The continuing importance of linguistics for translation

It is sometimes argued that improved modern translations are making linguistic study less necessary than it used to be. Quite the contrary is true. Increased modern philological knowledge, while it has enabled us to overcome certain difficulties which the older translations had, has also made the assessment of meaning more approximative in character, has multiplied the factors which may bear upon it, and may thus have made the production of definitive translations more remote.—James Barr, in Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament, 299

It's pretty basic, really

Though the Hebrew and Greek (and a smattering of Aramaic) have to be translated, when it comes to the important main message of the Bible (“those things which are necessary to be known, believed, and observed for salvation”), these things “are so clearly propounded, and opened in some place of Scripture or other” that not even a bad translator could mess it up.—Lost World of the Flood, 169

Mistranslation? A look at ṣela'

On the basis of Adam's statement, combined with these data on usage, we would have to conclude that God took one of Adam's sides—likely meaning he cut Adam in half and from one side built the woman.

When we investigate the Hebrew word and the way that it has been handled throughout history, we discover much supporting evidence for this reading. Beginning with the way that the cognate sélu is used in Akkadian (Assyrian and Babylonian), we find that the word has a certain ambiguity. Rarely, it refers to a single rib. Most times it refers to the entire side or to the entire rib cage. This is comparable to our English use when we talk about a “side of beef.”—The Lost World of Adam and Eve, p. 78

Tread carefully!

Any poetic, philosophic, rhetorical pronouncement worth taking seriously will compact its executive means and meanings. It will resist, it will frustrate to the greatest possible degree, the dissociative, the deconstructive agencies of paraphrase and translation. A major text exposes pitilessly the necessary innocence and arbitrariness of the translator’s assumption that meaning is some sort of ‘packageable content’ and not an energy irreducible to any other medium. Language is, therefore, the adversary of translation. Thus there is more than cautionary allegory in the prohibition which numerous cultures have set against the translation of their sacred texts.—George Steiner, No Passion Spent, page 195

The strains of translation

For it is in and through the process of translation that a language is made eminently self-aware. Translation constrains it to formal and diachronic introspection, to an explicit investment and enlargement of its historical, colloquial and metaphorical instruments. Simultaneously, translation puts a language under pressure of its limitation. It will solicit modes of perception and designation which that language had left underdeveloped, or had altogether discarded. An act of translation draws up a balance-sheet, as it were, for the target-language.—George Steiner, No Passion Spent, page 94

Hermeneutics of reading

The act and art of serious reading comport two principal motions of spirit: that of interpretation (hermeneutics) and that of valuation (criticism, aesthetic judgement). The two are strictly inseparable. To interpret is to judge. No decipherment, however philological, however textual in the most technical sense, is value-free. Correspondingly, no critical assessment, no aesthetic commentary is not, at the same time, interpretative. The very word ‘interpretation’, encompassing as it does concepts of explication, of translation and of enactment (as in the interpretation of a dramatic part or musical score), tells us of this manifold interplay.—George Steiner, No Passion Spent, page 25

St. Basil on the prowl

Basil points out various scientific theories about the shape of the earth and how each one overthrows the previous. He labels the purveyors of these theories as employing “foolish wisdom.” But his reason for this accusation is not because Moses' account trumps those scientific explanations. In fact, he concedes that Moses does not discuss them in Genesis because they are “useless for us, things in no Way pertaining to us.” [Basil, Hexaemeron 91] Scripture simply does not speak about these things in a scientific manner—this is not the architecture of Scripture. Basil claims value for “our version of creation” because they are the “words of the Spirit” that give us not scientific theories but “things . . . written for the edification and guidance of our souls.” He is critical of those who go beyond what Moses himself has written and give it a dignity on that basis. Scripture needs to be “understood as it has been written” because adding to it with translational allegory or scientific theories goes beyond its scope and intent.—Early Christian Readings of Genesis One, pages 198–99

Are you naive?

The point here is that the simple act of reading the Bible, whether in the original language or in a translation, is already a mediated event. This mediation becomes layered when we factor in our own cultural location. The assumption that we can read the Bible, or anything for that matter, from a neutral stance is naive and misguided.—Early Christian Readings of Genesis One, page 75

If only it were that simple!

Can we really read the Bible free of any influence or without acknowledging those who have gone before us?

Consider what might be involved in taking [Ken] Ham’s exhortation to just read the text and let it speak to you. The Bibles most of us use are translations from the original Hebrew and Greek. Translation is not simply a matter of finding equivalent words in two languages. The task of transposing material from one world of thought and language to another can be very complicated. These different worlds of thought require the translator to understand both cultures. This means that interpretation is already involved in the task of translation—grammatical and lexical decisions are made that allow the readers of translations to understand the Words of the text.—Early Christian Readings of Genesis One, page 73

A Study in Translations

I was reading in Matthew 8 this morning in my currently favored translation, the Common English Bible, when I noticed that all the references to the "sea" were changed to "lake."

23 When Jesus got into a boat, his disciples followed him. 24 A huge storm arose on the lake so that waves were sloshing over the boat. But Jesus was asleep. 25 They came and woke him, saying, “Lord, rescue us! We’re going to drown!”

26 He said to them, “Why are you afraid, you people of weak faith?” Then he got up and gave orders to the winds and the lake, and there was a great calm.

27 The people were amazed and said, “What kind of person is this? Even the winds and the lake obey him!” (emphasis added)

That's also true of the NIV (although they change the last "lake" to "waves") and NLT, but not the NRSV, ESV, or HCSB (those are all I checked). I've noticed it before, but it never really hit me the way it did this morning.

So what's the big deal, you ask. After all, Jesus still showed his power over the water— and the "Sea" of Galilee really isn't a sea, it's not saltwater, so it really is a lake.

Ah yes. The old dilemma of how to translate rears its ugly head. The NRSV, ESV, and HCSB chose to stick with the philologically correct "sea" while the CEB, NIV, and NLT chose to be geologically correct, but philologically a bit off. But if I were a betting man, which I am not, I would wager you that all six translations missed the theological point of the passage.

Huh?

Yep. Why is it so important that Jesus calms the θάλασσα (thalassa)? If you rummage back through the posts of this blog as far back as 2016, you will find excerpts from a snappy little book by my British friend Robin Parry. On March 30, 2016, referring to the walking on water, not the calming of the sea, this is what he said:

We all know the story of Jesus walking on water. And for most of us it is simply a great show of his power and authority but, truth be told, we don’t really see the point of it. However, Jesus did not actually walk on water. You did read that correctly. Jesus did not walk on the water . . . he walked on the sea. There’s a difference and it is important. (emphasis original)

Follow the link to read the rest. But the point is that the sea represents chaos and destruction. Everything God isn't. By Jesus calming the sea, he is showing that he is Yahweh, God, incarnate.

But, if you read the excerpt from Pentecostalism as a Christian Mystical Tradition today, you will know that modern Christianity has a problem with the supernatural—well, you probably already knew that!—but that excerpt just exemplifies it better than most.

Once again, to quote that old saw, traduttore tradittore, the translator is a traitor. And as I said, I doubt the NRSV, ESV, HCSB stuck with "sea" because of the theological import of the passage. They are just as captive to the naturalistic mindset as the CEB and NIV.

So, perhaps I shouldn't have called this post "A Study in Translations" as much as "A Study in Preconceptions" or some such. Anyway, it's just an
<idle musing>

A difference in vocabulary

The term θέμις [themis] (“custom/law/legislation”), which was important in pagan Greek law and was mythically personified as Themis, daughter of Uranus and Gē/Gaia and mother (with Zeus as the father) of the Hours, of Dike, Eunomia, and Eirene (cf. Hesiod, Theog. 135, 901–2), only appears in the LXX in 2 Macc 6:20 and 12:14 in the expression “it is just/equitable,” while the New Testament authors do not use the term at all.—The Development of God in the Old Testament, pages 49–50 n. 73

The problems with translating from a translation of a translation

Over the course of the literary and theological history of the Old Testament, the term ,תורה [tôrâ] which originally stood for the teaching or instruction given by a priest, a prophet, or a parent, increasingly took on the meaning of “law” (νόμος [nomos]), particularly the “law of Yahweh,” which, according to the narrative of the Pentateuch, was mediated and written down by Moses (cf. Deut 31:24), before ultimately indicating the books of Genesis to Deuteronomy as a whole—that is, the Torah/ὁ νόμος (Greek Prologue to Ben Sira, 4 Macc 18:10). Within the context of the Torah piety that developed during the Persian and Hellenistic periods, obedience to the Torah is regarded as a correlate to the “covenant” and is described as justice. Mediated by its translation in the Septuagint (generally with νόμος) and in the Vulgate (generally with lex), Christian translations of the Bible up to the present tend to translate the term תורה as “law,” which reflects its later use in the Old Testament in a one-sided manner. This also had significant consequences for the history of doctrine and theology and occasionally led to the devaluing of the Old Testament and to Christian anti-Jewish polemics.—The Development of God in the Old Testament, pages 34–35

<idle musing>
Think Augustine, who knew no Hebrew and a smattering of Greek. He was dependent on the Old Latin translations—which frequently were less accurate than Jerome's Vulgate, which was in the process of being completed while Augustine was alive. Jerome knew Hebrew well and not infrequently chided Augustine about his lack of knowledge of Greek and Hebrew (Jerome could be nasty…).
</idle musing>

Stephanus did us a disfavor

I was reading along in Mark this morning in the CEB (my version of choice at the moment), when I stumbled across something that made me do a double-take. In Mark 3, Jesus is calling the twelve with distinct purposes in mind. But what are the purposes? Here's a smattering of popular English translations in no particular order along with what it seems that the purposes are (we'll ignore the textual issue here because it's not important to the point):

13 Jesus went up on a mountain and called those he wanted, and they came to him. 14 He appointed twelve and called them apostles. He appointed them to be with him, to be sent out to preach, 15 and to have authority to throw out demons. (CEB)

Seems that he has three purposes in mind: (1) to be with him, (2) to be sent out to preach, and (3) to have authority over demons.

13 He went up the mountain and called to him those whom he wanted, and they came to him. 14 And he appointed twelve, whom he also named apostles, to be with him, and to be sent out to proclaim the message, 15 and to have authority to cast out demons. (NRSV)

Again, the same three purposes.

13 And He went up on the mountain and summoned those whom He Himself wanted, and they came to Him. 14 And He appointed twelve, so that they would be with Him and that He could send them out to preach, 15 and to have authority to cast out the demons. (NASB)

Not as clear here. Is it three purposes, or only two? (1) to be with him, (2) to be sent out, and maybe (3) to cast out demons. The first two are introduced by "that" or "so that," while the last one is just an infinitive—but the verse number makes me subconsciously want to make it an independent point. So, we'll say three purposes.

13 And he went up on the mountain and called to him those whom he desired, and they came to him. 14 And he appointed twelve (whom he also named apostles) so that they might be with him and he might send them out to preach 15 and have authority to cast out demons. (ESV)

Also not as clear. But it does seem that there are two purposes, with verse 15 being a subset of "send them out." But, again, the verse number makes me want to posit three purposes.

13 Jesus went up on a mountainside and called to him those he wanted, and they came to him. 14 He appointed twelve[—designating them apostles—]that they might be with him and that he might send them out to preach 15 and to have authority to drive out demons. (NIV)

Again, not as clear, but it might be two or three purposes. Because of the verse numbering, I would again say three purposes.

OK, now we're ready to look at the Greek

13 Καὶ ἀναβαίνει εἰς τὸ ὄρος καὶ προσκαλεῖται οὓς ἤθελεν αὐτός, καὶ ἀπῆλθον πρὸς αὐτόν. 14 καὶ ἐποίησεν δώδεκα [οὓς καὶ ἀποστόλους ὠνόμασεν] ἵνα ὦσιν μετ᾿ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἵνα ἀποστέλλῃ αὐτοὺς κηρύσσειν 15 καὶ ἔχειν ἐξουσίαν ἐκβάλλειν τὰ δαιμόνια· (Mark 3:13–15)

OK, what do we have? In verse 14, he appoints the 12 "in order that (1) they might be with him, in order that (2) he might send them out for the purpose of (2.1) announcing (the gospel) and for the purpose of (2.2) having authority to cast out demons."

So, what were the primary purposes for calling the twelve, according to the Greek? Two: (1) to be with him and (2) to be sent out. The secondary purposes are (2.1) to announce the gospel and (2.2) to have authority to cast out demons, both or which are dependent on being sent out.

So, the CEB and the NRSV don't convey the Greek well, and the other ones try to, but the verse break gets in the way of our seeing what the Greek says. Stephanus did us a disfavor!

Another reason word-for-word translation doesn't work

Since distance from the deictic centre is a cognitive matter, it will also be culturally and psychologically determined. What is relatively close in the culture may be relatively distant in another; what is relatively familiar to one person may be relatively unfamiliar to another. Distance in pragmatic space is thus a feature of the culturally and psychologically defined cognitive word of natural language users.— The Theory of Functional Grammar Part 1, The Structure of the Clause, page 37

Communication

It is important to stress that the relation between S[peaker]-intention and A[ddressee]-interpretation is mediated, not established through the linguistics expression. From the point of view of A this means that the interpretation will only in part be based on the information which is contained in the linguistic expression as such. Equally important is the information which A already has, and in terms of which he interprets the linguistic information. From the point of view of S it means that the linguistic expression need not be a full verbalization of his intention. Given the information which S has about the information that A has at the moment of speaking, a partial verbalization will normally be sufficient. Often a roundabout verbalization may even be more effective than a direct expression of the intention.— The Theory of Functional Grammar Part 1, The Structure of the Clause, page 9

<idle musing>
And this is exactly the reason why communication is so difficult. What happens when the Speaker misjudges the amount of information that the Addressee has? Yep, miscommunication. And it happens all the time.

Now, let's complicate things even more. Suppose what we have is only half the conversation. Suppose you come across a letter from your grandfather to your grandmother in a trunk. How much of what's going on can you follow? I suspect quite a bit—assuming you knew them both.

OK, let's complicate it even more. Suppose the letter was written in Swedish (my grandfather was Swedish). How much will you understand? Even if you do learn Swedish, it will likely be a more archaic version that they are using. Word meanings change over time.

OK, it gets even better. Suppose that we have a letter, written in an ancient language called Greek, written to a group of people living in an ancient city called Corinth...what are the chances that we are going to understand what's going on?

And you wonder why we disagree? You wonder why there are so many commentaries and translations? It's a marvel we agree on anything!

Just an
</idle musing>

Nice catch

I love this translation of מֵֽעַתָּ֗ה וְעַד־עוֹלָֽם (me`attah we`ad `olam) in the Common English Bible: "from now until forever from now."

There's much to like in the CEB: Instruction for תורה (Torah), faithful love for חסד (ḥesed), immigrant for גר (gar). But what's with "the human one" for ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου (ho hyios tou anthropou)? How can they get so many things right and then bomb on that one?

Oh well...right now it is my translation of choice—in the OT especially. It reminds me of the original Jerusalem Bible; it catches the feel of the Hebrew nicely.

Translation theory

The action of the main clause is the focus of attention. The comparative frame presents the manner in which the main action should be done by establishing it as the basis for the clause that follows. We probably would accomplish this kind of task most naturally in English by using a rhetorical question: “You know how you judge other people? That is the way you will be judged. You know the measure that you use for others? That is what will be used for you.” Thus there is a bit of a mismatch between Greek and English here in terms of preference, but it can be easily bridged in exposition through using comparable constructions like rhetorical questions. Both frames and rhetorical questions can accomplish the task of activating a specific state of affairs in our mental representations of the discourse. The task accomplished is what matters, not the specific device used in one language versus another.—Discourse Grammar of the Greek New Testament, page 234

Word-for-word

Languages show great variety in terms of the strings of words that they use; that is one of the reasons why word-by-word translation fails so miserably.—Analyzing Syntax, page 5

It's not really that simple

It is important to remember that for purposes of assessing the translator’s techniques and ideas, it is not what the Hebrew text means but what the translator thinks it means that counts. For that matter, this is true of the text critic too: what the text means cannot be distinguished from what he or she thinks it means. For practical purposes, there is no escape from gauging the translator’s interpretation by one’s own—often uncertain, sometimes shifting—understanding.— The Hebrew Bible: A Critical Edition, Introduction

<idle musing>
I'm frequently reminded that it's the perspective that counts, not what is really (if there is such a thing!) there. We all come with preconceptions that color how we see things. The LXX, Syriac, and Jerome (Vulgate) were no different, so it shouldn't be a surprise when what we see in the text is different from what they saw...
</idle musing>

Literal or paraphrase

I ran across this definition of a literal versus free translation the other day: “The more a translation unit uses fixed equivalents, the more it is considered literal, and the less that such equivalents are found in it, the freer it is considered.” (Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible [2nd ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001], 125).

I like it, but it also raises some questions. Such as, what about the Cotton Patch Gospels? They definitely are not literal! But they use fixed equivalents. What am I missing here?