Soulful Sundays: Silence

“Music is the silence between the notes.” — Claude Debussy

On June 11, 1963, Malcolm Browne, a reporter with the Associated Press, captured one of the most iconic images of the 20th century. The occasion was a peaceful gathering of Buddhist monks in the streets of Saigon, Vietnam. They had gathered en masse to protest the religious persecution being committed against them by the South Vietnamese government. At a similar protest the previous month, nine monks had been fired upon and killed by the South Vietnamese military police. The stakes were high.

Out of the group of monks emerged their elder, Thích Quảng Đức — a thin older man of 66 years, wearing the orange robes of his sect. He quietly walked to the center of the street and sat down, as if beginning a meditation — when one of his disciples came up behind him and ceremoniously doused him with an entire can of gasoline. The disciple then stepped away and lit a match to the flammable fluid, setting Đức on fire. Hundreds watched on as he silently and calmly let himself become engulfed in flame.

This display of voluntary self-sacrifice was an act of rebellion more powerful than violence. Although no words were said, the message was loud and clear. Upon seeing the photograph, President John F. Kennedy began steps to intercede in South Vietnam — eventually enabling a coup that had hopes of ending the persecution. Although it would take many more decades to restore peace in Vietnam, Đức’s quiet action was the essential catalyst for the fires of change.

The mythic Buddha embodied that same code of surrender. Followers and skeptics alike would flock to him with their questions about the nature of reality. Oftentimes, when he was confronted with such questions, his only response was to smile and remain silent — preferring to let the pause do the answering. In the eyes of the Sufi mystics, silence is the language of God. The same is true of the prophecy of the Messiah — Jesus remained quiet as he was sentenced to death, allowing his silence to be his testimony.

In the theory of yin and yang, silence is an embodiment of yin. Empty and still in its essence, quietude is the perfect representation of fertility and receptivity. Silence does not do anything active, per se, but its patience can be more powerful than any words. It is the spaces between the notes that make them into phrases — thus giving them life. Yin is the mother of yang, which is the creative energy that springs forth from the emptiness.

Nothing accentuates the importance of silence more than its absence. A peaceful night interrupted by the sound of an ambulance. A quiet plane ride made insufferable by the cries of a baby. A sublime forest deflowered by the buzz of a nearby highway. We so often forget what we have until it is lost. And once lost it is not so easily regained.

There is a frenetic quality to life that leaves us longing for its opposite, but unfortunately this is a false dichotomy. Nothing in existence is either all yin or all yang. The seeds of the one are always contained in the other. The path to enlightenment is in understanding this balance. Don’t confuse with words when silence is needed — and don’t hide in silence when words are necessary. Wisdom is knowing when to act and when to surrender.