We read texts that were probably never meant for us. Consider the Old Testament, a verse in Leviticus, a chapter from Deuteronomy, a passage from Isaiah, Psalms, Proverbs…

And yet we read them or are at least familiar with the basics of them. They have infused our Western cultures, thousands of years later, accessible to us in other languages, in other cultures. We hold these texts in our hands, read them onscreen, hear another person’s interpretation of them from the pulpit. We are the new audience, but absolutely not the original one.

What does it mean to interpret sacred texts as strangers to their origin, without access to the original language or the cultural memory? Can we interpret them, really? Can we do so with certainty? This article argues that we should do so in a spirit of humility. We should not make proclamations about texts that we do not have true insights into. We are not the possessors of such texts but, if anything at all, merely stewards.

Sacred Texts, in Foreign Hands

Take the Hebrew Bible, for example. It was written across centuries in Hebrew and Aramaic, to a small, complex audience: priests, prophets, kings, scribes, Jews in Israel and those displaced in exile. It was not written with any other theological framework in mind, or a specific denomination or modern languages like English, Spanish, Tagalog.

Yet billions read it and feel that they can legitimately interpret it and apply it, with absolute certainty and conviction, into their specific worldview. This might be a pastor in Panama, a teacher in Ghana, a teenager in Manila, a priest in Switzerland. Each reader draws meaning from it, finds beauty in it and is moved by it.

But what is it that they are reading? It’s a translation, a filter through committees, histories, revisions and footnotes. It is very far removed from the context of the source.

The text speaks, but maybe not as intended.

Translation is Already Interpretation

Very few words, if any, escape the translation process without either acquiring some kind of ‘cultural coating’, where the target version brings in additional meaning or connotation, or ‘cultural stripping’, where nuances are lost. For example, the ancient Hebrew word, found in the Old Testament, חֶסֶד  (‘chesed’) is translated as ‘loving kindness’, ‘mercy’, ‘steadfast love’ in different Bible translations into English. None of them are incorrect because the source means all three but each translation makes conscious choices about which word should be used (the target cannot use all three), losing something significant from the source. Similarly, the Greek ‘logos’ is translated as ‘word’ but it also means ‘logic’, ‘reason’, ‘divine order’. So, when the Gospel of John opens with ‘In the beginning was the Word…and the Word was God’, you are reading a translation and an interpretation, a philosophy and a translation that shaped belief for billions. These two examples from Hebrew and Greek are examples of ‘cultural stripping’: the target translation is not really adequate. The text glows and burns but only through layers. This is why Bibles have lots of side notes. You cannot take it at face value.

Then you have very famous examples of mistranslations that have persisted through the ages, colouring doctrine. Entire worldviews and denominations based on error. And bizarre mistranslations that persisted from 19th century missionary fervour. The Scottish writer Ian Jack relates:

·       Matthew 7:1:  ‘Judge not lest ye also be judged’, translated into Pushto: ‘Do not practise equity, lest equity be practised against you’

·       1 Corinthians 5:6: ‘A little leaven unleaveneth the whole lump’, translated into Bengali as ‘a little crocodile crocodilleth the whole lump’.

Yes, ‘crocodile’ used as a verb with an antiquated verb ending equivalent to the ‘eth’ of Early Modern English…

The Distance We Forget

The distance between the source and many translations is even greater than it first appears. Few translations outside major scholarly traditions work directly from the original Hebrew, Aramaic or Greek texts. The English King James Version of 1611 relied partly on earlier English versions and Latin commentaries; The Spanish Reina-Valera Bible of 1602 followed previous versions shaped by the Latin Vulgate.

Newer translations into lesser-known languages, such as Quechua, Khmer, Jarawa, are even further removed, based on new versions of English, Spanish, French, and so on. What the final reader receives may be several layers removed, a translation of a translation of a translation, each already shaped by theological, cultural and linguistic filters at each stage. The ember of the original words still glows, but only through many panes of glass.

Shifting Audiences and Some Humility, Please

As we have covered a few times already, Audience Design is the principle that we shape our language based on who we are speaking to. But when the audience shifts, misunderstandings bloom. Sacred texts written for a specific, situated people are now read by billions across cultures. When we forget that we are not the original audience, we lose sight of what the text could mean and start insisting on what it must mean.

What if interpretation was not about declaring the truth, but about approaching it? You do not find too many firebrands saying from pulpits ‘This text in the original might mean something different to what we assume’, ‘Here’s how the Jewish community reads it.’, ‘Scholars disagree on this point, let’s study it and find out more’. No. Theirs is a world of certainties and subjective perceptions, which they peddle as ‘truth’.

Good interpretation should be the beginning of dialogue. A roundtable, a door, rather than a megaphone, a platform, a definitive stance.

Interpretation of another people’s text should be done gently, with an awareness of one’s own distance from the original context, that what you are reading has travelled very far to reach you.

The Global Reader

A Psalm composed in ancient Israel is now recited in Iceland, Quito, Lagos, Sydney. This is a gift, as well as a risk.

It is a gift when readers respect the text, approaching it slowly, reverently, seeking understanding and aware of the distance.

But it is a risk when readers feel free to interpret the text to fit their own agenda, as a weapon, a slogan, in an echo chamber.

Carry Fire

In Jewish tradition, texts are not rushed. Whole lifetimes are spent on a path to greater understanding. Scripture is layered and a single phrase may carry multiple interpretations. This attitude of humility is mirrored in Islamic tradition, where Qur’anic recitation is an art, a devotion and a science. Interpretation is never casual.

To read any text, whether sacred or scientific, you have to slow down. Let it burn slowly. Read it. Ponder it. Wait. And then listen.

The reader’s ethic should be to interpret with humility. It should be to ask who the original audience was, treat uncertainty as a mark of care. You should consider what was lost (cultural stripping) and what was gained (cultural coating) in the translation process, as well as what your view and your opinion bring to the text.

With any text, whether it is ancient or from yesterday, the weight of it is in our hands. We carry fire. We need to carry it and pass it on with care.

Thank you for reading,

Mark Gibson

Leeds, United Kingdom, April 2025