BOOK FIFTH.
CHAPTER 2. THIS WILL KILL THAT.
(continued)
If the reader will sum up what we have hitherto briefly,
very briefly, indicated, neglecting a thousand proofs and also
a thousand objections of detail, be will be led to this: that
architecture was, down to the fifteenth century, the chief
register of humanity; that in that interval not a thought which
is in any degree complicated made its appearance in the
world, which has not been worked into an edifice; that every
popular idea, and every religious law, has had its monumental
records; that the human race has, in short, had no important
thought which it has not written in stone. And why?
Because every thought, either philosophical or religious, is
interested in perpetuating itself; because the idea which has
moved one generation wishes to move others also, and leave
a trace. Now, what a precarious immortality is that of the
manuscript! How much more solid, durable, unyielding, is a
book of stone! In order to destroy the written word, a torch
and a Turk are sufficient. To demolish the constructed word,
a social revolution, a terrestrial revolution are required.
The barbarians passed over the Coliseum; the deluge, perhaps,
passed over the Pyramids.
In the fifteenth century everything changes.
Human thought discovers a mode of perpetuating itself,
not only more durable and more resisting than architecture,
but still more simple and easy. Architecture is dethroned.
Gutenberg's letters of lead are about to supersede Orpheus's
letters of stone.
*The book is about to kill the edifice*.
The invention of printing is the greatest event in history.
It is the mother of revolution. It is the mode of expression
of humanity which is totally renewed; it is human thought
stripping off one form and donning another; it is the complete
and definitive change of skin of that symbolical serpent which
since the days of Adam has represented intelligence.
In its printed form, thought is more imperishable than
ever; it is volatile, irresistible, indestructible. It is mingled
with the air. In the days of architecture it made a mountain
of itself, and took powerful possession of a century and
a place. Now it converts itself into a flock of birds, scatters
itself to the four winds, and occupies all points of air and
space at once.
|