Michael Cunningham wrote this awesome piece for The New York Times about the nature of translating literature. Firstly, it's just a well written essay. But secondly Cunningham draws on something I'm very interested: a subject called "Writing and the Ways of Knowing." He begins with suggesting the difficulties of translating novels but asserts, "that the original novel is, in a way, a translation itself."
Writing itself is a translation of thought, which is a translation of revelation or invention (that's Aristotle, ladies). I often think about this when I read my Bible. With such a sacred text, it's easy to read it and begin to place its subjects (namely God himself) in boxes of definition. However, what we are reading serves as just the very elementary pieces of God and his work on the earth. The Bible is an introduction to who God is - more of a, "God For Dummies" if you will. For we cannot handle more than the fringes of his glory.
The article goes nowhere near the spiritual, but it certainly got me thinking, which consequently gets you reading my aimless thinking.
So sorry.
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