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. | Ẹṣin ọ̀rọ̀ ti ìgbà ìwáṣẹ̀, ó kéré tán láwọn orílẹ̀-èdè tó ti gòkè àgbà, ni wi pe awon eniyan a maa fẹ́ ìdákẹ́rọ́rọ́ wọ́n o sì rí. mọ́tò to n ké ramúramù, ohùn dídún fóònù láìdabọ̀, ìkéde díjítà ninu ọkọ̀ èrò bọ́ọ̀sì ati ọkọ̀ ojú irin, tẹlifíṣọ̀n tó ń ké tantan kódà nínú àwọn iléeṣẹ́ tó wà ní òfìfo, je ifipá kọlù ati ìpínyà ọkàn tí kò lópin. ìran ẹ̀dá ènìyàn máa ń fi ariwo fa rirẹ̀ tẹnutẹnu fun ara wọ́n ati yiyánhànhàn fún òdìkejì rẹ̀ - yálà nínú igbó lóríṣiríṣi, lori agbami òkun, tàbí láwọn íbi ààtò ibòji tí a yà sọ́tọ̀ fún ìtòròminimini ati ìṣẹ́niníṣẹ̀ẹ́. Alain Corbin,Ọ̀jọ̀gbọ́n nínú ẹ̀kọ́ nípa ìtàn,kọ̀wé láti ibi ìsádi rẹ̀ ni Sorbonne, ati Erling Kagge, Olùṣàwárí orílẹ̀-èdè Norway, látinú ìrírí mánigbàgbé tí o ní nipa awúrúju ilẹ̀ Antarctica, ni ibi ti àwọn méjèèjì gbìyànjú láti sá lọ. Ati síbẹ̀síbẹ̀, bi Ọ̀gbẹ́ni Corbin ti ṣe ṣàlàyé nínú "Ìtàn Ìdákẹ́jẹ́ẹ́" Ó ṣeé ṣe ko ma si ariwo mo bi i ti tele. ki táyà alafẹ́fẹ́ to de, àwọn òpópónà ìlú kun fun gbọngan-un gbọngan-un awon mẹ́táàlì ti a fi se ìgbátí sí ára àgbá tó fẹ́rẹ̀ẹ́ dini létí ati pátákò ẹsẹ̀ ẹṣin lórí òkúta. ki àdádó àfínnúfíndọ̀ṣe ti ori fóònù alágbèéká to de, kọ̀ èrò bọ́ọ̀sì ati ọkọ̀ ojú irin máa ń dún pẹ̀lú ọ̀rọ̀ ẹnu. òǹtajà ìwé ìròyìn o kii n fi oja won sile ni ìtòjọpelemọ tí ó yadi, won ma a n se ìpolówó ọjà lohun rara, bi awon ti o n ta àgbálùmọ̀, òdòdó , ẹja monkere tútù. ilé sinimá, orin aláré ati eré onítàn je ìdàrúdàpọ̀ ìró igbe àti bárékè. àní nínú àgbègbè àrọko, àwọn mẹ̀kúnnù ń kọrin bi won se n mu oògùn olóró. Won o ki n korin mo ni bayii Oun ti o yato ki i se ipele ariwo naa ni pato, eyi ti àwọn ọ̀pọ̀ ọ̀rúndún tó ti kọjá ráhùn nípa bákan náà, sugbon ìwọ̀n ìpínyà ọkàn, ti o gba aye ti dídákẹ́ le ṣígun lọ. Irọ̀ dẹ̀dẹ̀ kàyéfì miran tun wa nibi yii, nítorí pé ti ko ba ṣígun lọ,ní àwọn apá ìsàlẹ̀ jù lọ ní àárín igbó igi ahóyaya, nínu àárín aṣálẹ̀ gbangba, nínú yàrá ti gbogbo ibẹ̀ mọ́ foo lairotele, o ma a n jáni láyà ju titẹ́wọ́ gba eniyan lo. ìbẹ̀rùbojo a wa yọ́ wọlé, eti a wa na si ohun gbogbo, boya ohun ina tí ó dún ṣì-ì-ì, tabi ìró àti orin àwọn ẹyẹ, ìró ewé tí afẹ́fẹ́ ń fẹ́ ni o gba a lowo inúfìfo àìmọ̀ yii. Awon eniyan a maa fe idakeroro, sugbon kii se pe kò fi bẹ́ẹ̀ pọ̀ bayẹn. |