Searching for God # 91

 Amidst the turbulence, the cacophony, the lies, the bombs, missiles, drones and conspiracies one’s search for the inner quiet that the monastics and ‘religious’ have found to be essential as an integral part of one’s search for God, seems miles and eons, universes and time zones away.

And yet….

Is it?

The tradition of seeking, pausing and experiencing silence has a deep and extensive history.

During the tenth century, the Brahmin priests developed the Brahmodya competition, which would become a model of authentic religious discourse. The contestants began by going on a retreat in the forest, where they performed spiritual exercises, such as fasting and breath control, that concentrated their minds and induced a different type of consciousness. Then the contest could begin. Its goal was to find a verbal formula to define the Brahmin, in the process of pushing language  as far as it could go, until it finally broke down and people became vividly aware of the ineffable, the other. The challenger asked an enigmatic question, and his opponent had to reply in a way that was apt but equally inscrutable. The winner was the contestant who reduced his opponents to silence—and in that moment of silence, when language revealed its inadequacy, the Brahman was present; it became manifest only in the stunning realization of the impotence of speech. (Karen Armstrong, The Case for God, p. 13)

Even Socrates, who never committed any of his teachings to writing, having a poor opinion of written discourse. People who read a lot imagined that they knew a great deal, but because they had not inscribed when they had read indelibly on their minds, their knew nothing at all. Written words were like figures in painting. They seemed alive, but if you questioned then they remains ‘solemnly silent.’ Without the spiritual interchange of human encounter, the knowledge imparted by a written text tended to become static; it ‘continues to signify just that same thing forever. Socrates did not approve of fix dogmatically held opinions. (Armstrong op cit. p. 59)

During the Enlightenment, too, Rousseau ‘believed science was divisive, because very few people could participate in the scientific revolution and most were left behind. As a result, people were living in different intellectual worlds. Scientific rationalism, which cultivated a dispassionate objectivity, could obscure ‘the natural repugnance to see any sensitive being perish or suffer. Knowledge, Rousseau believed, had become cerebral; instead we should listen to the ‘heart.’ Fo Rosseau, the ‘heart’ was not equivalent to emotion; it referred to a receptive attitude of silent waiting—not unlike the Greek hesychia* that was ready to listen to the instinctive impulses that precede our conscious words and thoughts. Instead of attending to reason alone, we should learn to hear this timid voice of nature as a corrective to the aggressive reasoning of those philosophers who sought to master the emotions and bring more truly elements of life under control. (Joshua Mitchell, Not by Reason Alone: Religion, History and Identity in Early Modern Political Thought, Chicago 1993, p. 124, quoted by Armstrong, op. cit. p.218-219)

(*Hesychia, a silent practice of initiation as a spiritual exercise whereby the new initates to the faith were instructed to keep their minds in continuous motion, swinging back and forth between the One and the Three (of the Trinity). This mental discipline would enable them gradually to experience within themselves the inner balance of the threefold mind. (Armstrong op.cit. p. 116)

From beingbenedictine.com, in a piece entitled, 10 Reasons Benedictines Love Silence, we read:

Why is silence so fundamental to Benedictine Spirituality?

Silence in the way to self-knowledge. A discipline of silence confronts us with ourselves. ‘Silence is a way for us to put up with ourselves the way we are. Not everything that comes to mind at times of silence is pleasant. Repressed needs and wishes may come up, repressed anger, and perhaps missed opportunities.’ Fr. Thomas shared. Silence gives our wounds space to surface, allowing us time to wrestle with and soothe our pain in healthy ways. Silence allows us to see ourselves unfiltered without the influence of others.

Silence connects us to the divine. St. Isaac of Syria writes: Try to enter into your treasure house and you will see the treasure of heaven. For both the one and the other are the same, and the one and the same entrance reveals them both. The ladder leading to the kingdom is within you, that is in your soul.

Silence builds confidence and leads to self-respect. As my prayer became more and more devout and interior, I come to know myself with greater depth,. This knowing builds my confidence. I have been created just as I am, in the image of God. I forgive myself for weaknesses and celebrate my gifts. I seek less approval from others. I have ‘less and less’ to say to justify, convince or plead my case of worthiness  to myself or others.

Silence gives me time for discernment.  Silence allows for prayerful discernment of the places and spaces that are calling me to use my words, voice energy or presence.

Silence in instructed in the Rule of St. Benedict. According to St. Benedict, silence and speech complement each other. Words that flow from silence look like this: speaking with humility, gravity, reverence (for God and for others), charity and gentleness.

Silence protects us from the danger of too many words. I love words, but there are times when I give them too much power. I think if I keep talking, I might find the right words to communicate my point better. Maybe my words aren’t effective of not heard the way I intended—so I try again with more words thinking ‘this time I will be understood. Maybe ‘this time’ we will agree or reach  a hoped-for reconciliation.

Silence keeps us from judgement…Passing judgement on others can make us blind to our own mistakes, and voicing those criticisms can be a slipper slope of thinking we are better than others.

Silence brings inner peace. (R)enouncing judgement and condemnation is a way to inner peace with ourselves. We let others be as they are, and in this way, we can also be ourselves, Fr. Thomas counsels.

Silence helps us let go and be in the present moment. Silence in the art of being entirely present, of giving oneself unreservedly to the moment. The goal of silent prayer is to become one with God. In silence we let go of what constantly preoccupies us. We let go of our thoughts and wishes. We let go of everything that would take control of us and that we cling to—our success, our relationships, Letting go is th way to connect with my inner source and discover the true wealth of my soul, Fr. Thomas counsels.

Silence allows for deeper listening and improved relationships. Sister Hayward in the Oblate Life writes about silence and the experience of feeling the total presence of another person, in such a profound way that ‘in that moment’ we will have felt absolutely heard, totally cared for and completely understood.’

And from stbedeabbey.org, we read, as application of the discipline of silence:

One of the most well-known practices is the ‘Great Silence’ observed after the final prayer of the day, Compline. From the end of Compline until after breakfast the next morning, monks refrain from speaking unless absolutely necessary. The Great Silence is a chance to maintain a sacred stillness through the night—and enter sleep in peace and prayer. It is a practice of discipline and reverence guarding against trivial talk and busyness.

As anyone who might have dipped his/her toes into this space, the scribe is on a learning curve, in a pilgrimage of search for God, continuing to explore disciplines with which I am vaguely familiar. An amusing anecdote might serve well here:

Assigning myself and being accepted into a weekend retreat with a Jesuit in the west end of Toronto, while attending Trinity College, I had the opportunity to be guided in my questions and thoughts in and through periodic ‘sessions’ with the spiritual director. Each session would focus on a discipline on which he considered I might spend quiet time, and then I would exchange my experiences in the following session. At the end of the weekend, the director, with a wry smile, in his soft-yet-firm voice spoke these words: “I am certainly glad that this was only a weekend retreat. If I had subjected you to an 8-day retreat, the silence would have killed you!”

As a former English instructor and journalist, prior to entering seminary, I had relied on words, both as instruction and as questions. Although listening was, and likely still is not, my strong suit, I continue to regard silence as a beacon of  pause, especially prior to, within, or immediately following an especially stressful moment. Likely unable (or unwilling?) to shed either of the ‘masks’ of careers, I continue to scribble words here in this space, mostly still following the original intent: ‘what is it that I need/want to learn and how can this space assist with that process?’

If others have learned anything from their exposure to these pages, that is to their credit alone. They have been open, reflective, calm and most likely silent in their moments spent here. And that silence reflects a similar shared silence that has preceded and ingested itself in these reflections and continues to accompany reflections after completing each piece. I am humbled and grateful for your silent presence, wherever you are!