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. | In the developed countries, people’s desire for silence has become a topic of great interests, but they cannot find it at this moment. People can get distracted from the roaring traffic, the endless beep of phones, buses and trains announcements, or TV loud noise so easily even in empty offices. People are getting exhausted themselves with noise and want the opposite—either in forest, on the sea or in some quiet getaway to find quietness and become more concentrated. The history professor Alain Corbin enjoys writing when he makes his getaway in Sorbonne. The Norwegian explorer Erling Kagge enjoys his writing when he makes his getaway in the wastes of Antarctica, the best of his memories. However, Mr. Corbin wrote in “A History of Silence”, probably there is only a few noise than there used to be. Before tires were made, city streets were full of noise of metal wheels and horseshoes on stone road. Before voluntary isolation using the smartphones, passengers talk a lot on buses and trains. Newspaper-sellers shouted out for sales at top volume instead of simply leaving their products at the newspaper stand, so did the cherries, violets and fresh mackerel vendors. People used to give a thumbs-up or thumbs-down at the theater and the opera. Farmers sang as they did their labor works in the countryside. They don’t sing today. The level of noise does not change a lot since people also complained about it centuries ago. It is the level of distraction that has changed and occupies the space that silence might interrupt. It looks like a paradox because when it does interrupt—in a deep pine forest, in the naked desert, in an empty room where people suddenly left—it proves that this can make people feel uneasy rather than welcome. People become aware of fears; their ears will fasten on anything, whether it’s a fire sound or bird call or leaves sound, that will save them from feelings of emptiness came from nowhere. People want silence maybe not so much. |