The Word That Remains

A Dialogue on Silence and the Hunger to Speak

“Many have spoken much and found emptiness, but he who loves silence draws near to God.”

— Sayings of the Desert Fathers

The brother said:

“Father, I have spent many years reading, studying, discussing, teaching, and writing about spiritual things. Yet I often feel as though I have arrived nowhere.”

The Elder looked at him for a long time before speaking.

“Have you ever drawn water from a well?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then tell me. Which fills the bucket faster: lowering it into the water or speaking about water?”

The brother smiled.

“Lowering it into the water, Father.”

“And yet many spend their lives discussing wells.”

The brother was silent.

After a time he said:

“Is speaking, then, a danger?”

The Elder shook his head.

“No. Vanity is the danger. Speaking is merely one of its favorite garments.”

The brother lowered his eyes.

“How can I know if my words are vain?”

The Elder replied:

“When you finish speaking, do you feel closer to God or closer to yourself?”

The brother did not answer.

The Elder continued:

“There are words that are born from prayer and there are words that are born from restlessness.”

“How do I distinguish them?”

“The first leave peace behind. The second leave hunger.”

The brother considered this.

“Then why do I feel such a need to speak?”

“Because you are afraid.”

The brother looked up in surprise.

“Afraid of what?”

The Elder smiled.

“Silence.”

“Why should I fear silence?”

“Because in silence there is nowhere to hide.”

The brother’s face grew serious.

The Elder pointed toward the desert beyond the cell.

“Look.”

The brother turned.

The desert stretched endlessly beneath the afternoon sun.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing, Father.”

“Exactly.”

The Elder’s voice became soft.

“Most men cannot bear that. They need noise. Explanations. Opinions. Arguments. Activity. Endless movement.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if they stop moving, they may finally meet themselves.”

The brother sat quietly.

After a while he said:

“Father, I think I understand.”

“No,” said the Elder. “Not yet.”

The brother waited.

The Elder continued:

“You still believe silence exists so that you may discover yourself.”

“Why else does it exist?”

“So that you may forget yourself.”

The brother felt something in him give way.

The Elder looked toward the icon of Christ hanging in the corner of the cell.

“The goal is not silence.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What is the goal then?”

“To hear.”

“Hear what?”

The Elder smiled.

“The voice that was speaking before you began speaking.”

The brother bowed his head.

The room grew quiet.

Minutes passed.

Neither spoke.

At last the brother whispered:

“Father, what should I do?”

The Elder answered:

“Speak less.”

The brother nodded.

The Elder continued:

“Pray more.”

Again the brother nodded.

The Elder’s voice became almost a whisper.

“And when you are tempted to explain everything, remain before one word of the Gospel until it judges you.”

The brother sat motionless.

The Elder closed his eyes.

“Many have spoken much and found emptiness.”

“And the one who loves silence?”

The Elder opened his eyes and looked toward heaven.

“He discovers that God has been speaking all along.”