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. | Bar u razvijenom svijetu, tema današnjice je da ljudi žude za tišinom a ne mogu je naći. Buka od saobraćaja, neprestani zvuk telefona, digitalizovane najave u autobusima i vozovima, televizori koji buče čak I u praznim kancelarijama, predstavljaju beskonačnu smetnju. Ljudska rasa se potpuno iscrpljuje od buke i dugo traži nesto potpuno suprotno - bilo to u divljini, na širokom okeanu ili u povalacenju posvećenom miru i koncentraciji. Iz svog utočišta u Sorbonni o tome piše Alain Corbin, profesor istorije, kao i Erling Kagge, norveški istraživač, iz svojih sjećanja na otpad Antarktike, gde su oboje pokušali pobeći. Ipak, kao što g. Corbin ističe u "Istorijii tišine", danas verovatno nema više buke nego što je nekad bilo. Pre pneumatskih guma, gradske ulice bile su pune zaglušujuće buke od drvenih točkova s metalnim okvrima i konjskih potkovica koji su odzvanjali po kamenu. Pre izolacije buke na mobilnim telefonima u našim razgovorima su učestvovali I autobusi i vozovi. Prodavci novina se nisu oglašavali prigušenim galasom več najglasnije što su mogli, baš kao I prodavcii trešanja, ljubičica i svježe skuše. U pozorištu I operi je bio pravi haos od aplauaza, navijanja I dobaciavanja. Čak i na selu, seljaci su bučno pjevali dok su radili. Sada ne pjevaju više. Ono što se promijenilo nije toliko visina buke na koju su se žalili I u prošlim vekovima već količina smetnje koju izaziva I time oduzima mesto tišini. Tu je još jedan paradox. Kada se čovek nađe u dubinama borove šume, u goloj pustinji ili iznenadno ispražnjenoj sobi, pre se oseća neugodno nego prijatno. Jeza podilazi. Uvo čuje sve, bilo da je pucketanje vatre ili zov ptica ili šuštanje lišća; sve što će ga spasti od neprijatne praznine. Ljudi vole tišinu ali ne baš previse. |