13-05-2025
If Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, Why Do We Talk So Much?
Attendees of meeting fall asleep to boring presentation in workplace. High quality photo
Ever since Polonius declared in Shakespeare's Hamlet 402 years ago that 'brevity is the soul of wit,' it appears we haven't learned that most important communication lesson.
The aphoristic phrase suggests that real cleverness and intelligence are best expressed concisely. Further, it implies that wit loses impact when mired in unnecessary verbiage. (Ironically, it's Polonius, a long-winded character, who utters that phrase, adding a dash of satire to the line, but we shall ignore that oddity for now.)
Brevity is not only the soul of wit; it is, indeed, just about the only quality our frenzied 21st century attention spans seem capable of tolerating. Jack Russell puppies can concentrate longer. It would follow, then, that we'd all meet the needs of the attention-deprived public; instead, we are awash in verbosity.
Here are some gathered facts, factoids, thoughts, and observations – scattered but related – gleaned from teaching two graduate communication and leadership at Fairleigh Dickinson University in Teaneck, New Jersey. In keeping with the theme at hand, I shall be brief.
When John Kennedy was elected president in 1960, he asked his trusted advisor Ted Sorenson to find the shortest inauguration speeches in American history. Sorenson came back with: George Washington's second at 133 words (delivered in one minute), Abraham Lincoln's second at 698 words, Theodore Roosevelt's only at 983 words (and the only one that didn't use the first-person pronoun), and FDR's fourth at 558 words. That's some company! Kennedy followed suit (kind of) with 1,366 words – and only one shorter address has been given since: Jimmy Carter at 1,229.
With very few exceptions, others' words have faded into history. Which have lasted? Well, start with the five masters of brevity listed here, of course. Look 'em up.
No one was better at – or more committed to – brevity than Lincoln, who, on November 19, 1863 at Gettysburg, gave one of the two most consequential speeches in American history, certainly the most impactful short one, pound for pound.
When I led teams in my corporate life, the first thing I'd do is hand everyone a copy of the speech – all 267 words of it (which Lincoln delivered in approximately three minutes) and issue the following edict: If you have something more important to say than that, I'll read your lengthy email. If not, I won't. I never had to worry about that again.
Mark Twain was not only America's greatest writer (Please don't even think about arguing that point with me); he was renowned as an exceptional speaker – and he proved it all over the world. 'A great speech has a great opening and a great ending,' explained Twain. 'The secret is to keep the two as close together as possible.' He also revealed another truth when, known among other things for his ability to speak brilliantly off the cuff, he used to say, 'It usually takes me about three weeks to write a good impromptu speech.'
Which brings to mind the time one day when Winston Churchill was leaving Parliament and was approached by a woman on the street who asked him why he gave such a long speech. 'Because, Madam,' said Sir Winston, 'I didn't have time to write a short one.'
To that end, for 15 years, I taught high-level communication. In that one-semester course, you were required to write five papers and deliver five oral presentations. Unlike most professors who seem impressed with size, I had no use for long papers (30 pages – really?). If you couldn't get your point across in four pages, you got your paper back. And if you thought your audience was still paying attention at the seven-minute mark, we had a discussion about that then and there.
In 2010, the Library of Congress started archiving every single public tweet that was published on Twitter. They did so because they identified Twitter as the first major social change in human communication of the 21st century. It even retroactively acquired all tweets dating back to 2006. But the Library of Congress stopped on December 31, 2017. Why? Because tweets, they soon decided, are trash, plain and simple. (However, they do continue to archive selectively.)
But the message was and still is clear. Give someone the chance to blather – and they'll take it. Most people's writing or public speaking is pointless, endless, and hopeless.
And the major culprit in all of this is the internet, which lets us do anything we damn well please, imposing no limits, cost, discipline, or forethought. The internet, I've been lamenting for years is 'The place where people who have nothing to say, say it.'
Get to the point, stay on point, and get off the point.
