Translation, an act of reading

Le Regard Libre N° 47 - Hélène Lavoyer

«The language of Europe is translation», wrote Umberto Eco in his book Dire presque la même chose. What did he mean by this? That Europe was built on the discovery of the other through its own language in relation to that of the other, certainly, but not only: that translation, the subject we'll be addressing in the next few paragraphs, has been Europe's very way of being. And this, right from the founding texts of our continent. From the Bible to philosophy, from the Song of Songs to Aristotle's Metaphysics, the foundations of Western thought - as diverse and heterogeneous as it may be - rest on translated texts.

In Switzerland, the debate on the price of airplanes has taken off, and an initiative is to be launched to tax flights in the name of ecology. Other cases, such as that of Airbnb, are stirring up the world's biggest cities, which would like to better supervise the rental platform in order to avoid rising prices and housing shortages. Two representative figures of the problems linked to tourism, Barcelona and Venice, are sounding the alarm about the flood of visitors.

I would like to offer the reader a few reflections and observations regarding that perilous, magnificent, lengthy, and difficult-to-complete task known as translation. What are the challenges and tensions to which the translator must pay attention? How much freedom can a translator allow themselves? Taking Chinese as an example—an approach made possible thanks to the Three Essays on Translation Drawing on Jean François Billeter’s work, and allowing myself to be guided as much as possible by the comments and analyses of Barbara Cassin and other translators, I have attempted to offer, through language, some food for thought. And to open a window onto the act of translation as well as the importance of keeping languages alive—an activity that, by its very nature, is also a political act.

Worldviews

Should translation, as was successively the case in the Middle Ages and then during the Romantic period, focus on translating the word (that is, finding its exact semantic equivalent), without considering the context? On the contrary, is the translator permitted to translate the meaning of the text or statement as a whole, which the text him What does this imply in relation to the author’s intent and the historical and geographical context in which he lived? The two views are largely at odds. The first view rules out the translator’s subjectivity—since the translator is also, and first and foremost, a reader—and holds that the translation of linguistic units takes precedence over hermeneutics, which is central to proponents of the second view.

Every language radically influences an individual’s perception of the world. Thanks to the mechanisms of each language, distinctive styles and unique rhythms have emerged that shape our relationship with the world. Translation, therefore, is not merely the conveyance of a text, a statement, or a word; it also conveys a conception of the world, a certain vision. Thus, so-called «literal» translation makes no sense for idiomatic expressions—and perhaps even less so when applied to poetry. The following example clearly illustrates the impossibility of translating an idiomatic expression word for word: «sich aus dem Staub machen» has the same meaning in German as «prendre la poudre d’escampette» in French. Literally, however, the phrase translates to «to move away from the dust.».

«By making shen By using the word ‘esprit‘ in our translation, whether we intended to or not, we have introduced the idea of a ’spirit’ as opposed to a ‘body.‘ Now, while classical Chinese certainly contains equivalents for our words ’mind’ and ‘body,‘ they never have the same relationship to one another as the two French words do. […] For them, the soul or mind is a higher manifestation of bodily activity.’ (Billeter, 2014)

Jean François Billeter, a sinologist and philosopher, suggests using Chinese to discuss the technical exercise—consisting of breakthroughs and setbacks—that is translate it. This language does indeed seem designed to shed light on the intricacies of translation, thanks to the enormous differences between Chinese and French. The contrast is all the more striking when, to say that one does not understand what someone is saying, we use the expression «he’s speaking Chinese.» In the first of his three essays on translation, Billeter demonstrates the importance of the “event” in Chinese poetry. A poem, however, can describe an episode without explicitly situating it within a broader temporal context, unlike in French, where tenses are crucial and constantly specified.

About Classical Chinese Poetry: «It cannot be translated, but we can suggest what it was. It most often arises from real-life experiences, which can sometimes be pinpointed and dated within the poet’s life. Whereas the haiku »Never going beyond the present moment, the classical Chinese poem almost always contains a strong sense of time—albeit an implicit one, since verb tenses are not expressed."

Another factor that supports the idea of a plurality of worldviews is that every environment—whether global or private—also shapes perception and opinion. If translating involves attempting to understand a culture, the need to know the author’s background and the contexts in which they lived is indisputable; however, the translator themselves is entangled in sociocultural contexts and cannot detach themselves from them. Their language, too, is the result of change, and what they once expressed with the word «friponneau» they would naturally describe today as «espiègle.».

A political act

Undoubtedly, translation, as Jean François Billeter understands it, is a responsibility. It is the responsibility to know the author and his intentions, to discern what lies unspoken behind the words while evoking it with the same subtlety the writer himself employed. Added to this immense task—which ultimately boils down to not betraying the original—is the duty to remain honest with oneself, to refine one’s work, and to discern the text’s effects on the reader. From another perspective, translation is a political act, capable of spreading or countering ideologies—particularly by (re)translating foundational texts and incorporating a doctrine into them.  

In the Western Europe we know today, where communication networks are expanding and travel across national borders is becoming increasingly possible and frequent, the need to understand and be understood is translated by the rise of «Globish,» or «Global English.» Indeed, relations between individuals and nations have helped establish this language—which isn’t really a language at all—so global that it loses the rich complexity and subtleties of the English from which it originated; the Globish is therefore a kind of Newspeak that undoubtedly contributes to American hegemony.

To keep translating is to speak out and build a blockade against this Globish which increasingly restricts the use of other languages to the private sphere and also erodes the plurality of worldviews without questioning the one it conveys. Translation is the effort to «convey» something that is dear to us or that we consider important. It is a fragile bridge that leaves nothing intact as we cross it. Translation constitutes a mourning of perfection—a process that is by no means sad, but one that allows us to give voice to what Barbara Cassin calls the truths, «with a lowercase ‘v‘ and an ’s’,‘ as opposed to the idea of a universal Truth, rooted in Western thought. She protests for herself but also for the preservation of differences, while at the same time building bridges between these worldviews.

«[…] I believe that the word shapes the thing, the way it is in a certain sense. Let’s take khaire, the Greek word used to greet someone. It doesn't mean "hello" at all, nor does it mean Good morning or Welcome, it literally means ‘enjoy yourself, have fun, be happy.‘ When people greet each other in this language, they don’t say ’have a good day’ or ‘may you have a good day‘—they say ’enjoy’—it’s not the same thing! A whole world is taking shape here. When one Latin speaker meets or says goodbye to another, they say: Vale, ‘take care,‘ ’stay healthy.’ It’s yet another world. When you say ‘hello‘ in Hebrew or Arabic, you say Shalom, salam, ‘May peace be with you.‘ The world opens up in a completely different way depending on the language—whether someone says to you, ’Have a good day,’ ‘Enjoy yourself,‘ ’Take care,’ or ‘May peace be with you.‘’ (Cassin, 2012)

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