Penned in August 1925, Eberhard Arnold’s “First Law of Sannerz” is the oldest written rule of the community now known as the Bruderhof, and members have been attempting to practice it ever since. It is no exaggeration to say that without it, the community probably would have succumbed by now to one of the many crises it has weathered over the last one hundred years. Here it is:

There is no law but that of love. Love is joy in others. What, then, is anger at them? If we have joy in the presence of others, we will convey it with words of love. It follows that words of irritation or annoyance about members of the community are unacceptable. This is why we can never allow talk against brothers or sisters or their character traits, whether openly or by insinuation – under no circumstances behind their backs. Gossiping within one’s own family is no exception.

Without the commandment of silence, there is no loyalty and therefore no community. The only possibility, when someone’s weakness has caused something in us to rise up against them, is to speak to them directly, in the sense of performing a service of love.

An open word, directly addressed, deepens friendship and will not be taken amiss. Only when two people cannot find one another in this manner will it be necessary to draw in a third person whom both parties trust; and this will lead to a mutual understanding at the highest and deepest levels.

Members of our household should hang this admonition at their places of work, where they always have it before their eyes.

In writing the “First Law,” Arnold, a founder of the Bruderhof, drew inspiration from a passage in the Gospel of Matthew where Jesus advises his followers to solve quarrels “just between the two of you” (Matt. 18:15) and to forgive someone who angers you not just once, nor even seven times, but “seventy times seven” (Matt. 18:21).

Beyond this, Arnold saw the “First Law” as a logical extension of something he had written in Sannerz’s quarterly, Das Neue Werk, in 1922. There he described the community as one in which “a handful of people dare to acknowledge no law above them but that which obedience to the living Christ imposes.”

By 1929, the realities of communal living had tempered Arnold’s initial idealism to the degree that he felt additional direction was necessary, and the Bruderhof’s first collection of rules, Foundations and Orders, appeared. It included the “First Law of Sannerz.” After quoting it, Arnold wrote, “This word of Jesus from Matthew 18 is the basis of all our orders.”

Today, a full century later, few in the Bruderhof would contest the significance of this document. Times may have changed, as have methods of communication (even at the Bruderhof, people are often as likely to text one another as to talk), but at least two things have remained the same: the knowledge that gossip can turn the most heavenly community into hell overnight, and a commitment to fighting it.

So does the “First Law” work? Not always. Firstly, any rule against gossip militates against human nature. Secondly, it’s all too easy to wield the chosen alternative – “straight speaking in love” – like a weapon: to forget that little ameliorating phrase “in love” and go straight for the jugular. (Keenly aware of this tendency, Arnold forewarned his flock that though “love without truth lies, truth without love kills.”)

Thirdly, even if community members make an effort to live by the “First Law,” there are plenty of ways to skirt it. While hanging out with a friend or colleague or family member, there’s nothing like body language to communicate your feelings about a third party who has irritated you, whether with a told-you-so shrug, a knowing frown, or a supercilious roll of the eyes. And there’s always the ostensibly innocuous but calculated observation, “So-and-so said that? Sounds just like him!”

The problem is hardly solved just by refraining from such conversations. That’s because passively imbibing gossip is every bit as damaging as actively participating in it. Which raises the question of what to do when you can’t avoid hearing or reading something negative about someone else. Many people, in my experience, will do nothing. Who wants to be the teacher in the room? Still, there’s always that brave soul – it does take chutzpah – who will attempt to steer the conversation down a more positive path, or bluntly suggest, “It sounds like you guys need to sit down and talk about this.”

But just because a rule is repeatedly broken doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. In fact, the “First Law” is kept alive precisely by virtue of repeated failures to measure up to its demands: every time we break it, we are once again reminded of it. Against the backdrop of daily chatter – digital or spoken, mean-spirited, critical, or merely superficial – it always stands out in sharp relief. And when it comes to cultivating healthy friendships or restoring broken ones, it always points, with the reliability of a compass, to direct address as the best place to start.

If you’re thinking, by now, that the “First Law” sounds like a tedious exercise in making mountains out of molehills, you’re probably not alone. In fact, gossip has plenty of defenders. Conventional wisdom holds that venting is a feel-good stress-reliever – especially after the umpteenth run-in with that slovenly (or persnickety) roommate; that colleague who sets everyone on edge merely by entering the room; that relative who drinks (or talks) too much; that hypochondriac who’s always talking about her aches and pains; or that insensitive, effusive friend who is fundamentally unable to read a room.

Further, psychologists describe gossip as a useful social equalizer. Some note that it can function as a vital safety valve, especially in situations where an imbalance of power has given one person an outsized voice while silencing others. This is undeniably true. After all, what recourse is there when a person in authority is known to be easily angered when taken to task – when a superior misconstrues honest questions and dismisses them as evidence of criticism? And who hasn’t turned to a friend to let off steam, or to solicit advice on how to go about addressing a thorny relationship issue or a work-related tension? (Years ago, a Bruderhof pastor who admonished a member of his congregation for “spreading negativity” was gently put in his place by being reminded that the only way he could have known about the supposed offense was because someone had gossiped about it with him!)

In the end, the decisive factor is surely one’s motives in talking about someone else. It’s one thing to look for a solution to a conflict because I care about the person I’m at odds with, and our relationship, but quite another to bitch about him or put him down so as to garner sympathy or prove myself right.

Still, regardless of intention, transparency is always a worthy goal, if only because no one likes to be the subject of another party’s conversation. Most of us have probably entertained the uncomfortable suspicion, at one time or another, that the same people who talk to us about others are probably talking behind our backs too. And anyone who has lived or worked in a community – intentional or haphazard, religious or secular, real or virtual – will know that innocent scuttlebutt can quickly deteriorate into backbiting, and that the fruits backbiting yields are never pretty. For starters, they include anxiety, mistrust, emotional instability, simmering resentments, and eventually hatred.

No wonder the Bible contains so many warnings about the power of speech, like this one: “The tongue has the power of life and death” (Prov. 18:20) – and so many admonitions against gossip, like this one: “Without wood a fire goes out; without a gossip a quarrel dies down” (Prov. 26:20). Even King David knew the value of silence as a spiritual discipline, writing, “Set a guard over my mouth, Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips” (Ps. 141:3).

Centuries later, the apostle James memorably compared the tongue to a lone spark capable of setting a “great forest” on fire, and the “whole course of one’s life” as well (James 3:5–6). Jesus himself states that “what goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them; but what comes out of their mouth – that is what defiles them” (Matt. 15:11). And Francis of Assisi (like Arnold, the founder of a religious order) writes, “If you truly love your neighbor, it will make no difference whether he is sitting next to you or far away. Blest are you if you can refrain from saying anything behind his back that you could not say to his face, in love.”

In a story passed down about Saint Philip Neri, a woman comes to Philip and confesses to spreading malicious gossip. Philip tells her, “As penance, go home and find a pillow, cut it open, and scatter the feathers.”

The woman does as she is told and returns. “Am I forgiven now?” she asks.

“Almost,” Philip replies. “There is just one more step. Take the empty pillow and gather all the feathers.”

“That’s impossible,” the woman protests. “By now the wind has driven them far and wide.”

“Precisely,” Philip answers. “Is it not the same with the evil rumors you have spread?”

Of course, gossip is not always a matter of spreading rumors, whether evil or benign. A lot of what we say about others on any given day might be classified as factual in content and neutral in tone. And as noted above, there simply are cases where, despite the fact that direct address is usually the simplest route to resolving a given problem, it would seem wise to bounce it off a confidant first. Still, when such talk is engaged in by a self-appointed moral guardian who is worried about someone else (that someone not being there to explain or defend himself), it can end up being destructive, even if it arises from a genuine concern, and even if that concern is valid.

For one, our motives are never quite as pure as we imagine them, particularly when it comes to indulging the internal busybody that most of us seem to carry. And let’s be honest: we’re often more driven by that all-too-human desire to be the first one to pass on fresh news than by our love for the subject of our scoop. As for the sort of labeling that goes on in hushed talks among employers, counselors, teachers, pastors, and others in administrative positions – no matter how professionally it might be handled – it never strengthens but always undermines and weakens the spirit of community which any organization needs in order to thrive.

So back to that question: does the “First Law” actually work? One thing is clear: practicing it may be easier in a close-knit community such as the Bruderhof, where a basic level of trust is established, than in the normal workaday world. There, daring to address a problem openly may end up costing you your social standing, your job, or both, even if you are retrospectively praised as a whistleblower.

Even beyond the confines of a religious community, however, it is arguable that the “First Law” is applicable and has value. Instead of just being another “thou shalt not” that prohibits backbiting, as well as avoidance, ghosting, and the canceling of perceived or avowed enemies – these are universal problems – it actively promotes nurturing the sort of frank dialogue whose goal is being able to look an adversary in the eye and forgive him or her.

In the spirit of Jesus’ advice about removing the beam from our own eye before trying to remove the speck from our brother’s (Luke 6:41–42), it wisely places the onus on changing ourselves first – on emptying our pockets of the stones we tend to collect, just in case we need to defend ourselves – and conveying what Arnold calls our “joy in others” before trying to change them. Writer Yuval Lapide captures the heart of trying to live this way:

Until you see the good in a person, you remain incapable of helping him. Whenever you speak ill of someone, you expose a measure of ugliness – in that person, in yourself, and in anyone who happens to be listening. That ugliness will fester like a wound, and everyone involved will suffer. Speak well of that person, and the inner goodness in him, in you, and in everyone involved will begin to shine, so that everything is illuminated.

As obvious as that wisdom may seem, it can be challenging to actually put into practice. Even as most of us struggle, year in and year out, to better ourselves, we still cling to the strange notion that we can improve and alter other people. Yet Jesus reminds us that when it comes to interpersonal relationships, the only sure path is the one of humility and love.

The beauty of engaging with a persistent challenge is that every time you revisit it, it yields new insights. In that spirit, here’s my recent attempt to bring the “First Law” into a new century. Posted on the kitchen wall of the Bruderhof’s house in Harlem, it may be far from the original in terms of space and time and tone, but it still seems to resonate with everyone who pauses to read and reflect on it:

When it comes to laws, the only one that really counts is the law of love. Love is joy in others. It makes you happy to see them and be with them. (If you’re upset at them, the opposite will be true.) When you’re at peace with someone, your attitude will show it, and you won’t go around talking about them. That’s why we don’t allow gossip or backbiting in our house. Unless everyone commits to this, we’ll never be a real community, because people won’t trust one another.

Relationships are never perfect, but no matter the problem at hand, facing it head-on is always the best way to figure it out and prevent a buildup of negativity. Try it: the next time someone gets on your nerves, be real with them. It’s the kindest thing to do.

Talking through a situation openly and honestly is rarely easy, but it’s always worth a try. In fact, it can strengthen and deepen a friendship. If you’re still not getting anywhere, ask a mutual friend (or anyone you both trust) for input. That way you can make peace and find a solution you’re both happy with – one that actually brings you together.