Chants of the Roman Missal: A Review

The book has an entire chapter on translation, focused primarily on scripture. Lewis shows that many of the issues we are debating on Pray Tell were alive in the sixteenth century.

I have quoted Lewis at some length in what follows. First, though, we need his explanation for his use of ‘papist’ and ‘popish’:

I ask my readers to believe that I have at least intended to be impartial. Unfortunately the very names we have to use in describing this controversy are themselves controversial. To call the one party Catholics implicitly grants their claim; to call them Roman Catholics implicitly denies it. I shall therefore call them Papists: the word I believe, is not now used dyslogistically except in Ulster, and it is certainly not so intended here. … ‘Reformation’ is a term equally ambiguous. Reform of the Church, in some sense or other was desired by innumerable laymen and many clergy of all parties. The controversy was fought about ‘Reformation’ in a different almost a technical sense: about certain changes in doctrine and order. To call these changes ‘reformation’ again begs the question: but the word is now so deeply entrenched in historical usage that I shall continue to employ it – as a mere label, intending no petitio. (157)

Do you believe his claim to impartiality? I don’t, in part because Lewis himself was born and raised in Belfast, and also because many of his other writings display a strong anti-Catholic tendency. But that is his explanation for his terms.

Here is Lewis’s discussion about William Tyndale’s choices of words in translating scripture:

Ever since his own day Tyndale’s translation has been blamed for being tendentious. If we are thinking of his violent marginal glosses, this is fair enough; if of his peculiar renderings (congregation for ἐκκλησία, senior or elder for πρεσβύτερος, favour for χάρις, and the like), a little explanation seems to be needed. The business of a translator is to write down what he thinks the original meant. And Tyndale sincerely believed that the mighty theocracy with its cardinals, abbeys, pardons, inquisition, and treasury of grace which the word church would undoubtedly have suggested to his readers was in its very essence not only distinct from, but antagonistic to, the thing that St. Paul had in mind, whenever he used the word ἐκκλησία. You may of course disagree with his premiss: but his conclusion (that church is a false rendering of ἐκκλησία) follows from it of necessity. Thomas More, on the other hand, believed with equal sincerity that the Church of his own day was in essence the very same mystical body which St. Paul addressed; from his premiss it followed of course that church was the only correct translation.

Both renderings are equally tendentious in the sense that each presupposes a belief. In that sense all translations of scripture are tendentious: translation, by its very nature, is a continuous implicit commentary. It can become less tendentious only by becoming less of a translation. Hence when Bishop Gardiner in the Convocation of 1542 tried to stem the tide of Protestant translation he found himself driven by the logic of his position to demand that in all future versions nearly a hundred Latin words (his list included Ecclesia, Penitentia, Pontifex, Sacramentum, and Gratia) should be left Latin or only morphologically ‘Englished’. This is not popish dishonesty, and Tyndale’s renderings are not Protestant dishonesty: both follow from the nature of translation. It need hardly be added that the merely aesthetic or emotional grounds on which some moderns would prefer church to congregation would have disgusted More and Tyndale alike by their frivolity; souls were at stake. (206-207)

And here is his discussion of the Douay-Rheims translation. As you will see, Liturgiam Authenticam is hardly new.

There remains the Roman tradition, represented within our century by one work, the New Testament printed by Fogny in 1582 and translated at the English College of Douay (temporarily housed at Rheims from which this version derives its name). The work was directed by Cardinal Allen and assisted by Richard Bristow; the actual translator was Gregory Martin, (212) Lecturer in Hebrew, and sometime a scholar of St. John’s, Oxford. The Council of Trent in 1546 had pronounced the Vulgate to be the only authentic Latin version and Martin worked from it, not from the original. This, however, does not by any means remove his work from serious consideration; he had the Greek also before him, he used Geneva, and was himself used by the Authorized Version. The principles on which he proceeded are set out in the preface to the Rheims Testament: ‘We presume not in hard places to mollifie the speches or phrases, but religiously kepe them word for word and point for point, for fear of missing or restraining the sense of the holy Ghost to our phantasie’. The results of this principle led to the Protestant criticism that Papists, when at last forced to translate the scriptures, took good care to make their translation unintelligible. It was an irresistible debating point, but it misses the real problem. All parties were agreed that the Bible was the oracles of God. But if so, are we entitled to worry out the sense of apparently meaningless passages as we would do in translating Thucydides? The real sense may be beyond our mortal capacity. Any concession to what we think the human author must have meant ‘may be restraining the Holy Ghost to our phantasie’. If this line of thought is followed far enough we shall be forced to abandon the design of writing down what (we think) the sacred text means, and merely write down the English of what it actually says, whether this makes sense or no. Translators who are agreed on the oracular character of the original are thus faced with a dilemma. If you follow the one alternative you may arrive at nominal translations of scripture’ in which the originals are made to mean anything that the translator and his sect happen to believe. If you follow the other you may arrive at the idea of a magical text (like the hymn of the Salii) whose virtues are quite independent of meaning – at devotions to ‘the blessed word Mesopotamia’. Fortunately none of our translators is at either extreme; but Tyndale is nearer to the first and Rheims to the second. This does not mean that Tyndale is dishonestly periphrastic or Rheims nonsensical: both are honest and skilful attempts to solve the problem. Thus Rheims leaves many words as near the Latin as it can, writing veritie instead of ‘truth’, benignity instead of ‘kindness’, justice instead of ‘righteousness’ (which is misleading) and longanimity instead of ‘patience’ (which can be very strongly defended). (211)

Perhaps there truly is nothing new under the sun. We Catholics have been translating Latin into cod-English since the 16th century – ‘longanimity’, indeed.

Lewis’s comments on translation seem entirely right to me: ‘The business of a translator is to write down what he thinks the original meant. … all translations of scripture are tendentious: translation, by its very nature, is a continuous implicit commentary.’

And he makes a nice distinction between what the text says and what it means, a distinction some bloggers would do well to ponder: ‘we shall be forced to abandon the design of writing down what (we think) the sacred text means, and merely write down the English of what it actually says, whether this makes sense or no.’

Jonathan Day is a consultant and writer; he is also a member of the parish council of the Jesuit Church of the Immaculate Conception (Farm Street) in central London.

While Latino Catholic leaders frequently perceive the U.S. Catholic Church as a significant institution that could do much to uplift their struggling sisters and brothers, Catholic leaders of European descent tend to be more concerned with issues of authority and the adaptation of the church to the U.S. milieu or, conversely, with the alarming worry that U.S. Catholics already embrace societal norms far more than they do fundamental Catholic teachings. Latinos’ concerns reveal that, besides the widely-discussed split between the right and the left, another prominent divergence in U.S. Catholicism is one along class and cultural lines.

Pray Tell has a couple articles on ecumenism to share. Here is the first, an incisive reflection on recent backward moves in liturgy and ecumenism by Max Johnson:

“Ecumenism and the Study of Liturgy: What Shall We Do Now?”

(Liturgical Ministry 20, Winter 2011, 13–21. Reprinted with permission.)

I can’t tell whether the new translation first struck him at Christmas Mass (the fifth Sunday of its use) so I’m not assuming that’s the case.

More importantly, I can’t tell whether DeGraff’s views are mostly just his, or his is a representative voice-from-the pews. No doubt we’ll gradually find out in coming months.

awr

Hilaire Belloc wisely wrote that the grace of God is in courtesy. Nobody likes being ignored, ridiculed, insulted or otherwise abused. Everybody appreciates being treated with respect and listened to as if his ideas matter. And while not everyone has good ideas, everyone’s ideas do matter. They give us clues to the personality, to the strengths and weaknesses of a particular character, and—perhaps most important—to the needs of a brother or sister in a family that ultimately belongs to God.When I reflect on my own interaction with critics over the past year, I recall those occasions when I was decidedly not conciliatory. And in surveying various discussion groups, including some consisting only of dedicated Catholics, I’ve overheard my share of vitriolic exchanges. We’ve come to expect a low level of social discourse in political discussion, led by political advertising and the verbal maneuvering of televised debates. But there is something wrong—something spiritually wrong—when the same problem afflicts religious discussions.

But the Christian’s call goes far beyond the mere appearance of courtesy. Our Lord requires of us a courtesy motivated by something deeper, namely charity. We all know this, yet again and again, as soon we find ourselves on opposite sides of an issue, we tend to plug our ears and hold our noses—when we should be opening our ears and biting our tongues.

Sometimes, of course, we find ourselves under deliberate and even malicious attack. At CatholicCulture.org, we receive numerous messages through our Contact form in which “unregistered visitors” simply open fire on the Faith, the Church and those who write for the site. Sometimes it is wisest to ignore such messages, especially if the nature of the correspondence and the available time suggest that we will not be in a position to make a positive impact. Similarly, there will be times when any Catholic will have little choice but to extricate himself as politely as possible from an unpleasant personal confrontation.

But often we are faced with disagreements caused by approaching similar questions from different directions or backgrounds, in which animosity, if any, is largely incidental. In such cases, both charity and good sense demand that we hold our fire long enough to understand the values and principles which have led to a contradictory statement. We need to determine, first, whether we’ve missed something significant in either our own thoughts or, as is quite likely, in our own brief comments on the subject at hand. Second, we must discover the strengths and weaknesses of this rival point of view so that we can address the comments reasonably, and even generously.

And third, precisely as a matter of charity, we are called to discern the motivation of our would-be opponent so that we can figure out whether there is something incomplete, weak or broken which cries out for help and healing. Who knows if Our Lord might choose to bestow a grace here through an unworthy servant—through you or me—if we can but hold ourselves open for the task.

This readiness to be used as a means of grace is admittedly difficult to maintain. We are proud, which translates into an excessive attachment to our own ideas, along with a corresponding contempt for contrary ideas and those who express them. And because we are proud, we are also very prickly, taking offense easily, and prone to unseemly distress when contradicted. We seem to be able to recognize the absurdity of such reactions only when we have no stake in the game.

Those of us with dogmatic personalities—and that includes many who take the Faith seriously in a hostile culture—have an additional spiritual hurdle, because we so often confuse our commitment to God’s principles with our own self-importance as God’s spokesmen. This can lead to a habit of self-righteous indignation, as if we must denounce others in defense of Christ, though to be sure He has already indicated His complete willingness to suffer disrespect in order to win hearts. This is usually a case of the servant not really following the Master.

Moreover, we have a tendency to assume that because we know we are right about some things—namely, the dogmas of the Faith—therefore we must be right about everything. But because we have the privilege of accepting the truths of Catholicism, it does not follow that our pastoral preferences are infallible, or our political insight, or our social theories, or our ability to separate truth from falsehood in other fields, or even our spiritual perception. Why then do we pronounce as Catholics on virtually everything under the sun with the same certainty which we ought to reserve for the most basic precepts of the catechism? How easily do all men and women assume the rightness of their own judgments! But in Catholics, who ought to know that they depend at all times on the most generous gifts of God, this belief in our own perfection is a particularly offensive fault.

Here’s a sobering thought: The next person to contradict us (or to contradict the Church) may actually be at an early stage of his own interior journey home. Now it just so happens that, for better or worse, in almost every discussion we ourselves represent home. A harsh word now may drive this person away. A good rule of thumb is that we need to know someone extremely well and have a pre-existing relationship with him if we are to be in any position to speak harshly, and then only as a last resort. We dare not break the bruised reed or quench the smoldering wick (Is 42:3; applied to Christ in Mt 12:20). But I know I have done it. Have you?

Therefore, as we begin a new year and consider our own resolutions, I’d like to recommend that we all strive to discuss the issues that animate CatholicCulture.org with greater charity. I don’t mean so much on the website itself, for we have precious little opportunity for discussion here, except for just a bit of it in Sound Off! or via email. I am referring instead to the deliberate and persistent cultivation of charity in our discussions with those who are not part of the CatholicCulture.org family.

Our purpose—the purpose of all those who take seriously the issues presented through CatholicCulture.org—is to enrich faith, strengthen the Church and form Catholic culture. These tasks are, inescapably, oriented toward others. None of this can be done without love and, in most cases, the first opportunity to show love is in how we talk with others.

Charity in discussion: This could easily be the most important thing we accomplish in 2012 and beyond.

Jeff Mirus

Many of us have been highly critical in recent months both of the process of preparation of the new texts and of the outcome from those deliberations that has brought us to this point; I include myself in that group. After our experience in England over recent months since September I do not find myself wavering in that critical opinion.

The translation of an ancient vernacular, Latin, into 20th century English, may have had its problems after the Second Vatican Council but for many of us it became the familiar and acceptable norm. The contrast between the two languages was significant and clear cut then. Now that we have recently moved to a new translation that is within the same linguistic context as that of the last forty years, but varies in detail to match strict translation criteria from the Latin, imposed by Rome, is it no wonder that we are critical of the result. People pray within the language and culture of their time rather than in the holy comfort zone of words that had meaning many centuries ago. Language is a dynamic, lived experience. Scattering the text with which we pray the Eucharist with “graciously,” “chalice,” and a literal translation of the story of the centurion’s servant, to take but a few examples, does not help us.

However we must be realistic.  This is where we are, the new translation is in use; now how do we manage?

We can take the short view that all is lost and walk away, grumbling – but to what end? And where do we go ? Our home is the Church, our parish families come together each week for the Eucharist; splintering that community achieves little other than upset and confusion.

We can stay and silently pray while around us unfamiliar words from both celebrant and people sound somewhat strange and we try to remember in our personal quiet spaces the words and phrases that have been familiar to us over years of Eucharistic prayer. That attitude, in itself, is fragmentary. Yet it is one that I find myself slipping into since we first started using the new translation this past September.

Or we can take a third option, that of expectation and hope. The words of Jesus as he approached his disciples by the lake “It is I, do not be afraid” (John 6:21) should speak to all of us when we are in circumstances of fear or distress. Just now, we are in such a time.

I have recently finished Robert Nugent’s book, Silence Speaks (Paulist Press, 2012) in which he outlines the positions of Teilhard de Chardin, Yves Congar, John Courtney Murray and Thomas Merton in respect to church authority. Their experience is salutary.

Although they dealing with different issues, the vexed question of censorship, there is a lesson that we can learn from the experience of these men. To have an opinion is important, to pursue the argument in support of that opinion is valid, to act in conscience is essential. But it is also necessary carefully to choose language that helps rather than hinders and to be patient for the right time in which to make pertinent comment. Raising the temperature by intemperate words helps no one.  In the present circumstance it will only serve to impede our experience of eucharistic praying.

Maybe in the coming months, our people will be heard by the bishops and revision of the texts will be considered. It would seem that the positive option would be for individuals and groups to write to their bishop, asking for appreciation and understanding of our difficulties. The hierarchies have been singularly silent in acknowledgement of honestly-held disagreements with the new translation. But then their own position has been undermined by Rome, collegiality has been over-ridden and local needs ignored.

It would be a significant sign of recognition if the bishop were to ask his priests and people for their views in the coming months. Listening is a sure sign of wise leadership just as much as the many pronouncements that we are used to hearing.  Is it little wonder that we have problems with the results?

Above all, we must support each other and appreciate views that differ from our own.   Some of the more hysterical comments that have appeared on the blogosphere in recent weeks do not sit comfortably with a pilgrim church seeking to meet the current missionary purpose of the people.

The discussion is about sincerely-held views on language and a recognition that English across our planet in not one universal language, but one that has tones and nuances. The episcopal conferences have been sidelined by the imposition of a translation that seeks to meet all needs, but doesn’t in fact do so. Local concern of bishops for their local church has been supplanted by a centralized statement from Rome that all must accept.

Henri Nouwen often writes of the contrast between fear and love. In his book Lifesigns (1986; page 21) he says “… the house of love is the house of Christ, the place where we can think, speak and act in the way of God-not in the way of a fear-filled world. From this house the voice of love keeps calling out: “Do not be afraid…come and follow me…see where I live…go out and preach the good news…”

Thomas Merton concludes his journal Woods, Shore, Desert (Museum of New Mexico Press, 1982) with the phrase “Hang on to the clear light.”

We could do well to remember both Nouwen and Merton as we struggle together in a difficult place.

Chris McDonnell is a retired schools head teacher living in the Midlands of England. This article is reprinted with permission from the January/February 2012 issue of  SPIRITUALITY (Dublin).

He claims that “language is a piece of social technology for enhancing the benefits of co-operation.” At the same time that the total number of languages in use globally is falling rapidly (it is now something between 7,000 and 8,000), some groups, e.g. on Pacific islands, are creating new languages every day, with significant language variation appearing every kilometer or so. Papua New Guinea, for example, has somewhere between 800 and 1,000 distinct and mutually incomprehensible languages.

Pagel sees language as a means of strengthening group identity. “We use language not just to co-operate but to draw rings around our co-operating groups.”

“This seemingly natural tendency we have toward isolation, towards keeping to ourselves, crashes head-first into our modern world,” he says. He cites the EU as an example; it spends over €1 billion (about 1.3 billion U.S. dollars) annually on translation costs alone. And he concludes:

If language really is the conduit of our co-operation, can we afford to have all these different languages? … In a world in which we want to promote cooperation and exchange, and in a world that might be dependent more than ever before on cooperation to maintain and enhance our levels of prosperity … it might be inevitable that we have to confront the idea that our destiny is to be one world with one language.”

The quotes above are drawn from a talk that Pagel gave at a conference in July of this year; you can watch the video here.

I’m sure that others can contribute sources on language and identity, but I have enjoyed The State of the Language by Christopher Ricks and Leonard Michaels, published first in 1980 and again in 1989 by the University of California Press, with different essays in the second edition. The 1980 edition features a blistering attack on the language of the revised Episcopalian Prayer Book, and the same author, Margaret Doody, returns in 1989 with an essay on the folly of revising classic hymns for inclusive language. Both editions seem to be readable online through Google Books.

The discussion of language and identity naturally led me to think about the new translation. Some praise it because it will ‘strengthen our Catholic identity’; several blog posters have commented that it ‘sounds more Catholic’ than the 1973 translation. This idea of a distinctively Catholic liturgical language seems to have been mooted in Liturgiam authenticam:

§27   … it will be seen that the observance of the principles set forth in this Instruction will contribute to the gradual development, in each vernacular, of a sacred style that will come to be recognized as proper to liturgical language. Thus it may happen that a certain manner of speech which has come to be considered somewhat obsolete in daily usage may continue to be maintained in the liturgical context.

Similar remarks crop up about Latin, once proposed as a universal language, more recently seen as the ‘sacred language’ of a specific group, rather as classical Hebrew is used in Jewish liturgical worship.

One problem with a group-defining language is that it naturally excludes others. Apparently this was not a problem for the authors of LA:

§29   It is the task of the homily and of catechesis to set forth the meaning of the liturgical texts, illuminating with precision the Church’s understanding regarding the members of particular Churches or ecclesial communities separated from full communion with the Catholic Church and those of Jewish communities, as well as adherents of other religions – and likewise, her understanding of the dignity and equality of all men.  Similarly, it is the task of catechists or of the homilist to transmit that right interpretation of the texts that excludes any prejudice or unjust discrimination on the basis of persons, gender, social condition, race or other criteria, which has no foundation at all in the texts of the Sacred Liturgy. Although considerations such as these may sometimes help one in choosing among various translations of a certain expression, they are not to be considered reasons for altering either a biblical text or a liturgical text that has been duly promulgated.

Our group-defining language is here. Like the rosary or holy cards or the Angelus prayer, the new translation now distinguishes us from other Christians: we are the ones who now say ‘consubstantial’ in the Creed, ‘chalice’ in the Eucharistic Prayer and ‘with your spirit’ to the priest. As a writer in Our Sunday Visitor put it,

The [1973] translation, growing out of the changes initiated by Vatican II, was born in a period of great Catholic optimism. In the spirit of the council, at least as it was popularly understood, the Church was more a partner to society than its scold or its antagonist. In this country, the council coincided with the election of John F. Kennedy, and there was a palpable sense that Catholics had arrived in America. No more Latin. No more fish on Friday. Like the theory that had guided the first vernacular translation, there was now a “dynamic equivalence” between Catholics and their fellow Americans. What so many Catholic leaders of the 20th century had worked for was now true: Catholic Americans were seen as the same as all other Americans.

Some of the younger priests I know seem enthusiastic about no longer being seen as the same as others.  They lard their conversation with Latin words – mens instead of mind, creatio instead of creation; and Latinate locutions – ‘apprehend’ rather than ‘understand,’ for example. Their language creates a stronger Catholic identity.

If all this is true then what does this imply for ecumenical work and worship? Some Orthodox friends of mine say that they are forbidden from praying with non-Orthodox. We aren’t barred from praying with Protestants, but in what language should we do so? How, like Paul, can we become ‘all things to all people’ when our language is distinctive?

To put it another way, how can we be truly Catholic, in the sense of ‘universal’?

Jonathan Day is a consultant and writer; he is also a member of the parish council of the Jesuit Church of the Immaculate Conception (Farm Street) in central London.