Written by Carolina Machado
Medically reviewed by Susana Pontiggia (Psychologist, Specialist in Neuroscience and Human Behavioral Sciences, Consultant in Personal and Organizational Development)

When was the last time you were truly in silence?
Not with headphones off while scrolling, not in bed with the hum of a fridge in the background—but in a moment where sound fell away, leaving only you and your awareness?

For many, silence feels awkward. We fill pauses in conversation, turn on background music to keep us company, let podcasts or radio and TV chatter through the day. Silence can feel like something’s missing—or worse, like something uncomfortable is about to happen. Yet, at the same time, we long for quiet: a break from notifications, a night without noise, a retreat into nature.

So why does silence feel both unbearable and deeply precious? And is it even possible to experience “pure” silence at all?

Is Silence Ever Truly Silent?

The composer John Cage once visited an anechoic chamber at Harvard—a room built to eliminate every external sound. Expecting to hear “nothing,” he was surprised to notice two constant tones: a high one (his nervous system) and a low one (the circulation of his blood). His conclusion was simple but profound: “There is no such thing as silence.”

Nature reminds us of this too. A forest at dawn, even when “quiet,” is alive with subtle sounds: the rustle of leaves, distant birds, the murmur of water. Even in a cave, where outside sounds are blocked, our own body insists on being heard—the pulse in the ears, the rhythm of breath.

Absolute silence may not exist outside imagination, and perhaps we don’t really want it to. What we seek instead is relative silence: a space where the overwhelming noise of modern life fades enough for other sounds—and for our own thoughts—to emerge. In many ways, silence begins with the perception of absence.

Why Silence Feels Uncomfortable

Silence can be unsettling. In conversation, a pause often feels awkward, prompting someone to fill the gap quickly. In films, silence can be used to build suspense—the calm before the scream, the breath before the explosion. Even in daily life, a sudden quiet moment can feel eerie, as if something’s about to go wrong.

Some psychologists and researchers believe silence feels uncomfortable partly because our brains are so used to constant stimulation—from screens, conversations, and alerts—that a quiet moment leaves us with internal noise: thoughts, worries, anxieties, and awarenesses we often avoid. Silence, in that sense, confronts us with ourselves.

But the same pause that feels uncomfortable at first can, with practice, become grounding. Learning to sit in silence, even for a minute, can help the nervous system settle. Instead of being an empty space to escape, silence can turn into a moment of presence—a soft reset.

The Power and Beauty of Silence

Silence is not just the absence of sound—it is the space that makes sound, music, and meaning possible. Just as a pause in speech gives words weight, and a rest in music creates rhythm, silence shapes how we experience life. 

In cinema, silence can also capture the inner world, reveal a deeper connection, or create a poetic, observational experience for the viewer. It offers space for reflection and reconnects us to a sense of “real time” and inner life. While some filmmakers may view silence as a void, its meaning often depends on cultural perception and one’s relationship with quiet.

John Cage believed silence was never empty, but rather a frame that allows us to truly listen. R. Murray Schafer—founder of the World Soundscape Project, often considered the father of soundscape ecology—warned that silence is endangered in our noisy world, making it even more precious. Composer and performer Pauline Oliveros taught that through “deep listening,” silence opens us to the layers of sound we usually ignore.

In Japan, silence is woven into the aesthetic of ma (間)—the pause, the space in between. Ma is not a void, but a presence, a fullness. In Hayao Miyazaki’s films, this becomes visible: a child standing quietly in the woods, a pause by the river, the wind moving through grass before a character speaks. These silences are not filler; they are where the story breathes, where emotions deepen. Those long quiet moments, minimal visual or aural cues, let the setting itself (wind, trees, light) occupy space and sense.

In our own lives, silence can work the same way. It is the pause that allows us to reset, to notice, to feel. Rather than being something to fear, silence can be one of the most powerful sounds we ever hear.

Silence and the Body/Mind

Silence doesn’t just change how we listen—it changes our brains and bodies. Research suggests that even short moments of quiet can lower blood pressure, slow the heart rate, and reduce stress hormones. Silence has also been found to increase the relaxing effects of slow or meditative music.

The brain seems to process silence almost like it processes sound—as if quiet is not “nothing,” but an active signal that carries meaning. That may help explain why silence improves memory and learning, giving the brain a moment to consolidate and integrate information.

In meditation, silence is central: the absence of distraction allows us to observe the mind’s chatter without being swept away by it. In daily life, small doses of silence—closing your eyes on the train, walking without headphones, sitting quietly for a few minutes before bed—can offer a surprising sense of clarity and rest.

Different Faces of Silence

Silence takes many forms,and its meaning shifts depending on context. Not all silences feel the same.

• Cultural silence: a minute of silence after tragedy, silence in religious rituals, the quiet of monasteries where contemplation deepens.
• Communicative silence: a gesture instead of words, a meaningful pause in conversation, the unspoken understanding between people.
• Artistic silence: in cinema, the suspense of a long quiet shot or the opportunity to connect with something deeper; in music, the rests that give shape to melody; in literature, the unspoken that resonates between lines.
• Natural silence: never absolute, but often deeper and wider than city soundscapes—the flight of an owl, the almost noiseless step of a cat, the rustle of leaves in a hi-fi landscape, as Schafer described it. 
• Political silence: the “right to silence,” or the silencing of voices—a reminder that silence can be both chosen and imposed.

Each silence carries its own weight: some soothe, others disturb, many transform.

How to Reclaim Silence in Daily Life

In a noisy, hyperconnected world, silence rarely happens by accident. We usually have to make space for it. But it doesn’t need to be dramatic—you don’t need a monastery or a cave. Small steps are enough:

• Turn off background noise for a few minutes a day.
• Take a walk without music or podcasts, listening to the environment.
• Try a “minute of silence” at home: notice what arises in that brief pause.
• Create device-free times—the first ten minutes of the morning, or meals without screens.
• Explore guided meditation or simply sit quietly, hearing your body and letting obligations soften for a moment.
• Let silence fill spaces you’re used to filling with noise.

Take it at your own pace. If you try any of these or other tips, jot down how the sensation of silence changes over time. Silence is like a muscle—at first it may feel awkward or uncomfortable, but over time it grows into a source of strength and clarity.

Resources to Go Deeper 

• John Cage, Silence (1961): A collection of writings and lectures exploring silence not as absence, but as a frame that gives sound and music meaning. 
• R. Murray Schafer, The Tuning of the World (1977): Schafer introduces the concept of the soundscape and examines silence as both a cultural and ecological phenomenon. He warns of the dangers of modern noise pollution and invites us to revalue silence in our environments.
• Pauline Oliveros, Deep Listening (2005): Oliveros distinguishes between the involuntary nature of hearing and the conscious act of listening. Her practice encourages cultivating awareness of both external and internal soundscapes through experimentation, improvisation, and playfulness. Her legacy continues at the Center for Deep Listening.
• Erling Kagge, Silence, in the Age of Noise (2018): Structured in 33 short meditations, Kagge reflects on silence as inner stillness in an overstimulated world. Drawing on his polar expeditions and personal philosophy, he shows how silence is less about withdrawal than about listening more deeply to oneself, others, and the world.
• Olga Vanessa Lehmann, TEDx Talk “The Value of Silence in a Noisy World” (2018): A psychological exploration of silence’s personal and social value. Lehmann created Silent Archive, a platform that collects anonymous stories about people’s everyday experiences with silence in its many forms.

The Art of Silence

Silence may never be absolute, but that is precisely its beauty. It isn’t an empty void—it’s a living pause, filled with possibility. It challenges us to stop, to listen, to be with ourselves and the world in a deeper way. 

In a culture that fills every gap with sound and distraction, it’s not about waiting for a perfect environment. Reclaiming and cultivating silence may be a quiet act of resistance. And it can also become a chance to rediscover that within the pause, life itself is speaking.