Silence

When he first came to this town he had hoped that the silence of other years would not follow him. He had rented a little room near a park where young men annd women of many races were always shouting in excited voices over their games. Then, finding that he had no part in their merriment, he moved to another section of the town near a large bakery shop where workers were continously coming in and out of the building. But even as he stood in the street below his room, they passed by him as though he had not existed at all. So in desperation he moved to another section, in an old but neat rooming house across the town college. The silence followed him there, had wrapped up his life almost completely, so that now it was five years since he had talked to another human being.

There was never silence. There were the sounds of the refrigerator, of a fan, of a car going by outside, the screaming of children in the street, the screaming of imaginary audiences in the neighbors' television speakers. There was sound, but never any meaning.

silence is golden..
Some Thoughts on Silence
by Kathryn Damiano
The culture in which we live does not value silence. Avoiding seduction into this belief is a major challenge. Because of the predisposition to noise in our society, we become use to having some kind of stimulation going on around us. It becomes habitual to turn on the t.v. or radio as one of the first things we do when we get home, just to have something familiar going on in the background.
This stimulation pollution comes in other forms too. Our lives can be so filled with people that we can over-dose on interaction. There can be incessant talking as we flit from one person to the next. We find ourselves internally formulating our responses to the person who is talking instead of listening. Interaction becomes a way to acknowledge that we really exist. If we are talking, worrying, giving our opinion, saying what we've done, what we own, we must be alive, we must have worth! But, there usually isn't any space between the words to absorb what has been said. As a result, most of our conversations are surface and utilitarian. Thomas Merton claims that »it is not speaking that breaks our silence, but the anxiety to be heard. The words of a proud person impose silence on all others so that they alone may be heard. The humble person speaks only in order to be spoken to.«

It almost seems as if it is impossible to speak and not commit »sins of the tongue« – the insensitive response, the unkind word, speaking badly about someone. The longer the conversation, the more likely it will turn to running someone down. There is a thin line between wanting to know about someone out of caring and discerning when it turns to gossip.

We are also subject to the stimulation of millions of words printed in books, magazines, newsletters, and announcements. We are told that we must keep up with changing ideas and paradigm shifts in order to be responsible citizens, to be competent in our field, and to be an intelligent, informed person. Verbalness is related to our society's understanding of power. Words are used to edify, pursuade, control, and to compete with others. Yet, research indicates that we spend alot of time repeating the words of others – what we've heard on t.v. or have read and that this reliance on other's words tends to atrophy our own thoughts. Is this kind of »freedom of speech« actually a type of mind control? How can we be in a position to critique the society if we are so caught up in its ways? In what ways does this habitual inner and outer chatter dim the prophetic witness we are called to as Friends?

Yet our culture seems to promote a fear of silence. Silence seems to lack boundaries, it can make us feel that we are not in control. Silence conveys emptyness so it is harder to accept as real and full in a society that commands us to be satified and fulfilled at every moment.

We also know that silence can be manipulative. It allows a person not to make commitments or take responsibility. Being silent can be used to lessen vulnerability. Others don't know where you are coming from when you remain silent. You can collect information about others to be used for your own purposes through the tact of premeditated silence. Silence can convey supposed neutrality. If you don't take sides you will remain in favor with others. Silence can allow someone to be a chameleon. As a result, honest relating can be escaped. In these ways, silence can be violent.

Silence can be oppressive as women and other marginalized people know. They have been kept in silence by others not valuing or encouraging their thoughts or opinions. It is a way to keep them in their place. Oppressive silence becomes internalized resulting in a poor self-concept. Acquiescence is often the response – supposedly to keep the peace in the family or in the work place.

What is spiritual silence? It is not just the absence of talk. Silence has substance. It is the presence of something.

Thomas Merton claims that silence is our admission that we have broken communication with God and are now willing to listen. We can be reduced to silence in times of doubt, uncertainty, nothingness, and awe. When we have exhausted all our human efforts, experience the limitations of human justice, or the finitude of human relationships, we are left with silence. Those who have experienced the sacrament of failure are more likely to know the emptying power of silence.

There is a relationship between outward silence and interior silence. Merton notes that even the overuse of sign language within the material silence of the monastery promotes the busy mind. The more silence becomes part of our lives, the less impulsive we become. We are slowed down. Silence can reconcile the contradictions within us holding them in a healthy tension. Often we can internally watch our first response to a situation. The awareness that comes from a grounding in silence allows us to respond more authentically.

If we can stay in this place of silence without rushing to fill it up in some way, we are humbled to know even for a little while that we in our own power do not have all the answers. We become more willing to listen. Meanwhile, God has always been communicating. Listening to the Inward Teacher is the foundation of Quaker spirituality. We can see this attention to listening in the life of George Fox as he wandered the English countryside, pondering while sitting in hollowed out trees. It was revealed to him in his dispair and frustration with priests, Scripture and steeple houses »that there is one Christ Jesus who can speak to thy condition.« As Friends we know that this guidance is accessible to all people if we listen. This is the revolutionary revelation of Quakerism-- that out of the silence, Christ can speak to our condition so we no longer must be captiv e to sin. Silence can remove the veil between us and the Truth.

Among earlier Friends, the elders had a ministry of silence. Theirs was a ministry without words. They would act as anchors for the meeting grounding the worship with their lives of prayer. As a vocal minister rose to his or her feet they would be drawn even more deeply to uphold them in prayer. Though in general we no longer formally acknowledge these elders in our meeting, we can all name Friends who have been given this gift. Can you recall someone in your meeting who is this silent pointer to God? Do you find that this person's presence in worship is missed when he or she is not there?

In contemporary times, even gatherings that are called retreats are so packed with activities that they offer little time for people to listen and for God to work. An exception to this fast paced style and perhaps one of the most creative applications of silence among Friends has been at the Sadsbury retreat. This is a weekend retreat which has been offered among Friends for several years now, and is presently under the sponsorship of the »School of the Spirit.« It is held at the Sadsbury Meetinghouse in Lancaster County. Based on corporate silence, the retreat is understood as a prolonged meeting for worship.

The Sadsbury retreat experience also involves silence as the main way of relating to others. Instead of our usual horizontal relating – state your name, meeting, and how many committees you are on, we know each other differently in the silence. Silence allows us to transcend putting people in a category. We just don't have the information that we usually have in our typical ways of operating in the wider society to dismiss them, elevate them or project upon them. In effect, silence can function as an equalizer. It can allow us to see the uniqueness of each individual as part of God's creation.

The common understanding that underlies the Sadsbury Retreat is that together the participants bring their concerns, joys, and sorrows, to God in the silence. They are united in a commitment to listen to God in the silence that weekend.

The power of God increases when we are in such a group. In addition to corporate worship there are times for walking in silence, doing quiet tasks together in silence such as knitting, devotional reading, and personal letter writing. This latter practice is often referred to as active silence. Eating in silence allows for increased attentiveness to other's needs, and with a slower pace, we more consciously taste our food, more wisely judge our intake and we may be drawn into prayer.

Silence allows us to be more attuned to nature. We can truly experience nature rather than just talk about it. When we were worshiping outside during a Sadsbury retreat, we were all transfixed overhearing the Amish neighbor who was plowing his field with a team of horses. In the silence, we could all unite in spirit with this man and team working as one. Have you tried working with others in silence? It can make us more aware of our connection to each other in our physical embodiedness. We can become as one organism sensing the movement and pace of our co-workers with out verbal exchange.

Seasoned Friends can become connoisseurs of silence. The more time we spend in silence, the more we can begin to savor the varying qualities and nuances that silence has. Genuine silence is not automatic. It evolves gradually. As a spiritual exercise, you are invited to bring the following queries into a time of silent worship. Inwardly listen and see if one particularly speaks to your condition. How have you grown in silence? How has your meeting grown in silence? Can you discern the quality of silence as Friends are settling into meeting? Have you experienced the silence of a covered or gathered meeting? What do these particularly Quaker words (covered, gathered) have to say about the tangibility of silence? Do you observe that the nature of vocal ministry is influenced by the quality of silence? Is the quality of silence affected by distractions? Have you ever experienced the silence deepening when there is a disturbance in the meeting? Have you noticed how children respond to the quality of silence when they join the adults for worship? Can you discern the spiritual condition of the meeting from the silence? Can you tell when the meeting is to be broken by listening to the silence? Have you experienced what early Friends called an opportunity where in the midst of conversation Friends can be drawn into silent worship?

In fact, might part of the vocation of the Society of Friends be to keep silence alive as a service for the world?

Silence is seldom ever actually heard. You are more likely to become aware of it by sense of touch or smell when a silent sort of sensation creeps up on you. Silence is ephemeral.

The most amazing sound I have ever heard.

There is nothing that is more empty, nothing that is more disconsolate, nothing that can calm you down like silence does. The music of your soul when you don't know what to feel.

(Does this make sense to anyone?)

there are no walls surrounding my home studio. the space is defined by a thin plate of cor-ten steel on the floor and a pool of light in the darkness. the dimensions of the room that contains the darkness are immaterial, but it is large enough where i cannot see the container from my desk, from any point within the studio, even when my eyes have adjusted. within the space, i see my desk, my chair, my chaise, a table, piles of books, sheets of vellum, chipboard models, and beyond, darkness. architecture defined, but not by walls. not having a wall to put one's back against scares most. in fact, the quiet can scare most, too. my friends like noise and they blast hideous excuses for music at my studio at school. but i like pacing in my pool of light in silence, sometimes stopping to peer out for inspiration from the darkness. no one comes to visit me here, but sometimes, music, set to play on an algorithm too difficult to understand and convincing in its randomness, drifts through the dark to my pool of light, reminding (reassuring?) me that there is an out there out there.

Soon spring was gone and summer came with its hot days. The leaves of the trees matured. The fruits ripened. The wind that came from the sea was warm. And then in the middle of June the girl disappeared. He could not believe it. When he came home from work he would watch the pathway toward the street. But she was gone forever. Then a year was gone. Then another. He could not believe that she was gonne forever. He waited for another year. But she did not come back. He had long stopped working, and the curtains were now unwashed and fading.
Then one night he leaned far out the window and wept bitterly, hearing the silence coming from everywhere around him.