The Name of the Rose is a staggeringly marvelous book that has just about everything imaginable in it; insofar as this is true, it is a veritable bestiary of literary and theological ideas about pre-Renaissance Europe. Like the Sanskrit mahākāvyas, it has everything; but it is nevertheless novel in that it questions the pre-existing order in ways that older, more conservative works don’t.
For now, I wish to point out a fascinating passage from the book, addressed to the reader by the narrator Adso:
For now, I wish to point out a fascinating passage from the book, addressed to the reader by the narrator Adso:
Learning is not like a coin, which remains physically whole even through the most infamous transactions; it is, rather, like a very handsome dress, which is worn out through use and ostentation. Is not a book like that, in fact? Its pages crumble, its ink and gold turn dull, if too many hands touch it.This passage would have caught my eye on most days, given that it strikes me as (understandable but) entirely wrongheaded, but it struck me all the more forcefully since I had earlier been translating some Sanskrit subhāṣitas. Specifically, this one: