The Echo in the Agora

In the bustling agora of Athens, a young philosopher named Damon had a reputation—not for wisdom, but for speaking too much. He quoted the greats, challenged the elders, and tried to correct even the seasoned teachers. “Why listen,” he would say, “when I already know what they’ll say next?”

One afternoon, he stood atop the marble steps of the Stoa Poikile, delivering his thoughts on justice. The crowd listened politely—until Socratus, an elderly man wrapped in a plain himation, stepped forward. “Come,” he said to Damon, “join me for a walk.”

They strolled silently through the olive groves outside the city. For hours, Socratus said nothing. Damon, uncomfortable with the silence, kept talking, trying to fill the space. At sunset, the old man finally spoke.

“You have used your mouth a thousand times today,” he said, “but not your ears.”

Damon frowned, “But isn’t a philosopher supposed to speak wisdom?”

Socratus smiled. “Wisdom begins when you stop trying to prove you’re wise. The gods gave you two ears and one mouth—not by accident.”

The following day in the marketplace, Damon stood still, as a fisherman talked about tides, a widow talked about sorrow, and a potter talked about endurance. Gradually, the world's words started educating him in ways books couldn't.

Years later, Damon was known as one of the greatest respected teachers in Athens—not because of what he spoke, but because of what he allowed other people to speak.

Moral: 

Wisdom is not in the loudest voice, but in the quietest ear.

Inspiration:

We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak. - Epictetus