Wouldn’t it make more sense for English-speaking students to study Chinese or Arabic instead of French, German, or Italian, those modern European languages whose standing as curricular mainstays has outlived the case to be made for preferring them? So asks John McWhorter in his blog at the New Republic. “Our sense of which foreign languages are key to a serious education cannot be founded on what made sense for characters in Henry James novels,” he writes.
Joe Carter’s link to that article back in December generated some heated comments at First Thoughts. A foreign language “helps one understand one’s own past,” one reader wrote. “If you are concerned about practical matters,” wrote another, “intensive instruction courses in Chinese or Japanese or Korean . . . would be in order.” In this battle, the modern European languages stand on one side of a bright line separating the “intellectual hobbyists,” as one commenter called them, from those who value global competence, which demands knowledge of major non-Western languages. On the same side as the Henry James school but on the far side of it are Latin, ancient Greek, and biblical Hebrew—classical languages that, being sacred and “dead,” are a harder sell even than French or Italian, at least to those whose allegiance to the secular and the present entails a disregard of the sacred and the past.
Underlying much of the disagreement about the value of learning these languages as opposed to those languages is the difference between calculative thinking and meditative thinking. In the tone of some of the comments you could hear the tension between those who want to savoir things—to acquire knowledge broadly, knowledge in the sense of information—and those who want to connaître them, to know them deeply, or intimately, in the sense in which we know our spouse or siblings or closest friends, the people we love.
Languages enable us to commune as well as communicate with each other. The primary purpose of Hebrew school, for example, is not to equip kids with just another modern language so that when they grow up they can do business in Israel, where Hebrew was deliberately revived in the first place and cultivated as a living language again because it was deemed crucial to Jewish identity. Reading, writing, and speaking Hebrew puts you in touch with the living past, with the inspired words of Moses, David, and the Prophets. It’s also a mark, like circumcision, that signifies your membership in your extended family, Jacob’s descendants, the approximately fifteen million Jews in the world today. It’s sacred. It’s why many Jews pray in Hebrew even if they don’t understand Hebrew and have to juggle when reading aloud from the siddur, keeping one eye on the words they’re sounding out and the other eye on the facing-page translation.
Many Catholics who attend the traditional Latin Mass operate in similar fashion, although, for those who have made the effort to learn the language, their comprehension of it intensifies the religious experience. When the priest at the altar turns to face the people and, holding up the consecrated host, the body of Christ, says, “Ecce Agnus Dei, ecce qui tollit peccata mundi,” if you are immersed in the language of the Church you recognize the allusion to Pilate in Gabbatha, where, presenting Jesus to the crowd in Jerusalem, he says, as it’s translated in the Vulgate, “Ecce homo.” What the priest says in the English Mass, “Behold the Lamb of God,” has the same literal meaning as “Ecce Agnus Dei,” but the associations it leads you to make are less vivid. Robert Frost defined poetry as “what gets lost in translation.” The same might be said of sacred language. A succinct appreciation of its peculiar power is offered, for example, by Aidan Nichols in Looking at the Liturgy: A Critical View of Its Contemporary Form.
Some Catholic exorcists observe that, while fervent prayer aligned with Christ is effective in any language, it tends to be more so in Latin, although they’re not sure why. They’re only reporting their findings from the field. Their evidence is empirical, not doctrinal. For Jewish mystics, Hebrew in all of its dimensions, visual and aural and semantic, is pure oxygen, the air that we breathe and that gives us life. Learning a sacred language is a statement, an affirmation of religious identity, which is the public face of religious experience. The language itself is a temple, a place where religious experience is sought and found. The power inherent in all natural languages is magnified when the language is also sacred.
Granted, the reasons for Jews to study Hebrew or for Catholics to study Latin should not necessarily inform public policy about which foreign languages should be taught in public schools. But neither should public policy about which foreign languages should be taught in public schools dictate the decisions that we as observant Jews or Christians make about which languages we invest our time and energy in learning. At the moment, Chinese and Arabic are hot. They promise social and professional dividends. Biblical Hebrew, Latin, and ancient Greek will do little to help us swim in the new global economy. What they’re good for is helping us run with the communion of saints, who span the millennia.
They’re good for helping us understand the Bible, the Word of God, which for Christians is a person, who asks us to connaître him. This involves spending time with him, pondering the Word, contemplating it, mulling it over, chewing on it even. For an Orthodox Jew, the object of meditation is Torah, and the notion of meditating on it in translation would be almost inconceivable. You want the prize itself, not someone’s prosaic description of it.
By contrast, most Christians who meditate on scripture don’t consult it in the original languages. The argument is sometimes made that the gospel, which is to be preached to all the nations, is by its nature always a translation. For an image of this idea, see the account of Pentecost in Acts, where by the power of the Holy Spirit each member of the international audience assembled in Jerusalem hears the apostles in his own native tongue. Christian faith does not depend on a reading knowledge of Koine Greek.
Still, just as all things lawful are not expedient, not all things optional are bootless. Let’s concede that the fine points you miss by meditating on scripture in mere translation are only a few pixels that drop out of the picture. The subject and the general shape of things are still clear enough. What you’re missing is the meaning of the expression in the subject’s eyes. You can identify their color, however, and the other physical features of his that can be measured and recorded on a driver’s license. You can savoir his identity. That counts for a lot. But you don’t connaître him.
We’re busy, and reading a summary of the exchange between Jesus and Mary is more efficient than sitting down and joining them in their leisurely, rambling conversation. It’s an observation in the spirit of what Martha might have calculated as she worked so hard taking care of business in the kitchen. Jesus was as available to her as he was to Mary. It was Martha who chose to make herself less available to him than she might have. The sorrow is not that she thereby brought down condemnation on herself. She didn’t. Jesus wasn’t angry at her. He was disappointed. “Martha, Martha,” he says.
For Christians, the most familiar locus classicus for the value of reading the New Testament in Greek comes toward the end of the Gospel according to John, just before the part where Peter points to John and asks Jesus, in effect, “So what great things do you have in store for him?” Peter sounds envious. Why Jesus’ rapport with John was so much greater is suggested by the passage leading up to this hint of a rivalry between Peter, the disciple whom Jesus appointed to the position of highest authority, and John, “the disciple whom Jesus loved” or, as we might say, counted as his closest friend, perhaps because John appreciated certain qualities of his mind that were lost on the others.
Jesus had asked Peter three times whether Peter loved him. The first two times, Peter replied, “Of course, Lord, you know I love you.” The third time, he replied with the same answer but now added a note of slight indignation that Jesus was repeating himself. Most translators don’t even try to convey the distinction between the two words for the two different kinds of love that are in play here.
Now consider the whole exchange again in light of what in the Greek defies easy translation into English. Jesus asks Peter, “Do you agapas me?” Peter replies, “Lord, you know I phil you.” Jesus tries again and gets the same result. So what does he do? He decides to be tactful. Conceding to Peter’s vocabulary, he now asks him, “Do you phileis me?” John writes that Peter was upset that Jesus was asking him “Do you phileis me?” yet a third time. The suggestion is that Peter was deaf to the difference between the two words, that he wasn’t sensitive to the subtle but significant distinction—and that Jesus, whose tongue was famously sharp and his wit quick, out of kindness deferred to his friend’s blunter intellect, as a father when talking to his child will sometimes adopt the child’s language.
Nicholas Frankovich is a writer and editor in Cleveland.
RESOURCES
John McWorter, Which Languages Should Liberal Arts Be About in 2010?
Joe Carter, Do We Romanticize the Importance of Romance Languages?
Aidan Nichols, Looking at the Liturgy: A Critical View of Its Contemporary Form
Comments:
While some continue to dispute the point, the larger linguistic evidence is quite compelling that the Gospel of John commonly alternates between near synonyms as a stylistic device, without pressing the distinction in connotation between the terms. The pattern is so common throughout the book that it compels a reading of John 21 that doesn't press the distinction between _phileo_ and _agapao_ as many do. The fact that within sayings of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel one can find similar alternation, and with syntax and rhetoric that demands that the words be understood without any distinction, is impressive. Leon Morris provided extensive evidence for this a generation ago in his _Studies in the Fourth Gospel_. Jesus in John is indeed the master of the hard saying, and this passage is an example, but the alternation between words is probably not where the wit resides.
What I think you've unintentionally illustrated is that a little knowledge of biblical languages is not all that helpful to understanding the Bible. And I don't say that to enhance my status as an expert (I'm a PhD in NT exegesis) but to acknowledge the reality that I've observed over 30 years of studying and teaching Greek. In popular discourse, much of what's said about biblical Hebrew and Greek is invalid. I spend much of my time as a seminary instructor helping students avoid saying such things.
Further, it's demonstrable that only a small segment of the Body of Christ has the ability to master these languages, and a robust ecclesiology then affirms that they ought to do what they're gifted to do--and do it to serve the rest of the church that's differently gifted. That does not change the imperative of some knowing the languages, but it does suggest that we have little to gain by encouraging more to do so than do at present. Helping folks understand the nature and limits of translation would go a longer way toward sharpening understanding, as would modeling good linguistics in biblical exposition.
So yes, these languages deserve study, and yes, communities of faith should demand such study within their ranks. But let's be thoughtful and careful about what we do. I'd love to make all people in my community more aware of the nature and boundaries of the translations that they read and hear, and to encourage those few with a penchant for ancient languages to pursue their study vigorously in the service of the community.
The scene described in John's gospel is a theological gloss, not a documentary report. So there probably never was any conversation in Aramaic to begin with.
Utility is often the vantage point from which we view the value of all things these days. What ever happened to the Newmanian notion of liberation in education--that a liberal education--the liberal arts included--can be an end in themselves and consequently a source for great human fulfillment and joy. I had only one year of Latin as a freshman in high school and then more recently I took a six week course. Back in high school I had never even heard of the Latin liturgy, yet I fell in love with the language. In fact, I discovered in college that I had a deep curiosity about all languages--studying French and German and Italian, too. I don't use Latin, ancient Greek, and ancient Hebrew languages as a stay at home mom, but I would sign up for classes in a heart beat at my parish if they were offered because language in and of itself is fascinating, and should be fascinating I think. Sometimes I wonder if Latin in the liturgy is also a sacramental pointing to beauty with a capital "B", capable of redeeming us and making our hearts sing with joy, just as the architecture, or artwork, or music, or ars celebrandi can.
I did not know that defining something as a "theological gloss" meant that a report could not be based on an historical event, or events. I did not know that one (theology) ruled out the other (history). At any rate, the author of the piece finds significance both in the encounter described and in the Greek verbs used. My question, and it was a serious one, is whether there are distinct verbs in Hebrew or Aramaic which could stand in the same place and meaning as the Greek verbs? Do you know? The reason I asked for this is simple: I do not think there is any significance in the shift of verbs in this encounter. SWNID suggests that we can find evidence internal to the Gospel itself which makes this clear. This is a strong point. I am not so willing to say that this encounter in the Gospel is not based upon an actual event, and if it is, my suspicion is that there are no Hebrew or Aramaic equivalents to "phileo" and "agapao," but I am not certain.
The special affection of our Lord to St.John is alluded to be due to him having been the youngest disciple , thus esp. relating to our Lord more like a son ; our Lord calls out to the disciples in that last scene mentioned above
" Children, have you caught anything to eat?" ; it is St.John who first recognises that it is The Lord !
At The Last Supper too , our Lord calls them 'children' and again St.John is close to Him !
The Oneness of our Lord , in His Divinity with The Father - the young heart of St.John possibly recognised this better !
He also gets to be the one who cares for The Mother !
Father dignity and identity , to be given in and through our Lord , to our priests and fathers and all men - may the affectionate call 'children' be one that we all can hear in any language , to fill the deepest yearnings of hearts , to heal much that is wounded !
The traditional explanation of the exchange between Jesus and Peter in John 21 is that Jesus had in mind a higher love, Peter a love that was more mundane. I think there's truth in that reading but that it's too cutting it too fine, that the import of the passage is not necessarily about different flavors of love but rather about the nature of the relationship between Jesus and Peter, whose heart is better equipped to accept Jesus than his head is. This is brought out by their brief conversation at cross purposes. Jesus responds by accepting Peter literally on his own terms.
SWNID: Two points. When you say that a little knowledge of biblical languages is not all that helpful in understanding the Bible, you're referring to what I call calculative thinking, which I respect and don't mean to dismiss. But here I'm more interested in meditative thinking, which in the context of reading scripture can be helped along by reading it with several books at hand -- the original text, a translation or two, a dictionary, a grammar, a commentary. Read slowly. Read deeply. Ponder and chew. The object is not to write a scholarly article free of solecisms. The object is to meditate, to arrive at understandings or insights, even if they be apparent or meaningful only to you. Sometimes that's how God likes to speak to us, as individuals. You can meditate on scripture in the form of, say, the New Jerusalem Bible and leave it at that. But some people find that their meditation is more fruitful when they work with more resources, which might include not only the text in Hebrew or Greek but also an astute commentary. That's where you would come in.
Point 2: When you write that few believers have the ability to master the languages, you veer close to the stereotype of the medieval priest warning the half-literate laity not to fool with the Bible. A significant segment of the English-speaking American population is marginally literate in /English/. I would encourage them to read the Bible all the same. As for how many can master "the languages," whether English or Hebrew and Greek, more are able than care to. Would that more cared to!
Matt: As for the danger that misinterpretations of biblical texts would be multiplied, see my comment about SWNID's comment. Also, see his comment about "the boundaries of the translations." If more people were in the habit of at least consulting the NT in Greek, both Israel and the Church would be spared much of the calamity resulting from the mistaken notion that the tension between the Galilean and the Judeans (Ioudaioi) was between Jesus and "the Jews." The correction of that error alone would be enough, I suspect, to outweigh whatever other error might get propagated as a result of people misreading the Hebrew or Greek.
Daniel: Thanks. That's another layer that adds yet more texture to the "Ecce Agnus Dei" at Mass. In theory, the allusions should also register with the worshipper attending the Mass in the vernacular, but my impression is that they don't.
http://www.learnthebible.org/agape-and-phileo.html
Some passages from that article:
"Let us consider these facts:
1. The verbs agapao and phileo are used interchangeably in the Septuagint to render one and the same Hebrew word (e.g. in Genesis 37:3Now Israel loved Joseph more than all his children, because he was the son of his old age: and he made him a coat of many colours. Jacob's preferential love for Joseph is expressed by agapao but in the following verse by phileo).
2. The verb agapao in itself does not necessarily imply a loftier love; it does so when the context makes this clear (on the other hand, in 2Timothy 4:10For Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world, and is departed unto Thessalonica; Crescens to Galatia, Titus unto Dalmatia. Demas's regrettable love for 'this present world' is expressed by agapao).
3. More important still for our present purpose is the fact that John himself uses the two verbs interchangeably elsewhere in his Gospel, e.g. in the statement that 'the Father loves the Son' (agapao in 3:35 phileo in 5:20 and in references to 'the disciple whom Jesus loved' (agapao in 13:23 19:26 21:7 20; phileo in 20:2 It is precarious, then, to press a distinction between the two synonyms here."
"You (and many others) say that Peter was grieved because Jesus used a different word for love in the third question. However, this puts our intelligence above the plain statement of scripture. If the Bible clearly tells us the cause of something, what makes us think that we are smart enough to find another answer? Read this verse again:
John 21:17He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.
The verse clearly says that "Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me?" The cause of his grief was that Jesus had asked him the same question three times. This, by itself, proves that Peter saw no significance in the changed word for love. If he had seen it as a different question, he would not have been grieved because the same question had been asked THREE TIMES. However, there is another very powerful reason that a third asking of the question would grieve Peter. He had just denied his Saviour THREE TIMES! See Luke 22:54-62 [54] Then took they him, and led him, and brought him into the high priest's house. And Peter followed afar off. [55] And when they had kindled a fire in the midst of the hall, and were set down together, Peter sat down among them. [56] But a certain maid beheld him as he sat by the fire, and earnestly looked upon him, and said, This man was also with him. [57] And he denied him, saying, Woman, I know him not. [58] And after a little while another saw him, and said, Thou art also of them. And Peter said, Man, I am not. [59] And about the space of one hour after another confidently affirmed, saying, Of a truth this fellow also was with him: for he is a Galilaean. [60] And Peter said, Man, I know not what thou sayest. And immediately, while he yet spake, the cock crew. [61] And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter. And Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. [62] And Peter went out, and wept bitterly.
Jesus is giving him his own medicine. ...
Also, it is important to note that the three denials of Jesus came after Peter had bragged about how he was more dependable that the other disciples in his faithfulness to Jesus.
We also see it in the way Jesus asked the question the first time: "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these?" (John 21:15So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him, Feed my lambs.
Who are the these? Peter had bragged about how he had loved Jesus more than the other disciples and then he denied the Lord three times. Now, Jesus asks Peter if he is still going to brag about how much more he loves Jesus than the others do. Peter dodges the true point of the question until Jesus asks it the third time and removes all doubt as to His point. Peter gets it and speaks of his love as a confession and not as a bragging point. He had finally learned the lesson."
There's not really a rational argument to be made. It would be more work for someone to hear all the benefits listed, than simply for him to learn the languages which bring them. Conversely, it is as ridiculous for someone not versed in the language to convince or be convinced of the imperative to learn them, as it would be for someone to insist on having it explained to him perfectly what "wet" is before he be willing to go swimming.
Using and understanding language is at its highest level of fluency an intuitive experience.
It is ecstatic.
If I were in your parish, I would offer to teach the languages for free, but the parish might decline (as every parish I've offered this service to has done).
Regarding your excerpts from learningthebible.org: It tends to confirm the understanding that the primary import of John 21:15-19 lies in a correspondence between the three-part exchange and Peter's three denials of Jesus a few chapters earlier. That's a valid reading, which has the advantage of being able to be seen plainly even in translation. In that light, the significance that I and other readers find in the alternation between "agape" and "philia" constitutes a subplot, which doesn't affect the outline of the passage but does lend it a tone. Forget for a moment about what difference in meaning, if any, may have been been conveyed by those two words. What arrests the attention is that they were spoken in alternation, in a pattern, A-P, A-P, P-P. One school of thought is that resisting the temptation to look for meaning in the pattern leads to a truer reading of the passage, but it's not a school I belong to.
Recent scholarship warns us against making too much of the distinction between the two words for love. Noted. But the pendulum has swung, and now the tendency is to overstate the weakness of the distinction between synonyms in NT Greek, particularly in John. What's weak is our ability, at this distance of some millennia, to define with any confidence /what/ the different connotations of two synonyms might have been. /That/ they had different connotations would seem to be a function of their sounding and looking different. But was the difference in connotation ever significant? To my mind, the most plausible answer is that typically it might not have been significant but that significance could have been lent to it by context.
The above passage in John 21 in the commission to St.Peter by our Lord is given us 'feed my lambs...tend my sheep..and feed my sheep ' in some versions .
If God's mercy is THE major language of the bible , the above scene can be seen as our Lord helping Peter to rise up to that role ..He affirms that role , in spite of the denial - for reasons that seem not that unreasonable ; he possibly feared that he too would face crucifiction along with The Lord , esp. if Judas had let the authorities know his role among the disciples !
In the ensuing days prior to Pentecost , Peter and the disciples possibly mediated on the Lord's words ...and we see what The Spirit does , in helpiing him to fulfill the Lord's appointed role of this good hearted leader .
Feeding the lamb and tending the sheep - a role that would take lots of merciful love , down through the years ..esp. in the part of going out in search after the straying ..
Thus , seems the medicine our Lord gives St.Peter is one of merciful trusting love ..that He chooses to trust in Peter , inspite of ..and expects Peter , to feed and tend the sheep , towards same ..
that they be one ..
Yesterday was the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes ....seemingly sent to announce the support and affirmation of heaven , for the earlier dogmas on the Immaculate Conception as well as on Papal Infallibilty ..the twin medicines given to The Church for the need of the times ..and for those who have need for medicine for lack of trust , from attacks by the spirit of the age ...
O Mary , concieved without sin, pray for us who have recourse to Thee ; pray for those who do not have recourse to Thee, esp. the enemies of The Church !
