A text is given. It is translated into another language, then again, and again, in an infinite chain. Each rendering shifts nuance, emphasis, horizon. No final version exists; each is a perspective on the possibilities latent in the original, and on the possibilities latent in language itself.
What persists through this chain is not a fixed essence but the relational cut that holds the sequence together. Each translation construes anew, and in doing so, reveals the instability of any claim to a singular, final meaning.
Translation here is not about fidelity to an original, but about tracing the endless actualisation of construal across contexts. Each act opens space for more acts, as if meaning itself were an unending dialogue between potential and event.
What this reveals:
There is no "final translation" because there is no "final construal." Meaning is always perspectival, always shifting across alignments. Translation does not move us away from an original; it exposes the truth that the original was already a construal — already one among endless possible renderings.
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