One of the biggest warning flags in a sermon comes when the preacher says: “Now, in Greek, the word is … which (literally) means …” Sometimes they know what they’re talking about. More often they are about to pull a fast one.
There are two sorts of bad exegetical moves the preacher is likely to make at this point. The first is an example of the etymological fallacy. Typically, taking a compound word, the preacher will break these down into the root meanings of the original components. A good, and frequently used homiletic example is where the Greek word proskyneō (προσκυνἐω) is translated worship. At this point the preacher will say something like:
What this word literally means is ‘I come toward to kiss’ and it reminds us how wonderful a relationship we are meant to have with our Father in heaven: when we worship him it is an act of love.
This is, unfortunately, almost entirely untrue in every way that matters. First, by the time we get to New Testament times it may simply mean worship, or pay homage. Alternatively it may mean, “kneel before, prostrate oneself before.” In favour of the idea that it is slowly losing its meaning of prostration may be the way in which Matthew uses an additional word to indicate “falling down” before saying the magi worshipped the infant Jesus (Matt 2:11). Something similar happens in Mark 15:19.
In so far as it may once have meant “I come towards to kiss” it did so in the context of abasing oneself at the feet of a social superior, either kissing the ground, the hem of their garment, or their feet. This is almost the exact opposite of the preacher’s idea of easy familial intimacy, or kissing as a sign of love. Linguistically and culturally the meaning and the interpretation are as far apart as it possible for them to get.
The second bad move is one that the late great James Barr characterised as “illegitimate totality transfer”. This is not just the fault of preachers, but a trap rather too many scholars fall into also. Yesterday I mentioned the bad habit of Radical Orthodoxy writers to pepper their texts with the Greek word telos (τέλος) as though this adds something that words such as goal and purpose do not.
Now, they have half an excuse. As with most translation work, there is very rarely a one-to-one correspondence between words in different languages. Even when their main meaning is the same, associated meanings and ideas will be different. What scholars and preachers who do this are trying to do, I think, is catch the nuances, and emphasising that lack of one-to-one correspondence.
Unfortunately, they are mistaken. Imagine an English equivalent. Here is the word “religious” in several different contexts.
She’s not a religious person. (She doesn’t go to church)
I’m not religious, I’m a Christian. (Faith is a relationship not a system)
He’s religious about following Liverpool. (He’s a dedicated fan.)
She’s a religious. (RC usage – she’s a nun).
Now imagine doing for the word “religious” what people do for the Greek words of the New Testament like telos. Take all its meanings and add them together and then claim that’s the real meaning. “The real meaning of the word “religious” is “a churchgoing, football-following monk or nun who relies on the ritual system instead of a personal relationship with God.”
Because we are native English speakers we can see that’s a complete nonsense. You simply can’t get to the “real” meaning by adding up all the different possible meanings. Words take their meaning in relationship to the other words in the sentence. And if we can see it’s nonsense when we do it in English, then we should also see that it’s nonsense when someone else does it in Greek.
The next time you hear anyone saying: “The real meaning of …” or even more obviously “What this word literally means is …”, turn on your claptrap detector. [Ed. I did use a stronger word originally, akin to St Paul's use of skybαla (σκύβαλα - Phil 3:8)] You are about to be bamboozled.
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