The Gospels

by Sarah Ruden

  Gentiles: Both the Greek and Hebrew words mean “nations [other than Jews].” From the Latin for that word, we have “Gentiles,” normally capitalized in scripture translation, as if it’s an ethnic or religious designation of non-Jews and not an “everyone but us” term normal for peoples whose identity has a strong tribal element.

  God: At the risk of causing widespread offense, I am (consistent with my normal practice) dropping capitalization imposed without any warrant from the authoritative, edited Greek text. I have, however, left off the definite article that normally goes with “god,” because it does not appear to have a force that the English article can duplicate: the article is sometimes used with the name Jesus, and with other personal names, and in other situations in which English does not use it.

  Good: Ancient social and moral gradations, signified by a rich vocabulary, make such a vague word as the English “good” almost worthless. “Decent” versus “excellent” persons is a basic division to start with, but I have used other words according to context.

  Gospel (see also Evangelize): The Gospels are plainly labeled as the “good news” (euaggelion). “Gospel,” from a Germanic rendering of that term, attached itself to these scriptures in English. I retain the word for the title of this book, and in expositions of the text, to avoid confusion, but I use “good news” in the actual translation.

  Grace: This is from the Latin gratia, meaning (basically) “gift,” “favor,” “goodwill,” or “mercy,” or something with a natural “appeal,” or “thankfulness”: the original Greek word, quite close to the Latin in its meanings, is charis. The English word has been heavily abstracted. For this translation, a variety of words for kindness, and for the proper responses to kindness, seems more useful than our theologically overwrought “grace.”

  Heart: The ancients did not conceive that thought took place in the brain and feeling in the heart, but rather that both the intellectual and emotional life took place in various places inside the torso. Hence the “heart” is sometimes functionally the mind, and the self’s perceptions and responses may be shown in other organs that sound comical to us in these connections, mandating flexibility in translation. But “heart” works surprisingly often, because of the closer melding of thought and emotion in ancient experience.

  Heaven: The Greek word ouranos refers evenhandedly to the physical sky and the place—often pictured as a royal court—where supreme divinity resides. “Sky” seems generally better, first of all in avoiding the wackier modern imagery that comes with the English “heaven.” And even when a supernatural realm is meant, “sky” will often do, because the divine realm was thought to be located there, in addition to the weather and the heavenly bodies, whereas “heaven” to us is fundamentally a religious term, and the ancients did not tend to separate linguistic domains in this way. I have retained the plural “skies” where I see it in the Greek, because it is a Hebraism familiar in English translations of scripture and (I hope) not too archaic or jarring.

  Hell: The Gospels text refers sometimes to the underground realm of hades, the home of all the dead in pagan mythology, but in early Christian thought a place of death and punishment for the unworthy. I write “hades,” not “hell” (from an Old English word). Gehenna (in my translation, ge’enna) was a real valley in Judea that had ancient associations with human sacrifice and later use as a dump and incineration site.

  Holy: I originally wrote “pure and holy” and “set aside” for hagios throughout my translation, to express the idea of the ritual purity and set-aside condition of the flawless, acceptable sacrifice: this idea is basic to “holiness” in both the Hebrew Bible and the Gospels. My word-choice innovations in this case proved awkward and confusing, so I returned to the traditional “holy” nearly everywhere. But it should still be kept in mind that “holy” was a far less abstract designation than it is now. Also, “set aside” is a commonsense, descriptive translation in a verse like Luke 2:23, which is about the consecration of firstborn male infants to God.

  Husband (see also Man): The Greek anēr can mean both “man” and “husband,” an ambiguity that can be quite telling in, for example, the conversation between Jesus and the Samaritan woman in John 4.

  Hypocrite: A hupokritēs is fundamentally an actor. The word has deep negativity in the Gospels on two counts: professional actors were not respectable people in the ancient world, and traditional Judaism did not countenance any kind of playacting. I write “play-actor” throughout.

  Immortal, Immortality: This Latinate derivative means that a being does not die; the Greek afthartos means that flesh does not rot. This is thematically appropriate for the Gospels. Their promise is not the absence of death, but new life for a dead body, or else a new body. I translate literally but with some reluctance, as I understand how disturbing the imagery is.

  Keep: This is a rather vague verb for keeping in mind, respecting, and obeying commandments and other strictures. The Greek verb is the same one for “guarding” and “watching over” important objects and persons, so I translate accordingly.

  Kiss: This was the normal greeting between friends and relatives, including between men; it had no necessary erotic meaning. Traditional translations, however, have missed the difference between the short form of the verb, fileō (which also means “to be a [close] friend”), and the compound verb, katafileō, which is intensive, meaning a kiss that is supposed to signal special regard or emotion.

  Lawyer: See Scribe.

  Lord: There is no good analogy to evoke from modern Western democracies. Moreover, the relevant social situations in the ancient world varied a great deal, and in Palestine were quite unstable over history. During the first century C.E., at any rate, kurios, the word at issue, could mean a “Sir” on the street, the owner of a slave or other property, a local potentate, or some other person in a respected or authoritative role, as well as a deity. “Master” usually seems a better term for Jesus, as much of the deference shown being directed toward him is the kind traditionally directed toward a scholar and teacher: a teacher can be a “master” in English, but not a “lord” or “ruler.” Even the analogies to divine authority in some parables use the figure of a boss or slave owner dealing with his underlings—a master and not a lord. (Another Greek word, oikodespotēs, “head of the household,” can apparently be used almost interchangeably for this kind of kurios.) I do my best according to the context to judge when the exalted and revered position of a “lord” or “ruler” is meant.

  Love: In Greek, erōs means sexual passion; agapē, affection, devotion, or benevolence of several kinds; and filia, friendship and other idealized bonds of individual choice—often intense and sentimental bonds between men. Cognate verbs roughly track the meanings of these nouns. Admittedly, distinctions between the last two of these words can become less precise when it comes to the New Testament. But if the word choices in Greek mean nothing, the extended teasing in John 21 would make no sense.

  Lust: Biblical Greek does not have any word suggesting that sexual desire in and of itself is bad. Matthew 5:28, which in many English Bibles is about a man wrongfully “looking at a woman with lust”—really means something much more like “looking at a wife with the goal of placing intense feeling on (epithumeō) her”: he is deliberately indulging a covetous passion for possession, which could apply to nonsexual objects too.

  Man: Anthrōpos has the basic meaning of “person” or “human being,” not someone whose male gender is important in the context. In the Gospels, the much rarer anēr respectfully denotes a male. The distinction is important for breaking down the phrasing “Son of Man” (see this page of the introduction), and in a couple of other instances, but since the default gender in scripture is male, I have backed off convoluted political correctness in phrasing: people Jesus encounters can be called men when that’s obviously what they are.

  Master: See Lord.

&n
bsp; Mercy: See Pity.

  Messiah: See Christ.

  Money: Some existing translations do not divide money into even the most basic categories, though the Greek words make obvious the difference between, for example, silver coins and coins made of less valuable metals. As a rule, I give the ancient names of specific currencies mentioned in the text and explain the value in footnotes.

  Neighbor: The Greek term hoh plēsion, commonly translated in the Gospels as “neighbor”—the person to love as yourself—is literally “the one next to you.” But hoh plēsion and its Hebrew predecessor mean, in context, something like “associate” or “compatriot” or just “another person.” The proper term for neighbor, employed in a few places in the Gospels, is geitōn.

  Oath: See Swear.

  Obey (see also Command): There are several verbs, at home in different situations and connoting different attitudes toward the one giving the order and the one receiving it, so I have tried to maintain a careful gradation of English renderings in parallel.

  Observe: See Keep.

  Offend, Offense: See Stumbling Block.

  Parable: This term in English ordinarily refers only to an analogy or illustrative fiction presented by Jesus in the Gospels, but Greek writers applied the word to everything from logical parallels to fables. “Analogy” and “story for comparison” are the kind of wording I tend to use.

  Passover: The text does not use a term comprehensible in Greek to readers with exclusively pagan backgrounds, but merely transliterates the Aramaic word, pascha. This is therefore one of the words I transliterate into the Roman alphabet and italicize.

  Peace: The Greek word eirēnē translates the Hebrew and Aramaic shalōm, but not well: shalōm means health, wholeness, balance, and general well-being, as well as nonviolence; eirēnē, mainly nonviolence. But I don’t feel entitled to correct the authors to express something they couldn’t in the language they were using, even when the real speaker in the background of a passage is plainly wishing others well—not wishing them peace—in the manner his people normally employed.

  Perfect: Hebrew and Greek words rendered in English Bibles as “perfect” actually mean that things are fully developed or appropriately finished—not flawless. Standard translations have not even shrunk from various iterations of “Therefore be perfect, as your father in heaven is perfect” for Matthew 5:48 as a summing up of ethical teachings. I translate, according to context, as “fulfilled,” “complete,” “come to fruition,” or other similar terms.

  Persecute: The same word (diōkō) means physical pursuit, harassment of all kinds, and prosecution in court, and was certainly not a word with a special application to the religious realm. I never write “persecute,” which brings up images of modern religious persecution. My go-to translation is “hound,” because it is so broad, suiting the many Gospels passages that use diōkō generally and with little or no context.

  Pity: There are two different words for the two kinds: the ordinary pity that moves a powerful person to remit a punishment or give vital help, and the gut-punch kind, the experience that someone else’s suffering is your own; this verb (the grisly-sounding splagchnizomai) is based on the word for “guts” and requires a stronger rendering. Mine is the inner “wrench” or “wringing” or “heart going out” of deep empathy.

  Poor: In Classical Greek, ptōchos seems to mean not “poor” as much as “destitute” or “beggarly.” Meanings do tend to become milder and more generalized in Koinē, but in this case it seems important not to allow confusion with what counts as poverty in the modern industrialized world. In the ancient Near East, debts could force the sale into slavery of the debtor’s dependent relatives and then of the debtor himself. Very poor people wore not intact old or secondhand clothing, which still had substantial value, but actual rags; they were not hungry but starving.

  Preach: The Greek word (kērussō, cognate with the word for a herald) is not used in the prevailing modern way in the Gospels, where the messages concerned are usually delivered in public and are most urgently about the news of a new dispensation and the imminent end of history. The same verb is used for civic announcements, and so is not even necessarily religious or moral in connotation.

  Pure: There was no bright line between physical, moral, and ritual purity for the Jews; this is shown by the blending of hygiene and ritual in scriptural law, and by the keen attention given this part of the law later on. In the Gospels, purity is largely sublimated to the moral and spiritual plane, but this is often done by playing off the new teachings against Jewish beliefs and practices, so the basic imagery of cleanliness and uncleanliness remains important.

  Rabbi (see also Teacher): “Rabbi,” literally meaning “my great one,” reflects a widespread reverence for learning; people designated this way were not just teachers of young people in schools but also those who could, for example, perform ably in the public discussion of a scriptural passage. As usual with Hebrew or Aramaic words, I transliterate the Greek version, in this case retaining the Greek accent (rabbí) to distinguish the word from the title of modern, clerical rabbis.

  Receive: The verb, when used of persons, usually means “receive as an honored guest.” My translation reflects this usage.

  Redeem, Redemption: Our words arise from Latin ones—translating Greek ones—for the freeing of slaves and captives. The Latin is specifically about “buying back,” but the Greek (apoluō and apolutrōsis) stresses not the financial transaction but the physical act of setting free. I translate in both senses, varying according to the context.

  Repent, Repentance: Metanoia is literally a “change of mind,” not a groveling moral submission; the verb is cognate. I have usually opted for changed “purpose,” but occasionally it is changed “thinking”: the lexicons easily support both.

  Righteous, Righteousness: Not only do these English words have an archaic and pompous ring; they are also comparatively imprecise. Their Greek predecessors, based on the word for “justice” (dikē), seem usually to refer to the avoidance of outrageous and uncustomary behavior; in the Jewish context (the critical words are tzedek, tzedakah, and tzadik), this of course meant, first and foremost, adherence to the Mosaic law. “Lawfulness,” “decency,” and “uprightness” are my usual renderings. I am wary of the term “justice,” because in English it tends to mean legal vindication, a preoccupation the Gospels actually warn against. As with the lowercase “god,” I am not asserting my own mindset but merely trying to represent the ancient one.

  Rise, Be raised (from the dead), Resurrection: The Greek words contain mundane imagery: waking up, getting out of bed, standing up, setting out on a journey, taking a person’s hand and helping him to his feet, stirring someone to action, raising a building. I hope this will justify phrasing that is more physical and specific than is usual in Gospels translation. I am, at any rate, confident in rejecting the abstract-sounding Latinate word “resurrection.”

  Sabbath: This, like all Hebrew or Aramaic words in the Gospels, I transliterate from the Greek version, here sabbaton or sabbata. The Greek word is not capitalized in the Nestle-Aland edition of the Gospels, so I do not capitalize it in English.

  Satan (see also Devil): The Hebrew means “opponent,” and the Greek derivative used in the Gospels is satanas, which I reproduce without capitalization, since in the Nestle-Aland edition it has none. The word can concern court proceedings, which carried the terror of vicious and arbitrary prosecution in crude and freelance legal systems. The language of apocalyptic warfare provides another layer of context.

  Save, Salvation (see also Immortal, Immortality): My “rescue” may convey a somewhat more concrete sense and is equally applicable to the most important contexts relevant here: a pagan god comes in answer to prayer and prevents a deadly shipwreck or other disaster; the Jewish God preserves his people from annihilation. “Save” will of course work, but “rescue,�
� as a fresh word in this context, is resistant to modern theological and institutional baggage. The word “preserve” can point up the distinctive Gospel sense of immortality, literally “not-rotting.”

  Scandal: See Stumbling Block.

  Scribe: “Scribe” tends to bring up images of medieval copyists. This English word traditionally translates grammateus, a “man of letters.” People would have relied on him to interpret Jewish scriptural law for practical application; I never write “lawyer”—though nomikos (which I translate as “expert in the law” or “legal expert”) may be roughly that: I want to avoid suggesting an official qualification or position in the modern sense. To avoid confusion with a modern littérateur, I translate grammateus as “scholar.”

  Scripture: The words in Greek mean “writing” and “writings.” Pagans had different modes of referring to documents, but not a different basic vocabulary, so an English word like “scripture,” for a class of writing that is religious only, and Jewish only, is not justified in a translation of the Gospels.

  Servant: In Judea, servitude was sui generis and could be complicated, and accordingly the Greek vocabulary in scripture is varied. But there appears to be no basis for sugarcoating the word meaning a chattel slave in nearly all Greek literature, doulos. It is unlikely that the internationally oriented authors of the Gospels didn’t mean what their peers meant by the word—“slave.” Also, the English word “servant” is too vague for the array of servitors (including trusted house slaves and personal attendants), military and administrative subordinates, and ritual helpers the Greek of the Gospels distinguishes.

  Shine: See Appear.

  Sin: This concept is sometimes dealt with in the Gospels by clear imagery. Parabainō is “overstep” or “go out of bounds”—more vivid than its Latin-derived English descendant “transgress.” Paraptōmata are literally “stumbles,” for which I think “blunders” can do as a translation. Ofeilēmata, “debts,” is the only analogy to a moral deficit that has entered traditional English Bibles intact. But the very common verb hamartanō, with its related noun and adjective, is not strongly figurative. In Classical contexts, it tends to mean “fail of one’s purpose” or “go wrong.” In Jewish scripture translated into Greek, the words often carry over a sense of ritual nonconformity requiring ostracism, but in the Gospels they are applied to all sorts of wrongdoing that the early multiethnic readership could have readily understood; the specific tribal background does not obtrude, though of course it is there. This is why “sin,” for us a heavily sectarian word, seems so questionable for Gospels translation. On the other hand, recent claims that hamartanō is merely about “mistakes” are overstated: crime, selfishness, and malice infuse the word in the Gospels. “Wrongdoing” and “offense” are my go-to translations.