There is an article that I read twenty three years ago that has lingered in my memory. The title was enigmatic enough to bring it to the top of my to do list at a time when the seven children at home vied for that coveted spot.
What the Writings Say They Cannot Say by Dr. Kristin King explores the ineffable tone that hovers in between the words on the pages of Emanuel Swedenborg's extensive treatise. She posits that language both carries the message and crumbles under the weight of it. This is not shocking given the discrepancy between what God longs to express, and our mortal capacity to receive it.
Dr. King values the medium of words to convey content. Yet there is another dimension to be discovered beyond the text itself. Affection is not easily captured by a string of syllables, though poets have tried. If a reluctant ten year old were to read a sonnet out loud at the back of the classroom, even if he were to recite the lines, passion would be absent.
Dr. King brings Cordelia to mind. She is the daughter of the self important King Lear. Her father demands that she articulate her love for him, as her ambitious sisters have done. Yet Cordelia will not, perhaps cannot truncate her devotion with such a constricted means as a monologue.
In a similar way there are narratives in Swedenborg's writings that come up against that impasse. When he wants to describe an angel's beauty, for instance, he does not even try. Can we blame him? Who can smash the experience of grace, or forgiveness, pain or freedom on a flat page? Does looking at a sheet of music compare with hearing it? Is reading a review of a Broadway show as rich an experience as being in the seats without speaking?
Bowing to the spaces between the words is a beginning. Looking for tone as earnestly as we do definitions takes us further.
