In Pursuit of Silence (40 page)

As I recognized the depth of this conundrum, I began to switch my focus from the battle against noise to the subject of how people succeed in making silence in the world. Here, at last, I found myself filled with excitement and hope. The best of the work being performed today by urbanists, architects, landscape designers, and soundscape experts draws extensively on both advanced techniques of acoustical engineering and the long, rich history of humanity’s efforts to construct communal spaces of tranquillity. In the middle of some of the largest, most cacophonous cities in the world, people are managing to produce oases of quiet in which sounds that nurture our sense of peace, compassion, and imagination—like falling water, rustling foliage, and birdsong—become audible again.

In some countries, such as the United Kingdom, people now speak of a quiet-space movement. Nothing holds greater promise for rescuing us from the new noise nightmare. Bronzaft’s remarks could be taken to imply that the increasing loudness of the world means that people are actually becoming less nice. They’re certainly not going to become any friendlier if the only way they can be persuaded to turn down the sound is by humiliating and litigating them into sullen muteness. Which suggests, as one activist remarked to me, that the problem of forcibly silencing noisemakers will always resemble mole-whacking. When one source is silenced, the problem will morph into new forms as endlessly various as the parade of new gadgets we love to sound off.

The only way out of this bind is to make the pursuit of silence itself a more broadly inviting prospect. The more opportunity there is for people who are being increasingly excluded from silence to feel its influence, the more chance there is that silence will begin to confer its singular graces on society at large. Who knows, given enough quiet time, perhaps people may even find themselves tempted to become a little nicer.

At the end of my journey, I realized that what I meant by the unknown when I sat in the New Melleray Abbey pervades the whole of creation. Before I set out, I would never have imagined that the mammalian middle ear evolved from the jawbone; that the sound of the big bang might resemble a gathering scream; that a tea ceremony could become a theater of silences; or that the Deaf perspective on silence could reveal the possibilities of a more attentive sensory awareness for everyone. I was blessed with the opportunity to go out and listen to a few dozen places, people, and stories that I never dreamed existed.

The French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty writes in his last book that
perception is differentiation
, while forgetting is nondifferentiation. Earlier I took my stab at a definition of noise: sound that gets into your head and won’t go away. It might be enjoyable or not enjoyable, but noise is sound that makes us, for the time it’s there, cease to distinguish between the beings and objects outside us. Noise enables us to forget the larger world.

Conversely, if I were to hazard a definition of silence, I would describe it as the particular equilibrium of sound and quiet that catalyzes our powers of perception. Quiet is distinguished because
it enables differentiation, and the more we observe the distinction between things, the less mental space we have for our isolate selves. It’s not chance that even when we’re talking about quieting our own voices, we speak of “observing silence,” as though just by being silent we create something to behold beyond the self.

What’s unknown, then, is the world around us; what’s missing is our awareness that we do not know. Silence as a state of expectancy, a species of attention, is a key back into the garden of innocence. We may not stay. But God knows we listen for the sound of that opening.

So many people contributed to this book, both with regard to sharing specific ideas and to clarifying its larger argument, that the book became very much a mosaic of the voices I’ve had the good fortune to listen to while the work was in progress.

My agent, Scott Moyers, masterfully guided the book through every stage of its development, from helping to shape the initial concept to giving the complete manuscript the kind of exceptionally close scrutiny that enabled me to find its final form. I’m grateful to my editor, Phyllis Grann, whose passion for the subject helped inspire this book. Her singular expertise enabled me to think through many key passages to points of greater resonance. At Doubleday, I’d also like to thank, in particular, Karla Eoff, my admirable copyeditor, along with Jackie Montalvo and Rebecca Holland. On the editorial side, Kathy Robbins gave generously of her time and wisdom as an early supporter of the project. Linnea Covington assisted me with notes for the book with exemplary speed and accuracy.

I had most to learn in the realm of science and, in addition to providing her own manifold insights into different disciplines, Natalie deSouza deftly led me to many of the scientists and research environments that informed my approach to the interplay of noise and silence.

In terms of the mechanism of the ear, the biophysics of hearing, sensory neuroscience, and evolutionary psychology, a number of researchers and doctors helped me repeatedly and were inestimably important to the composition of the book. I’m especially indebted to Jim Hudspeth, Andy Niemiec, Thomas Roland, Mario Svirsky, and Rickye Heffner. Michael Merzenich, Kachar Bechara, Lucy Jane Miller, Yehoash Rafael, Andrew King, Barbara Shinn-Cunningham, Roberto Arrighi, Brian Fligor, Alan Gertner, and Robert W. Sweetow also provided me with valuable insights. Various researchers into animal hearing and vocalization further expanded my thinking about the relationship between noise and silence from a biological survival perspective. Gregory McDaniels, Karen Warkentin, Peter Narins, Albert Feng, Elisabetta Vannoni, Alan G. McElligott, and Heather Williams were particularly important sources in this regard.

With respect to the effects of silent meditation and silence on the brain, Lidia Glodzik-Sobanska helped me begin to understand the relevant neurological processes. The research findings of Vinod Menon were critical to the initial development of my argument. I’d also like to thank his colleague at Stanford Jonathan Berger. David Huron, Julie Brefczynski-Lewis, and Mony de Leon were additional important sources of insight. I’m grateful to Nadine Woloshin for having connected me with the Center for Brain Health at the New York City University School
of Medicine. Mark Rosekind gave me grounding in the potential affinities between certain stages of sleep and silence from a neurological perspective.

My education into acoustics, the physics of sound, and the relationship of music to the ideas of noise and silence began with several compelling lessons from Daniel Gaydos. Tomlinson Holman, Nico Muhly, Roger Morgan, Christopher Jaffe, Otts Munderloh, Jim Holt, Gregory Stanford, David Sonneschein, Leanne Flask, Doug Manvell, Wade Bray, Karl Luttinger, Jim Weir, William Egan, and Richard Danielson also contributed to my thoughts in this area.

Many people in Florida and elsewhere around the country helped me fathom the logistics and lure of car audio competition. I want to thank in particular Buzz Thompson, Casey Sullivan, Robin Butler, Tommy McKinnie, Chris Hayes, and Jean Hayes. Amy Grace Loyd and Bryan Abrams helped me shape and fact check an earlier draft of my account of the Memorial Day competition at Explosive Sound and Video.

In exploring the world of noise policy, antinoise activism, and the new medical research that helps to fuel these initiatives, I’m thankful for the incisive help given me by Rokhu Kim, Colin Nugent, John Hinton, Arline Bronzaft, Catrice Jefferson, Val Wheedon, Irene van Kamp, and Christian Popp. Wolfgang Babisch, Michael Jasny, Michael Saucier, Dieter Schwela, and Ken Feith also broadened my understanding of core noise policy and noise health issues. I want to thank the organizers of Noise-Con 2008 (sponsored by INCE, the Institute of Noise Control Engineering), and ICBEN (the International Commission on the Biological Effects of Noise) 2008 Congress, for helping to
facilitate my participation in these events. Thanks, as well, to Carol Hurley and Robert King.

In the realm of soundscaping and quiet space initiatives I benefited immeasurably from Max Dixon’s depth of understanding and experience in the field. I’m also grateful to Colin Grimshaw, who first spoke to me about quiet space projects in England. Together with his very helpful colleague Claire Shepherd, Colin arranged an enlightening tour of London soundscapes, as well as a fascinating discussion under the auspices of the Greater London Authority with Max Dixon and others working to improve the soundscape in different London boroughs. I’m grateful to Yvette Bosworth for putting me in contact with Colin. Paul Jennings also gave me insights into the relationship between soundscaping and industry.

Andrew Pollack, Jason Everman, John Spencer, Suni Williams, and Robert Hayes Parton each kindly shared compelling stories of their own experiences with noise and silence that found their way into the book. I’m grateful to David Kaiser for having brought my interest in silence to the attention of Robert Hayes Parton.

Alfonse Borysewickz not only introduced me to many ideas of Christianity and silence, and shared personal stories with me, but was also my link to Father Alberic Farbolin and New Melleray. Father Alberic gave graciously of his time and insights into the theological significance of silence in general, and silence in the monastic experience in particular, while I was staying at New Melleray. I also want to thank at New Melleray, in particular, Father Brendan Freeman (Abbot), Father Neil Paquette, Father Paul Andrews Tanner, and Brother Felix Leja. Father David
Fleming and Brother Stephen Markham, both of whom work in the community beyond New Melleray, also gave me valuable insights.

Many thanks to Nancy Black and the other participants in the Brooklyn Monthly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends whom I had the good fortune to meet. I also appreciate the hospitality extended me by the monks of Little Portion Friary, where I stayed early in my research.

Marco Roth was one of the first people to help me find a foothold in understanding the place of Zen Buddhism in contemporary American society. Gene Lushtak, Kris Bailey, Amber Vovola, Joan Suval, and the participants in the silent retreat she conducted at Ananda Ashram expanded my knowledge of the practice and potential of Zen and silent meditation. I’m deeply grateful to Virginia Harmon for introducing me to the place of silence in Zen gardens. David MacLaren helped me understand the creation of these gardens from a practical standpoint.

Hansel Bauman and Robert Sirvage gave me many critical insights into the Deaf experience of architecture in general and the aspirations of Deaf Space in particular. Also at Gallaudet, Dirk Bauman and Ben Bahan both expanded my knowledge of the rich context for ideas I was beginning to explore in relationship to the Deaf community and the cultural significance of Deaf visual acuity. I’m also thankful for the comments of Fred Weiner, Summer Crider, Josh Swiller, Michael Chorost, Erin Kelly, Adam Greenleaf, and Michael Hubbs. Nancy O’Donnell kindly arranged my initial visit to the Helen Keller National Center for Deaf-Blind Youths and Adults, which was my entry point into the world of Deaf experience. I’m grateful for the time and insights
given me there by James Feldmann, Kathy Anello, Don Duvo, and Susan Shapiro. Susan put me in touch with Toni Lacolucci, whose inspiring strength of character and compelling thoughts on the experience of noise and silence, both when she was hearing and after she became Deaf, were vital to this book.

Claire Benard was the ideal guide to the world of noise and silence in the laboratory, and the quiet enthusiasm of her colleague, Luisa Cochella, for the sounds of their exacting work helped define this moment for me.

My education into the problem of noise in the education system and the potential of silence in the classroom was facilitated by the unstinting assistance of Lyman Casey. I’m also grateful to the many colleagues of Lyman who weighed in on their own experiences of the noise problem in the public schools. Jonathan Edmonds provided important viewpoints on this subject from the perspective of the Quaker education system. Above all I want to thank the students of Brooklyn Preparatory High School who shared their poignant stories with a candor and immediacy that brought home to me the imperative of extending the “right to silence” beyond those environments in which silence is customarily nurtured today.

In thinking about the relevance of Theodor Lessing’s work to our contemporary noise dilemma, I was greatly helped by the generosity and scholarship of John Goodyear, who uncovered evidence that Lessing offered Rice the leadership of his organization. Paul Reitter also contributed to my understanding of Lessing’s work.

Many friends told wonderful stories of their own experiences with noise and silence, in addition to giving me books to read and
pointing me in important directions for further research. I’m especially grateful to Adam Cvijanovic, Frederick Kaufman, Elizabeth Berger, Lawrence Osborne, Paul Holdengraber, Barbara Wansbrough, Alexandra deSousa, Wayne Koestenbaum, Steve Marchetti, Shari Spiegel, Alan Berliner, Laura Kipnis, Richard Cohen, Anne LaFond, Tim Gilman, Arnon Grunberg, Inigo Thomas, Katherine Barrett, Benjamin Swett, Jonathan Nossiter, Michael Greenberg, Danielle McConnell, Christopher McConnell, Jenifer Nields, Nila Friedberg, Jim Holt, Raymond Teets, Wolfgang Schivelbusch, William Kolbrenner, Sina Najafi, Sandra Kogut, and Tom Levin. Thanks, also, to Julie Goldberg.