It has long been known that the truth is anything but universal. It is, I believe, generally accepted that the truth is nearly always twisted and cajoled into one person's limited view of a subject then crammed into their relatively minute world view only to be distributed by countless others who will twist it in their own different ways. What this says with regards to the accuracy or validity of what we conceive of as true is, to be honest, way past my capacity as a lowly and rather ignorant teenager.
I started this post with that rather rambling rant because I think that it is important to make the distinction between my opinions and the truth. As I read great works by greater authors my view of their intended truth will inevitably be skewed by the way I see the world. I can have no way of really knowing what these legends intended when they set their thoughts to ink; all I can to is relate the snippets of meaning that I derive from the passages that they left for us. Whether my musings will even come close to the ‘truth’ I cannot say.
Reading this post, it may seem that my choice for a title was considerably ill chosen. But that is a notion that I reject whole heartedly. This quote taken out of its early nineteenth century context speaks to the generality with which we often speak of the truth. It is also significant in that by posting my thoughts on the works presented to me in class I will be finding my own personal “universal truth” and really, isn't that what we’re all looking for?
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