The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy

193 THE SOUND OF SILENCE IN PEDAGOGY Michalinos Zembylas Michigan State University and Intercollege, Cyprus Pavlos Michaelides Intercollege, Cyprus INTRODUCTION How do students experience silence and its subversion (that is, the silencing of silence) in the classroom? How can a teacher know whether a student is keeping silent as a political stand or as a result of shyness? Can educators embrace silence without compromising critical talk or marginalizing ‘‘silenced groups’’? At what cost to the individual, to teaching and learning, and to society in general does education ignore the pedagogical value of silence? How can respect for silence in education become a call for respect of the self, otherness, humility, and a sense of wonder? These questions focus educators’ attention on the value of silence within educational processes. On the one hand, as Huey-li Li points out, silencing is still widely viewed ‘‘as an indispensable disciplinary act that aims at establishing an ordered milieu for effective teaching and learning’’; on the other hand, she continues, ‘‘the use of silence in educational settings may simply allow time for reflection on teaching and learning.’’1 These in some ways contradictory functions of silence in educational settings reveal its ambiguous role in educational practices. Silence is a complex, positive phenomenon.2 While the common assumption is that silence is the opposite of speech, many thinkers throughout history, including Eastern and Western mystics, Martin Heidegger, Maurice MerleauPonty, and Ludwig Wittgenstein, have emphasized that silence is not the mere absence of speech. Heidegger, for example, claimed that silence is constitutive of discourse, and Merleau-Ponty argued that something exists beyond what is said, a silent and implicit language; they both emphasized that in order to be silent, one must have something to say.3 As Max Picard wrote more than half a century ago in a provocative book on the various forms of silence in our lives, ‘‘When language ceases, Silence begins. But it does not begin because language ceases. The absence of language simply makes the presence of silence more apparent.’’4 Picard pointed 1. Huey-li Li, ‘‘Silences and Silencing Silences,’’ in Philosophy of Education 2001, ed. Suzanne Rice (Urbana, Illinois: University of Illinois Press, 2002), 157. 2. Bernard Dauenhauer, Silence: The Phenomenon and Its Ontological Significance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980). 3. See Martin Heidegger, History of the Concept of Time (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992); and Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Signs (Chicago: Northwestern University Press, 1995). 4. Max Picard, The World of Silence, trans. Stanley Godman (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1952), 15. EDUCATIONAL THEORY | Volume 54 | Number 2 | 2004 # 2004 Board of Trustees | University of Illinois 194 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 out that silence is a force, independent of but associated with other forces such as spirit and word, and that infuses almost every dimension of one’s life. This is why silence is best understood as a positive, not a negative, phenomenon. It carries meaning even by virtue of its being an absence (of speech); it can ‘‘say’’ something merely by leaving something unsaid. Gregory Bateson emphasized a similar view, arguing that a non-message is also a message — the silence tells us something.5 Any effort to define silence can quickly become engulfed in an endless array of complexities. On the one hand, for example, if silence is viewed as ‘‘an autonomous phenomenon’’ and ‘‘an independent whole,’’ as Picard suggested, and thus is not identical with the suspension of language, then we are faced with the question: Is silence that which resists all naming or, rather, that which constitutes all naming?6 On the other hand, if the ‘‘sound of silence’’ is a correlative, then ‘‘silence’’ does not exist by itself and thus is not a ‘‘thing’’ that can be undone. The latter view raises the question: If sound/silence are correlatives, is it possible to avoid the usual dichotomies? These perspectives highlight the challenges inherent in studying silence (the search for the essence of silence can go on forever); however, these perspectives are helpful in pointing out that perhaps any study of silence should not be about the what but, rather, about the how. In other words, although there are different kinds of silence, what seems to be important is how silence works in specific contexts. This allows us to distinguish between philosophical analyses of silence and pedagogical, social, and political ones.7 The philosophical concern with silence and thus with the limits of language has a long history and well-established roots. It can be found in ancient mysticism as the ‘‘ineffable’’; in negative theology (the tradition of the via negativa), as the ‘‘unnamable’’; in Friedrich Nietzsche’s warning that grammar seduces us into a belief in metaphysics; and, more recently, in Wittgenstein’s warning in the Tractatus that ‘‘There is indeed the inexpressible.…Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.’’8 Despite the impossibility of adhering to his edict, it might be said that Wittgenstein was right, in the sense not merely of the possible but of the imperative.9 There is a futility 5. Gregory Bateson, Steps to an Ecology of Mind (Nortvale: Jason Aronson, 1987). The notion that silence communicates messages can be seen in popular descriptions of silence, such as ‘‘silence is golden,’’ ‘‘silence is threatening,’’ and ‘‘silence as a weapon.’’ 6. Picard, The World of Silence, 15. 7. We are indebted to an anonymous reviewer for pointing us in this direction. 8. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (New York: Humanities Press, 1961), 149. 9. Karmen MacKendrick, Immemorial Silence (New York: SUNY Press, 2001). MICHALINOS ZEMBYLAS is Associate Professor of Education at Intercollege, Cyprus, 46 Makedonitissas Avenue, Nicosia 1700, and Adjunct Professor of Teacher Education at Michigan State University. His primary areas of scholarship are emotions in education, science education, and philosophy of education. PAVLOS MICHAELIDES is Senior Lecturer at Intercollege, Cyprus. His primary areas of scholarship are Heidegger’s philosophy and philosophy of religion. ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy in making everything into another content of speech; some things are lost in the speaking. It might be argued that this loss is silence itself. Whatever position educators might in theory take regarding the Wittgensteinian imperative, we seldom grant, either to ourselves or our students, the opportunity to be silent. When we observe our students’ silence, we do not always acknowledge its value, nor do we typically appreciate the possibility of using this silence in a creative manner. In education silence is usually positioned ‘‘as a mark of oppression, denial of self, dependency, or at best immaturity.’’10 For example, certain discourses and the power relations involved silence communication and marginalize some students, such as the poor, women, and minority groups. This ‘‘silencing,’’ according to some critical pedagogues, contributes to perpetuating oppressive regimes, and thus the goal is to find ways to subvert silence and voice one’s marginalization.11 It is important to note that such descriptions assume that discourse is at the center whereas silence is in the periphery; in absolute terms, silence is seen as oppositional to talk, and in relative terms, as a part of talk. Yet we shall argue that the notion of developing self-criticality, if it retains any meaning for us, is manifest within silence as much as within language. In fact, privileging speech at the expense of silence might prove dangerous. As Louis Mackey writes in his analysis of Augustine’s Confessions, ‘‘Language can redeem as well as destroy; it redeems when the Word itself speaks in the silence of our words.’’12 This position accords with Wittgenstein’s further explication his previously cited imperative: ‘‘There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical.’’13 In other words, where the experience of the utterly unspeakable is concerned, we have to let the mystical be mystical, silence be silence. If we do not do just this, Wittgenstein seemed to warn, then we do not participate in the manifestation of the inexpressible and mystical. Our intention is certainly not to argue for some kind of mysticism in education, though it must be acknowledged that within Western as well as Eastern religious traditions, we have silenced the words of mystics, who have been (or at least claim to have been) transported to the ineffable. The West, in particular, is ‘‘a culture fearful of silence.’’14 As Karen MacKendrick argues, any discussion about the value of silence in the Western world seems odd or archaic to us because silence has no place in a fully confessional culture: 10. Kathleen Yancey and Michael Spooner, ‘‘Concluding the Text: Notes Toward a Theory and the Practice of Voice,’’ in Voices on Voice, ed. Kathleen Blake Yancey (Urbana, Illinois: NCTE, 1994), 304. 11. See Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (New York: Seabury Press, 1970); and Peter McLaren and Henry Giroux, Critical Pedagogy and Predatory Culture (London: Routledge, 1995). 12. Louis Mackey, Peregrinations of the Word: Essays in Medieval Philosophy (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1997), 9. 13. Wittgenstein, Tractatus, 149. 14. Pat Belanoff, ‘‘Silence: Reflection, Literacy, Learning, and Teaching,’’ College Composition and Communication 52, no. 3 (2001): 400. 195 196 EDUCATIONAL VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 THEORY Many of us scoff at the ineffable, at the very possibility of ineffability, and assume that whereof one cannot speak, one is simply inadequately educated and articulate — or lying.…[However, these] matters are more complex:…within even the most articulate speaking there murmurs the loss of meaning, the coming of the absence which is silence.15 Similarly, in his monumental study of communication in India and China, Robert Oliver observes, ‘‘In the ancient Orient…silence was valued rather than feared.…[S]ilence in Asia has commonly been entirely acceptable, whereas in the West silence has generally been considered socially disagreeable.’’16 There are indeed cultural differences concerning how silence is understood. In some Eastern cultures, silence is believed to be just as important as speaking because it provides an opportunity to reflect on the value of what has been communicated. Eastern and Western mysticism is thus an interesting point of reference for exploring the ineffable and its relevance to educational matters. Like Eastern and Western mystics, we are interested in engaging with the thresholds of speech and silence and their implications in pedagogy. Reconciling and rethinking the mystic insight of the ineffable in the context of education contributes to a critical inquiry into silence generally, and specifically into how silence might work in educational settings. Rethinking the pedagogical values of silence is also an act of reclaiming a place for silence in education. In this essay, we first turn back in time to analyze the meaning of the experience of silence through the Western tradition of via negativa and through Eastern Buddhist thought. In spite of their substantial differences, these two traditions have some interesting convergences on the issue of inexpressible silence. In addressing the experience of silence, these traditions emphasize three points: they recognize that silence can be empowering and expressive; they avoid the usual dichotomies between silence and talk; and they explore ways to enrich teaching and learning experiences through silence. In the second part of this essay, we rethink the pedagogical potential of silence in light of this mystical experience. Then, building on Emmanuel Levinas’s ideas, we suggest how an educational philosophy of silence can be a philosophy of otherness. Finally, we explore some possibilities for reclaiming a position for silence within education. We ultimately argue that under certain circumstances silence might bring openness to the educational experience — an openness that could enrich the depth of ‘‘hearing’’ one’s self as well as the Other. THE TRADITION OF THE VIA NEGATIVA AND THE SILENCE OF THE BUDDHA The tradition of the via negativa, the apophatic approach in philosophy, is perhaps the most profound exploration of silence in itself in the West.17 Denys 15. MacKendrick, Immemorial Silence, 4. 16. Robert Oliver, Communication and Culture in Ancient India and China (Syracuse, New York: Syracuse University Press, 1971). 17. Via negativa, as understood in the Latin tradition, is the mystical theology developed by the great representatives of apophatic thought, such as Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, and Dionysius the Areopagite. Added to this are the interpretations and innovations made by later scholastic teachers such as Hugh and Richard of St. Victor, the representatives of Augustinian, cataphatic mysticism. ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy Turner writes, ‘‘the apophatic is what is achieved, whether by means of affirmative or by means of negative discourse, when language breaks down. The apophatic is the recognition of how this ‘silence’ lies, as it were, all around the perimeter of language.’’18 However, this does not imply that there is an absolute distinction between language and silence. After all, as Maurice Blanchot points out, the inexpressible ‘‘is inexpressible in relation to a certain system of expression.’’19 This characterization allows us to see more clearly what Western mystics mean by the inadequacy of the language. In exploring the dimensions of mystical silence, the representatives of the tradition of the via negativa express the human determination to see any experience in the light of God. In his work On the Divine Names, Dionysius the Areopagite took a negative approach to this issue, telling us what God is not.20 God is neither essence, nor eternity, nor time; it is not soul, nor intellect, nor science, nor truth. It is not imagination, opinion, reason, or intelligence; it is not even royalty or wisdom. God is not one, is not unity, is not divinity or goodness, nor is it spirit as we know it. God is nothing finite. Everything finite disappears in the abyss of God. Neither is God the unknowable, love, silence, or the inexpressible. Nor is it darkness, transcendence, or the Transcendent Cause. Hence, Dionysius told us that God is ‘‘beyond’’ or ‘‘above’’ God.21 For this reason, Dionysius called the very depths of the experiencing of ‘‘God above God’’ mystical ignorance, for it points to the unknowable silence of the ‘‘unspeakable darkness.’’ Mystical ignorance is utter silence. We cannot comprehend God’s very silence not because of a failure of our nature or because of the limits of our cognition, but instead because God in transcending itself is silence in itself. Ultimately, we are ignorant and silent about God because God, in and as silence itself, is ignorant of ignorance as such. According to Dionysius, the unknowable has to remain unknowable and silence has to remain silence. The moment we say what silence is we reduce it to speech; we are merely speaking of silence. Mystical silence is not simply a failure or a refusal to say anything, but it is instead a therapeutic strategy for approaching God. Thus, under certain conditions, silence might be the most appropriate response, because it is only in silence that any possible meaning can be found. 18. Denys Turner, The Darkness of God: Negativity in Christian Mysticism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 150. 19. Maurice Blanchot, The Infinite Conversation, trans. Susan Hanson (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), 337. 20. Dionysius the Areopagite, On the Divine Names and the Mystical Theology, trans. Clarence Edwin Rolt (New York: Kessinger, 1997). 21. Paul Tillich characterized the meaning of ‘‘God above God’’ in Dionysius as follows: ‘‘God is beyond even the highest names which theology has given to him. He is beyond spirit…beyond any possible highest being. He is supra-divinity, beyond God.…Therefore, ‘he is unspeakable darkness.’ By this combination of words he [Dionysius] denies that God, in view of his nature, can be either spoken of or seen. Thus, all the names must disappear after they have been attributed to God, even the holy name ‘God’ itself.’’ See Paul Tillich, A History of Christian Thought (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967), 92. 197 198 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 St. John of the Cross articulated a position similar to that of Dionysius. He taught that silence is a fitting response to mystical experience.22 In fact, according to St. John of the Cross, silence is itself an expression of the experience: ‘‘There is no way to catch in words the sublime things of God which happen in these souls. The appropriate language for the person receiving these favours is that he understand them, experience them within himself, enjoy them, and be silent.’’ He further stated, ‘‘The delicateness of delight felt in this contact is inexpressible. I would desire not to speak of it so as to avoid giving the impression that it is no more than I can describe.’’ He claimed that trying to speak of this mystical experience might make it seem less than it is, emphasizing that this ‘‘union is more wonderful than all that can be said of it.’’23 Jill LeBlanc correctly observes that, having said all this, St. John of the Cross did not keep silent because his vocation as a teacher of contemplation required him to speak.24 While silence might be the most appropriate response under some conditions, it would be ineffective under other conditions. Dionysius, St. John of the Cross, and others in the tradition of the via negativa point the way toward a profound understanding of the ineffable — that is, ‘‘God’’ — in and through silence. Their use of metaphorical language is meant, first, to persuade the young initiate not to hesitate to engage in experiencing the unknowable itself; and second, to emphasize that experiencing the unknowable reveals the mysteries that ‘‘lie hidden in the dazzling obscurity of the secret silence.’’25 All ‘‘experiencing’’ that is mediated by or related to reason, thought, or feeling, and that can be brought forth through speech, language, discourse, or any form of expression, is not silence, or ‘‘God above God.’’ The young initiate ought not to despair of this but should persist until he or she is granted the gift of that which resists all naming, that is, silence. As in the Western tradition of the via negativa, the Buddhist masters from the East emphasized the limits of cognition and of language and the value of silence in one’s life. But as Youru Wang argues, Buddhism erases the limits of language by completely penetrating the nonduality between speech and silence.26 Transcending an absolute distinction between speech and silence displays a dynamic connection and transition between them. Youru points out that as soon as the Buddhist masters brought speech and silence within the realm of relational, nondualistic understanding, they were liberated from their conventional fixed functions. One should be mindful that what exists beyond the duality is unutterable (that is, Nir-vana, or no-speech, which is also Wittgenstein’s meaning).27 22. Jill LeBlanc, ‘‘The Act of Silence,’’ Philosophy Today 39, no. 3 (1995): 325–328. 23. St. John of the Cross quoted in LeBlanc, ‘‘The Act of Silence,’’ 325. 24. LeBlanc, ‘‘The Act of Silence,’’ 325. 25. Dionysius the Areopagite, The Soul Afire (New York: Pantheon, 1945), 19. 26. See Youru Wang, ‘‘Liberating Oneself from the Absolutized Boundary of Language: A Liminological Approach to the Interplay of Speech and Silence in Chan Buddhism,’’ Philosophy East & West 51, no. 1 (2001): 83–99. 27. We thank an anonymous reviewer for pointing out this correction. ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy On the one hand, silence is no longer considered mere silence. One example that illustrates this point is the Buddha’s silence in the face of fourteen metaphysical questions. This silence signifies the Buddha’s refusal to take a stand in metaphysical debates. But his silence is not only manifest when he is asked metaphysical questions; the ineffability of his ‘‘response’’ also reduces to silence. The Buddha neither says that silence is the answer, nor is he anti-intellectual. Thus, his silence in this sense brings into effect the negation of dualistic thinking. On the other hand, speech does not always or necessarily mean speaking. Some Buddhist masters argued that although the Buddha had spoken, he did not say a word.28 They emphasized, for example, that speaking is silence and silence is speaking: one always functions in relation to the other, and the absence of each is always present in the other. Thus, freedom from fixation on either silence or speech enables Buddhists to relocate the positive role of silence within a particular expressive context. Silence then has a therapeutic function — it dissolves all contingencies (that is, anxieties, questions, answers, and so on). The Buddha’s ineffable silence is a response to the notion that ‘‘only suffering exists, not the person who suffers; there is no one who acts, only the acts exist. Nirvana exists, but not the person who seeks after it.’’29 It is the praxis that reclaims meaning in life and also reveals the nonduality between speech and silence. These ideas demonstrate that the main concern is not whether silence or speech is preferable, but how to become enlightened. The praxis of silence is ‘‘experiential’’ in that one has to grasp the awe and wonder brought forth by the mystical — that the world exists, the mystery that it is. This is the silence that the Buddha discloses. But the silence of the Buddha does not relate to any constitutive structures of being or of the world as such; that is, it does not depend on theory or any contingency and thus is not related to any predetermined expression or meaning. The silence of the Buddha is wisdom, according to the Buddhist masters, because it has the power to break the bonds of contingency. One might say that silence functions quite differently in the traditions of Western and Eastern mysticism. In the Western mystical tradition, silence is an attempt to grapple with the paradox of expressing the inexpressible. Silence is both a sign of awe in the face of the transcendent and a kind of release from the burden of trying to express the inexpressible. The silence of the Buddha functions differently, however. The Buddha’s silence deflects the burden of response from the Buddha to others contemplating the same sorts of questions. Silence in the Eastern tradition, in other words, is more expressive of a way of being; it is an ontological silence — the silence of being or life itself. 28. For example, the Chan Buddhist masters Huangbo Xiyun and Wanling Lu emphasized this idea. See the Buddhist Wisdom Books, trans. Edward Conze (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1958); and Heinrich Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism: A History, vol. 1, trans. James W. Heisig and Paul Knitter (New York: Macmillan, 1988). 29. Ramundo Panikkar, The Silence of God (New York: Orbis, 1989), 41. 199 200 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 Despite their contextual differences, however, the Eastern and Western traditions of mysticism are alike in that they blur any absolute distinction between speech and silence and provide insights into the mutual connection and continuum between the two. As a result, what is inexpressible or silent is no longer conceived in an isolated, nonrelational manner. These ideas illustrate that silence is slippery; it shares an elusiveness with speech. We can only approach silence, indicating where it would be if we could experience it. This echoes both the Western and the Eastern tradition. Silence slips beyond the containment of words; it is linked to the mystical. The Western mystics and the Eastern Buddhist masters prompt us to learn how to experience silence, to ‘‘wrap our words around spaces without words, and leave them wordless.’’30 The mystics’ insistence upon the importance of being silent in order to listen implies a constant elusiveness, as seductive as it is frustrating. One negative consequence of too great an emphasis on language or the word and the human capacity to articulate situations and reality is that we sometimes fail to consider those who do not articulate well or do not want to speak up. What we hope to take from the traditions of Western and Eastern mysticism is the idea that silencing can be another way of making sense of the world. This view embraces and reflects on a reality that is indescribable and that is bigger than our articulation or thought. Thus, our attempts to cement reality through forming our consciousness and to verbalize logically might fail regardless of how hard we analyze situations or reality in the world. Both the Western and Eastern traditions remind us that silence is to be regarded as an important aspect of human life. DARE TO BE SILENT: THE PEDAGOGICAL VALUE OF SILENCE While aware of the obvious benefits of verbal communication, many of us are rarely sensitive to the absence of words; we usually equate silence with a lack of communication. However, silence and nonverbal communication are particularly important in classroom interactions because the majority of students’ emotional communications take place without talk.31 Many nonverbal cues (such as body movements and facial expressions) help silence to function. Given that teachers and students frequently interact through silences and nonverbal cues, silence can be considered a paramount factor in many communicative situations in the classroom. As noted previously, silence may be used in educational settings to allow time for reflection on teaching and learning (as when students work on a project) or as a disciplinary act that reveals and sustains particular power relations between teachers and students (as when teachers silence ‘‘noisy’’ classes in order to restore the classroom’s social structure). In support of the former use, research has indicated 30. MacKendrick, Immemorial Silence, 5. 31. See, for example, Perry Gilmore, ‘‘Silence and Sulking: Emotional Display in the Classroom,’’ in Perspectives in Silence, eds. Deborah Tannen and Muriel Saville-Troik (Norwood, New Jersey: Ablex, 1985), 139–162; and Stephen Rowland, ‘‘The Power of Silence: An Enquiry Through Fictional Writing,’’ British Educational Research Journal 17, no. 2 (1991): 95–111. ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy that ‘‘wait-time,’’ which is essentially a moment of silence within the realm of speech, benefits both learning and teaching. It has also been argued that Native American children may learn better by silently observing the world in contrast to European-American children whose cultures privilege speech as a medium of interaction.32 As far as the disciplining function is concerned, many critical educational theorists have suggested that contexts of marginalization, oppression, and powerlessness result from this use of silence. They emphasize how people, especially women and minorities, are silenced. For instance, Paulo Freire used the term the ‘‘culture of silence’’ to describe oppressed people. On this view, ‘‘silencing’’ has a negative connotation and amounts to the lack of agency. When silence is defined as a polar opposite of speech (as it generally is in both of these educational uses), the dichotomy that is established privileges speech and becomes another regulative ideal internalized by students: speak or be silent, when it is appropriate to do so. In other words, silence becomes a disciplinary mechanism that bounds the student within the polar coordinates of silence and speech. However, this monolithic view of silence conceals the complexities of experiencing silence and its mystical dimensions, as revealed by Western and Eastern mystics. These views place silence and speech on a continuum in which they complement each other. Their bifurcation in the modern West is an expression of culturally specific social, ethical, and political views about the place of silence. The perspectives regarding the value of silence in contemporary educational settings (that is, silence as a disciplinary act and silence as reflection) reflect this monolithic view. As Li argues, ‘‘it is not clear whether silencing as a disciplinary act is so powerful that silence is the inevitable consequence of oppression’’; she further asserts, ‘‘the pedagogical use of silence such as wait-time focuses primarily on the instrumental value of silence, as if silence has no intrinsic pedagogical merits.’’33 Both of these perspectives construct silence in purely technical or instrumental terms, giving no attention to such issues as emotions, selfhood, and otherness. The strong rhetorical distinction between silence and speech conceals not only the emotional experience of silence and its mystical attributes, but also wider social, political, and ethical issues such as the practice of silence as a powerful means to hearing the Other. In addition, both of these educational uses of silence pose problems because they promote self-discipline according to social norms that dictate when to be silent and when to speak. Under these circumstances, it is difficult to interpret silence in 32. See Mary Budd Rowe, ‘‘Pausing Phenomena: Influence on the Quality of Instruction,’’ Journal of Psycholinguistic Research 2, no. 2 (1974): 203–224; and Vera P. John, ‘‘Styles of Learning — Styles of Teaching: Reflections on the Education of Navajo Children,’’ and Richard V. Dumont, Jr., ‘‘Learning English and How to Be Silent: Studies in Sioux and Cherokee Classrooms,’’ in Functions of Language in the Classroom, eds. Courtney B. Cazden, Vera P. John, and Dell Hymes (Prospect Heights, Illinois: Waveland, 1972), 331–343 and 370–394 respectively. For a recent discussion of the importance of waittime in teaching situations, see John Loughran, Developing Reflective Practice: Learning About Teaching and Learning Through Modelling (London: Falmer, 1996). 33. Li, ‘‘Silences and Silencing Silences,’’ 157–158. 201 202 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 public spaces and distinguish when one is actively reflecting and when one is being reflected upon and disciplined. Silence can easily regress into a regime of subjectification.34 There is no guarantee that one of kind of keeping silence (reflection) will produce an insight that is any more authentic than any other kind of keeping silence (discipline). The practice of reflection through silence can easily function as a disciplinary mechanism ‘‘whose purpose may be obscure or unrecognized’’ because ways of being silent ‘‘are subject to and produced by social practices of discipline and normalization.’’35 The appropriate response to this problem is not to make the unspeakable spoken, but rather to highlight the limits of speech within the context of expression and to explore the value of silence as a pedagogical process of caring for one’s self and for the Other. The problem with trying to verbalize the unspeakable is that, in the process, silence becomes assimilated to speech and loses the distinctive character that makes it mystical silence. However, when silence is approached as a pedagogical process devoid of the regulative ideals of being a disciplinary or a reflective act, it ‘‘can be conducive for both teachers and students to raise awareness of here and now,’’ and invite them ‘‘to enter the mindful process’’ of self-criticality.36 Self-criticality is an ‘‘alternate criticality,’’ to use Nicholas Burbules and Rupert Berk’s expression, that provokes us to think ‘‘differently’’ about the value of silence in educational settings and enables us to question and doubt our own presuppositions about silence and speech.37 This seemingly paradoxical kind of criticality is part of the praxis of silence that makes possible the development of an alternative to bifurcating assumptions regarding silence and speech. Silence as praxis emphasizes the need to examine taken-for-granted perspectives on silence and speech and to sketch an alternate self-criticality. This alternate self-criticality involves the ability to move outside conventional thinking — in this case, to imagine ‘‘what it might mean to think [about silence and speech] without some of the very things that make our (current) thinking meaningful.’’38 For example, the Buddhist silence in the face of life’s anxieties, if cultivated, could enhance the quality of communication and interaction between teachers and students. Or the mystical ignorance espoused by Western mystics could be used as a point of departure for negotiating how silence might be used as a means to connecting at times and on occasions when speech inflames (in the case of hate speech, for example). 34. See Nikolas Rose, Inventing Ourselves: Psychology, Power, and Personhood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 35. Lynn Fendler, ‘‘Teacher Reflection in a Hall of Mirrors: Historical Influences and Political Reverberations,’’ Educational Researcher 32, no. 3 (2003): 21. 36. Li, ‘‘Silences and Silencing Silences,’’ 161. 37. See Nicholas Burbules and Rupert Berk, ‘‘Critical Thinking and Critical Pedagogy: Relations, Differences, and Limits,’’ in Critical Theories in Education: Changing Terrains of Knowledge and Politics, eds. Thomas Popkewitz and Lynn Fendler (New York and London: Routledge, 1999), 45–65. 38. Ibid., 61. ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy Learning to ‘‘listen’’ to silence, not simply as a mechanism for reflection but as a practice of self-criticality, may create meaningful spaces in which emotions (such as anger and hatred) can be reinterpreted.39 The perspective of approaching silence as praxis contributes to the development of this alternate self-criticality and helps students and teachers see that silence is not only an individual attribute but also a way of being in relation to others. In the context of this alternate self-criticality, silence and speech become forms of political resistance to exclusionary views of subjectivity that privilege speech over silence. Seeking to nurture, to educate, and to inspire, silence in educational settings may reach places that speech can, at best, only evoke. The difficulty is first to identify and call attention to the various kinds of silence in the public context of the classroom and then to create spaces that nurture, challenge, or enrich these silences. There are different kinds of silence, each expressive in its own way. For example, silence can be a way to explore the inner self, and as such, it may be an important part of personal growth. Silence can also be used to help us make sense of thoughts, ideas, emotions, and actions. Furthermore, silence can be used to indicate a certain kind of unspoken understanding, or it can be the manifestation of one’s fear of self-exposure through speaking openly. An important aspect of performing silence is how one uses bodily configuration and gestures to adorn it. All these kinds of silence present possibilities for learning. This wide variety of silences raises the question, how does one tell which kind of silence one is dealing with in a concrete situation? After all, without a good deal of context and implicit understanding, two different kinds of silence can ‘‘sound’’ the same. When we observe other people’s silence, we do not always recognize its value. Clearly, this question becomes even more complicated in the context of teaching: How does a teacher know when a silence signals a problem; what sort of problem it indicates; and most important of all, what to do about it? Returning to our previous point that the focus should be on how silence works rather than what it means, the issue for the teacher is to identify how silences work in the public context of the classroom. It is important to recognize that silences may reflect power relations among students and teachers; thus, identifying which kind of silence one is dealing with may require that one examine how power traverses silences. The teacher has to observe and learn from what happens in silence. This reveals how profoundly difficult it is to interpret silence and take actions to transcend some of the problems associated with it. Understanding what sort of problem a specific silence indicates (for example, a student’s inability to answer a question, a shy student’s refusal to participate in class discussions, a bored student’s disengagement, and so on) requires that one take the time and space necessary to stop, listen, and critically examine the modes in which silences have grafted themselves onto particular performances. In fact, our current critical inquiry may be seen as offering something to, and deriving something from, the 39. Michalinos Zembylas, ‘‘Interrogating ‘Teacher Identity’: Emotion, Resistance, and Self-Formation,’’ Educational Theory 53, no. 1 (2003): 107–127. 203 204 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 opportunity to enter into the ways such silences arise; we maintain that these modes of silence may have come to support a range of student performances for dealing with various kinds of persons and conducts. Thus, we conclude that there is a compelling need to develop self-criticality in the context of silence and speech in educational settings in order to overcome the one-sidedness and ideological biases that permeate current narratives about the place of silence in the classroom. Developing this kind of alternate self-criticality will minimize the potential for using silence as a mechanism to discipline students, though no intervention can eliminate such a danger.40 The discussion here demonstrates the complex character of the value of silence in education; it does not seek to simplify or clarify the meaning of silence, nor does it offer a solution to the teacher’s question, How can I tell what kind of silence this is? However, this sort of analysis is a strategy for highlighting the multiple interpretations of silence in education. Silence as praxis in the context of self-criticality may open the possibility for critiquing how silence and speech function and thus create social and political realities in schools.41 Our analysis of the via negativa and the silence of the Buddha suggests that silence, if it is related to experience, can be understood differently. Such an understanding has the advantage of positioning silence as a site of possibility rather than as a problem. There are indeed ‘‘harmful silences’’ of the marginalized; at the same time, however, silencing can be empowering, because the receptivity and openness that silence can bring about may lead to a deeper respect for the Other.42 In other words, an educational philosophy of silence is a philosophy of otherness. AN EDUCATIONAL PHILOSOPHY OF SILENCE AS A PHILOSOPHY OF OTHERNESS As we have discussed, the inexpressible contains a mystical dimension. For example, the silence of the Buddha breaks the bonds of attachment and leads to liberation. It is in and through the very asking of metaphysical questions that the silent Buddha hears the whole ontological makeup of the depth of human anxiety and despair. This kind of silence, which may be called ontological silence, is extremely useful pedagogically. The Buddha’s silence ‘‘not only clothes the 40. For more on this point, see Michel Foucault’s work, for example, ‘‘On the Genealogy of Ethics: An Overview of Work in Progress,’’ in Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics, eds. Hubert Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 229–252. 41. Susan Verducci, ‘‘Silence and Talk,’’ Educational Theory 50, no. 4 (2000): 533–540. In this article Verducci reviews two books of feminist communication theory that contribute to moving us in the direction discussed in this essay: Robin Patric Clair, Organizing Silence: A World of Possibilities (Albany: SUNY Press, 1998); and Maryanne Neely Ayim, The Moral Parameters of Good Talk: A Feminist Analysis (Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1997). 42. The term ‘‘harmful silences’’ is borrowed from Tillie Olsen, Silences (New York: Delacorte, 1978). Sherry Anderson and Patricia Hopkins write about Olsen’s harmful silences: ‘‘Times that are ‘dark with silences’ are times when she and others remained mute, letting what needed to be expressed die over and over again in themselves. ‘There are no natural silences,’ she says, not ‘that necessary time for renewal, lying fallow, gestation, in the natural cycle of creation.’ Rather they are dark silences, ‘the unnatural thwarting of what wants to come into being, but cannot.’’’ See Sherry Anderson and Patricia Hopkins, The Feminine Face of God: The Unfolding of the Sacred in Women (New York: Bantam Books, 1991), 111–112. ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy reply, it invades the question. He is not only silent; he reduces to silence.’’43 This means that the Buddha did not say that silence is the answer regarding the inexpressible; he simply kept silent. Thus, the Buddha’s silence is the praxis of showing the way by absorbing the question; furthermore, this very silence is affirmed in and as a ‘‘teaching’’ that proclaims the vacuity of any response to ultimate questions. This type of silence as a ‘‘response’’ is neither antipedagogical nor anti-intellectual. Instead, it demonstrates that in certain situations silence has the potential to diminish or remove difficulties (that is, particular anxieties, intense feelings, and the like). Modern Western culture’s obsession with noise and tendency to talk without listening to other people undermine any ‘‘quest for silence.’’44 Recognizing silence as a legitimate response marks a readiness to listen and pay attention, an invitation to hear others as well as oneself, and a positive valuing of being silent. We as educators have a responsibility to create a safe place for our students by valuing silence and by incorporating into our classrooms the time and space necessary to experience the pedagogical values of silence. Through these efforts, we believe that the inexpressible can be theorized as ‘‘otherness’’ to beneficial effect. Silence engages Others, both by building on what they say and by providing a lens through which one can become attentive to the Other. According to Levinas, it is not knowledge about the Other that is important but, rather, our orientation to the Other’s unknowability as a starting point for learning from the Other.45 In this sense, it is a ‘‘philosophy of unknowing,’’ as opposed to a ‘‘teaching for knowledge,’’ that brings us closer to Others and marks our ethical responsibility to them. Levinas used the face-to-face situation as a point of departure for analyzing otherness. The face of the Other resists one’s tendency simply to assimilate the Other into preexisting knowledge and thus eventually silence the genuine voice of the Other. The Other’s face also reveals the initial shock of discovering this alterity: I have spoken a lot about the face of the Other as being the original site of the sensible.…The proximity of the Other is the face’s meaning, and it means in a way that goes beyond those plastic forms which forever try to cover the face like a mask of their presence to perception. But always the face shows through these forms. Prior to any particular expression and beneath all particular expressions, which cover over and protect with an immediately adopted face or countenance, there is the nakedness and destitution of the expression as such, that is to say extreme exposure, defencelessness, vulnerability itself.…In its expression, in its mortality, the face before me summons me, calls for me, begs for me, as if the invisible death that must be faced by the Other, pure otherness, separated, in some way, from any whole, were my business.46 43. Panikkar, The Silence of God, 14. 44. See Harry A. Wilmer, Quest for Silence (Am Klosterplatz, Switzerland: Daimon Verlag, 2000). 45. See Emmanuel Levinas, Totality and Infinity (Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press, 1969); and Emmanuel Levinas, Ethics and Infinity (Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press, 1985). 46. Emmanuel Levinas, The Levinas Reader, ed. Seán Hand (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Basil Blackwell, 1989), 130–131. 205 206 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 The face-to-face situation indicates the necessity of relatedness. We must behave justly toward the face of the Other, but we cannot do so based on a universal and predetermined system of justice. Instead, we must ‘‘discover’’ justice. In Levinas’s view, we need to refocus our attention on the face of the Other because we have been locked into a world of ‘‘immanence’’ — that is, we have reduced everything to our being-in-the-world, and we are no longer concerned about the inexpressible, otherness, and the unknowable.47 The fundamental concern of Western philosophy, Levinas suggested, is to make the Other an object of knowledge, something to be understood. In this way, strangeness is reduced to sameness, and alterity becomes controllable (since it is something knowable). However, Levinas’s goal was to preserve the irreducibility of alterity and to think of the Other as Other. The encounter with the Other is a relation with the unknowable mystery of the Other. Rather than seeking unity and sameness, Levinas looked for that ‘‘which cuts through and perforates the totality of presence and points towards the absolutely other.’’48 He preferred to preserve alterity because this kind of experience opens us to the voice of the Other. Thus, Levinas called upon us to respect the unspeakable in the silence that honors the Other in its absolute otherness. Silence acts primarily as a means for relating to the Other’s transcendence. The kind of silence we refer to in this essay is an ‘‘ethical’’ event, in contrast to that speech which is frequently unable to express the inexpressible and instead diminishes the ‘‘meaning’’ of an event. Face-to-face contact precedes all determinate communication. The praxis of silence entails taking responsibility for the conduct of communication. We agree with Levinas that it is sometimes only in silence that we are able to cultivate the humility necessary to honoring the Other. The Other must not be either absorbed or dismissed, and preventing this requires a radical generosity and compassion.49 Our responsibility to the Other precedes any relation to knowing. The encounter with the Other requires us to be responsible for the Other, and this responsibility necessitates that we be open and receptive. As mentioned previously, educational settings have always constructed silence as ‘‘other’’ in relation to rationality. Hence, we argue that no appeal to rationality can overcome the depth of silence required in order to begin thinking about otherness. Rather, following Levinas, we contend that, in practice, the encounter with the Other demands a continual self-criticality — that is, opening 47. See Emmanuel Levinas, ‘‘Philosophy and the Idea of the Infinite,’’ in To The Other: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Emmanuel Levinas, ed. Adriaan Peperzak (West Lafayette, Indiana: Purdue University Press, 1993), 96. 48. Emmanuel Levinas and Richard Kearney, ‘‘Dialog with Emmanuel Levinas,’’ in Face to Face with Levinas, ed. Richard A. Cohen (Albany: SUNY Press, 1986), 21. 49. In the Buddhist perspective, the Buddha’s silence is an act of compassion that removes the embeddedness of contingency by pointing to the void (‘‘ontological’’ silence) without which recognition of the Other and otherness is not possible. All contingent assumptions of knowing the Other in and through the Buddha’s silence allow for the meeting of the Other as Other. This is precisely what brings forth compassion, generosity, openness, and receptivity. ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy up and putting into question the very ground of such an encounter. Otherness is sustained as an ever-deepening mystery (just like silence and unknowability) that continues to revitalize the very meaning of every encounter we have with the Other. Rather like Levinas’s work, Jean-François Lyotard’s The Differend demonstrates an awareness of unmarked communication, stressing the idea that language imposes limits on reality.50 Language signals silence, and it is the moment within silence that signifies otherness. A différend arises where opposing parties express themselves in the terms appropriate to different regimes. Lyotard identified a fundamental ‘‘rupture’’ within language that becomes the site of a particular silence. He noted that the task of the philosopher (one could also add the task of the educator) is to detect différends and invent new languages for the expression of a ‘‘wrong.’’ Under certain circumstances, silence might be an appropriate response for this (as in the case of the Holocaust, for example, which figures a seemingly ‘‘absolute’’ silence). When silence has a place in the classroom, the topography and opportunity for communication changes. Silence can be colonized by talk, of course, but meaning cannot. While talk operates as a system of utterances, there are also systems of silences — structures in which silence can be as effective a tool of signification as utterance. Thus silence always carries with it the potential for resistance and critique. The very fact of silence can subvert the dominance of a discourse that privileges talk. To allow space for silence in the classroom when one deals with the unspeakable is an important step in reaching toward the Other. The suffering at Auschwitz, for example, might be ‘‘wronged’’ by any effort to reduce its meaning to a narrative. An educational philosophy of silence in this case becomes a call to innovation and a call to respect that certain experiences (of the Other) can be sensed, but cannot be expressed. One understands the criticism that ‘‘the speechless witness of the Auschwitz survivor, which insists that the Shoah be remembered as unspeakable, imposes a refusal of the communicational ideology of political modernity.’’51 However, the true site of possibility lies in actions and desires that become heard silences, traces of respecting otherness. Students need to ‘‘hear’’ and interpret these silences individually and collectively — that is, it may not be sufficient to end this discussion by calling for a privatized interpretation that often represents the predictable, systematic political silencing of marginalized voices.52 A philosophy of silence as a philosophy of otherness is also relevant to ‘‘teaching with ignorance,’’ because it is through silence and ignorance (unknowability) that one stops laying claim to another’s experience and begins to be receptive to the Other.53 50. Jean-François Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983). 51. Bill Readings, ‘‘Foreword,’’ in Jean-François Lyotard, Political Writings, trans. Bill Readings and Kevin Paul Geiman (London: UCL Press, 1993), xxv. 52. Megan Boler, ‘‘The Challenge of Interpreting Silence in Public Spaces,’’ Philosophy of Education 2001, ed. Rice, 166–169. 53. Sharon Todd, ‘‘Teaching with Ignorance: Reflections on Social Justice, Empathy, and Being for the Other’’ (paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, New Orleans, Louisiana, April 2002). 207 208 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 This becomes possible when we abandon acquiring ‘‘knowledge’’ as the ultimate goal of education. Valuing silence in the classroom means admitting our ignorance about the Other and fulfilling our ethical responsibility to the Other. Embracing silence, ignorance, and unknowability offers hope as we attempt to become more compassionate. We are aware, of course, of the danger of proposing a call to silence and unknowing in the context of education, given that acquiring specific knowledge and skills is the ultimate goal of most educational systems. However, the impossibility of knowing and the inadequacy of expressing the silence of the inexpressible create a responsibility to be open to the Other, to be attentive to his or her stories. This impossibility of knowing the Other and the ‘‘exercise’’ of silence initiates a togetherness and a receptivity to the Other’s experiences. Reclaiming a place for silence in educational settings increases our chances of encouraging respect for the Other. This kind of teaching is only possible in an educational context that does not define education as the acquisition of a body of knowledge but that instead values and cherishes wonder. RECLAIMING THE PEDAGOGICAL VALUE OF SILENCE IN EDUCATION The current educational system in the West is rooted in ‘‘fear of silence,’’ which is one reason the understanding of silence in negative terms prevails. However, we discussed some conditions for understanding silence as an act of caring for one’s self and the Other, rather than as an instrumental or technical act identified through discipline or reflection. In particular, we argued that a sense of the ‘‘sound of silence’’ in education could open possibilities to transform how we think about education in three important ways. First, creating spaces for embracing silence in educational settings is an act of encouraging self-criticality without ignoring the dangers of normalization that come with that. Second, respecting silence would recover a sense of the Other; a philosophy of education based on silence and unknowability could help teachers and students respect otherness. And, third, rethinking the value of silence in the classroom might restore in both students and teachers a lost sense of humility and wonder. The effectiveness of speech and silence in pointing the way is determined by one’s readiness to listen as well as one’s willingness to move in a particular direction. Dionysius the Areopagite, St. John of the Cross, and Buddhist masters teach us that a teacher can waste silence just as easily as words on those who are not ready to listen and not willing to follow a particular path. In fact, using silence or words at the wrong moment or when students are not ready can be counterproductive. Part of wisdom is knowing when to speak and when to use silence to point the way. Wisdom also teaches us not to say anything, either verbally or through silence, when students are not ready to listen. Reclaiming a place for silence in the classroom may also imply that educators should not silence silences. As Li writes, ‘‘while it is true that various forms of public silencing have deprived the silenced people’s of their right to public speech, it is misleading to assume that the silenced people are unable to protest and resist silencing,’’ not to mention that ‘‘the silenced, such as women, can be complicit in ZEMBYLAS AND MICHAELIDES The Sound of Silence in Pedagogy the cultural practice of their silences.’’54 The latter does not imply any justification of silencing; it simply acknowledges that people in different cultures have different ways of valuing and using silence as a tool for communication in a variety of situations. For example, an act of silencing silences in the classroom ‘‘not only might reaffirm the primacy of speech but also might perpetuate the dominant groups’ speech as the norm at the macro level’’ such as assuming that ‘‘participation’’ as an evaluation criterion excludes silent active listening.55 Consequently, the tendency to push some groups to reclaim their voices is not necessarily liberating to them or an indication of ‘‘good’’ ethics on the part of those who take this initiative. Developing the capacity to ‘‘hear’’ the meanings of different silences is fundamental before one engages in any kind of silencing silences in the classroom. It is a tremendous challenge for educators and students to construct the space and time in the classroom to foster the kind of ‘‘contemplative’’ silence that nourishes creativity, passion and wonder lying at the heart of all significant learning and living.56 Constructing the time and space for silence means understanding the multiple meanings of silence as a part of teaching and learning. It also includes careful consideration of the different ways students choose to express themselves individually and collectively without feeling uncomfortable by silence. Thus it is important for teachers to recognize that even though a student chooses to be silent does not mean that he or she is not thinking or participating actively. How to enact this is truly challenging, but perhaps a good first step is encouraging teachers and students to become more appreciative of the complex meanings of silences. Silences, raptures, and other discontinuities can be celebrated as features of the mystical. The silences intimately connect the written word to experiences that can be felt but not articulated. The unrelenting presence of that which is not there is one of the things we discussed previously in examining the inexpressible and the ineffable. Teachers can constantly and consciously seek ways to convey a sense of the inexpressible through systems of perceived absences and fertile silences. Often, such structured and therefore purposeful silences point to experiences that are beyond language yet are still potent and real, even as they verge on the mystical. The inexpressible also points out an aesthetic of silence that runs contrary to mainstream contemporary educational systems and their tendency to emphasize language as the only way we know or learn about the world. Instead, we want to assert the important role silence plays in signifying human experience that is inexpressible. We call for an appreciation of an aesthetic of silence that celebrates the mystical act of creation. We argue for a critical learning and teaching that grasp 54. Li, ‘‘Silences and Silencing Silences,’’ 163. 55. Ibid. 56. Hannah Arendt used the term ‘‘contemplative’’ to emphasize that people need to withdraw to find peace and understanding and that it is within such withdrawal that the ‘‘contemplative life’’ begins. See Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1958). 209 210 EDUCATIONAL THEORY VOLUME 54 | NUMBER 2 | 2004 the importance of the unknowable. We insist that silence is not necessarily an unconscious rupture in meaning but may represent a conscious and necessary intrusion of experience beyond words. Silence in the classroom can serve as a mechanism by which students engage with ‘‘what is not there’’ and hence are brought within the aesthetic construct as participants in learning. The most passionate and exhilarating moments of learning have a built-in sense of mystery, of something that is inexpressible. The very fact that a teacher calls attention to silence means the students are deliberately drawn into learning as creators of meaning. There is no way we can always express or describe something accurately and completely in words. In fact, the very words we use to describe it often remove us even further from that. Silence, however, often acquires special meaning and significance within the particular context in which it is used. It must be acknowledged, however, that while remaining silent in an effort to come closer to understanding something may work to a certain extent, this approach may ultimately be as elusive as any other. The most valuable contribution teachers and students might be able to make is keeping open the possibility for questioning silences in the classroom and, even more important, for responding in silence. This suggests a pedagogy that is no longer informed simply by knowledge, but by ignorance, unknowability, and the inexpressible. There is definitely a risk involved in this effort, both for students and teachers, because it is sometimes difficult to interpret silences in public spaces; yet it may be a worthwhile risk to take. We will end by proposing that if it is true, as we allege, that silence has never really found its place in educational philosophy, then a fascination with silence as a philosophy of unknowing — a communication with the unknown — can offer us relevant ways to approach this problem. Thus, a philosophy of unknowing in education reminds us that education remains a game of knowing and unknowing, of learning and ignorance, and, above all, of wondering. Our argument is that in view of a philosophy of unknowing, the whole nature of education has to be rethought beyond ‘‘knowledge of facts and theories,’’ with an awareness that educational theory has to take into account a pedagogy that allows for the silence that facilitates openness, receptivity, and hearing of the experience of otherness. Without such an experience of silence, respecting the otherness of the Other is not possible; care, generosity, and compassion remain sentimental and distant objectives.