There are words a civilization quietly stops using just before it forgets how to think.
One of them is glib.
It is a magnificent word, and like many magnificent words, it has fallen into disuse precisely when we need it most. To be glib is not merely to be smooth. It is to possess the outward appearance of intelligence without the burden of depth. It is fluency without thought. Confidence without consequence. Eloquence without truth. The glib man does not answer. He performs answering. He does not reason. He arranges the furniture of reason around himself and invites the credulous to admire the upholstery.
The glib man is dangerous precisely because he does not look stupid. He looks clever. He sounds clever. He knows the right references, the right tone, the right gestures of seriousness. He can say “Havel” and “Thucydides” and “values” and “democracy” and “resilience” in a voice calibrated to make the middlebrow swoon. He is not an idiot. He is worse. He is the man who has discovered th…
