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. | Wani batu da ya daɗe, musamman a ƙasashen da suka ci gaba, shine mutane na neman rashin hayaniya amma sun gaza samu. Rugugin matafiya, ƙarar wayoyin hannu wanda baya ƙarewa, sanarwa ba ƙaƙƙautawa daga nau'rori a motocin bas bas da jiragen ƙasa, kwarmaton talabijoji har a ofisoshin da babu kowa, lamari ne da ke haifar da rashin jin daɗi. Ɗan adam na wahar da kansa da yawan hayaniya duk da cewa yana bukatar kishiyar haka—a cikin daji ne, cikin kogi da wuraren shaƙatawa da aka keɓe domin samun nutsuwa da kwanciyar hankali. Alain Corbin, wani farfesan tarihi, ya rubuta daga mafakarsa dake Sorbonne, da kuma Erling Kagge, wani mai bincike ɗan ƙasar Norway, wanda yayi rubutu a kan abubuwan gani da ido da ya gani, sun yi tsokaci daga wurin da suka yi ƙoƙarin fidda jaki daga cikin duma. To amma, kamar yadda Mista Corbin ya ambata a cikin wani littafi mai suna "A History of Silence", babu maraba tsakanin dambe da faɗa a kan yadda surutu yake a da da kuma yanzu. Kafin shigowar tayoyin mota, titunan birane sun cika da ƙarar tayoyin ƙarfe da kuma kofaton dawakai a kan duwatsu. Kafin woyayin hannu su zama ƙarfen ƙafa, motocin bas bas da jiragen ƙasa su ke zuba ɗan karen surutu. Hatta masu sayar da jaridu ba a barsu a baya ba wurin tallata hajarsu a fili tamkar dai yadda masu sayar da kayan marmari kan yi. Gidajen wasan kwaikwayo da makaɗa sun zamarwa mutane larura. Harma a gefen gari, zaka ji masu aikin ƙarfi na waƙe-waƙe lokacin da suke aiki. Amma yanzu ba sa yi. Abinda ya sauya ba yawan surutu bane, wanda aka yi kuka da shi a zamanin da, amma yadda abin ya ɗauki sabon salo dangane da yadda surutu ya mamaye duk wani wuri da ya kamata a sami rashin hayaniya. Babban abin ta'ajibi shine yadda suruta ya mamaye ƙungurmin daji, cikin hamada har ma da ɗakin da babu kowa—babu yadda za a yi maraba da hayaniya a waɗannan wurare. Wanda maciji ya sara in ya ga tsumma sai ya tsorata. Surutun da bai kai ya kawo ba kamar hucin wutar da aka kunna, kukan tsuntsu, ko motsin ganyen bishiya sai ya sa fatar kunne ta ƙara kauri domin kare kanta daga abinda yaka je ya zo. Mutane suna son rashin hayaniya amma basu nuna da gaske suke ba. |