Gossip needn't be false to be evil - there's a lot of truth that

"Gossip needn’t be false to be evil – there’s a lot of truth that shouldn’t be passed around." Thus declared Frank A. Clark, unveiling a wisdom that pierces like an arrow into the heart of human weakness. For men and women often imagine that lies alone are destructive, and that truth, when spoken, is always a virtue. Yet here lies the snare: even truth may become a weapon when loosed without mercy, when spoken not to heal but to wound, not to build but to scatter. To gossip, whether in falsehood or truth, is to poison the air with words that were never ours to carry.

The ancients knew this peril well. Did not the sages warn that the tongue is sharper than any blade, able to cut deeper than steel? A sword may slay the body, but words can kill trust, reputation, and peace of spirit. Even a true story, whispered into the wrong ears, may destroy friendships, divide families, and topple kings. Thus, truth itself, when passed without purpose or love, becomes corrupted, twisted into evil.

Consider the tragic tale of Queen Marie Antoinette of France. Many tales about her were wild lies, yet some were truths, or fragments of truths, spoken in malice and spread like wildfire. Small details of her extravagance—real but exaggerated—were passed from mouth to mouth until they became a storm of resentment. The gossip did not always invent; often it only magnified. And in the fury it stirred, a queen was cast to the guillotine, her humanity buried beneath the whispers of a nation. Truth, passed without restraint, became as deadly as falsehood.

Or think of the battlefield of ordinary life, where reputations rise and fall not by great deeds, but by the whispers of neighbors. A man may stumble once, a woman may falter in a single moment, and though they repent, the truth of their weakness may be carried endlessly by the tongues of others. Long after the moment has passed, their names are shackled to the story, their future chained by what was spoken. The error was human, but the endless repetition is evil.

The lesson is this: we are not commanded to speak all that is true, but to speak only what is necessary, what is kind, what is just. To spread every truth we know is not wisdom, but recklessness. A guardian of words must weigh them like gold: is it mine to tell? Will this truth heal, or will it harm? If it harms, then silence is the nobler path. Silence is not cowardice; it is strength, the shield that protects both others and ourselves from needless ruin.

To live by this teaching, let your tongue be disciplined. When you hear a matter about another, pause and ask: "Would I want this spoken of me?" If not, let the word die upon your lips. Speak not of the faults of others unless the speech serves to defend the weak or correct a wrong. Be a bearer of encouragement rather than scandal, of blessing rather than blame. In this way, your words will become seeds of peace rather than sparks of destruction.

So remember, children of tomorrow: gossip is not sanctified merely because it is true. Truth, when wielded without compassion, can be as dark as any lie. Let your words rise only when they are arrows of justice or balm for the wounded. Otherwise, let silence be your song, and your restraint will shine brighter than all the noise of idle tongues. For in this restraint lies the power to build, to protect, and to leave behind a legacy untarnished by the evil of careless speech.