A Few Words on Silence

In a childhood reminiscence, an Indigenous Salish woman offers a window into a way of being that is very different from our own:

'When I was a little girl at my grandma's house, I remember

Grandma, Uncle, and a visitor sat in the living room, I was in

the room too, two and a half hours later, they're still sitting

there in silence and finally the old man guest spoke, "Well,

I'm going home," and he got up and left, and that's the world

I grew up in ... and I was just being, and you were just being

and that was OK…^[1]

The setting of grandma’s living room seems both inviting and strangely inaccessible. It portrays a way of being together that is unfamiliar to a culture where silences are quickly snuffed out and filled with words. Socializing as we know it, is all about conversation, and the means to keep it going. Talking and listening to one another sustains our sense of connectedness and belonging, an indispensable need we very much yearn to fulfill. To gather in silence would take us far outside our comfort zones, even if we knew how to enter into it for a while. 

Our world generally operates at a pace that keeps silences brief. In a market economy silence is viewed as a niche to be exploited and filled. A menu of soothing technological options is always on hand whenever the uneasiness of silence looms. These welcome distractions keep boredom and agitation at bay, while priming our addictive tendencies to keep us coming back for more. It’s disturbing to watch how this can tyrannize a person’s attention, disconnecting them from a partner who is sitting across the table in her own glum silence. 

Whether in community or alone, it’s difficult to imagine how people endured chronic silences before TV came along to keep us company. In the absence of electronics many traditional societies spent lots of time chatting and gossiping, for enjoyment and entertainment, to foster connection, and to exchange practical information. But as the vignette of the small Salish gathering reveals, there were also people that basked in an atmosphere of precious silence. 

When you’re not accustomed to it, an abundance of silence can wear on you like the ticking of a clock. Finding a quiet place can be conducive to serenity, or it can amplify the static that typically hums in the background of the mind. Trappist monk Thomas Merton understood silence in both its positive and negative dimensions. He recognized that it can be the occasion to "lapse into daydreams or diffuse anxieties” or that "it pulls us together and makes us realize who we are, who we might be, and the distance between the two.” While most of us can stop talking for a while, establishing this kind of introspective peacefulness poses a higher bar for entry. 

Unfortunately, the demands of the day can leave little room for periods of silent reflection, or for slowing down in the face of multiplying demands. This common experience coincides with an endemic sense of 'depth deprivation’, the diagnosis one contemplative teacher gives to describe an approach to life that skims along its surface. He also tells of a busy CEO who complained that he didn’t have 20 minutes in his daily schedule to relinquish for meditation. Upon hearing this, the teacher assigned the beleaguered executive a half hour of daily meditation instead, in order to make a point. Years later, the now seasoned meditator gratefully acknowledged this as a turning point and a great gift to his life. 

The Hindu sage Ramana Maharishi understood contemplative silence in a way that emphasized its revelatory power. "The only language able to express the whole truth is silence”, he said.^[2] Philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein also acknowledged the descriptive limitations of language: "What can be said at all can be said clearly, and what we cannot talk about we must pass over in silence.”^[3] A well known aphorism from the Zen tradition also speaks to this theme, distinguishing between the miracle of the floating moon, and the symbolic finger that points toward it. Wittgenstein’s statement recognizes a conceptual ceiling and regards silence as an appropriate expression of intellectual humility and awe. Ramana Maharishi envisions silence as a way through the ineffable. These poetic and philosophical ideas all express the understanding that there are aspects of reality and experience that lie beyond measurement and words. 

The constant companionship of words can create the impression that reality is dependent on our descriptions of it. The symbols we employ to name and identify things are interwoven into our perception of whatever is really out there. These symbolic brush strokes create our subjective picture of the world, but even our senses deliver only a narrow sliver of available information to the limited bandwidth of consciousness. (Conscious perception can process only 0.0004% of all sensory impressions while the rest heads into subconscious stores below this threshold.)^[4] Our encounter with the world is therefore based on a narrow and necessarily incomplete portrait of reality. In a very real sense, all of us operate with a relatively restricted view of the complexities of daily existence. In light of this state of limited comprehension, you may find yourself pondering '‘What is all this?’ from time to time.^[5] It’s also a good reason to give ourselves and each other a break now and then.

Wittgenstein recognized that ‘language is a part of our organism and no less complicated than it.’^[6] As a definitive aspect of our species, language can't easily be set aside in order to access a more expansive view of reality. Contemplative practices aim to transcend the shortcomings of representational thought as well as quiet the overall pace of the mind but traveling in this direction often involves long and focused effort. That’s generally how it is with things that are worth doing. 

It’s not as though there's an inner accompaniment of clearly articulated thoughts that consume our attention. It’s more like an ongoing flow of emotions, impressions, and hazy ideas that permeate the mind - what the Buddhists refer to as mental formations. Monastic contemplatives typically embrace periods of holy, or ennobling silence that provide supportive conditions for tamping down this insistent and relentless activity. In the words of one Carthusian monk, rumination gives way to 'a mystery of awareness ... that so surpasses our busy words and concepts’. This, he says, allows 'the Lord to speak one word to us - that He is.' For travelers of this spiritual path, silence is a rich and generative field, rather than a place of absence. This experience of contemplative silence is alive with meaning and serves as a portal to a profound experience of being. 

The 'mystery of awareness’ that arises in the absence of inner narration, unveils a quality of sacredness in everyday things. In the words of the Buddhist master Ajahn Chah, it is like a still forest pool: 

'All kinds of wonderful animals will come to drink at the pool,
and you will clearly see the nature of all things.
You will see many strange and wonderful things come and go, but you will be still.

The Catholic Cardinal Robert Sarah describes heavenly silence as a fullness of being that is intertwined and "connected to the fullness of God”.^[7] For me the prospect of everlasting silence evokes a vague sense of loneliness. My own version of ultimate reality involves a consummation of incompletely realized earthly relationships, and silence doesn’t seem to fit this bill. Thomas Merton embraced silence as the fertile ground for discovering gentleness and love: "Solitude and silence teach me to love others for what they are, not for what they say”.^[8] In this experiential perspective, the power of silence is a medium for communicating ultimate concerns. Merton also said that ‘There is a greater comfort in the substance of silence than in the answer to a question’, alluding to hidden facets of silence that elude human language.^[9] Perhaps the metaphysical mysteries that surround our lives will recede into eternal silence - or this same atmosphere will infuse us with a satisfying sense of answers.

'Take everything into the silence, open to the Holy Spirit, listen well, and discern right action.’ This maxim from the Christian tradition alludes to an ethical dimension inherent and available in silence. The approach it recommends is reminiscent of the Buddhist concept of beneficial or ‘skillful' action that emerges from a place of composure and peace. The Quaker religion also views silence in its capacity to offer helpful guidance for important decisions and cherishes a tradition of gathering in silence. The Jewish Sage's Guide for Living states, "a safety fence for wisdom ... is silence.” 

One useful definition of a conscious being is a subject that has the capacity to feel pain and suffering. This definition attributes an ethical characteristic to consciousness, as one would (hopefully) be disposed to treat a subject capable of suffering differently from an object that had no such sentience. The teachings of these wisdom traditions around silence ultimately allude to this core distinction between a ‘thou' and an ‘it’ and ask us always to take this into account. They point toward the potential value and guidance in taking a silent pause, before leaping headlong into the stream of daily life. 

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^[1] Covarrubias, “(Un)Biased in Western Theory.”

^[2] “Ramana Maharshi Quotes.”

^[3] “Ludwig Wittgenstein Quotes.”

^[4] “Conscious Perception - an Overview | ScienceDirect Topics.”

^[5] Popova, “The Marginalian.”

^[6] “Ludwig Wittgenstein Quotes.”

^[7] “How the Blessed Virgin Mary’s Life of Silence Reveals the Transformative Power of Silence in Our Lives | by Chris Antenucci | Medium.”

^[8] “Thomas Merton | Friends of Silence.”

^[9] “Thomas Merton | Friends of Silence.”