There is a story about one of the American Founders whom everyone respected:  he said very little, and most imputed his reticence to wisdom.  Some, including the teller of the anecdote, wondered whether it were not because the man had nothing wise to say  – which itself seems a prudent course of action.  For in either case, the man’s understanding is betrayed not by what he says, but by his silence.  He was not the first of his kind.  The great voices of western civilization have exhorted silence to those who had ears to hear for thousands of years.  Aristotle praised the contemplative life over the active one.  St. Benedict taught that a monk could not be perfect unless he was slow to speak.[1]  St. Thomas was called the “Dumb Ox” precisely because he cultivated the virtue of silence.  Few virtues, however, are so alien to modern ears as silence, but perhaps none need louder to be shouted into them.

Our time has been described by many as narcissistic.  Vices always make one self-centered, but the vices of our time – throw-away materialism, abuse of social media,  and pornography, for a few examples – turn their hosts especially violently inwards.  Perhaps we need a regression, a resourcement.

It is no coincidence that in one of the most beautiful passages from one of the oldest and most profound books of the Bible – that of Job – the protagonist, the hero who has suffered so much, the man, says nothing at all.  After all Job has gone through, God questions him:

“Gird up your loins like a man, I will question you, and you shall declare to me.  Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?  Tell me, if you have understanding.  Who determined its measurements – surely you know!… Where is the way to the dwellings of the light, and where is the place of darkness, that you may take it to its territory and you may discern the paths to its home?  You know, for you were born then, and the number of your days is great!”[2]

Job only answers:  “Behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer thee?  I lay my hand on my mouth.  I have spoken once, and will not answer; twice, but I will proceed no further.”[3]

The fascinating thing about this passage is that silence does not cut Job off from the world, from reality, from what is going on around him.  On the contrary, the last chapters of Job are a hymn in praise of the most majestic and beautiful facets of this world of ours; these are words to which Job, stripped of all his own ambitions, is able to give his entire attention.  He is able to be the man of whom G. K. Chesterton speaks, who is, “wasted to its crazy bones, but his eyes are frightfully alive… staring with a frantic intentness outwards.” [4]

For that is the true purpose, and necessity, of silence: to be able to hear, to see, to ultimately, to gain understanding and wisdom. “Obsculta, O fili, praecepta magistri…”

[1] Cf. Rule of St. Benedict, Ch.5

[2] Job 38:3-5, 19-21

[3] Ibid., 40:4-5

[4] G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy.