How long does silence (a lull) last in a conversation before it starts to make us uncomfortable?

The Dutch psychologist Namkje Koudenburg says that it takes only four seconds for the discomfort to set in. The time of silence has arrived, or at least a time in which we have more opportunity to be in silence, to be with ourselves. This has, in part, been forced upon us by the coronavirus, which has reduced our social contacts and compelled us to stay at home for long stretches of time. As recently as last month, something seemingly quite impossible, and therefore shocking – "the prospect of an unreal silence", as Giuseppe Marino puts it.

It truly is real – the streets are empty, the shops, factories, offices, and so on. Only what is strictly necessary for supplies and daily life remains open. "We used to experience that intense feeling only early on a Sunday morning, or at dawn on the first day of the year, … the whole city immersed in a surreal silence…, which calls us to meditation, to reading and to dialogue about something we finally experience as a shared fate", writes Father Bernardo Gianni, abbot of the monastery of San Miniato, on the hill above Florence, which can be seen laid out below from that spot.

This is how an unknown writer expresses it in the Ancient Homily for Holy Saturday: "What is this today? A great silence on the earth, a great silence and stillness, a great calm, because the King sleeps. The earth was in terror and fell silent, because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and has raised up those who had been dead from the beginning of the world. God has died in the flesh, and brought the underworld to life."

So, this great silence provokes discomfort and fear in us, but it also offers itself to us as a chance to discover new spaces for reflection, for conversation, for insight into ourselves and others, to set our priorities, and so on.

A study from 2006, published in the medical journal "Heart", tried to measure the effects of listening to music on the human body, and came upon an unexpected finding. The researchers randomly inserted a two-minute pause of silence between the various pieces the subjects were listening to: not a single track of "relaxing" music had as positive an effect on blood pressure and blood flow to the brain as that unexpected moment of silence.

A certain hermit brother went to his spiritual father to ask for advice on what he should do, a word for his life. His spiritual father answered him: "Go, remain in your cell (your room), and your cell will teach you everything."

These days, everyone in turn — epidemiologists, infectious disease specialists, ministers, politicians, the media, friends — asks us to stay home and not go out. We certainly must do this, so that the virus does not spread further. It is hard, however, to stay at home. It is as though something is forcing us to go out, indeed as though it is commanding us to grab our house keys and go somewhere, anywhere. Why is it so hard?

The desert fathers would have called this force akedia. We often experience it as laziness, but it is not laziness — rather, as they put it, it is an "anxiety of the heart". It has an invisible root in self-satisfaction (philautia). It makes us turned in on ourselves in a thousand ways. Because of it, we are often unable to finish the activities we have begun. It is a latent dissatisfaction, a slight restlessness that does not allow us to be recollected. It is an open conflict with time and space. Past times were always the best. And future times could be excellent. But this present time — that is dreadful. In fact, this present moment is awful, unbearable. It is a restlessness that does not allow you to live in the present.

It is similar with the dimension of space. Evagrius Ponticus describes it like this: "The eye's gaze flies constantly to the window, and the mind imagines some visitor, some passer-by, some voice it might hear". The person finds himself in a place where he feels cramped, hemmed in. He would like to leave that place as soon as possible — the room he is in, the work he is engaged in. The silence of the cell becomes unbearable for him.

The desert fathers called this state the "noonday demon", the time between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., when they had already prayed and worked a little, and were looking forward to the moment of lunch, of rest. It is a state that affects everything you do, everything you have: your spouse, your children, your house, your work, your prayer, your reading, your thoughts, your feelings — your whole life.

In the slang known as lunfardo — typical of the city of Buenos Aires, and widely used in tango — the verb balconear means "to watch through the window", or from the balcony. It describes an attitude of pure curiosity, with no involvement, like a spectator in front of whom something is happening that ultimately does not concern him. That is why he can always afford to criticise what he does not like or does not agree with. He does not actively involve himself in anything; he keeps to one side. He will only appear on the balcony, watch what is happening, and perhaps call something out.

How do we cope with this state?

The first thing is to stay in our own home. To practise patience, to develop the ability to bear uncomfortable and anxious situations. It is also a chance to open ourselves to another person, that is, to share our thoughts and experiences with the person beside us. Staying at home, if we are speaking of married and family life, does not necessarily have to mean something bad. It is a great opportunity for all of us.

The second is to find some worthwhile activities, both individual and shared: to pray, to read, to write, to do handicrafts, to occupy the mind with constructive things, rather than giving ourselves over to the mobile phone, the TV, bad news and forecasts.

Evagrius would say: "Sorrow is heavy, akedia is unbearable, but tears turned toward God are stronger than the two of them together." Tears are an admission that we are struggling with our own faults, flaws and habits, that we are in need of forgiveness and reconciliation, of communion. If we confess our weakness to him, God will surely help us.

Whoever takes charge of their own needs, real desires and relationships does not allow this state to dominate them.