The Deafening of Conscience

A few years ago, I finally consented to be tested for hearing loss. My wife, Beth, was increasingly frustrated—rightly so—with my hearing. Or was it my listening? In either case, it struck me one morning that, in addition to missing what she was trying to say to me, I might also be missing many sounds from others I love. The birdsongs. The full range of music. The wind in the trees. The lapping waves on the lake’s sandy shore.

Later that day, I scheduled an appointment with an audiologist and had my hearing evaluated soon after. While I was sitting in the sound booth, I had a feeling I was nailing it. I love words and had a sense that even though I couldn’t make out everything that’s being said, I was intuitively filling in the gaps. When I stepped out of the plexiglass box, we sat down to review my results, and my confidence quickly deflated. The technician informed me that I had moderate hearing loss in my right ear and profound loss in my left. 

I wondered how that could be, not fully recalling the steady stream of ’70s rock and roll that had poured into my ear canals during that decade growing up. She shared with me how the brain adapts to hearing loss and then went on to explain the correlation between hearing loss and early-onset Alzheimer's. This apparently occurs when the brain trims back neural networks no longer needed due to the absence of specific sound frequencies. Now I had two good reasons to address my hearing deficit. 

She fitted me with two wonderful little devices that I put in my ears each morning, and the world is alive and speaking to me in high, midrange, and low frequencies again. Increasing my sensitivity to hear has increased my pleasure in the world, and it's strengthened my connections with those I love—or those I’m meeting for the first time. It keeps me safe when I’m riding my bike in traffic, and it softens my heart when I encounter others’ pain and suffering.

The Benedictine monk David Stendl-Rast, who grew up during Hitler’s rise to power, has a great deal to say about the connection between our listening and, surprisingly, our conscience. In his little book, A Listening Heart: The Spirituality of Sacred Sensuousness, he writes: 

“Silence will make us hear appeals which noise drowns out: the sighs of devastated forests, the groans of lab monkeys with wired skulls, the sobs of mothers with babies at their emaciated breasts.”

Haven’t you wondered why some seem to hear and respond to the appeals of human and non-human suffering while others remain deaf and oblivious? Could it be that the lack of silence, and the noise of political rhetoric, of economic self-interests, and absolutist ideologies “snuff out” the still small voice of conscience?

Brother David continues and notes that in the year that Hitler came to power, Samuel Barber wrote these words in his notebook:

“Conscience is thoroughly well-bred and soon leaves off talking to those who do not wish to hear it.”

Could that be what we see today—what leaves us befuddled as we look at our fellow citizens and family members? Has the noise, both within and without, made it nearly impossible for them to hear the whisper of the organ of conscience? Does the conscience, at a certain point, power down and stop speaking, waiting until something happens that creates space and silence for us to listen again?

Brother David concludes by offering these hopeful words:

“Yet, once we give our conscience permission to speak, we will hear words like, ‘Live simply, so that others may simply live!’”

I’m drawn to that phrase, “give our conscience permission to speak.” I think I’m drawn to it because it acknowledges what I’m so prone not to acknowledge. And when I do listen to this vital spiritual/human organ within me, I find a deep and abiding guidance. A guidance not based on morality—which is based on human and cultural norms— but from a foundational and ethical conversation, the eternal wisdom within and available to all. From this firm, yet sensitive ground, I am then led into the world in loving and respectful ways.

So how does the conscience begin speaking again? Or, more importantly, how do I wake up and start to listen again? 

It appears to be an organic and mysterious process. Recently, I was scrolling through the social media platform, Bluesky. As I was skimming the newsfeed, I came across a vegan post. Since I had been considering eating a primarily vegetarian diet, I clicked on it. What opened was a horrific image of a beautiful black and white spotted cow, hanging by its back legs, staring at the camera with a look of tears and terror in its bulging brown eyes. It was reaching out through my screen and making a very human appeal. “Save me!”

Why did this photograph register now? I’ve seen similar images before. I know where the meat in the grocery store comes from. Why was my conscience wrecked, no longer silent about something I’d not seriously considered before? I’m not sure. But in the days since, I’ve given my conscience freedom to speak to me, to guide me as I eat. When making food choices, I’m leaning more and more towards vegetables and grains and away from meat-based proteins. Where am I headed? I’m not entirely sure. I’m on an ethical journey with food now. Not a morality box of “rights and wrongs.”

We live in an era of ear-splitting noise. The volume—both in terms of quantity and intensity—of political, cultural, and ideological noise has the unfortunate consequence of numbing our conscience. On top of that, we are segregated into our tribe’s respective echo chambers, where our sense of right and wrong further divides us. “They’re wrong and we’re right!”

How I wish there were a hearing test for the conscience. Or a small, simple aid for better listening? Perhaps there is. Maybe when we disconnect from the noise both without and within, and let our minds sink into the wisdom of the heart … maybe then … when we encounter an immigrant … see an image of a dolphin in a fishing net … watch a newsclip of a starving child in Gaza … maybe finally our conscience will again speak to us and override the cruel cultural beliefs we’ve been indoctrinated with.