Listening

“The problem with listening, of course, is that we don’t.”
— Philip Glass

Philip Glass is one of the most influential composers of the modern era. A pioneer of minimalist music, his works encompass operas, symphonies, film scores, and solo compositions. However, beyond his musical innovations, Glass is a thinker deeply attuned to the essence of perception itself — especially the act of listening.

We imagine that we are listening to each other, to the world, to ourselves. But much of what passes for listening is not listening at all — it’s predicting, interpreting, defending, and preparing to reply. The mind, as Philip Glass so vividly puts it, is full of racket. The composer describes this internal noise as a "crowd of ninety-five lunatics" and a "tyrant-censor" standing guard, filtering and distorting whatever comes in. This is not far from what neuroscientists call the predictive mind.

In predictive processing, perception is not a passive reception of sensory data, but an active construction. The brain constantly generates models of the world and tests them against incoming data. We do not see or hear things as they are—we perceive what we expect. And what doesn’t fit? Often, it is ignored, reshaped, or rejected. Prediction trumps presence.

From a psychotherapeutic perspective, this has profound implications. We are not merely listening to others; we are listening through the lens of our past. Early experiences, emotional conditioning, and cultural narratives all contribute to the models we use to interpret what others mean, how they feel, and what we should say. This is not pathology; it is simply how the mind functions. However, this indicates that authentic listening — listening that transcends projection — is rare, valuable, and significantly demanding.

The Practice of Listening

Glass suggests that authentic listening begins when we “tie up the despot,” quiet the inner commentator, and become aware not just of sound but of perception itself. This is akin to what in Buddhist terms might be called sati — often translated as mindfulness, but more accurately meaning “to remember.” To listen is to remember the world beyond our filters, to attend not only to what is said but also to the being who is saying it, and to feel the texture beneath the tone.

Listening, then, is an ethical and perceptual discipline. It is not just about receiving sound but about cultivating the conditions under which something can be received. This is not easy. As therapists, we understand how challenging it is to listen without imposing our interpretations. We are trained to do it, yet we still catch ourselves projecting, advising, and anticipating. However, when we drop into genuine presence — when the predictive loops soften — a different kind of hearing becomes possible. One that harmonises not only the sound but also the relationship.

From Noise to Knowing

Glass describes music not merely as sound, but as a kind of code, a multidimensional map of something more profound. The same could be said for listening itself. Beneath the layer of words lie gesture, breath, and hesitation. Beneath all that lies something more elusive: an attunement, a resonance, a sense of another’s being.

To understand this, we must first loosen our certainty. If we know what we’re listening for, we’re not truly listening; we’re confirming. Listening in this deeper sense, whether to music, a client, or the world, requires us to suspend our typical grip on interpretation. It is a form of receptive intelligence, an embodied knowing that doesn’t seek to fix or conclude.

This, I think, is what makes listening so therapeutic — and so radical. It opens a space where something new might emerge, not because we analysed it, but because we made room for it.

Conclusion: Listening as Liberation

In a world increasingly dominated by speed, reaction, and noise—both external and internal—the act of truly listening becomes an act of resistance. It’s not just a technique; it’s a way of being. To listen is to say: I will not rush to know. I will not assume. I will stay with you here, uncertain, curious, open.

Listening, both as therapists and as humans, may be the most healing gift we can provide.

Rory Singer