OP-ED: Listening to silence for personal development
People talking without speaking. People hearing without listening. And no one dared … Disturb the sound of silence. – “The Sound of Silence,” Paul Simon
Sometimes an idea for an essay comes from unusual places and at unexpected times. Such was the case this week.
After hearing a friend describe his weekend of self-imposed silence and reflection at a monastery, I serendipitously picked up the New Yorker magazine to read the article “How Golden Is Silence Actually,” by Anthony Lane. Lane reviews a new book titled, “Silence, A Literary History,” by Kate McLoughlin, English Literature professor at Oxford. This is a majestic work on the subject, spanning all recorded history, giving the reader 720 pages of text and footnotes.
The following introduction by Lane, setting up his book review, was particularly helpful in bringing silence into focus. “Chronologically, Silence: A Literary History covers everything from the empty halls of ‘Beowulf’ to聽COVID聽lockdowns and beyond. There are glances even further back, at the news that Pythagoras required his pupils to keep quiet for聽five years聽before they could presume to pipe up. Space is found for the BBC show ‘Strictly Come Dancing,’ which, in 2021, cut the music mid-routine, thus allowing the audience to share, however briefly, in the silence to which the dancing competitor — an actress, deaf since birth — was accustomed. The result was, for prime-time TV, something to marvel at. Pythagoras would have given it a ten out of ten.”
Suddenly, I was hooked on researching and thinking about silence. I thought it would be interesting to explore its many layers before this fall’s midterm elections suck all the air out of other subjects like a black hole.
A great deal of my reading was of the self-improvement variety. In these articles, psychologists, spiritualists and others seek to explain the importance of silence for personal development. The overall message seems to be “while silence may not be easy, you need it.” The goal for some was spiritual enrichment, while for others the search for inner peace in a noisy world.
Individuals who study and teach communication skills point out that silence is a powerful, nonverbal cue. The challenge is to interpret the meaning. For example, is the silent individual deep in thought or too angry to speak? Does silence point to an introvert, unable to make a connection, or to someone who is simply bored?
One observer pointed out that the words silent and listen are anagrams – same letters, different spellings. The two terms are often discussed in tandem, with different meanings. There are benefits that come from being silent, talking less, and listening to others. Listening shows respect, maturity, self-esteem, and humility. The inability to stay silent often points in the other direction.
This project led me to reflect on my own relationship with silence and listening. My conclusion was that I enjoy silence and seek out its safety and calm every day. However, I am a terrible listener.
I value silent time to think and to weigh different paths in the absence of any noise or diversion. I rarely turn on the car radio and enjoy taking a long nap, in a quiet room. On the other hand, when I am in the presence of my spouse or others, I am a bad listener and interrupt constantly.
According to the “free therapist” Gemini (Google’s version of artificial intelligence) I am not an outlier, just another “normally dysfunctional” human being. Enjoying silence and being a bad listener easily coexist because silence often requires minimal effort. Listening, on the other hand, is entirely different. It is a complex learned skill that involves empathy, concentration, and memory. Being a “terrible listener” can mean my brain’s method of processing information is interfering with my ability to listen.
Second, silence alone is predictable, controlled and performed in a safe environment. Nothing is demanding my focus. Conversely, conversation is dynamic and unpredictable. It is easier to not listen, tune out the other speaker, and attempt to dominate the discussion. Being trained as a lawyer doesn’t help.
My friend’s recent retreat to the monastery offered a glimpse into a deeper form of silence — one that changes how a person perceives the world and themselves. He explained that silence in this setting was not the absence of sound; it set the stage for the presence of meaning to emerge. When external noise falls away, interior meaning rises to the surface. This deeper silence is not empty; it is full. What surprised him was how the lack of talking set the stage for silence to reshape his senses.
My friend’s revelations brought me back to my Quaker heritage. I recalled, as a child, sitting in a quiet, unadorned room in the Quaker Meeting House in the small New Jersey town where I was born. The founder of this faith, George Fox, placed great value on the contemplative exploration of “inner light.” He created a religious movement that had no need for outward sacraments. These rituals were to be experienced within oneself.
After speaking with my friend, I realized there is a difference between the relatively easy act of “seeking silence to relax” and the more difficult objective of using the stillness to “find inner healing and self-examination.” I will now attempt to achieve more of the latter and when out-and-about in this busy world, to become a better listener.
Gary Stout is a Washington attorney.