Anyone who has studied any amount of Greek has at least dabbled in translation.
I’m presently doing more than dabbling; I’m doing extensive work on an interlinear edition of the writings of the Apostolic Fathers (but if you still subscribe to this blog in its present inactivity, then you likely already know that).
But it’s more than an interlinear, there are two lines of translation (not to mention the Louw-Nida reference annotation and the notes … oh, the notes). The lines of translation include a “lexical value” which is a relatively context free gloss and an “English translation” which, when assembled (in the specified order) makes a roughly readable translation of the corpus. Essentially, I work through each verse at least three times.
I’ve done enough work (through Didache, Polycarp, Martyrdom of Polycarp, Ignatian corpus, and 20-some chapters of 1 Clement to date) to know the following:
- Translation is hard work
- Any serious scholarly effort requires persistence and discipline
- Persistence and discipline is no guarantee you’re doing it well
- Translation is hard work
- Translating everything of anything is tough because you don’t get to hide
- Discipline is necessary for any sort of consistency in output and product
- Translation is hard work
- Scholar’s tasks are “not for sissies” (Frederick Danker)
One item from the above (no, not the “Translation is hard work” item; at least not directly) is “Translating everything of anything is tough because you don’t get to hide”. Here I mean completion, moving beyond a selection of passages or some such thing. It’s doing all of one of Chrysostom’s sermons instead of a few paragraphs. Or doing all of the NT instead of just that one book you’ve studied for a year. If you do *everything* of something, you don’t leave yourself a place to hide, or to skip, or to leave for later. You do it all. Ditch your sample corpus, and work with a real, functional and meaningful range of data.
I think that’s why a lot of scholarly tasks, particularly in translation, annotation and understanding of early non-canonical texts, are left undone. When you do something big, massive or comprehensive in some manner, you’re hanging it all out there. You’re making a big window for all sorts of folks to look through. And the bigger the window, the easier it is for someone to heave a rock through it.
As the currency many scholars work with is reputation, leaving large, easy-to-break windows isn’t something that is recommended. After all, your window might get broken, cracked or otherwise vandalized. Your reputation could get damaged.
Me? I say do the big, crazy, comprehensive things anyway. Start them, and commit to the discipline to keep them going and to finish them. Do the hard work, don’t fear it. Do it if only for learning along the way. Academia is full of rock-throwers. I say keep ‘em busy.
I also say release early, and release often, as much as you are able. If someone breaks your window, fix it and give them a new target. Or junk it and start over again with your newfound knowledge.
Aside from the rock-throwers, there are also those who will teach you how to keep a window clean, who will help you find all the Windex, squeegees and towels you’ll ever need. The only way to find these people is to make a window and tell everyone you know about it, and ask for help. When you find the cleaners, value them. Treasure them. Heed their words and learn from them. I have a decent list of “cleaners” and I value and cherish their input. Find yours.
But the majority are folks who just look through windows. Some will say “cool!” others will say “what a waste of time!” Neither really means much, though the “cool” ones are always nice. Your growth and betterment will come from the rock-throwers and the cleaners.
Not exactly where I thought this post would go when I started it, but I can’t argue with where it ended up. What do you think? Let me know in the comments, or via Twitter (@RickBrannan).