Béla Hamvas
Five thousand years look down upon us from these pages. World history has preserved what transpired on the surface during these five millennia—the accursed chronicle of wars, famine, revolutions, the annihilation of peoples, and bloodshed. Yet, this is not the only history. Beneath and behind it lies the blessed history of the arts, religions, philosophies, and poetry. This is the other—and this is the true one. The text of the authentic melody of human existence is not found in the laments, curses, frenzied outbursts, or death cries of a perishing Babylon, a trampled Egypt, or a decaying Rome and Byzantium; rather, it resides in that silent wisdom preserved by the pyramids, Greek statues, Chinese temples, and the cities of Mexico. Our true existence lies in what we have created, not in what we have destroyed—in that which endures, not in that which is transient. Yet, there is no history more blessed, greater, more faithful, more truthful, more resonant, or more profound than the history of the written word. The word is the true text of existence—the genuine substance, meaning, and ultimate key to the entire story.