Read an Excerpt
Keeping Silence
Christian Practices for Entering Stillness
By C.W. McPherson Church Publishing Incorporated
Copyright © 2002 C.W. McPherson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8192-2549-8
CHAPTER 1
An Invitation to Silence
Be still, and know that I am God!
—Psalm 46:10
If I ever thought that keeping silence was easy, my congregation taught me otherwise. From time to time as a parish priest, I recommended they try spiritual practices, such as memorizing a psalm or reading the Bible daily. But one simple suggestion proved difficult or impossible for most people to follow. During Advent and Lent, I advised that they keep silence for just a few minutes each day: turn off the phone, close the door, and be silent for ten minutes. It seemed like such an easy suggestion—something people would find refreshing.
I thought wrong. Many people found the assignment impossible. I might as well have urged them to go home and memorize the Gospel of Luke.
The only people who could carry out my suggestion were those who were already used to keeping significant periods of silence in their lives. This was obviously a problem. I knew that silence was good for people. As a student of the Patristic era and the Middle Ages, I had heard silence commended again and again by great voices. As a regular reader and interpreter of Scripture, I had heard the value of silence proclaimed in God's own word. I affirmed this through my own limited experience: I knew the healing and the strengthening power of silence. How could I teach the spiritual practice of silence to those who knew nothing about it? I began exploring this problem by asking people, What's so hard about keeping quiet?
Some people told me they were too busy to try ten minutes of silence a day. But when we discussed things a little further, we discovered that that wasn't really the problem. Their schedules—somewhat to their surprise—included plenty of free time. Others tried the practice, but they were distracted by thoughts of the urgent things they should be doing. Some said it just felt empty, like a dead and futile silence. Others admitted that silence frightened them, or that it hurt them to keep silence. It hurt some people physically: They itched, they ached. Some it hurt psychologically. One person told me it "just reminded her of everything that's wrong." They found, in short, that when exterior noise was removed or diminished, interior noise took over, which was uncomfortable. An exercise intended to be meditative was, for many, stressful instead.
And so they gave up. My suggestion to keep silence as a way to simplify life, to find calm, to get relief from the stresses of a busy world, only augmented their stresses. Replacing external noise with inner noise was a poor bargain, for the inner chaos was worse than external agitation. As so many have told me, "It sounded like a good idea, but then I tried it."
I thought long and hard about this. Why should something that a few people find so pleasant be so painful to others? And why should something so simple be so difficult? I began to realize how alien silence has become for so many of us. Noise is now natural to us, while silence is strange and foreign. We have come to accept the current noise level as part of the natural order of things, even though it isn't. It is a product of the mechanized world, and that world is, on the time scale of history, still very new. From a historical perspective, the sort of noise we have grown used to is quite abnormal.
Our forebears lived in a much quieter world. Consider this: Until about two hundred years ago, the loudest sounds many people ever heard were thunder, church bells, and the occasional rifle. The nineteenth century brought factory sounds, combustion engines, telephone, and railroad noise into human life. And the twentieth century brought us heavy machinery, the sounds of amplified music, office machines, domestic gadgetry, television, radio, computer, and compact disc. Globalization, moreover, has managed to distribute the problem to very nearly every part of the world. Electricity, the transistor, and the computer have brought amplified noise into the domestic lives of peoples who were virtually untouched by Western culture just decades ago. We speak blithely of a "global village," but it might be more accurate, psychically and physiologically, to speak of a global "big city" because the smallest hamlet today has access to the noise levels of Times Square, while Times Square has absorbed very little of the placidity of a tiny hamlet.
We are subjected to an intensity and consistency of noise that is absolutely unprecedented in human experience, and we often don't even take note of it. The loud sounds that scared us as little children now scarcely catch our attention. I can remember being frightened by the noise at the railway station when I was a small child. Today, I scarcely notice the stupefying noise of airport travel.
If you don't believe me, let me suggest a simple experiment. Right now, close your eyes and listen. What do you hear? Unless you happen to be on some sort of retreat, or live in an unusually rural place, you will hear several of the things I have mentioned. Do you hear traffic sounds? Electric gadgets? Television, radio, or some other electronic medium of communication and entertainment? Computers? Machinery? Heating or air-conditioning? Spend at least two minutes making a mental list of the things you hear at this moment. Now imagine that number multiplied by a factor of about 5,000. This is the amount of noise you endure every day.
For practical reasons, we usually do not notice most of the noise. Our consciousness works by filtering and skipping, admitting only the noises we need to heed deliberately. Parents of young children know this phenomenon well: They can ignore the sound of a crowd, even a crowd of children, but will immediately attend to the sound of their own child's voice. But we hear noise, even if we do not notice it. We get used to it by becoming somewhat oblivious to its presence. As a result, silence now seems abnormal. Remove the envelope of noise and we become anxious and nervous. Just as a long-term prisoner, released from jail, finds freedom confining and longs for the regularity and predictability of life on the cell block, we long for what we know: noise. Our noisy world acts as a kind of insulation, a distraction from the serious concerns that silence often invites.
That's one reason many people resist even the possibility of silence. The Stoic philosopher Seneca complained about the noisy business of his world—the Roman Empire—and maintained that serious thought is only possible in silent retreat. But back then, as now, many people find such serious thought unwelcome. Silence reminds us of ultimate questions, of life and death, of meaning, of finitude. Many of these are issues that people prefer, consciously or unconsciously, to avoid. Perhaps in part because it prompts us to face uncomfortable truths, silence has certain negative connotations.
Silence is a natural symbol for death itself, as in the phrase "silent as the tomb." Psalm 31 curses the wicked with silence: "Let them be silent in the grave." Silence equals death, at some level, so we are afraid of silence, as we are of death.
Silence is also associated with punishment. One of the worst forms of correction a prisoner can suffer is solitary (and therefore silent) confinement. Silence is also used to punish children. If they misbehave, they are forced to "be silent," forbidden to talk or make noise. Like the condemned person in the book of Lamentations, who has to put his "mouth to the dust" and to "sit alone in silence" (3: 29, 28), they experience silence as a punitive tool, and resent it. Actually, it may be a relatively good device, certainly better than abusive corporal punishment, but it causes some people to associate silence with wrongdoing and with pain. Being forced into silence, having it imposed in a frightening or painful way, causes people to dislike it, and to associate noise with freedom and pleasure.
Another reason we distrust silence is more positive: We really are busy people. Economic necessity, among other things, forces our busy schedules on us. Few of us have leisure to spend a lot of time in retreat, in silence. While few people today work the staggering hours most human beings suffered in earlier centuries, most of us are genuinely busy. And we have been seduced into thinking that our leisure time is best spent in being distracted: We like to "be entertained," or to "goof off."
Try this mental experiment. Walk into your nearest neighbor's house when s/he is "off," and offer them this choice: They can spend the next half hour in total silence, or the next half hour with the television turned on at random. Which option do you think your neighbor would choose? The tendency to avoid silence comes to the surface when we try to practice it. One of the first things we hear is a little voice that says: "You really should not be doing this. You have important things to do."
All of these factors have combined to make the simple practice of keeping silence very difficult. That problem is what prompted this book. As I talked with and worked with people in my congregation and in spiritual direction, I discovered that making a few suggestions about how to practice silence enabled them to get started. So I have put together a sampling of methods of learning silence that others, and myself, have found helpful. None of these methods are new. Many of them were used by monks, hermits, and explorers such as the Desert Fathers, far back in the earliest centuries of Christian life. The Apostolic writers, the great creative theologians of the fourth century, the medieval mystics, and various spiritual directors of the modern era all have contributed to our understanding of the practice, meaning, and value of silence; I have drawn on their theoretical and practical wisdom throughout this book.
All of these methods have been tested by busy people who lead ordinary lives. I, too, have used every technique I suggest in these pages, and every technique has also proven helpful for someone I have known either as a student, friend, teacher, or through the relationship of spiritual direction.
WHY KEEP SILENCE?
Since you are reading this, you probably have an interest in learning about the practice of keeping silence, but you may also be asking what good it will do. Why have so many explorers of the spiritual life discovered silence, then refined ways of keeping it? Why have so many ordinary people found it helpful today?
Ultimately, you will have to discover that for yourself. But let me suggest some of the benefits others have discovered. Practically everyone who has practiced silence finds that it improves concentration. Work becomes easier. Leisure activities become more enjoyable. People have told me they get more out of life simply by investing a few minutes a day in silence.
Physiologically, deliberate silence calms the body. For some people, it actually lowers blood pressure; virtually everyone finds that it steadies the heartbeat. For many, it signals the beginning of greater control over their physical lives. Bad habits become easier to discard, good ones easier to form. People involved in support groups or twelve-step groups usually find that silence helps them keep their daily resolutions. Runners and cyclists find it a welcome companion; it's a catalyst for anyone in their physical efforts.
Psychologically, its benefit lies in the balance it offers. By calming the mind, and by increasing the mind's command over the emotional life, it makes extremes easier to manage. Grief and exultation are less likely to shock and displace us.
Spiritually, it puts us in touch with reality. It makes us far more aware of ourselves, both of our souls, and our bodies. Silence returns us to the present moment, that moment we are always trying to escape. Silence is also the other—and often neglected—half of prayer. Prayer is a two-way conversation, so it must involve listening to God. And in order to listen, we must be silent. A noisy life allows us to be conscious only superficially, and a superficial consciousness excludes spirituality. Cultivating silence enables us to understand and recover our own humanity; it serves as a catalyst, bringing the presence of God into our lives and into the world.
Those who don't believe in God certainly practice silence, too. I respect the non-theistic very much, and I have profited and learned from them. In this book, however, our silence will be directed at knowing God better and listening to God more deeply in our lives.
The regular and deliberate practice of silence also teaches us a great deal about the power and importance of words. When we are comfortable with silence—that is, comfortable with not speaking all the time—we begin to choose when to speak and the words we say are said more carefully. Words become more than mere noise. Saying hurtful things, lying (even little "white lies") becomes more difficult. The torrent of words against a background of noise makes it very easy for us to suppose our words do not matter, true or false. But silence makes words stand out; their meaning resonates more powerfully. It is not at all uncommon for the practitioner of silence to discover new eloquence, new effectiveness in speaking and in writing.
Keeping silence also helps us develop empathy. The person who keeps silence regularly is far more comfortable with being quiet when another person is talking. All the well-known techniques for empathetic and effective listening—focused attention, sympathetic posture, non-verbal assent, and above all, refraining from interrupting or completing another's thoughts—come easily and naturally to the practitioner of silence. I believe this is one reason the Desert Fathers and Mothers were so often sought out for personal counseling and spiritual direction. Not only did they have choice bits of wisdom to offer; they also knew how to keep silent while troubled people spoke.
A PREFACE TO SILENCE
Let all mortal flesh keep silence.
—Liturgy of St. James, Hymn 324
Before you read any further, try an experiment: Be silent for just ten minutes. Insulate and isolate yourself—remove or turn off the telephone, make yourself comfortable, lock your door. Do whatever will guarantee ten minutes of quiet. Do nothing else to prepare yourself. Put nothing else on the agenda—just see what happens.
Note your thoughts and feelings during this period. You might find it helpful to jot them down for reference when the period of silence is over and as you work through the rest of this book. Note any difficulties you have, any feelings of anxiety, or feelings of absurdity. All of these are quite normal, and can be addressed easily. People who are new to intentional silence experience a bit of both. It helps to become familiar with these feelings now. The sense of anxiety will subside, but feelings of self-consciousness or absurdity are bound to recur. People who are drawn to the arts of meditation tend to be self-critical to some degree, and these feelings are simply a product of that faculty.
Of course, take note of your positive feelings: security, peacefulness, rest, and refreshment. These are not illusory benefits, and they are a welcome alternative to noise for most of us. Get acquainted with them. They are part of the reason for keeping silence, and they are immediately available.
Next, I suggest that you read through this little book quickly before you attempt any of the methods for keeping silence that I've explored. Just as you would scan a menu in a restaurant before deciding which foods you want to try, a quick preview of the book will allow you to look over the various methods, and choose one or more that seems attractive to you. Each method is put into a theological and philosophical framework—nothing too ambitious or involved, but background that will help to answer your questions.
First, a few warnings. Most people quickly discover that their own thoughts regularly interrupt their silence once external stimuli are greatly reduced. Frequently, the thought that intrudes is: "You are wasting time. You have better things to do." This is a powerful message, one that must be taken seriously if we are to make any headway. Buddhist masters have likened that thought to a monkey in the mind—it quickly takes on a life of its own, and mutates into a strangely frenetic list of things you "should" be doing—the grocery shopping, cleaning, helping the kids with their homework, and so on. Christians might think of the voice as that of Martha: She has symbolized the active life at least since the third century, when Origen of Alexandria compared Marthas action to Mary's contemplation. We tend to think of Martha's voice as a negative one, but she has her very good point to make. It's just that her timing is off. And so is the voice interrupting your silence.
The best way to handle an intrusive thought is not to resist it, but to honor it—and thereby disarm it. Treat the thought as if it were a person and say, "You are right. I am a responsible person, and you are a responsible thought. I do have things to do. And I will do them. I respect everything you stand for. But I'll take care of my responsibilities in a few minutes. What I am doing right now—or am about to do—will make me better at the very things you are reminding me to do. So just go away for the present—return later and help me meet my responsibilities then."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Keeping Silence by C.W. McPherson. Copyright © 2002 C.W. McPherson. Excerpted by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
