Found in Translation: A new experience of the power - and challenges - of language
This article first appeared in the Spring/Summer 2004 edition of In Touch magazine. For reprint permission contact the Director of Public Relations at 1-800-251-6227.
By Jon Issak
In the fall semester of 2003, my family and I spent a sabbatical at Tyndale House in Cambridge, England. During that time I also taught a two-week lecture series on New Testament Theology for the Centre Universitaire de Missiologie (CUM) in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo. This is a subject that I enjoy and continue to develop at MB Biblical Seminary.
The process of preparing for those lectures, and then interacting with students in Congo, provided me with two unintended consequences that made the trip even more worthwhile. I learned anew two truths: that language exists in context, and that language and experience shape each other in profound ways.
Language exists in context
Since French is the language of instruction in DR Congo, I set about translating the ten lectures. I also had to prepare good French notes from which to lecture, since it had been thirteen years since our family concluded our missionary assignment in Congo and my French had gotten a little rusty.
I began by using an online web translator on my English text to get a rough translation in French. Then I went sentence-by-sentence to correct the numerous mistakes. This was a slow process, but the two weeks spent at it was a great way to review my French!
During the translation process I experienced again that words in one language do not have a one-to-one correspondence with words in another language. There is always a remainder. A range of semantic equivalents exists for most words and a good translation depends on selecting the one that best approximates the idea, experience, or event in view.
For example, when I used the English word “way” the web translator did not know if I was talking about “way,” as in, “manner” (la façon, in French) or “way,” as in, “path” (le chemin, in French). Often this meant that the web translator produced a French sentence that made no sense or was at least somewhat humorous.
I was reminded of the same challenge continually faced by translators of the Bible. For example, the Greek word dikaiosynê can be rendered into English by the term “justice,” if a Roman judicial context is assumed, or it can be rendered as “righteousness,” if a Hebrew relational context is assumed. Our reading of Paul’s writings is significantly shaped by the context we assume drives his use of dikaiosynê.
Even contemporary attempts to communicate with one another face this challenge. If I say, “I’m mad about my flat,” what do I mean? Again, it depends on the context assumed.
If I say this to some of my new friends in Cambridge, it means, “I’m pleased with my apartment.” If I say this to my friends in North America, it means, “I’m frustrated with the puncture in my tire.”
Our experience shapes how we read
People sometimes debate whether experience shapes language, or whether language shapes experience. The life of the New Testament church, and my experience in Congo, point to a combination of the two.
The first Christians experienced something so revolutionary happening to Jesus on the first day of the week following his crucifixion that they were moved to return to their scriptures – the Old Testament – for an explanation. They found in these ancient texts allusions to the Messiah that they, as observant Jews, had never before associated with the Messiah. Suddenly these first Christians found, within the old symbols, ways to talk of their new experience and ways to experience their new life!
For example, Psalm 110:1 speaks of a king exalted to dominion, but whose rule is not fully achieved until some later time. Zechariah 9:9 speaks of a king who does not dominate, but comes as lowly one. Psalm 118:22 asserts that the stone that the builders rejected becomes the corner stone of God’s enterprise. Isaiah 42, 49, 50, and 53, known
as Israel’s Servant Songs, come into focus as echoing the life of Jesus—someone who suffered not because of any wrongdoing, but because of his allegiance and faithfulness to God.
The Western theological education that my Congolese students received often leaves them without adequate vocabulary to talk about what they experience in their daily life. The African experiences of the role of Evil as a power, the collective nature of identity, respect for authority, and concern for honor and shame are much different than the predominant Western emphasis on things such as concern for individual identity, personal autonomy, guilt and punishment, and materialism. At numerous points their intuitive African reading of the sacred texts seemed to resonate more with the text’s meaning than the western grid that has been placed over these same texts.
I tried to expand the students' theological vocabulary beyond the Western theological grid they had been given, with biblical terms of reference that were more ancient than western theology itself. Together the students and I read texts of salvation in ways that
they had not felt free to use, since they were not those preferred by western theology. For example, Colossians 2:15 describes Jesus' death in ways that are rarely utilized in western theology with its preference for personal forgiveness. Instead, this text describes Jesus' death as that which “disarmed the rulers and authorities and made a public example of them, triumphing over them in it.”
Here was a case where language was shaping experience and experience was shaping language.
The cross is the place where God triumphed over the Evil one, in order to liberate from Sin’s grip all those who live in association with Jesus. Such an articulation has a host of implications for how we talk about Sin, Salvation, Creation, and God’s mission. It was rewarding for me to explore some of these ideas with my Congolese students.