On the Subject of Silence
Silence is not something that has ever come naturally to me. Since I was a little kid, whether cracking jokes, blasting the radio, debating life’s biggest questions, or singing around the campfire, sound has pretty much saturated my life. My mom used to say that when I left for college the house got very, very quiet. Ask my wife and she’ll tell you that I chatter almost nonstop – when I stop, I’m frequently asked if something is wrong. It is my superpower and my curse. It is a new frontier I am gearing up to explore.
Luckily for me, and somewhat ironically, silence has received a lot of commentary or moralizing.
In kindergarten we are taught, “silence is golden.” At other times, we say “silence is violence.” When silence is a synonym for being a bystander or comes in opposition to the essential protest of evil, then yes, this also makes sense. Lao Tzu says that “Silence is a source of great strength.” Silence may also point to simple avoidance or cowardice. So what is this thing, silence? Is it simply the lack of sound? I will approach these questions less like a scientist and more like a painter, experimenting with brushstrokes.
The rabbis teach us, in Pirkei Avot 3:13 that “Silence is a fence around wisdom.” A fence – a boundary or safekeeping – a separation between two parts. Silence allows for contrast – like how a pause in a piece of music can make the other notes come alive.
Silence can keep us from saying mean or stupid things – “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Silence is a necessary (but not sufficient) ingredient in listening.
As a teacher, silence is one of my best tools – when my students are struggling to focus, if I sit silently and wait, chances are they will slowly notice and recognize they need to change their behavior (if it’s a good day). It communicates.
In a horror movie, silence can be the scariest part. Silence is both anticipation and arrival.
We hold moments of silence to memorialize people who have died. Silence fills those moments like tea in a mug. Silence can be shared. Silence can be thick – it can be broken.
Silence can be chosen intentionally or it can be weaponized against someone –silencing a person can cause some of the greatest hurt – a suffocating of the soul.
Silence is a powerful force, like how before creation of the universe (Genesis 1) the primordial waters were formless and void but brimming with potential.
It’s easy to think of silence as absence of something. And if you google a definition right now, it will be to that effect. But silence can be so full. It is its own presence – maybe even the purest form of presence. It is the blank paper beneath the word.
In I Kings 19, we read that Elijah the Prophet stands at a mountain and encounters God not in the wild winds or fires or earthquakes that God summons but in the kol demamah dakah ק֖וֹל דְּמָמָ֥ה דַקָּֽה – the still, small voice. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks translates this literally as “the sound of a slender silence” (were Simon and Garfunkel reading the Hebrew bible?!).
Maybe, like for Elijah, silence allows us to encounter the source of life itself. Could it really be that easy – or rather, if you’re like me, that hard to just shut up for a moment and experience the spirit of the universe?!?
I’m eager to enter into a new relationship with silence, so I will leave you here. I may not approach wisdom, like the rabbis suggest. And I may not hear the source of creation like Elijah. But also, I might.
And if you want to do the same, great! Feel free to tell me about it. Or rather, maybe more fitting, don’t.