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. | Mense smag na stilte, tog word hulle ontsenu daardeur, The Economist ʼn Tema van die tyd, ten minste in die ontwikkelde wêreld, is dat mense smag na stilte en tog geen kan vind nie. Die rumoer van die verkeer en die oneindige gepiep van selfone, digitale aankondigings aan boord busse en trein asook TV stelle wat blêr in leë kantore, is een algehele aanslag en afleiding. Die mensdom is besig om homself uit te put met klank, terwyl dit smag na die teenoorgestelde – wetens in die wildernis, op die wye oseaan of in een of ander wegbreek wat toegewy is aan stilte en konsentrasie. Alan Corbin, ʼn geskiedenis professor, skryf vanuit sy veilige hawe in die Sorbonne, en Erling Kagge, ʼn Noorweegse ontdekkingsreisiger vanuit sy herinneringe oor die vlaktes van Antarktika, waar beide probeer ontvlug het. En tog, soos Mr. Corbin uitwys in “A History of Silence”, is daar heel waarskynlik nie veel meer lawaai as wat daar vantevore was nie. Voor pneumatiese bande, was stede gevul met die verdowende geknel van metaal gesmede bande asook perde skoene op steen. Voor vrywillige isolasie op selfone, het busse en treine gedreun met gesprekke. Koerant verkopers het nie hulle ware in ʼn stil hopie gelaat nie, maar het die nuus met harde stemme geadverteer, net soos die verkopers van kersies, viooltjies en vars makriel. Die teater en die opera was ʼn chaotiese mengsel van toejuigings en uitjouings. Selfs in die platteland, het kleinboere gesing soos hulle geswoeg het. Nou sing hulle nie. Wat verander het, is nie so seer die vlak van geraas nie, iets waaroor in vorige eeue ook gekla is nie, maar die vlak van afleiding wat dit inhou vir die omgewing wat daardie geraas mag binnedring. Daar skuil nog ʼn paradoks, want wanneer dit wel binnedring – in die dieptes van ʼn denne woud, in die oop woestyn, in ʼn skielike leë kamer – veroorsaak dit eerder ongemak as wat dit verwelkom word. Vrees en angs kruip in; die oor fokus in op enigiets, of dit die sis van vuur is of die geroep van ʼn voël of die geritsel van blare is, wat dit van die onbekende leegheid sal red. Mense smag na stilte, maar nie so veel nie. |