The Role of Silence and Music in Philosophy

On 16 March 2026, members of the EPIC team were joined by researchers, musicians, and members of the public for an evening of philosophical contemplation, music, and meaningful silence. The event, held at St George’s, Bristol, invited guests to consider what role silence plays in music, philosophy, and everyday life. Opening the event, music therapist and NIHR doctoral student (Hull York Medical School), Kate Binnie, led guests in a moment of collective silence, prompting reflections on how silence can create space for self-knowledge as well as support deeper social connections.

Echoing these ideas, in particular the therapeutic, and sometimes necessary, role of silence both individually and interpersonally, philosopher and EPIC research fellow, Dr Dan Degerman, provided an opportunity to consider the implications of ‘breaking’ silences, particularly in the context of mental health. Degerman emphasised that, while in many cases creating opportunities for discussion around experiences of mental illness can help reduce stigma, these discourses also risk framing silence as inherently harmful or negative. 

To remedy this, Degerman proposed ways of disambiguating different types of silence, introducing two key concepts, namely, literal and metaphorical silence. Literal silence being the absence of sound when nothing is said, and metaphorical silence referring to the absence of speech when something could, or indeed ought, to be said. Degerman explained that both kinds perform an important function in everyday interactions with others, yet only some are taken to be meaningful or welcomed silences, whereas others can create discomfort. That is, whereas some shared silences can facilitate a sense of closeness, mutual understanding, and intimacy, others create ambiguity that can be experienced negatively.

Taking up the invitation to reflect on the communicative and deeply embodied role of silence, Bristol Schola Cantorum performed a piece illustrating in practice how silence and music – like two sides of the same coin – shape the way we experience sound and its absence. Joining in the discussion, University of Bristol music scholars, Professors Emma Hornby and John Pickard offered their perspectives on the role of silence in musical performance and composition, prompting reflection on the breath and the careful placement of silence in orchestral performances.

Drawing these perspectives together, speakers and panellists, including philosopher of language, Dr Anthony Everett, and EPIC Principal Investigator, Professor Havi Carel, engaged in a thought-provoking panel discussion spanning tensions in conceptualisations of silence in the West and East, and its utility – or perceived lack of – in Western analytic philosophy, to its role in palliative care. Each of these perspectives provided avenues for reflecting on the role of silence in different contexts, including healthcare, highlighting tensions between the silence that occurs when no further speech is needed and the silence that emerges as a result of communicative failures between practitioners and patients.

In my experience, the invitation to reflect on silence prompted thoughts about voluntary and non-voluntary silences, particularly in the context of my own research on the COVID-19 pandemic and the measures used to control it. While for some, the silence that followed periods of national lockdowns and widespread closures of busy, otherwise noise-filled environments was experienced as a welcome break, for others, the (relative) absence of noise, and perhaps in particular the absence of other people, was deeply distressing. That is, while silence can bring a sense of peaceful solitude in some cases, in others it can amplify feelings of social isolation and loneliness.

Hence, not only did the event provide a space to reflect on the role of silence in music and philosophy, but it also provided opportunities to reflect on silence more generally. The significance of this is especially pertinent in times of widespread upheaval and crisis, like pandemics, but also other kinds of crisis, such as war and conflict, where silence as an absence of sound could be reconceptualised as a privilege not all have access to. Overall, while silence exists in many forms, its role in society, and its seemingly neutral or passive nature, can mean it is taken for granted, and yet its significance extends beyond its communicative function – it is in many ways a way of being and relating to others and the environment of which we are a part.

Author bio

Kathryn Body is an early-career researcher working at the intersection of the medical humanities, public health policy, and qualitative health research. She has a Master’s degree in Medical Law and Ethics from King’s College London and recently completed her PhD in the Department of Philosophy at the University of Bristol. Kathryn’s PhD research analysed online qualitative survey data on the COVID-19 pandemic in the UK, Japan, and Mexico, with a specific focus on embodiment and other aspects of subjective, lived experiences that came to the fore during that time. Currently, Kathryn is working as a part-time research assistant in the Anthropology Department at University College London, on a project exploring the biosocial impact of multiple caregivers in the lives of children and young adults, with a particular focus on mental health and wellbeing.

The Importance of Kindness – and some great tunes

Today's post comes from EPIC's Jude Williams and it shares the experiences of members of the Choir with No Name on finding a community where they could be heard and understood.

The Choir With No Name Birmingham, Summer Spectacular 2025
St Martin’s in the Bullring, Birmingham, 19th June 2025

I’ve had the privilege of being part of the Choir with No Name Birmingham as a volunteer since 2017. And despite a couple of long absences due to health problems, I’m always welcomed back with open arms. And that’s the thing about this choir. It’s a weekly welcoming hug, for people affected by homelessness and marginalisation. Everyone is held and supported by the love and efficiency of Choir Manager Sally, the musical genius of Choir Director Pete, and a group of volunteers who cook a hot dinner for 50 and provide a friendly face and a listening ear for those who need it. 

Our members are all ages and from all walks of life, and together we raise the roof of St Martin’s Church in the Bullring, in joyous 4-part harmony. Our gigs range from homeless shelters to tv award ceremonies to recording with pop stars. If HS2 ever does get built, we’ll be the sound of the new Birmingham Curson St station clock. And although it’s the singing that we all adore, the camaraderie and the feeling of belonging, it’s the effect that choir has on individuals, in a safe place where their voices are heard, which is the most profoundly moving aspect. This choir changes lives, with a good dose of belted-out bangers along the way.

Our members have arrived at choir after years of trauma - homelessness, addiction, domestic abuse, to name but a few. Many have had countless experiences of epistemic injustice - they are resigned to not being listened to. And yet at choir, a safe non-judgmental space, members come back week after week, gaining in confidence and voice.

Gabriel, Bass brings the house down with his ‘Earth Song’ solo All Together Now

Jenny, our youngest member, joined choir nearly 2 years ago, at age 18. Living with autism and anxiety, Jenny had to leave home quickly, 2 days after her 18th birthday, moving into a flat which she sat in, alone, for 6 months. 

“When I came the first time I was really anxious but I got to like it and then love it. You can always speak to people so I got really close with Sally and it’s nice that I can sit with her and have a sing. She checks in midweek which I find quite helpful, especially when I’m having a tough week, I know she’s thinking of me. I don’t think people understand how much autism and anxiety can affect someone, especially when something in the past has happened. People might think it stays in the past, but it doesn’t, it’s like a luggage tag that you keep with you, so I find it hard some weeks cos it can just pop up out of the blue.”

It wasn’t long before Jenny was holding a mike on stage and singing solos. She’s in charge of the ‘clicker’ too, moving the screen on in rehearsal as we learn the songs off by heart. “Singing is very important in my daily routine. There’s always music on through my headphones..to try to control the background, to help with my anxiety.”

Jenny struggles with seeing healthcare professionals as she doesn’t believe they always take her needs into account. 

“I used to go to the doctors a lot when I was living with my Dad, because of my mental health, but I feel like, they didn’t really do much. They’d say ‘it’s just the situation that you’re in’, but there was more to it. I used to be referred to family services and stuff and I feel like they didn’t really understand it either, I feel like they were oblivious to it all, they misunderstood the whole situation. They let me down. Even things like a simple blood test, which could be quite easy for you. The minute I walk in that room I’m nervous and I feel like the nurses don’t take into consideration that I’m autistic. I don’t even think they read the notes, they just call you in and expect you to get on with it, and it’s not that simple.”

 

Talvin, Tenor at choir rehearsal, Spring 2025

Talvin, a gentle but vivacious singer-songwriter in his 30s, spoke to me about his experiences. Having coped with homelessness and mental health issues, he found the choir through SIFA Fireside, a Birmingham organisation offering homeless support services. 

“It was everything that I was told it was – welcoming, loving, communal, entertaining, dynamic - right up my street music wise. It helped me to elevate back to a stronger place because there were other people I got to interact with that could understand my brokenness and understand my position. Everybody from the choir has come from the streets, from brokenness, from broken marriages and they just needed time away. When I first came to choir, I saw all the mixture of people and I felt at home. The warmth, the singing, the love and eating together and I look forward to every Thursday. No matter what is going on, I feel like I’m coming to see family.”

Talvin has had good experiences with healthcare professionals, feeling lucky that he’s been aware that there is help out there. 

“For me to navigate my mental health through my traumas, I needed help and therapy has helped me a lot. I’ve had to wait a few years, but I’ve had it. Others I know have had problems with reaching a level of understanding with people who are supposed to be helping them from the mental health sector. Either just been given tablets or just not getting them and listening to them. I must say, I feel I’ve been spoiled that way, I’m getting emotional about that, because I know that’s not everyone’s experience. I love people who want to give back and I wasn’t aware that groups, like the choir existed. Had I known these groups were about, I feel that I’d have had more stability because what I’m seeking, needing, to help soothe my overwhelming mental moments, is based in these places.”

The Sopranos and Altos singing their hearts out

Each week we get to sing and laugh together, and there is an implicit understanding that as individuals, we are exactly who we are, and that’s ok. As Talvin so eloquently puts it: 

“There is such a dynamic of people here, and when we communicate and how we engage, we all somehow take that into consideration. Without even saying it. There is that understanding. It’s so unwritten, no one says anything, everyone just acts accordingly. Every week, it shows you what the world is but it comes with such an acceptance. I’ve seen people who are not necessarily getting up to sing, but they just need to be here, just need to be around something, and this ‘something’ is here. Sally’s love and sternness and keeping things together, but with all love. And Pete’s discipline in keeping the structure of our music is like a very silent hug. All of you, everyone is just amazing.”

It's humbling and a real privilege to be part of the Choir With No Name. We are a family and we hold each other up, quite literally as we hug and clap each other on the back in the middle of performances. It’s a simple idea – to sing and eat together – but it’s those simple acts, with kindness and acceptance that make such a profound difference to people’s lives. As Jenny says: 

“You might not understand autism but the thing is, you’re all very friendly and I know I can approach you, I can talk to you. Kindness is important. It’s not about being able to read the person inside out, it’s about being very understanding and kind. You don’t expect everyone to understand but everyone can be kind, kindness is a choice.”

And Talvin’s mental health has hugely improved since attending choir. 

“That consistency of coming week after week has really helped me. I know I have a place on a Thursday and it’s guaranteed, I can come. I can join in with the meal at moments when I can’t do that with my own family or any close people, and I’m yearning for it. There’s so much that pulls me back here and gives me that consistency.”

Our 2024 Member’s Survey showed that 96% of members surveyed felt that being part of the choir helped to improve their mental health. 97% had reduced their stress and /or anxiety and 100% felt a greater sense of belonging, confidence, positivity and purpose. And that is shown in bucketloads at a Choir With No Name gig – it’s a joy to behold. Come and check us out. And if you can’t make it to Birmingham, there are 6 other Choirs With No Name across the UK delivering equally brilliant results.

Jude Williams is an Alto, cooks a mean dahl for 50 and is Project Administrator for Project EPIC at the Institute of Mental Health, University of Birmingham.