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. | Nje ceshtje e diskutuar prej kohesh, te pakten ne boten e zhvilluar, eshte qe njerezit kerkojne qetesi por nuk mund ta gjejne ate. Zhurma e trafikut, tringellimat e papushueshme te telefonave, lajmerimet dixhitale ne autobusa dhe trena, programet reklamuese televizive qe zhurmojne madje edhe ne zyrat bosh jane nje goditje e pashtershme dhe shperqendrim. Njerezimi eshte duke e lodhur vetveten me zhurme dhe kerkon me padurim te kunderten e saj-qofte ne natyren e paprekur, ne oqeanin e gjere ose ne vende te qeta dedikuar qetesise dhe perqendrimit. Alain Corbin, nje profesor historie, shkruan nga Sorbonne, vendbanimi i ri i tij i larget, dhe Erling Kagge, nje eksplorues Norvegjez, nga kujtimet e tij, nga shkeputjet e Antarktides nga ku te dy jane perpjekur te arratisen. Per me teper, sikurse zoti corbin ben te ditur ne "Nje histori heshtjeje", pothuajse nuk kishte me shume zhurme se c'kishte menduar me pare. Perpara gomave me ajer, rruget e qyteteve ishin plot me zhurmen shurdhuese te rrotave metalike dhe patkonjve ne gur. Perpara mevetesise vullnetare ne telefona celulare, autobuset dhe trenat gelonin nga bashkebisedimet. Gazetashitesit nuk i linin stoqet ne nje pirg te heshtur por i reklamonin ato me ze te larte sikurse benin shitesit e qershive, manushaqeve dhe sardeleve te fresketa. Teatri dhe opera ishin nje kaos ulerimash dhe fyerjesh. Edhe ne fshat, fshataret kendonin ndersa rropateshin. Ata nuk kendojne me tashme. Ajo cfare ka ndryshuar nuk eshte aq shume niveli i zhurmes, per te cilen shekuj me pare gjithashtu ka qene shqetesim, por niveli i shperqendrimit, i cili pushton hapsiren qe qetesia mund ta zere. Atje paraqitet nje tjeter kundershti, sepse kur qetesia mbizoteron ne thellesite e nje pylli pishash, ne shkretetire, ne nje dhome te zbrazur papritmas ajo shpesh tregon dekurajim me teper sesa mikpritje. Tmerri zvarritet, veshi nuk degjon me asgje, as kercitjen e flakeve, as cicerimat e zogjve, as feshferimat e gjetheve qe do ta shpetonin nga ky boshllek i panjohur. Njerezit duan qetesi por jo edhe aq shume. |