A theme of the age, at least in the developed world, is that people crave silence and can find none. The roar of traffic, the ceaseless beep of phones, digital announcements in buses and trains, TV sets blaring even in empty offices, are an endless battery and distraction. The human race is exhausting itself with noise and longs for its opposite—whether in the wilds, on the wide ocean or in some retreat dedicated to stillness and concentration. Alain Corbin, a history professor, writes from his refuge in the Sorbonne, and Erling Kagge, a Norwegian explorer, from his memories of the wastes of Antarctica, where both have tried to escape.
And yet, as Mr Corbin points out in "A History of Silence", there is probably no more noise than there used to be. Before pneumatic tyres, city streets were full of the deafening clang of metal-rimmed wheels and horseshoes on stone. Before voluntary isolation on mobile phones, buses and trains rang with conversation. Newspaper-sellers did not leave their wares in a mute pile, but advertised them at top volume, as did vendors of cherries, violets and fresh mackerel. The theatre and the opera were a chaos of huzzahs and barracking. Even in the countryside, peasants sang as they drudged. They don’t sing now.
What has changed is not so much the level of noise, which previous centuries also complained about, but the level of distraction, which occupies the space that silence might invade. There looms another paradox, because when it does invade—in the depths of a pine forest, in the naked desert, in a suddenly vacated room—it often proves unnerving rather than welcome. Dread creeps in; the ear instinctively fastens on anything, whether fire-hiss or bird call or susurrus of leaves, that will save it from this unknown emptiness. People want silence, but not that much. | Tema suvremenog vremena je čovjekova težnja za tišinom i njegova nemogućnost da je ponađe. Buka u saobraćaju, neprekidna zvonjava telefona, zvučna signalizacja u autobusima i tramvajima, treštanje televizora čak i u praznim kancelarijama predstavljaju neograničeni izvori buke. Ljudi se iscrpljuju bukom i željom za tišinom - bez obzira da li je to u divljini, na širokom okeanu ili u nekoj osami posvećenoj miru i koncentraciji. Alain Corbin, profesor istorije, piše iz svog izbjeglištva u Sorboni, a Erling Kagge, norveški istraživač, iz svojih sjećanja na lutanja po Antarktiku, gdje obojica pokašavaju pronaći utočište. I kako kaže gospodin Corbin u "Istoriji tišine", danas vjerovatno nema mnogo više buke, nego u vremenu prije. Prije pneumatskih guma, gradske ulice ozvanjale su zvekom metalnih točkova i potkova na kamenu. Prije dobrovoljne izolacije mobilnim telefonima, u autobusima i vozovima se vodio je razgovor. Prodavači novina nisu prodavali novine nijemoj skupini, već su ih glasno nudili, kao i prodavači višnji, ljubičica i sveže skuše. Pozorište i opera pravili su buku po trgovima i kasarnama. Čak i na selu, seljaci su pjevali dok su radili. Više ne pjevaju. Ono što se promijenilo nije toliko razina buke, na koju su se žalili i vijekovima prije, već razina otuđenosti, koja je zauzela prostor tišine. To izaziva još jedan paradoks, jer sa upadanjem - u dubine borove šume, u golu pustinju, iznenadno ispražnjenu sobu – češće se pojavljuje razočarenje od prihvatanja. Strepnja se širi; ušima se instinktivno osluškuje svaki zvuk, bez obzira li je požarni alarm ili crvkut ptica ili šustanje lišća, koji spašava od ove nepoznate praznine. Ljudi žele tišinu, ali ne u tolikoj mjeri. |