During the past few weeks, I've been thinking quite a bit about how we interpret scripture. We all have a variety of lenses through which we read and interpret scripture; we all come to the text with various forms of historical and personal baggage. Everyone has an agenda, whether they know it or not. In many ways, we see what we want to see. Everything needs translation. There may be as many interpretations of scripture as there are interpreters. And that's not exclusive to interpreting scripture, that's just life: the "where" and the "why" are inseparable from the "how" we see it. To put it in more academic language: Purpose and social location inform one's hermeneutic. Problems develop, however, when we don't realize this; when we don't think we have a lens, and we believe ourselves to be neutral and objective interpreters of scripture and/or life. Or when we place our lens (purpose and social location) on top of someone else's without an attempt at
translation: that's a problem too, especially if we use violence to enforce our hermeneutic. It makes me realize that translation and interpretation are inseparable from issues of power, and perhaps "who" is doing the translation/interpretation of scripture and/or life makes all the difference. There is a lot of subtle power in this task; seemingly small things like word choices, sentence structure, and even where one puts a period can change everything (if that isn't a metaphor for life, I don't know what is!) The philosopher Paul Ricouer said "language creates a world," and that's the true power in translation: it has consequences, and these consequences extend to relationships, institutional stuctures, vocational choices, our ethics. Hopefully, it's a humbling thing to realize that how we communicate has such powerful consequences, and what is Scripture but God's attempt to communicate something to us, via the language of tradition and the community of faith? When God spoke, a world was literally created; luckily for us, it's a pretty habitable place. Everyday in our conversations (whether in preaching or in the after-worship fellowship or at work or at home) thousands of little worlds are created--and we have to inhabit them. Some are good places to live, others... not. Are we ready for our words to have that kind of power? Doesn't it make you pause, a least for a moment, before attempting a translation of someone else's words (let alone God's)?
But we miss the richness of Ricouer's statement if understand it only one-dimensionally as a reference to power; it's also about desire. The kind of language we use (or the translation/interpretation we choose) reflects the kind of world in which we desire to live. And we have all kinds of desires--some healthy, others... not. Desire is a powerfully motivating force in our lives, and sometimes even a destructive one. But there are some basic desires we all share, and maybe that's where we begin. Maybe that's how a
good translation starts.
The 2003 movie "Lost in Translation" told the story of two American strangers who both experience alienation and a loss of identity while living in Japan. Though the strangers are very different (one is a Yale philosophy student and one is an aging movie star), one thing they have in common is they both have a lot of power. One has the power of intellect and beauty; the
other has the power of status and wealth. But when placed in a foreign culture, one that is strange and plays by different rules, their power just doesn't translate. They just don't have the language to interpret their strange circumstances and the unlikely connection that happens between them. In other words, the where and the why are inseparable from the how. Instead, their desires (for connection and a sense of identity) create a world that is, at least, a temporarily habitable place. And although we're not told for certain, we assume this affects some powerful changes in their lives.
I sometimes wonder if we Christians shouldn't be lost in translation a little more often.
other has the power of status and wealth. But when placed in a foreign culture, one that is strange and plays by different rules, their power just doesn't translate. They just don't have the language to interpret their strange circumstances and the unlikely connection that happens between them. In other words, the where and the why are inseparable from the how. Instead, their desires (for connection and a sense of identity) create a world that is, at least, a temporarily habitable place. And although we're not told for certain, we assume this affects some powerful changes in their lives.