Wisdom Traditions and Translations

Perhaps one of the most oft-levied complaints against the wisdom traditions, especially Christianity, is that the majority of their adherents cannot read the texts in their original languages, and therefore cannot claim to understand the “true word of God”. Through generations upon generations of translations, the resulting work is so far different from the original text that any attempt to live by the literal word of the text is absurd. This argument has plagued the sola scriptura tradition of Christianity for years—how can anyone trust a theology based on the literal interpretation of a text that has been through such an extensive translation process?

Language and Religion

Language plays a very important role in the creation and sustenance of a religion. Words shape mythology, which shape theology, which shape faith and morality and personal ethics. The liturgy of a religion, from its traditional music and dance down to the words of its most sacred prayers, are integral to the feeling and ambience of any religion. Mystical Judaism even teaches that the world is built of the physical words and letters spoken by God at creation. Words communicate deeply internalized images and metaphors that carry over from the most dogmatic aspects of religion into the most ecstatic. It is not insignificant that certain denominations teach the “fear” of God rather than the “amazement” of God, or that certain monastic orders take vows of silence. Words shape the mind and the experience of a culture; language allows symbols and internal universes to transcend the individual and encompass communities. Language allows us to connect with each other.

Yet no language, regardless of how complete it may be, is capable of expressing the complete range of human experience or emotion. No language is fully capable of expressing the enlightenment of the mystic when he has been granted a vision of God. Kabbalists have called such an endeavor making “black fire on white fire”—the experience of God is so unique and magnificent that we cannot share the experience in words. The more we try to define the experience in language, the less truth we are able to convey. Language is black fire (like ink on paper)—the more black fire we use to relay an experience of God, the more we muddy the actual experience. Some things are simply ineffable.

Nevertheless, we do use words and language to communicate our religious beliefs and myths. As we use language to construct the mood and temperament of our religions, we rely on the wordsmiths and storytellers to convey the right message in the right way to our co-religionists. The teller plays an integral role in the shaping of religion, especially in oral traditions. Although modern religions are much less oral than their ancient forbears, the importance of those who guard sacred history remains. (I should like to revisit this topic in another post; I think there is potentially a much richer oral tradition in modern wisdom traditions than most people think.)

Translator as Midwife

If this is true, then we’d be amiss to overlook the importance of the translator when it comes to translated wisdom texts. Translation is a delicate process; it is both art and science. It requires not only an intimate understanding of two languages and their respective cultures, but a sensitive ear and a gentle hand. It requires not only surrender to the text and to the original author, but a keen attention to the translator’s own cultural emotions and reactions. She must ask questions about the text, not the least of which is, “What is more important here, the words themselves or the message, image and/or story these words tell?” I am reminded of watching two different American versions of the same Japanese anime, one in which the translators chose to use the Japanese names of the characters and the other which chose to call the characters by their American counterparts, Bonnie and Clyde. While the first wasn’t technically wrong, it provided me no background, no connotations, nothing of my own experience or knowledge that I could bring into the story because it was alien to me. The second, however, helped me understand who these characters were and how I, as an American, could relate to them.

This is the task of the translator. She must be loyal to her text as well as to her potential reader. She must preserve the integrity and beauty of the original language as well as make it lucid and engaging for her new audience. No translator can do this without giving something of herself to the text; she must experience it, breathe it, feel it. She must interpret it before she delivers it, fully formed and rich, into its new language.

Naturally, once translated, the wisdom text becomes different—perhaps significantly, perhaps only slightly. But regardless how different it is, the odious complaint remains—how legitimate is a translated text? How can any follower trust the translated text if it isn’t exactly the same in both language and feel as the original? How can any religion based on such translations be themselves legitimate? Is the theology of any religion valid if it relies on understanding a translation?

Religion As Living Entity

While I understand the nature of the argument, I think it fails to recognize religion as a living and evolving entity. (I do think that in very particular instances the argument has merit, and I will address this instance later in this article.) Karen Armstrong, “freelance monotheist” theologian, says in her book A History of God that the problem with fundamentalism is that it is ahistorical—it assumes that one’s relationship with and experience of God in ancient times is necessarily the same as today. It does not take into account the way the world changes culture, experience, and therefore religious philosophy. But everything from advances in science, to catastrophic natural events, to war, etc. changes the way humans think, behave, and interact, and all of these things must be represented in their religious philosophies. The most useful religions change with the times. Not that they necessarily abandon traditional moral precepts—though they may—but that the mythology and cosmology grow to remain relevant to its followers. This is true not only of the rites, rituals, and stories, but the culture and language as well. It is for this reason that we have gender-neutral Bibles and that modern-day Jews and Christians ignore most of the laws in the book of Leviticus. Religion, if it is to remain relevant and useful, must change. And if that change is instigated by a translation that brings the words and symbolism of an ancient tongue to modern people, I don’t see a problem with that.

The real problem with translated text comes from those who accept their wisdom texts as the actual and unaltered word of God. When a text is purported to be a literal transcription of the word of God, then the question of translation becomes very important: what exactly did God say? Did God say that it would be easier for a camel to pass through an eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven, or did God say that of a coarse bit of thread? It would be impossible for any tome to pass unaltered through different generations, cultures, and languages. Any religion where this were a requirement would have a relatively short lifespan, especially in regions where tribes of people were routinely absorbed, their languages merged or lost. For those who require that their wisdom traditions be the actual word of God, the issue of translation poses a fundamental problem.

Yet I suspect that even in this situation, the theology may be legitimate. Religion must constantly reinvent itself in order to remain relevant, and sometimes that will mean that modern religion may contradict its ancient self. Perhaps at one point in time it is accepted that God said one thing in one language, but a thousand years later the community accepts that God said another thing in another language. Is that illegitimate? It might be bad scholarship, but there is more to religion than historicity, and there is more to religion that scholarship. It is probably dangerous business for the common person (as opposed to religious scholars) to rely too heavily on the empirical historicity of religion for its validity. Religion is as much sacred history (mythology) as it is natural history, and the former will certainly change through the generations.

Ownership of Sacred History

While engaged in a conversation about this topic, an acquaintance commented that while he understood this point of view, as a writer himself he’d be quite put out to discover that someone had altered his story, especially if their alteration changed his message. I thought about his comment quite a bit, and what I finally came up with was the question: who owns sacred history? Is it the storyteller who first told the story? The people who relayed that story over the years? The author who penned the story? Or is sacred history owned not by the teller or the writer but the community to which it belongs? I suspect that sacred history cannot belong to any one person alone, but to the group of people who live by it and keep it sacred. If that’s the case, then it doesn’t matter if the story changes with time or with translation, as long as it continues to fill the spiritual need of its community. As a writer myself, I can certainly understand the dismay another writer would feel over his work being altered. But as the backbone for an entire religious community, sacred history cannot belong the writer alone. The writer is merely the vehicle through which the story is delivered.

Moreover, as time fades into the future, our culture is becoming increasingly read-write rather than read-only. Some religions, such as Judaism, have long depended on personal hermeneutic and group interpretation of the Scriptures. Exegesis in Judaism is not only encouraged but required. In this way, Jewish texts remain evergreen, intensely relevant for each new generation. Given that there is a precedent for wisdom traditions to favor interpretation and involvement, and that our culture as a whole is moving away from read-only, isn’t it natural to assume that sacred history has the potential to change over time, whether through translation or other means, without losing its legitimacy?

Reading and Interpretation

Lastly, it is my contention that our job as readers, perhaps especially religious or faith-filled readers, is to complete the text we read. Even the greatest writing isn’t complete until someone receives the message, internalizes the words. In reading, we finish a great conversation. In order to do that, we put ourselves into the words, asking questions, contextualizing, interpreting. The reader gives life to the text he reads. In this way, every reader, regardless of language or culture, essentially changes what he reads. In completion, we fulfill; we alter.

Given that no text is complete until it is read, and that every reader completes what he reads for himself, it seems congruent that even translated texts can be a legitimate source for a legitimate wisdom tradition. Translated texts may not be the same verbatim as their originals, but within a living religion, each person who practices his religion faithfully and passionately changes that religion. Each person who lends her voice to the community-owned sacred history shapes the religion for future generations. Though sometimes contradictory, translated texts are necessary and legitimate aspects in most any religious tradition, and should not incur such malice from non-practitioners who perhaps haven’t given the matter quite enough thought.

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