this whole explain yourself irks me. especially for a creative thesis. here is why(please don't use for anything, it was my application essay):
“At present you need to live the question.”—Rainer Maria Rilke, translated from the German by
Joan M. Burnham
Translated further by Celeste Henkelmann
Words. Words. Words. So much of communication goes beyond the use of these enigmatic symbols that try to express the ineffable. Each word consists not only of ink stains but also of a web interconnecting abstract ideas and corresponding experiences. It follows that each word comes packaged with various universal, cultural, and individual associations. Thus, as an idea passes between people, the original intent evolves with each subjective interpretation.
I find it futile to dwell on each interpreter’s intent if the work doesn’t pertain to mathematics or natural sciences; outside of this domain, the most fruitful perspective is the subjective interpretation. Interpretations, or translations, never truly represent the original intent unless both the author and interpreter tacitly assume that subjective interpretation is the goal. Communication can be defined as a type of translation, transferring ideas from one person to another.Communication, then, holds the same fallibility as translation. Joan M. Burnham has communicated one interpretation of Rainer Maria Rilke’s idea stating, “At present you need to live the question.” While the intent and subsequent translation can be argued indefinitely, each constructed meaning ultimately spawns from the individual’s own web of connections. Acknowledging the impossibility of identifying the author’s intent, I shall attempt to express, within the confines of language, my understanding of the given - yet arbitrary - thirty symbols, twenty-five letters, six words, one idea.
“At present you need” symbolizes the more mundane half of Burnham’s translations. “At present” (now) remains all we directly know and is thus somewhat redundant. While we have a notion of past and an assumption of future, we can only exist in this moment. We can only act now - “at present” - making it unnecessary, even redundant, to denote a time. Following “at present,” “you need” suggests an unambiguous universal, the likes of which sends shivers down my spine. Given the abstract nature of language, the idea that someone other than me knows what I need repulses me.
“To live the question” stands as the most interesting and seemingly contradictory part of Burnham’s translation of Rilke’s idea. I find that “to live” is synonymous with “to exist,” and “the question” remains. “The,” a seemingly innocuous article, holds the most provocative idea.“The” reigns above other articles. It doesn’t trifle in the ambiguity of ‘a’s and ‘an’s but sits on its finite, certain pedestal. I find that “the” implies a singular, definite answer. Yet next to this pillar
of certainty lies the open-ended, infinite “question.”
“Question,” interestingly, was translated instead of its antithesis: ‘answer.’ “Question” implies the yearning for knowledge without a preconceived destination. On the other hand, ‘the answer’ leaves no room for discovery or improvement; it serves as the equivalent of “the.” ‘The answer’ presupposes the possibility of omniscience; those with ‘the answer’ know the question and its intent. ‘The answer’ implies certainty, while “the question” lends itself toward ambiguity. Thus, the open-ended, infinite ambiguity circumvents the dead-end certainty.
Rilke’s ideas, Burnham’s translation, and my interpretation: each relies on its recursive antecedent. Each set of symbols has the potential to be altered directly, such as by word choice, or indirectly, by shifting connotations. Language, although necessary, remains indefinite and incomplete. What more can we do, except accept the ambiguity and live: “to live the question?” As Wittgenstein said, "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent." To live.
I find it futile to dwell on each interpreter’s intent if the work doesn’t pertain to mathematics or natural sciences; outside of this domain, the most fruitful perspective is the subjective interpretation. Interpretations, or translations, never truly represent the original intent unless both the author and interpreter tacitly assume that subjective interpretation is the goal. Communication can be defined as a type of translation, transferring ideas from one person to another.Communication, then, holds the same fallibility as translation. Joan M. Burnham has communicated one interpretation of Rainer Maria Rilke’s idea stating, “At present you need to live the question.” While the intent and subsequent translation can be argued indefinitely, each constructed meaning ultimately spawns from the individual’s own web of connections. Acknowledging the impossibility of identifying the author’s intent, I shall attempt to express, within the confines of language, my understanding of the given - yet arbitrary - thirty symbols, twenty-five letters, six words, one idea.
“At present you need” symbolizes the more mundane half of Burnham’s translations. “At present” (now) remains all we directly know and is thus somewhat redundant. While we have a notion of past and an assumption of future, we can only exist in this moment. We can only act now - “at present” - making it unnecessary, even redundant, to denote a time. Following “at present,” “you need” suggests an unambiguous universal, the likes of which sends shivers down my spine. Given the abstract nature of language, the idea that someone other than me knows what I need repulses me.
“To live the question” stands as the most interesting and seemingly contradictory part of Burnham’s translation of Rilke’s idea. I find that “to live” is synonymous with “to exist,” and “the question” remains. “The,” a seemingly innocuous article, holds the most provocative idea.“The” reigns above other articles. It doesn’t trifle in the ambiguity of ‘a’s and ‘an’s but sits on its finite, certain pedestal. I find that “the” implies a singular, definite answer. Yet next to this pillar
of certainty lies the open-ended, infinite “question.”
“Question,” interestingly, was translated instead of its antithesis: ‘answer.’ “Question” implies the yearning for knowledge without a preconceived destination. On the other hand, ‘the answer’ leaves no room for discovery or improvement; it serves as the equivalent of “the.” ‘The answer’ presupposes the possibility of omniscience; those with ‘the answer’ know the question and its intent. ‘The answer’ implies certainty, while “the question” lends itself toward ambiguity. Thus, the open-ended, infinite ambiguity circumvents the dead-end certainty.
Rilke’s ideas, Burnham’s translation, and my interpretation: each relies on its recursive antecedent. Each set of symbols has the potential to be altered directly, such as by word choice, or indirectly, by shifting connotations. Language, although necessary, remains indefinite and incomplete. What more can we do, except accept the ambiguity and live: “to live the question?” As Wittgenstein said, "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent." To live.
So, why do I need to explain myself, when ultimately only you matter?
1 comments:
Isn't that the job of the novelist? To explain others, the world, humanity, etc? So you are right. Why explain yourself? Try just writing about yourself, not explaining. If you feel you need to, resist the impulse to "explain" yourself. You can still gather and chart yourself. Think of it that way, maybe. Map yourself. You don't have to analyze. Instead, describe and tell. Others--or you, later--can connect the dots.
Post a Comment