THE SILENT ACADEMY OF ISPAHAN.
By P. A. Foster
MANY years ago there was at Ispahan a celebrated Academy whose motto and first law was, “The Academicians shall think much, write little, and speak as little as possible.” When the students wished to converse with one another they must do it by means of signs, or, if not in that way, they must write; but in no case must they speak unless it were impossible to get along without doing so. It was called the “Silent Academy,” and became so celebrated as to attract philosophers and distinguished men from all parts of Persia. Dr. Zeb, the author of a celebrated work on silence, hearing the wide-spread fame of this Academy, and also that there was a vacant place in it, determined to lose no time in obtaining it, if possible. Accordingly he set out, and arriving at Ispahan, he presented himself in the hall where the students were assembled, and requested an officer to hand a billet to the president containing these words: “Dr. Zeb humbly begs the vacant place.” The officer did as he was requested; but the vacant place was already filled. The Academicians were much vexed at this disappointment; but their laws forbade an increase of their numbers, and they were compelled to refuse the learned Doctor. The president, after thinking awhile how he should make the communication, ordered a large glass to be filled with water, so that another drop would make it overflow. He then called for the candidate to be introduced, who appeared with that air of simplicity that always announces true merit. The president arose, and, without saying a word, pointed, with a doleful countenance, toward the emblematic cup. The Dr. understood the symbol, but wished to make them understand that the admission of one more than their ordinary number could produce no derangement in their affairs. Seeing at his feet the petal of a rose he picked it up and placed it so gently on the surface of the water that not a drop overflowed. A universal applause followed this ingenious reply. The laws were for that time suspended, and Dr. Zeb was admitted by universal acclamation. He was forthwith presented with the register of the Academy. He inscribed his name, and there only remained that, according to custom, he should deliver a single sentence of acknowledgment. But, true to the principles of the Academy, he returned thanks without saying a word. He wrote on the margin the number 100, which was that of his new associates, and prefixed a cipher (0100), to show that the former value was neither increased nor diminished. The president, however, soon politely shifted the modest cipher of the Dr.’s to the place where it indicated that the value of the society was increased tenfold or 1000. The moral which I draw from this oriental story is this: Silence is the most expressive language. The silent eye is a more powerful reprover than the clamor of the noisy tongue. How was the heart of rebellious Peter softened and broken by just one look of tenderness from his divine Lord and Master, as he stood arraigned before the Jewish court in Herod’s judgment hall. Says the sacred penman, “And Peter went out and wept bitterly.”