misunderstanding, serve someone's interest or challenge an injustice? And am I speaking because something needs to be said, or simply because I want to hurt someone? If the answers are clear, silence born of fear is hardly a virtue. If speech is merely an outlet for wounded pride or accumulated frustration, restraint may be the wiser course. Restraint is not cowardice; fearlessness is not licence.
There is one further distinction we often overlook. The freedom to express an opinion does not confer the right to have it accepted. We may speak our minds, but we cannot demand that others agree. The capacity to live with disagreement is as essential to a free society as the courage to dissent.
The Gita's ideal of the  स्थितप्रज्ञ (sthitaprajna), the person of steady wisdom, points to freedom from attachment, fear and anger. Renunciation, in this sense, need not mean turning one's back on the world. It may mean living in it without allowing fear, ambition, vanity or the craving for approval to govern one's thoughts and actions. When what we think, what we say and how we live are no longer at odds; when our words are free of self-interest and the need for applause; and when neither acceptance nor rejection unsettles us, speaking the truth becomes an expression of inner freedom.
Perhaps the real work, then, begins within. We must free ourselves from the fear of others, from the anxiety of preserving our image, from the hunger for praise and the dread of disapproval. We must also accept that our own understanding may be incomplete, that we may be mistaken, and that the willingness to correct ourselves is as important as the courage to speak.
The point is not to say everything that crosses our mind. It is to live without duplicity, to recognise the truth as best we can, to speak it with courage and to accept the consequences. To have the courage to speak the truth is no small thing; to make truthfulness a way of life is a greater achievement. Perhaps that is when freedom of expression becomes something more than a right: a discipline of self-knowledge, integrity and detachment. In that quiet sense, it may even be a form of renunciation.

(Uday Kumar Varma is an IAS officer. Retired as Secretary, Ministry of Information & Broadcasting)