For those of us raised into the literate modern world, it is easy to forget the written word is a technology invented by human beings. Like all technologies, literacy has the potential to deepen our appreciation of the world and ourselves. But it also has the potential to alienate us from lived reality. While homo sapiens started speaking language as long as 60,000 years ago, it only began writing down its speech within the past three or four thousand years of its history. In that time our brains have been completely rewired from the world of our oral and semi-oral ancestors, making it harder and harder for us to grasp how they saw the world or what important messages they had encoded for us in our received cultures. We have almost completely lost the traditional idea of the spoken word as an “event,” coming instead to think of it as a visual “thing,” in accordance with our deeply internalized chirographic worldview. The implications of this shift have been monumental for every area of human life, but particularly our psychological and spiritual selves.
This book is a thorough unpacking of the technology of the written word and the monumental importance of the shift from oral to written culture. Reading the epic poems of Homer today, many of us, if we are honest, would likely find much of it curious, and even quaint. The apparent redundancies, aggregative descriptions and embellishments are very different from how we’d write such a story in the present. They almost seem to suggest something lacking about Homer, as judged by our own standards. But the truth is that Homer was a genius. The reason that we fail to understand the importance of epic lyric poetry, and cannot produce such poems today, is that these works were part of an oral tradition. They were meant to be spoken and heard, not read. The stitched-together and formulaic nature of much Greek epic poetry, and much oral composition around the world, was designed to accomplish the goals of a speech, and was created by minds rooted in orality, not the written word. The poem was designed for ease of remembrance and recall for both speaker and listener, in a format where writing and recording were not utilized for such a purpose. What appears to us as cliche was in fact a reflection of the genius of these oral works. Oral cultures were not less developed than ours according to some teleological or psychological scale, but rather simply different - capable of some incredible things that we are not, and incapable of others.
Before writing, the word was conceived very much as an action in itself. As Ong notes, the spoken word is an ephemeral phenomenon. It is not really a “thing” in the way that a written word has visually reified itself in our minds. We, who are so accustomed to the technologized visual word, have great difficulty conceiving of language as most human beings did throughout history -- as an “action” or an “event” occurring in time, rather than the recitation of some kind of label from a catalogue (the idea of such a catalogue of words with different meanings would have made no sense to an oral person). The meaning of the spoken word was also highly related to context and situation, not defined with the self-sufficient precision that dictionaries and writing now make possible.
Each time a word was spoken it was as though the world was being created anew. Every act of speech was an event in time that was unique and unrepeatable. With the invention of writing, what fundamentally took place was the transfer of the “word” from auditory to visual space. The implications of this for our experience of the world, and, most crucially, for our spiritual lives has been immeasurable. Ong writes:
”Sight isolates, sound incorporates. Whereas sight situates the observer outside what he views, at a distance, sound pours into the hearer. Vision dissects. Vision comes to a human being from one direction at a time: to look at a room or a landscape, I must move my eyes around from one part to another. When I hear, however, I gather sound simultaneously from every direction at once: I am at the center of my auditory world, which envelops me, establishing me at a kind of core of sensation and existence.
By contrast with vision, the dissecting sense, sound is thus a unifying sense. A typical visual ideal is clarity and distinctness, a taking apart. The auditory ideal, by contrast, is harmony, a putting together.
In primary oral culture, where the word has its existence only in sound, with no reference whatsoever to any visually perceptible text, and no awareness of even the possibility of such a text, sound enters deeply into human beings' feel for existence, as processed by the spoken word. For the way in which the word is experienced is always momentous in psychic life. The centering action of sound (the field of sound is not spread out before me but is all around me) affects man's sense of the cosmos. For oral cultures, the cosmos is an ongoing event with man at its center. Only after print and the extensive experience with maps that print implemented would human beings, when they thought about the cosmos or universe or world, think primarily of something laid out before their eyes, as in a modern printed atlas, a vast surface or assemblage of surfaces (vision presents surfaces) ready to be explored. The ancient oral world knew few explorers, though it did know many itinerants, travelers, voyagers, adventurers and pilgrims.”
Our drift from being capable of seeing the world as one harmony into seeing it as a series of chopped up discontinuities is, as argued powerfully here, a product of our switch from aural to visual interaction with the world. The literary technologizing of the spoken word has allowed us a depth of interior life and introspection that was never possible with pure orality. But it also set in motion the process of our technology-driven alienation from reality. The cosmic power of the spoken word is something emphasized in the tradition of almost all religions. The Christian Bible refers to Jesus Christ as literally the “Word of God,” and says that “in the beginning there was Logos [the Word],” showing how important the advent of spoken language was to mankind’s spiritual development. In the Islamic tradition, the act of Zikr, or verbal remembrance of God, is centered on the transcendent spiritual power of the oral word as spoken by human beings. Speaking the name(s) of the Divine Reality in Islam is a powerful experience, but is immeasurably more powerful when remembering that each act of speaking it is a unique “event” taking place in the cosmos, not merely the recitation of a visual label that we have technologized.
The living power of the spoken word thus stands in contrast to the proverbial “dead letter” of written representation that we tend to think of today when we think of language. “The [written] word kills, the spirit gives life.” In another remarkable passage worth quoting at length Ong writes:
One of the most startling paradoxes inherent in writing is its close association with death. This association is suggested in Plato’s charge that writing is inhuman, thing-like, and that it destroys memory.... In Pippa Passes, Robert Browning calls attention to the still widespread practice of pressing living flowers to death between the pages of printed books, “faded yellow blossoms / twixt page and page.” The dead flower, once alive, is the psychic equivalent of the verbal text. The paradox lies in the fact that the deadness of the text, its removal from the living human lifeworld, its rigid fixity, assures its endurance and its potential for being resurrected into limitless living contexts by a potentially infinite number of living readers.’
In an effort to give a picture of the “pristine” pre-literate mind, Ong cites studies that were done among illiterate peasants in early-20th century Uzbekistan. What these individuals showed was a far lesser proclivity than we literates to look at the world in abstract terms, or to analyze deeply their own interior lives and psyches. From the interviews sourced, it is remarkable the degree to which these people “totalized,” the world sensing their own place in it by reference to the things and people around them. They did not, and could not, see themselves as neurotic “islands” adrift in the cosmos, because the nature of orality placed them very much into active relation with each other and the things around them. While literacy incentivizes analysis and introspection, orality incentivizes situational thinking. A question posed verbally can be understood in many profound ways, with many less words, than that which is posed in print. The word is seen in oral cultures as powerful, even potentially to the point of substituting for physical action, something that can still be evinced in art forms such as spoken word poetry and rap which have emerged from oral subcultures within modern societies.
So does Ong suggest that we should return to orality, or decry the invention of literacy as a negative force in human life? Not at all. Like other technologies, writing has allowed human beings to realize potentialities that would have been unimaginable in oral societies. But the important lesson that I think should be taken from his work is that we should consciously remember that the written word is indeed “a technology,” an invention by us, rather than the natural way of the world as we have been raised to assume. In remembering this, we can help grapple with the escalating phenomenon of alienation from reality that we are contending with as a society, including our loss of belief in transcendence and divinity - concepts that were always closely associated with the spoken word and auditory experience. By way of analogy, one could contemplate what the metaphysical implications would be if, centuries from now, human beings forgot that their powerful artificial intelligence systems were actually human inventions, instead falsely believing them to be a timeless feature of reality.
I could go on for much longer about this book. There are excellent sections dealing with how literacy and printing technology have rewired our experiences of time and space, as well as the way in which we speak and organize information. The contrast between inherently communal orality and individualizing literacy are important as well, as are the reflections on how texts and manuscripts were generally written to be read out loud until the age of mechanical printing. There is a lot to digest and reflect upon, and I found myself wanting to highlight almost every section at times.
Suffice to say, this was one of the most important and moving books I’ve read in recent memory. In some ways it is a dense text, but that density is greatly leavened by the fact that the argument is made in an economical space of less than 200 pages. For anyone concerned with the way that technology is impacting our subconscious and altering our experience of the world, this book is an absolute must. By stripping away the layers of technological obfuscation, including the things we have ceased to even recognize as technologies, we can get closer to “the real,” and thus evaluate our place in the world in a clear-eyed manner. This book is a vital tool in such an effort.