Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to consider the importance of silence in an increasingly noisy society.
Where I live silence is hard to come by, and when it is here it's fleeting. I live in a major metropolis. Metropoli are loud. I know this. For me this makes quietness all the more special the few times it happens. But sometimes I think I'm the only one who feels this way, and it's starting to drive me batty.
Case in point: A rainy Monday, on the train. It's quiet. Everyone is either sleeping, in a stupor, or reading. You can just feel a collective sense of repose, and it's nice. At the next stop a passenger gets on with a little radio that is blaring a hard-thumping song. Every head turns. Some faces have looks of disgust. But no one says anything. We all endure. Why? Why do we let one selfish prick ruin what was a seemingly pleasant environment for everyone?
I know why: We don't want to get shot. This is a reasonable concern in the big city, especially when you hear stories of people getting gunned down and stabbed for talking back to muggers. It sucks that these isolated incidents have to cause so much fear, but it's hard to change that. And that's why those in a position of authority should enforce the rules that they take the time to publicize. Here's one, for starters. This is an official rule of the New York Metropolitan Transit Authority (ie, NYC public transportation): "No person on or in any facility or conveyance shall create any sound through the use of any sound production device, except as specifically authorized by 1050.6(c) of these rules. Use of radios and other devices listened to solely by headphones or earphones and inaudible to others is permitted." See http://www.mta.info/nyct/rules/rules.htm for more entertainment on this order. Not once in my years of living in New York have I seen a transit worker enforce this rule on someone who is clearly breaking it. The rule was made for a reason, and I'd like to think that it has a little something to do with not making passengers become agitated in an enclosed space. But The Man doesn't seem to care, so that means that the little man has to care. Except the little man is too scared to care. And that's how silence dies. Do you care?
I care! Silence permits us to really see and hear things that we could not otherwise detect in the presence of someone else's noise: how beautiful someone's eyes are; the way in which that elderly couple still love each other; the voice of God. Mahatma Gandhi said, "In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves in itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth."
Where I live silence is hard to come by, and when it is here it's fleeting. I live in a major metropolis. Metropoli are loud. I know this. For me this makes quietness all the more special the few times it happens. But sometimes I think I'm the only one who feels this way, and it's starting to drive me batty.
Case in point: A rainy Monday, on the train. It's quiet. Everyone is either sleeping, in a stupor, or reading. You can just feel a collective sense of repose, and it's nice. At the next stop a passenger gets on with a little radio that is blaring a hard-thumping song. Every head turns. Some faces have looks of disgust. But no one says anything. We all endure. Why? Why do we let one selfish prick ruin what was a seemingly pleasant environment for everyone?
I know why: We don't want to get shot. This is a reasonable concern in the big city, especially when you hear stories of people getting gunned down and stabbed for talking back to muggers. It sucks that these isolated incidents have to cause so much fear, but it's hard to change that. And that's why those in a position of authority should enforce the rules that they take the time to publicize. Here's one, for starters. This is an official rule of the New York Metropolitan Transit Authority (ie, NYC public transportation): "No person on or in any facility or conveyance shall create any sound through the use of any sound production device, except as specifically authorized by 1050.6(c) of these rules. Use of radios and other devices listened to solely by headphones or earphones and inaudible to others is permitted." See http://www.mta.info/nyct/rules/rules.htm for more entertainment on this order. Not once in my years of living in New York have I seen a transit worker enforce this rule on someone who is clearly breaking it. The rule was made for a reason, and I'd like to think that it has a little something to do with not making passengers become agitated in an enclosed space. But The Man doesn't seem to care, so that means that the little man has to care. Except the little man is too scared to care. And that's how silence dies. Do you care?
I care! Silence permits us to really see and hear things that we could not otherwise detect in the presence of someone else's noise: how beautiful someone's eyes are; the way in which that elderly couple still love each other; the voice of God. Mahatma Gandhi said, "In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves in itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth."
I yearn for crystal clearness. And I deeply resent the imposition of one person's noise on a whole group's possible quest after Truth. Does anyone else?
2 comments:
As Steve Carell once said in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy: "DAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!! LOUD NOISES!!!!!!!!!!"
Oh, and I totally agree and junk.
I raise my hand silently, in agreement.
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