MetaCatholic

John Hobbins picks up on an old post by Richard Rhodes by way of this comment on my post. I must confess that I’m more with John on this point, but I do just want to ask what exactly we mean by a literary translation, and whether it is quite so opposed to a dynamic equivalence translation as both John and Richard seem to assume. (john notes a similarity in passing, but his stress is on the difference.)

There is a form of dynamic equivalence theory to which it is opposed, and that is one that thinks words and sentences simply encode meaning, and that the meaning somehow exists irrespective of the form, syntax and lexical choices made by the writer / speaker. Then this meaning simply needs to be decoded from one language and encoded in another. This, to my mind, is an inappropriate reification of meaning. I’m not sure that any translator worth their salt would subscribe to this blunt and naive model.

But words do not simply encode meaning, they instantiate relationships, perform acts, and elicit feelings and responses, and this process is conveyed not just by semantics, but by structure. Dynamic equivalent translations that are truly equivalent will seek not only appropriate language and appropriate forms to convey the affect as well as the meaning. These may be appropriately literary in that they draw on the range of literary devices and forms that produce similar and equivalent affects in the target language. Dynamic equivalence does not necessarily have to be limited to the language of a certain (usually lower end) reading age. Indeed, one could argue that if it doesn’t take account of literary style and affect, it is not truly equivalent.

There is still an argument to be had. Literary translations can attempt to find an acceptable way of conveying the strangeness of the form in the source language, or they can seek an appropriate form in the target language that will produce an emotional response other than “this is strange”.. John seems, in his quotation of José Ortega y Gasset to be arguing for the former, and has been trying to illustrate it from some of his posts on the psalms. I would like to see people experiment much more with the latter.

(This post is part of a series on the 39 articles of the Church of England)

I did wonder whether to simply pass over the twenty-fourth article, not only because it is so brief, but because the principle it enshrines is, at least in the Western Church, more-or-less universally accepted, that worship should be in one’s own language. As you will have gathered, I resisted this temptation not only in favour of thoroughness in this series, but because there are some things worth reflecting on in the article.

XXIV. Of speaking in the Congregation in such a tongue as the people understandeth
It is a thing plainly repugnant to the Word of God, and the custom of the Primitive Church, to have publick Prayer in the Church, or to minister the Sacraments in a tongue not understanded of the people.

There is a certain irony that just as this Reformation principle was winning acceptance in the Roman Catholic Church following Vatican II, the charismatic movement in all the mainstream churches was beginning to promote the use of tongues not “understanded of the people” within the worshipping life of the Church.

First, of course, the scriptural interpretation of “tongues” in Paul as the non-rational phenomenon of glossolalia, and not as other languages, means that prayer in other languages is not quite so “plainly repugnant to the Word of God”. The Word of God, it seems, was talking about something else, even if it is a relatively straightforward hermeneutical move to get from the Scriptures to the Reformation position.

The encouragement of a means of prayer and praise which relies not on reasoned speech and understanding, but affective (and almost phatic) communication, was at the root of initial (and long-standing) evangelical opposition to the charismatic phenomenon. Much of it the emotional and a-rational praise and prayer conveyed by tongues could also be paralleled by the practice of prayer at Taizé, whose popularity was growing in the same period. The use of Latin, especially, but many other languages in repetitive chants (also not dissimilar from some uses of choruses) had a similar purpose in focusing the heart while calming the mind.

Nor can these phenomena be divorced entirely from the wider cultural shift in the West which moves away from a simple emphasis on reason and the life of the mind, to embrace attitudes that give greater attention to the body and the feelings, and no longer accords reason its dominance in either church or culture. Understanding is often underplayed, while affective participation is played up. It is, perhaps, ironic that it is amongst those who would most often stress their Reformation inheritance that the charismatic movement has become most influential. Nor can one neglect the popularity of certain á-la-carte selections from the earlier tradition, whether of incense of Gregorian chant, amongst the most contemporary forms of “alternative” worship.

I generally want to welcome this valuing of the affective and non-rational aspect of worship as an important recalling of the relational nature of our faith, and its treating us as whole persons, not disembodied minds. Though I note we are confused about it: a great many churches which use Taizé chants in Latin seem baffled by singing in tongues, and vice versa. Broad and Catholic Anglicans appear to have arthritic shoulders and can never left up holy hands in praise, while Evangelicals have arthritic legs, and can never bow the knee.

But this rather odd confusion should not make us ignore the danger of devaluing understanding. It is right and good to stress the bodily and the affective as part of the worship of the whole person, but the whole person must continue to include the mind, the reason, the understanding, that in the end lies behind this article. Despite the long hegemony of Latin (or Tudor English), we must not forget that the initial use of Latin (or Tudor English) was precisely so that people could worship and hear in their own language, with understanding.

One of the most distinctive points about the early Christian movement was their easy abandonment of the reading of Scripture in Hebrew (which appears to have been shared with other Diaspora Jews). There is no one holy language in the Church, (and this remains a significant difference between Christianity on the one hand, and Islam and Judaism on the other) but just as God is God of all peoples so he is God to be praised in all languages, and God who speaks to us in our own tongue.

While this point is not, in itself, simply about understanding, it certainly includes the love of God with the mind. We should not forget, even if we exegete the text differently, that there is  long Christian tradition of it being our reason which makes us to be in the image of God. Understanding, and the exercise of the rational faculty, properly belongs at the heart of our worship, reasonable human beings relating to the one whose reason became flesh for our sake.

I will pray with the spirit, but I will pray with the mind also; I will sing praise with the spirit, but I will sing praise with the mind also. (1 Corinthians 14:15 NRSV)