We hear what we want to hear.
As I write this column, there are all kinds of sounds bouncing around my office: conversations happening down the hall, the furnace fan’s whirring, the whine of leaf blowers outside my window, and my anxious chomping on chewing gum, keeping rhythm with the thumping of my typing.
And, as you are reading this, aren’t you experiencing the same thing? Your ears are being bombarded by all kinds of sounds … all at once.
Thankfully, we don’t really “hear” everything. Ninety-nine percent of the sounds that reach our ears, we ignore. That’s good, because if we paid attention to every sound we heard or every voice that called, we would go half crazy, chasing all their siren songs.
Humans have in our brains a remarkable “gatekeeping” mechanism called the RAS (Reticular Activating System). Here, every voice, sound or noise that has been sent “upstream” by our ears to the brain is interpreted and evaluated based on urgency and desire. Like the panel of judges on America’s Got Talent, the RAS “votes” on which sounds we should pay attention to and which to ignore. By instinct and experience, the RAS has “learned” what is important to us. Is it a friend calling my name? I should turn and say “hello.” Is it a fire alarm? I should run … fast. Is it the squeaky wheel on my chair? Never mind; it’s nothing.
So, we hear what we want to hear. We listen for what is important to us. Everything else is just the sound of a tree falling in an empty forest.
With this, my thoughts turn to Martin Luther King Jr., whose life and legacy we have just celebrated. He was renowned as a speaker. The speeches and sermons of this Baptist preacher, gripping in eloquence and enflamed with passion, shaped our nation and changed our story. But those who knew Dr. King best remember him, first and foremost, as a wise and careful listener. What, and how, and to whom he listened gave unequalled power and resonance to his voice. He became a great leader and speaker because he was first a great listener, carefully choosing the voices he allowed himself to hear and honor.
He chose not to listen to every voice. He turned a deaf ear to the venomous shouts of hatred and the acrimonious taunts of bigotry. He paid no attention to the cacophony of unleashed police dogs, opened fire hoses or the clanking of jail doors. Through prayer and purpose, he silenced those noises.
Instead, he heard the muffled cries of the bullied and the broken. He listened to the shushed complaints of the overworked and the underpaid. He paid attention to the voices of those who were forced to the back of the bus and away from the Woolworth’s lunch counter. The voices that many in America ignored, King heard.
On Aug. 28, 1963, Dr. King spoke to 250,000 enthusiastic supporters jammed together on the Washington Mall. He was wrapping up his speech, about to step away from the podium, when he heard a single voice from behind him. It was gospel singer, Mahalia Jackson. She implored him, “Tell them about the dream, Martin. Tell them about the dream.” He heard her. And, he launched, impromptu, into his greatest oratory, maybe the greatest American oratory, “I have a dream … .”
Again, he was listening one discouraging night, sitting alone at his kitchen table, wondering about his future and the future of the civil rights movement, Dr. King heard a voice, an inner voice, “coming out of almost nowhere,” saying, “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And, lo, I will be with you … .” Dr. King would later recount how that voice dissolved his fears. His doubts abated, and his courage soared because of the holy voice he heard from within.
Dr. King listened. He ignored the voices that would beat him down or turn him aside. He listened to the faint voices of those who were staggering under the weight of segregation. He listened to the wise voices that shined with light and truth. He listened to the plaintive voices of those longing for hope. And, he listened to the inner voice that urged him on his life’s mission.
We live in a noisy world, blaring with kinds of voices: friends and colleagues, news anchors and social media influencers, politicians and protestors. But, we have a choice. We are not prisoners to the noise around us.
We are able to hear what we want to hear.
In this new year, I want to be attentive to the voices of love and peace, wisdom and truth and, like Dr. King, to hear the voices that others may not.
Craig
