Parallelisms

Parallelisms
By Timothy S. Wilkinson
www.timothywilkinson.net

Hebrew poetry is constructed on an entirely different concept than the English structure we are familiar with. In English we use repeated sounds (alliteration and rhyme) and syllabic rhythms (meter) to capture a meaning deeper than the words alone can convey. In Hebrew, poets relied upon poetic parallelism. This is the repetition of a concept in such a way that each appearance of the concept in the poem adds another layer to its meaning.

In synonymous parallelisms, the second line repeats some part of the previous line in words that elucidate it:
To Jehovah belong the earth and that which fills it,
The productive land and those dwelling in it.


Antithetic parallelism makes use of contrasting thoughts:
For evildoers themselves will be cut off,
But those hoping in Jehovah are the ones that will possess the earth.


Synthetic parallelism uses additional lines to expand on an idea:
The law of Jehovah is perfect,
bringing back the soul
The reminder of Jehovah is trustworthy,
making the inexperienced one wise.


Perhaps in a future article I will write in more detail about these and other (emblematic, stairlike, and introverted) parallelisms. I bring these up here just to illustrate how ancient Hebrew writers might approach a subject in their prose.

The prophet Samuel used this type of parallel structuring in the composition of his books to powerful effect. An example of this can be seen in the introductions of the first two kings of Israel: Saul and David.

In 1 Samuel 9:2, Saul is introduced to us as being 'handsome and tall.' Chapter 16 verses 6,7 show Samuel once again choosing the 'handsome and tall' one as king, but Jehovah tells him instead to [reject the tall, Saul-like king and] choose the small, handsome one (verse 12).

In Chapter 9 verse 21 Saul declares his unworthiness to be king. In Chapter 16 verse 11, David's humble standing is such that even his own father and brothers have not found him worthy of consideration. Nevertheless, Saul is anointed with oil in a very non-public fashion--which leads to problems with his kingship being recognized later on (10:1). David is also anointed with oil (16:13) inside his father's house--and the appointment remains secret for some time.

Immediately after Saul's anointing, he is filled with the spirit of God (10:9-12). When David is anointed, he too is filled with this spirit (vs. 14)--a spirit that leaves Saul (vs. 13).

In Chapter 10 verse 3, following his anointing Saul is sent on a short journey during which he will acquire three items: a kid of the goats, loaves of bread, and wine. Chapter 16 verse 20 shows us David traveling after his anointing, carrying a kid of the goats, loaves of bread, and wine.

Both coronation accounts end with the same triumphant note: in Chapter 11 Saul saves his people from imminent danger by defeating Nahash and the Ammonite army. In Chapter 17, David outdoes his forebear by defeating the Philistine giant, Goliath and driving their army from the field.

Samuel calls attention to these parallels to set up a sort of psychological "echo" in his readers' minds. Though we do not consciously notice the pattern, it nevertheless has a ring of familiarity. We accept David wholeheartedly as the new king--not just because Samuel tells us to, but because he has made use of the subconscious power of a mini-archetype to convince us.

Lost in Translation

Most of us have grown up making silent excuses for the way the Bible is written. It sounds quaint, simplistic, redundant—even childish at times. This must be because it was written “a long time ago,” we tell ourselves. All of the prose in the Hebrew/Aramaic Scriptures (or Old Testament) is a violation of the most basic rule of good writing: show, don’t tell. Sentences are always beginning with “and” or “thus,” which our English teachers taught us never to do. Run-on sentences, laundry lists of names or places, statements of the obvious, and a small vocabulary—all of this and more incline us to read the Bible as though it were written by an ignorant people from an unenlightened time.

                The reality, though, is that it is we who are ignorant. The problem lies not in the writing, but in the translation and in our reading.

                Translation is always a tricky endeavor. An internet search for “engrish” will provide a plethora of examples. To illustrate the point, though, imagine trying to translate the following with no comprehension of idioms.

 “Yo! Johnny! What’s the word?”

“You’ve got nerve showing up here. How’d you track me down?”

“A little bird told me you’d be here.”

“What—did my lawyer give me up?”

“That ambulance chaser? You’re nuts. Why do you want a lawyer to thrown a monkey wrench in the works?”

“Yeah, OK. I’m just trying to stay ahead of the curve here, you get my drift?”

“Well, the tables have turned. Let’s talk turkey.”

“Yeah? And I get immunity?”

“That ship has sailed.”

“Of course. And the DA shows her true colors. That apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You leave her old man out of this. He was a good egg and you know it.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.”

A translation would likely end up sounding something like this:

“Hello, Johnny. What is the word?”

“You have nerves appearing in this place. How did you follow me down?

“A small bird informed me that you would be here.”

“Did my attorney provide me with up?”

“He chases emergency vehicles? You are snack foods. Why do you want an attorney to hurl a monkey’s tool into the moving parts?”

“Yes, Yes. I am just trying to remain in front of the curvature that is here. Do you receive my coast?

“Well, the furniture has rotated. Let us speak in the language of turkeys.”

“Yes? And I will be protected from the disease?”

“That boat has already disembarked.”

“Of the route. And the Da exposes the real tints that she owns. A piece of fruit lands on the ground near the trunk.”

“You should leave the elderly gentleman belonging to her outside. He was an egg that was satisfactory, which you know.”

“I do not deserve this.”

“That is how the baked good breaks apart.”

                We should notice two things about this translation. First—idioms do not lend themselves well to translation. It’s not just a matter of the meaning not coming across clearly. Of equal importance is the fact that the personality of the speakers, their tone, attitude, background and a host of other details about them disappear in the translated version. We have no trouble picturing the speakers in the first exchange—in fact, you might have even envisioned where they lived, what time period they lived in, what social strata they belonged to, etc. All that information came, not from their words, but from the types of words they chose. And all of that information is, literally, lost in translation.

                The second thing we should notice is that the translation turns both speakers into idiots. When their speech is not nonsensical, it is ignorant or juvenile. If we read the translation without the benefit of the original, we would assume these were simpletons (perhaps with serious head injuries).

                This is precisely what happens when we read the Bible. Ancient Hebrew is a language of idioms. Even the best translation of this sort of idiomatic speech fails to convey anything accurate about the speakers. It makes them sound like ignorant simpletons.

                The reality is that many Bible writers were truly brilliant. My favorites, the prophet Samuel and his successor Nathan, crafted a history with layers of intricacy, symbolism, subtextual themes and ideologies that rivals the very best poetry and prose at any time in history. I think that sometimes, in our determination to establish the authenticity (and/or divine origin) of their accounts, we downplay the role that these men played as writers, and the skill with which they practiced their craft. In the following blog posts, I hope to illustrate this skill in a way that reveals the genius of these writers that is all too often buried by the sincere efforts of translators whose work is science, and not art.