Against Translation (I)

On the provincial reader

I have discovered in my catalogue of faith, a hidden conviction that has nourished many of my intellectual proclivities and aspirations for as long as I can remember and even if for a period of time (especially about my doctoral studies), a certain democratic impetus guided my desire to vindicate the then very fashionable elevations of translation and its dignities to the same parnassus in which original works and their authors dwelled in eternity, I could not but continue to hold translation to be no more and no less than a hopelessly inadequate device meant to amend the intellectual deficiencies of the reader and never to be taken as a legitimate expression of the original.

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