Bible Babel

by Michael Marlowe For then will I restore to the peoples a pure language,

That they may all call upon the name of the Lord, To serve him with one accord. (Zephaniah 3:9)

In the late 1950’s F.F. Bruce wrote a book on the history of English Bible versions in which he expressed some appreciation of versions in modern English that had appeared up to that time, saying, “may their number go on increasing!” (1) And increase they did! This was before the great proliferation of versions that began in the 1960’s, and before the appearance of any of the modern versions that are now to be found on the shelves of Christian bookstores. In an enlarged edition of his book published in 1978 we detect a note of concern, however, when Bruce complains that the number of new translations of the Bible “keeps on increasing to a point where it becomes more and more difficult to keep up with them all.” (2) In 1991 D.A. Carson observed that “from the publication of the RSV Bible [in 1952] to the present, twenty-nine English versions of the entire Bible have appeared, plus an additional twenty-six English renderings of the New Testament.” (3) And yet they continue to increase. Turning out new versions and revisions of the Bible has become an established industry, with interests of its own, and we can no longer extend a magnanimous welcome to everything that the Bible publishing industry churns out.

The problem lies not only the number of versions, but also in their mutability. Publishers are continually making changes in their versions, so that they do not remain the same for more than a dozen years or so. The situation with the NIV is typical. Its New Testament was originally published in 1973. Changes were made in 1978, and in 1984. By 1997 the people who control the NIV were revising it with “inclusive language.” Apparently they thought this revision would be accepted in the same way that the previous revisions had been. As it turned out, however, many church leaders objected to this last revision as frivolous, and as a capitulation to “political correctness.” Now, the NIV is not really owned by a publisher. It is owned by a non-profit organization called Biblica (formerly called the International Bible Society). But this organization has a very close relationship with Zondervan Publishers, and it was reported that Zondervan executives had requested the revision. (4)

The pressure brought against the project by ministry leaders prevented the revision from replacing the current NIV, but Zondervan got what it asked for anyway, because the revision was published under another name: Today’s New International Version (published in 2002). The version was marketed as being one that was adapted to the language of “consumers” between eighteen and thirty-four years old. Prior to this, Zondervan had also caused the International Bible Society to produce a New International Reader’s Version (1995) adapted to the language of children. So at the present time there are three different “New International” versions being published in America. And changes have also been made in the TNIV and NIRV versions since they were first published. But there is more: if we include the British editions (which are not identical to the American editions), there are at least five “New International” versions. Yet another revision of the NIV is now in the works, and it is scheduled to appear in 2011.

This instability and variety within the NIV brand itself is not in line with the intentions of the original NIV committee. When they began work on the version in 1967 they stated their goals in a document which emphasized the importance of having “one version in common use.”

Only with one version in common use in our churches will Bible memorization flourish, will those in the pew follow in their own Bibles the reading of Scripture and comments on individual Scriptures from the pulpit, will unison readings be possible, will Bible Teachers be able to interpret with maximum success the Biblical text word by word and phrase by phrase to their students, and will the Word be implanted indelibly upon the minds of Christians as they hear and read again and again the words of the Bible in the same phraseology. We acknowledge freely that there are benefits to be derived by the individual as he refers to other translations in his study of the Bible, but this could still be done in situations in which a common Bible was in general use. (5)

The prospects for “one version in common use” are not good. Although the NIV has become the best-selling brand in America (according to statistics compiled by the Christian Booksellers Association), it has not become the version most often read by people who do much Bible-reading. That honor still belongs to the King James Version—a version which has not changed in hundreds of years. In 1998 the Barna Research Group found that among Americans who “read the Bible during a typical week, not including when they are at church … the King James Version is more likely to be the Bible read during the week than is the NIV by a 5:1 ratio.” (6) This might seem incredible to some people in the Bible business, but it agrees with my own observations over the years. For whatever reason, people who use the KJV tend to know their Bibles much better than those who use the NIV, despite the fact that the NIV (in any of its forms) is much easier to understand. I have also met people who say that although they sometimes use the NIV for casual reading, they prefer to use the KJV for memorization. And I do not know anyone who uses the NIV for “word by word and phrase by phrase” exposition. People who study the Bible closely have generally preferred the New American Standard or the New King James Version over the NIV. The New Living Translation is now being used in the worship services of many congregations that had formerly used the NIV.

In 1998 the Sunday School Board of the Southern Baptist Convention launched a translation project of its own. At that time the President of the SBC (Paige Patterson) was asked to comment on the situation. His reply indicated the failure of the NIV translators’ hopes: “If the Sunday School Board did something really good, there’s enough dissatisfaction with the NIV that it might sell,” and he added, “We have over-translated and we have ruined Bible memorization and congregational reading. We have translation pandemonium out there. How it’s going to work out, I don’t know.” (7) When the New Testament of this new version (the Holman Christian Standard Bible) appeared in 2001, its preface explained that there was a need for the version because “Each generation needs a fresh translation of the Bible in its own language.” By “fresh” they mean something completely new, as opposed to “revisions of translations from previous generations.” If the editors believe this, then thirty years from now they will have to say that their own version is obsolete. By then it will have reached its generational expiration date. Also in 2001 the English Standard Version (a revision of the RSV) appeared under the marketing rubric “Truth. Unchanged.” Six years later a revised edition appeared, with 360 changes.

In 2003 the situation reached a high point of absurdity when the New Century Version (the least accurate one of all) soared to the top of the sales charts in an edition called Revolve, “bringing the Bible to teen girls in a format they’re comfortable with.” Designed to resemble the hollywood gossip magazines sold at supermarket checkouts, this edition “shows them that the Bible is fun and applicable to life today.”

In the meantime—what has happened to the Holy Bible? It has become a piece of merchandise. Bible publishing has become like the popular music industry, in which the songs are given only so much air time before they are replaced by newer ones. The Bible racks at the Christian bookstore have become like the toothpaste aisle at the grocery store—ten brand names, with several “new and improved” formulas, available in four varieties each. The resemblance is not accidental. In both cases the same principles of product development and brand marketing are in operation.

Regarding the contribution of “dynamic equivalence” to this situation, we will not say that Nida is responsible for the Revolve edition. We might connect it with the emphasis on cultural relevance and formal accommodation that figure so prominently in his theories, but even if the publisher of such an edition presented it as an application of “dynamic equivalence,” we should rather see it as something wholly inspired by commercial interests. Nevertheless, the philosophy of “dynamic equivalence” has obviously contributed to the current flood of popular versions and editions, not only by directly inspiring many of them, but also by subverting the traditional view that continuity and uniformity are important in the ministry of the Word. Under the new regime of dynamic equivalence, there can be no continuity or uniformity in Bible versions, and no “standard” translation.

The theory of dynamic equivalence actually demands multiple versions and frequent revisions. Because people differ so much in their linguistic preferences and capacities, and because colloquial speech changes with every generation, Nida maintained that every language ought to have several different Bible versions designed for different constituencies. In Toward a Science of Translating (1964) he wrote:

The ability to decode a particular type of message is constantly in process of change, not only as the result of an increase in general education, but especially through specific acquaintance with the particular type of message. For example, at first a new reader of the Scriptures is obviously confronted with a very heavy communication load, but as he becomes familiar with certain words and combinations of words, the communication load is reduced. Obviously, then, the communication load is not a fixed characteristic of a message in and of itself, but is always relative to the specific receptors who are in the process of decoding it.

Because of this shift in communication load, we are faced with two alternatives: (1) changing the receptors, i.e. giving them more experience, and (2) changing the form of the message, i.e. providing different forms of the message for different grades of receptors. In the past the tendency was to insist on educating the receptors to the level of being able to decode the message. At present, however, in the production of all literature aimed at the masses the usual practice is to prepare different grades of the same message, so that people at different levels of experience may be able to decode at a rate acceptable to them. The American Bible Society, for example, is sponsoring three translations of the Bible into Spanish: one is of a traditional type, aimed at the present Evangelical constituency; another is of a more contemporary and sophisticated character, directed to the well-educated but nonchurch constituency; and a third is in very simple Spanish, intended especially for the new literate, who has usually had a minimum of contact with Protestant churches. Communist propagandists, it may be noted, have engaged in a similar scaling of translations of Lenin and Marx, making important adaptations for various grades of background and educational experience.

If the communication load is generally too low for the receptor, both in style and content, the message will appear insipid and boring. The failure of Laubach’s The Inspired Letters (a translation of the New Testament Epistles from Romans through Jude) is largely due to this fact. It is possible, of course, to combine a low formal communication load with a relatively

high semantic load (especially by the inclusion of allusions) and to produce thus a very acceptable piece of literature or translation. The Kingsley-Williams translation of the New Testament in Plain English is an example of a translation which purposely employs a limited vocabulary and simple grammatical constructions, but in which the semantic content is not watered down or artificially restricted. In the field of literature, Alice in Wonderland and Winnie the Poo, and, in contemporary cartoon strips, Pogo and Peanuts, provide examples of quite low formal communication loads combined with high semantic loads. On the highest level, the power of Jesus’ teaching by means of parables exemplifies this combination of low formal communication load with superbly challenging semantic content.

It is possible to produce a very acceptable translation while combining high formal and semantic communication loads, as has been done in the New Testament of the New English Bible—an outstanding work of translation. From time to time any good literary production must of necessity pierce the upper limit of ready decodability; but again it must also drop below this limit in order to adjust to the periodicity which is a part of all normal human activity.

A really successful translation, judged in terms of the response of the audience for which it is designed, must provide a challenge as well as information. This challenge must lie not merely in difficulty in decoding, but in newness of form—new ways of rendering old truths, new insights into traditional interpretations, and new words in fresh combinations. (pp. 143-4.)

Decoding ability in any language involves at least four principal levels: (1) the capacity of children, whose vocabulary and cultural experience are limited; (2) the double-standard capacity of new literates, who can decode oral messages with facility but whose ability to decode written messages is limited; (3) the capacity of the average literate adult, who can handle both oral and written messages with relative ease; and (4) the unusually high capacity of specialists (doctors, theologians, philosophers, scientists, etc.), when they are decoding messages within their own area of specialization. Obviously a translation designed for children cannot be the same as one prepared for specialists, nor can a translation for children be the same as one for a newly literate adult.

Prospective audiences differ not only in decoding ability, but perhaps even more in their interests. For example, a translation designed to stimulate reading for pleasure will be quite different from one intended for a person anxious to learn how to assemble a complicated machine. (p. 158.)

Likewise in The Theory and Practice of Translation (1969) he wrote:

The priority of the audience over the forms of the language means essentially that one must attach greater importance to the forms understood and accepted by the audience for which a translation is designed than to the forms which may possess a longer linguistic tradition or have greater literary prestige.

In applying this principle of priority it is necessary to distinguish between two different sets of situations: (1) those in which the language in question has a long literary tradition and in which the Scriptures have existed for some time and (2) those in which the language has no literary tradition and in which the Scriptures have either not been translated or are not so set in their form as to pose serious problems for revisers.

As will be seen in Chapter 7, in which the basic problems of style are considered for languages with a long literary tradition and a well-established traditional text of the Bible, it is usually necessary to have three types of Scriptures: (1) a translation which will reflect the traditional usage and be used in the churches, largely for liturgical purposes (this may be called an “ecclesiastical translation”), (2) a translation in the present-day literary language, so as to communicate to the well-educated constituency, and (3) a translation in the “common” or “popular” language, which is known to and used by the common people, and which is at the same time acceptable as a standard for published materials. (p. 31)

I have quoted so extensively from Toward a Science of Translating here because I want the reader to notice not only what is said but also what is not said by Nida in his discussion of the subject. The thing missing is any admission of the fact that meaning is lost in the versions that have a low “communication load.” By “communication load” Nida does not mean the total amount of information conveyed by the translation, but rather the rate at which information is conveyed, as he explains very carefully in the same chapter. To put it very simply and in my own terms, he maintains that the amount of information can be made equivalent by paraphrastic expansion of the translation. A low communication load conveys the same information at a low rate by extending its length. The only downside is, a version that does this “will appear insipid and boring” to educated people. In the passage quoted from The Theory and Practice of Translation he sends us to chapter 7 for an explanation of the need for “three types of Scriptures.” But there we find that the only reason for this is that different classes of people tend to prefer different styles of writing. It is only a matter of taste. (No explanation is given for the threefold division, but this seems rather arbitrary. Human beings do not just naturally fall into three classes. Why not four or five?) The reason for a traditional “ecclesiastical translation” is not explained, and we get the impression that it is merely a concession to the benighted people who insist upon having one. Another theorist of Nida’s school, William Wonderly, sees no good reason why “common language” versions like the Good News Bible should not completely displace the more literal “Church” translations. He attributes the preference for more literal versions within the Church to a spirit of mindless traditionalism: “common language translations are indeed excellent for church use,” he says, “wherever there is not a heavy pressure for the use of a version which is hallowed by church tradition.” (8) Of course the “Church” translation is the one that causes “serious problems for revisers,” as Nida complains, because people will not allow it to be changed lightly; but by the same token it is the one most diligently read and studied by Christians. Nida never acknowledges any legitimate place for tradition, gives no attention to the question of exegetical accuracy, sees no value in theological terms, and, indeed, he completely ignores all of the considerations I have raised in this book. Even the “literary” translations are to be judged purely “in terms of the response of the audience.”

Nida constantly focuses on the need for versions in “common” or “popular” language. The very notion of a “common” language becomes rather problematic, however, when we find that Nida believes that “no word ever has precisely the same meaning twice.”

If the problem of describing the area covered by a particular linguistic symbol is difficult, the assigning of boundaries is even more so. The basic reason is that no word ever has precisely the same meaning twice, for each speech event is in a sense unique, involving participants who are constantly changing and referents which are never fixed. Bloomfield (1933, p. 407) describes this problem by saying that “every utterance of a speech form involves a minute semantic innovation.” If this is so—and from both a theoretical and a practical point of view we must admit this to be a fact—it means that, in some measure at least, the boundaries of a term are being altered constantly. At the same time, of course, no two persons have exactly the same boundaries to words. That is to say, for precisely the same referent one person my use one linguistic symbol and another person a different

symbol. The interminable arguments about terminology provide ample evidence that the boundaries of terms are not identical for all members of a speech community. Of course, there is a wide measure of agreement in the use of words; otherwise, human society could not function. Nevertheless, there are significant differences of word boundaries between semantic areas. (Toward a Science of Translating, p. 48)

He further states that “no two persons ever mean exactly the same thing by the use of the same language symbols.”

In any discussion of communication and meaning, one must recognize at the start, each source and each receptor differs from all others, not only in the way the formal aspects of the language are handled, but also in the manner in which symbols are used to designate certain referents. If, as is obviously true, each person employs language on the basis of his background and no two individuals ever have precisely the same background, then it is also obvious that no two persons ever mean exactly the same thing by the use of the same language symbols. (ibid., p. 51)

Here we see the foundations of our modern Bible Babel. For there is almost nothing that cannot be defended in one way or another, on the grounds that it may be convenient or pleasing to some hypothetical group of people—whose limitations are just accepted, rather than challenged and expanded by teaching.

There is something plausible about Nida’s idea that different versions are appropriate for different sociological groups and also for different levels of knowledge within each group. It puts us in mind of the textbooks designed for different grades in school. Obviously a second-grade text should be much simpler than a sixth-grade text. But in an educational setting like this, the texts are not “translations” of the same material in some other language, nor are they ever presented as such. (We note that Nida must go to the “Communist propagandists” to find a precedent for this questionable practice.) It is not just the verbal form of the material that changes from grade to grade, but also the content. There is no pretense of equality or “equivalence.” The subject matter becomes more challenging and complex. So the situation is not really comparable. And in fact a gradation of translations is not a viable option for congregational ministry. We do have Sunday-school grades, youth ministries, small-group Bible studies, and “new member” classes; but the adult members of the congregation cannot be divided into grades, like students in a school, and given different versions of the Bible that are adapted to their level of biblical knowledge. Although their knowledge is unequal, they must be treated as one body—a sociological unit—and the teachers must help everyone to understand the Bible through an accurate translation, “rightly dividing the word of Truth.”

Nida never did acknowledge the need for such a painstaking ministry of the Word. We even find in his books such disparaging remarks concerning the role of teachers as this:

… in some instances Christian scholars have a certain professionalism about their task and feel that to make the Bible too clear would be to eliminate their distinctive function as chief expositors and explainers of the message. In fact, when one committee was asked to adopt some translations which were in perfectly clear, understandable language, the reactions of its members were, “But if all the laymen can understand the Bible, what will the preachers have to do?” (The Theory and Practice of Translation, p. 101.)

An ecclesiastical setting is in view here, but Nida goes out of his way to deny any place for an “ecclesiastical translation” in it. Instead, he explains that some teachers do not want to use the new paraphrastic versions for teaching purposes in the church because they are selfish obscurantists, who do not want their jobs eliminated by translators who “make the Bible too clear.” He tries to establish this

slander with an anecdote (which he no doubt heard from one of the translators he had trained) in which certain “perfectly clear” and “understandable” renderings were rejected by a church committee. We have no way of knowing what the “perfectly clear” and “understandable” renderings were in this case, but considering all the problems we have seen in English versions produced according to Nida’s recommendations, we can well imagine what sort of renderings were being rejected. Frankly, we find it hard to believe that any Christian could have said “But if all the laymen can understand the Bible, what will the preachers have to do?”—unless perhaps it were a joke, designed to make the translator of the rejected version feel better. But again, Nida presents it in all seriousness as the real reason why so many teachers prefer to use a more literal “ecclesiastical” version in ministry.

Regarding the use of an ecclesiastical translation for “liturgical purposes,” we find that Nida does not understand why it should be so. Elsewhere he argues that a version used for such a purpose must not be traditional, but should instead be especially “dynamic” and easy to understand:

The priority of the heard form of language over the purely written forms is particularly important for translations of the Bible. In the first place, the Holy Scriptures are often used liturgically, and this means that many more people will hear the Scriptures read than will read them for themselves. Second, the Scriptures are often read aloud to groups as means of group instruction …

If a translation is relatively literal (i.e.. a formal correspondence translation), it is likely to be overloaded to the point that the listener cannot understand as rapidly as the reader speaks. This is particularly true in the case of expository materials. For this reason it is not only legitimate, but also necessary, to see that the rate at which new information is communicated in the translation will not be too fast for the average listener. (Theory and Practice of Translation, pp. 28-30.)

Now as for the use of the Bible in study groups, it will not be necessary for me to describe to those who have much experience of it the problems which arise from different people having different versions in front of them. We all know what happens. Someone reads a passage out loud, and others follow along in their own Bibles, in whatever version they may be, and the differences between the versions sometimes give rise to difficult questions. This problem is not severe when the different versions are all essentially literal, having only minor differences which are easily taken in stride. But I have often had to explain to people why so many “dynamic” renderings are incorrect. I have been involved for many years in group Bible studies, at which various versions were being used, among them the King James, the New American Standard, the New International, the English Standard Version, and others, all of which can be read together without much trouble. But when such a version as the New Living Translation is read, it is quite impossible for people to follow along in other versions. They soon lose track and look up from their Bibles in confusion. I have seen this several times in recent Bible study meetings. A “dynamic equivalence” version can only be used very extensively if everyone uses it. But this is out of the question. Nor is it even possible, because these versions come and go, and keep changing. The people who use them also come and go. They will buy their own Bibles, of course, and they will choose between versions for their own private reading; but a teacher must use a version that is not always going its own peculiar way. Even if I enjoyed some paraphrastic version, and wanted to use it in ministry, I know it would not be practical to use it much in the context of a Bible study. There is no way around it: a version that is used in common must be a relatively literal one.

There is really no need for dumbing down the Bible in the context of the worship service, where a sermon is delivered for the very purpose of explaining the Word of God. Nor is there any reason for it in the context of a Sunday school or Bible study group, in which someone who is able to teach is doing it, as a “workman who does not need to be ashamed.”

In the circumstances of our society, where so many Bible versions are competing, it is not enough for us evaluate them only according to the individual effect each may have in isolation from the others, because they do not really exist in isolation. They must also be evaluated according to the total effect produced by their presence together in society. If one effect of adding yet another “dynamic” version to the mix is to worsen the confusion experienced by laymen, then we cannot just ignore this problem. The confusion is in fact one of the effects of the version. But as a theorist Nida does ignore the problem, because in his theory the individual readers and the versions appear not in their real-world social context but only in an unreal theoretical state of isolation. Thus, the practical realities of ministry, and indeed social realities in general, are left out of account.

Although our problem is not acknowledged by Nida, it is a real problem that arises every day for many people who are trying to teach or learn what the Bible says about all sorts of things. Recently I happened to read the daily “Billy Graham” column that appears in my local newspaper, which gives brief answers to questions about Christian teachings. The question today was, Did people in Old Testament times go to heaven when they died? In his answer Graham says yes, and to prove it he quotes “the familiar words of King David in Psalm 23 — words of hope and confidence in God’s promise of eternal life. He wrote, ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me … and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever’ (Psalm 23:4,6).” This precious Psalm should be stored in the heart of every Christian. But what I have in mind here is a situation where the reader of Graham’s column turns to the passage in the Bible he has at home. If that version happens to be the New American Bible (NAB) he will find: “Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil, for you are at my side … And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for years to come.” Likewise in the Revised English Bible he will read, “Even were I to walk through a valley of deepest darkness I should fear no harm … and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord throughout years to come.” It will be noticed that in this rendering there is no reference to death or the life beyond. So what will the reader make of this? The very words which Graham depends upon for his point are altered so that the point cannot be made. It appears now that even the final words of the twenty-third Psalm cannot be quoted without fear of contradiction. In verse 4 the NAB and REB translators have interpreted the Hebrew word צלמות (vocalized tsalmaveth in the Masoretic text) in a weakened sense, so that “valley of the shadow of death” becomes only a “dark valley.” This is defensible if we accept a different vocalization of the word (tsalmuth), but the opinion of the NAB translators here was certainly influenced by the common liberal view that the writers of the Old Testament did not look forward to any life beyond the grave, in stark contradiction to Graham’s view of the matter. (9) And it is for the same reason that they have interpreted the final phrase לארך ימים (lit. “to length of days”) rather minimally as “for years to come” instead of “forever more.” (10) On the other hand, the traditional translation cited by Graham assumes that the Psalmist has in view not only this life but also the life to come.

Although I believe the traditional rendering of these words is better, that is not my point just now. The point is, the newspaper readers who want to know which representation of the meaning is more correct have no way of settling the matter independently. The difference cannot even be explained without reference to the Hebrew and without bringing in some important hermeneutical questions as well. In the end the layman will have to rely upon a teacher or commentator to explain the options and recommend one or the other. So Nida’s attempt to eliminate the role of the teacher must ultimately fail, not only in the context of the Church but also in society at large. A really adequate theory of translation would not be blind to this.

In addition to breaking society up and dissolving it into individuals, even the stages of the average person’s education are isolated from one another in Nida’s theory. Superficially this does not appear to be the case, because in one paragraph quoted above, Nida states that “The ability to decode a particular

type of message is constantly in process of change, not only as the result of an increase in general education, but especially through specific acquaintance with the particular type of message.” He then speaks of the desirablility of having “different grades of the same message” (Toward a Science of Translating, p. 143). Further on he acknowledges the fact that “Obviously a translation designed for children cannot be the same as one prepared for specialists, nor can a translation for children be the same as one for a newly literate adult” (p. 158). We have compared this to educational methods. But we find in his works no recognition of the need to move from one grade to the next, nor any explanation of why a literate adult should not be using a version prepared for children. He even avoids saying this outright in his discussion of “grades.” The reason is, he will not admit on a theoretical level that there must be a loss of meaning in any “dynamic equivalence” version. Obviously there can be no “equivalence” if the different “grades” of versions are not even theoretically equivalent, and so they must be regarded as equivalent. But how can that be? Only if “equivalence” is defined purely “in terms of the response of the audience,” so that “one is not so concerned with matching the receptor-language message with the source-language message, but with the dynamic relationship” (p. 159). I would emphasize this point because I think most people looking at this range of versions from a common-sense standpoint will assume that in Nida’s scheme of things the different “grades” are provided so that people can begin with something easy and progress to something more accurate. But that is precisely what he cannot say, and does not say. He cannot admit a difference in accuracy. Indeed he is compelled to redefine accuracy, so that it means nothing other than a Nidaesque equivalence:

Actually, one cannot speak of “accuracy” apart from comprehension by the receptor, for there is no way of treating accuracy except in terms of the extent to which the message gets across (or should presumably get across) to the intended receptor. “Accuracy” is meaningless, if treated in isolation from actual decoding by individuals for which the message is intended. Accordingly, what may be “accurate” for one set of receptors may be “inaccurate” for another, for the level and manner of comprehension may be different for the two groups. Furthermore, comprehension itself must be analyzed in terms of comprehending the significance of a message as related to its possible settings, i.e. the original setting of the communication and the setting in which the receptors themselves exist. (p. 183)

Thus the whole concept of accuracy becomes as slippery and subjective as everything else in this body of theory. It may be thought that Nida has a point here, in saying that the accuracy of a translation must be measured by the receptors’ comprehension of it. But his point has validity only after we have accepted the assumption implicit in the phrase “decoding by individuals for which the message is intended.” The thing in view here is not translation into languages, such as German, French, English, etc., but translation into the infinitely variable idiolects of “individuals.” If this is the goal of translation, then it follows that accuracy can only be defined with reference to “decoding by individuals,” as Nida says. But if the goal of the translation is to transfer the meaning from one language to another, and the language of the receptor is defined not as his personal idiolect but as the language of his country, then we are able to speak of accuracy in a more objective way. The national language is everywhere a matter of public record. It is taught in schools, and described in dictionaries and grammars. It is embodied in the literature of the nation. When judged by that fixed standard, accuracy is not a subjective and personal matter. If an English version uses the word grace as an equivalent for the Greek χαρις, and someone does not understand the meaning of the word grace, he might after all look it up in the dictionary. It is in fact an accurate English translation of χαρις whether he understands it or not. This is how accuracy has always been understood in the past. Within the framework of Nida’s theory, from the standpoint of his individualized view of language, it might indeed be said that if a man does not understand the word grace, then the word is not part of his

language. But we would insist that it is part of his language, if his language is English.

We note also that Nida propounds a rather novel view of “comprehension” when he states that “comprehension itself must be analyzed in terms of comprehending the significance of a message as related to its possible settings.” By this he apparently means that the receptor’s “comprehension” includes his understanding of the contemporary relevance of the text, or what may be called its “significance” for modern times. The translator is thus made responsible for presenting the text so that its (divinely intended?) transcultural applications may be “comprehended” by everyone straight off the page of the version. According to Nida, any talk of “accuracy” is “meaningless” apart from this definition of comprehension.

Is it necessary for us to point out that these definitions are outlandish, and that they place impossible demands upon the translation? For what version has ever done this, or ever could do such things? There is something fantastic and even megalomaniacal about Nida’s vision of the role of translators and translations, in which the whole process of religious education is taken up into versions produced by omni-competent translators.

Nida’s refusal to admit the need for education is not strange when the theory is really understood. Linguistic education, at least, must be excluded on a theoretical level if all languages, dialects and idiolects are to be regarded as equal. In chapter 16 of this book I briefly mentioned this concept and pointed out its unscientific nature, but now it appears how important this is to Nida’s theory, and a closer look is in order. The concept originated in the 1930’s. An early example is in Leonard Bloomfield’s Language (New York, 1933), an introduction to linguistics which was used as the standard textbook on the subject in American universities for many years. Bloomfield writes:

For the native speaker of sub-standard or dialectical English, the acquisition of standard English is a real problem, akin to that of speaking a foreign language. To be told that one’s habits are due to “ignorance” or “carelessless” and are “not English,” is by no means helpful. Our schools sin greatly in this regard. The non-standard speaker has the task of replacing some of his forms (e.g. I seen it) by others (I saw it) which are current among people who enjoy greater privilege. An unrealistic attitude—say, of humility—is bound to impede his progress. The unequal distribution of privilege which injured him in childhood, is a fault of the society in which he lives. Without embarrassment, he should try to substitute standard forms which he knows from actual hearing, for those which he knows to be sub-standard. In the beginning he runs a risk of using hyper-urbanisms; such as I have saw it (arising from the proportion I seen it : I saw it = I have seen it : x). At a later stage, he is likely to climb into a region of stilted verbiage and over-involved syntax, in his effort to escape from plain dialect; he should rather take pride in simplicity of speech and view it as an advantage that he gains from his non-standard background. (p. 499)

The presence of an ideology here is plain to see. We find value judgments about several things. Instead of just stating the fact that in English we have a formal and traditional variety called “standard” English, and describing its history, features and purposes in an objective way, Bloomfield rather dismissively characterizes it as a form of language “current among people who enjoy greater privilege,” and expresses disapproval of this whole socio-linguistic system of things, on ideological and even moral grounds. He would like to encourage the sub-standard speaker to “take pride” in his non-standard colloquial language, while actually pitying him for his linguistic disability. He expresses the view that we cannot expect people to become proficient in standard English, and he even compares “acquisition of standard English” to “speaking a foreign language.” People will only make themselves ridiculous, like incompetent foreigners, by trying too hard. The whole situation is somehow a “a fault of the society,” in which educators “sin greatly,” and so forth.

This may appear very noble and democratic in spirit, but the alleged problem is certainly overstated, and we are left with the impression that “Standard English” serves no other purpose than to make uneducated people feel inferior. Bloomfield should have explained that traditional standards of language serve important cultural and linguistic purposes. We might compare Standard English with a uniform system of federal law which makes it possible for people of different states to make enforceable contracts across state lines. Without such a code of law, the welfare of the whole country will suffer. Likewise the promotion of a common language will have cultural benefits, and there can be no common language without traditional standards. Even when we recognize that the established forms of a language are purely and simply a matter of custom, and ultimately arbitrary, that should not lead us to think that formal standards are dispensible. They are both arbitrary and indispensible. “Law and order” is as necessary in language as it is in the political and economic realms. It promotes continuity and community. When there are no standards held in common, the linguistic community deteriorates, and everything that depends upon our ability to communicate ideas declines.

The decomposition of the national language not only separates contemporaries from one another, but also the generations. If we might use again the analogy between language and law, the point is well made by Edmund Burke in his Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790):

But one of the first and most leading principles on which the commonwealth and the laws are consecrated, is lest the temporary possessors and life-renters in it, unmindful of what they have received from their ancestors, or of what is due to their posterity, should act as if they were the entire masters; that they should not think it amongst their rights to cut off the entail, or commit waste on the inheritance, by destroying at their pleasure the whole original fabric of their society; hazarding to leave to those who come after them, a ruin instead of a habitation—and teaching these successors as little to respect their contrivances, as they had themselves respected the institutions of their forefathers. By this unprincipled facility of changing the State as often, and as much, and in as many ways as there are floating fancies or fashions, the whole chain and continuity of the commonwealth would be broken. No one generation could link with the other. Men would become little better than the flies of a summer.

We have only to change one word to make the application: substitute “Language” for “State.” And it brings to mind the claim made in one Bible version’s preface quoted above, that “Each generation needs a fresh translation of the Bible in its own language.” The “language” referred to here is presumably a form of colloquial English that lasts only one generation. But it took centuries for the words “grace,” “righteousness,” “repent,” “faith,” “blessed,” and “Christ” to accumulate all the connotations that make them so meaningful to Christians. Will these words now be unceremoniously ditched and forgotten by a vain generation that prefers the “common language” of the moment? That would be to “cut off the entail,” and “commit waste on the inheritance” of our Christian language. The only Common Language that is adequate for speaking of these things is the one we have in common with our fathers.

From: Against dynamic Equivalence

http://www.bible-researcher.com/dynamic-equivalence.html