The Sounds of Monk Silence

By Michael Patrick O’Brien–

One day many years ago, when I was much younger and visiting the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, I watched two monks in an unusual animated conversation. Neither one spoke a single word. It was my introduction to a language few know and most have never heard of—Cistercian sign language.

Unlike what most people think, Cistercian monks do not take vows of silence. Utah monk Father Charles Cummings humorously addressed this common misperception in his book Monastic Practices (p. 91), explaining that people “think we are called ‘Trappists’ because we keep our trap shut.”

Instead, silence is one of the many customs or tools—called usages—that monks employ to advance their monastic goals. Father Charles’s book (p. 104) explains this better than me, “The practice of keeping silent has been handed down by monastic tradition as an effective means of preparing monks and nuns for the experience of the living God. Although interpersonal sharing through conversation also has a value for charity and therefore for union with God, nonetheless monastic communities need a respectful, loving silence in order to facilitate an atmosphere of meditation.”

For many years, the practice of silence was quite strict, meaning the Trappists spoke verbally only on rare occasions, if at all. During these years, it often was necessary to communicate while maintaining silence. Thus, the Trappists developed and used their own specialized form of sign language.

This rule of silence was not as strict when I saw two monks signing to each other in the 1970s, but the usage lingered for some monks and proved convenient under some circumstances. I noticed it, and was fascinated. Later, when I was helping find new homes for some of the last few books from the monastery library when it closed in 2017, I found one volume about the sign language. I kept it for myself.

The 1975 book, titled Cistercian Sign Language and written by Sociology/Anthropology Professor Robert Barakat, seeks to both chronicle and preserve the Trappist sign language. The book includes a narrative introduction discussing the history, nature, and basic systems of the language.

The greater part of the book, however, is a sign dictionary primarily using photos to reveal the words and phrases in the silent monk language and to preserve them for posterity. Of course, this is my favorite part of the book.

When I sit down and browse through the book, inevitably I spend most of my time figuring out how to “say” things in Trappist sign language. For example, there is God, who the book says is silently expressed this way: “form a vertical triangle with tips of thumbs and forefingers: other fingers pressed into palms.”

There also is my name (Michael), which is “said” by doing the gestures for strong + wing + saint + M (the photo accompanying this blog shows how my name is thus “spoken”). Given the obvious ethnicity of my last and middle names, I also looked up how to “say” the word Ireland, which combines the motions for green (“with tip of right forefinger, draw a line from ear to nose”) and courtyard (“join tips of forefingers, and then separate them and move them back to respective sides of body forming a semi-circle as they are moved”).

And one cannot help but love the Trappist sign for mule (“place tip of right thumb in right ear then raise and lower the fingers”), for cat (“twist an imaginary moustache at sides of upper lip with tips of right and left thumb and forefinger, then add sign of animal”), and for bad (“hold tip of nose with thumb and forefinger, then drop them quickly”).

It certainly seems like an inefficient and cumbersome way to communicate, but as Professor Barakat reminds us, that was the point. He notes (p. 80), “One must always keep in mind that the sign language has traditionally been intended only for brief communication and to restrict communication on a wider level.”

As with anything, the silence rule and its related sign language created several humorous moments. Many Huntsville neighbors have told me they often tried—as teens—to get the Trappists to talk. One confessed he failed, but he did get the monks to smile at his jokes. Another Trappist urban legend tells how a young monk awoke one night, saw the barn on fire, but did not tell anyone. The barn was a total loss, but the rule of silence undamaged.

Perhaps the best known Trappist, Thomas Merton, was said to be so proficient at the sign language that he could (and did) tell jokes using it. In his autobiography The Seven Storey Mountain, Merton noted the Gethsemani retreat master’s pragmatic justification for the rule of silence: “It was a good thing the monks didn’t have to talk—with all the mixture of men they have there, they get along better without it: lawyers and farmers and soldiers and schoolboys, they all live together, and go everywhere together and do everything together. They stand in choir together, and go out to work together and sit together in the same place when they read and study. It’s a good thing they don’t talk.” (p. 263) Maybe there is a good lesson here for the rest of us non-monks too, especially as we approach the holidays after a bruising national election.

Despite my new excellent dictionary about it, I doubt I shall ever become fully proficient in the Cistercian sign language. I do plan, however, to consult the book from time-to-time. There could be moments when a little knowledge of Trappist signs may come in handy.

Like, for example, right now. I have placed both hands together, and I am tapping the tips of my forefingers several times without separating my hands. In other words…this is the end!

*Mike O’Brien is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. His book Monastery Mornings, about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah, will be published by Paraclete Press in August 2021.