Bible Translation

Fortunately it is frequently possible to translate literally and still retain contemporary
English idiom and excellent literary style. For example, “In the beginning
God created the heavens and the earth” is a straightforward translation of
the Hebrew text of Genesis 1:1, and it is also good English. So why change it? In
fact, why not follow this more literal approach everywhere and all the time, with
an absolute minimum of interpretation? Moisés Silva responds, “Translators who
view their work as pure renderings rather than interpretations only delude themselves;
indeed, if they could achieve some kind of noninterpretative rendering,
their work would be completely useless.”2 Daniel Taylor reinforces the point:
“All translation is interpretation, as George Steiner and others have pointed out.
At every point, the translator is required to interpret, evaluate, judge, and
choose.”3 Bob Sheehan correctly states that the “idea of a noninterpretive translation
is a mirage.”4

Several years ago I wrote about this very issue:
Translation without interpretation is an absolute impossibility,
for at every turn the translator is faced with interpretative decisions
in different manuscript readings, grammar, syntax, the
specific semantic possibilities of a Hebrew or Greek word for a
given context, English idiom, and the like. For example, should
a particular occurrence of the Hebrew word ,eres≥ be contextually
nuanced as “earth,” “land,” or something else? . . . In the
very act of deciding, the translator has interpreted.5
Moisés Silva further indicates the following:
A successful translation requires (1) mastery of the source language—
certainly a much more sophisticated knowledge than
one can acquire over a period of four or five years; (2) superb
interpretation skills and breadth of knowledge so as not to miss
the nuances of the original; and (3) a very high aptitude for
writing in the target language so as to express accurately both
the cognitive and the affective elements of the message.6
And biblical scholar Ephraim Speiser reminds us of the translator’s challenge:
The main task of a translator is to keep faith with two different
masters, one at the source and the other at the receiving
end. . . . If he is unduly swayed by the original, and substitutes
word for word rather than idiom for idiom, he is traducing
what he should be translating, to the detriment of both source
and target. And if he veers too far in the opposite direction, by
favoring the second medium at the expense of the first, the
result is a paraphrase.7
Speiser concludes by declaring that a “faithful translation is by no means the
same thing as a literal rendering.”8

Unfortunately, then, it is often not possible to translate literally and retain
natural, idiomatic, clear English. Consider the NASB rendering of Matthew
13:20: “The one on whom seed was sown on the rocky places, this is the man who
hears the word and immediately receives it with joy.” The NIV reads: “The one
who received the seed that fell on rocky places is the man who hears the word
and at once receives it with joy.” Here the NASB is so woodenly literal that the
result is a cumbersome, awkward, poorly constructed English sentence. The NIV,
on the other hand, has a natural and smooth style without sacrificing accuracy.
The second major type of translation is referred to variously as dynamic or
functional or idiomatic equivalence. Here the translator attempts a thought-forthought
rendering. The Good News Bible (GNB; also known as Today’s English
Version, TEV), the New Living Translation (NLT), God’s Word (GW), the
New Century Version (NCV), and the Contemporary English Version (CEV)
are some of the examples of this approach to the translation challenge. Such versions
seek to find the best modern cultural equivalent that will have the same
effect the original message had in its ancient cultures. Obviously this approach
is a much freer one.
At this point the reader may be surprised that the NIV has not been included
as an illustration of either of these two major types of translations. The reason is
that, in my opinion, it fits neither. After considerable personal study, comparison,
and analysis, I have become convinced that, in order to do justice to translations
like the NIV and the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV), scholars must recognize
the validity of a third major category of translation, namely, the balanced
or mediating type. To discuss this subject intelligently, we must have a working
definition of formal equivalence and dynamic equivalence. Eugene Nida gives
us important insight:
Since “there are . . . no such things as identical equivalents,”
. . . one must in translation seek to find the closest possible
equivalent. However, there are fundamentally two different
types of equivalence: one which may be called formal and
another which is primarily dynamic.
Formal equivalence focuses attention on the message itself,
in both form and content. . . . Viewed from this formal orientation,
one is concerned that the message in the receptor language
should match as closely as possible the different
elements in the source language. This means . . . that the message
in the receptor culture is constantly compared with the
message in the source culture to determine standards of accuracy
and correctness.
The type of translation which most closely typifies this
structural equivalence might be called a “gloss translation,” in
which the translator attempts to reproduce as literally and
meaningfully as possible the form and content of the original.
. . . [Student] needs call for a relatively close approximation
to the structure of the early . . . text, both as to form (e.g., syntax
and idioms) and content (e.g., themes and concepts). Such a
translation would require numerous footnotes in order to make
the text fully comprehensible.
A gloss translation of this type is designed to permit the
reader to identify himself as fully as possible with a person in
the source-language context, and to understand as much as he
can of the customs, manner of thought, and means of expression.
For example, a phrase such as “holy kiss” (Romans 16:16)
in a gloss translation would be rendered literally, and would
probably be supplemented with a footnote explaining that this
was a customary method of greeting in New Testament times.
In contrast, a translation which attempts to produce a
dynamic rather than a formal equivalence is based upon “the
principle of equivalent effect.” . . . In such a translation one is
not so concerned with matching the receptor-language message
with the source-language message, but with the dynamic relationship
. . . , that the relationship between receptor and message
should be substantially the same as that which existed
between the original receptors and the message.
A translation of dynamic equivalence aims at complete naturalness
of expression and tries to relate the receptor to modes
of behavior relevant within the context of his own culture; it
does not insist that he understand the cultural patterns of the
source-language context in order to comprehend the message.
Of course, there are varying degrees of such dynamicequivalence
translations. . . . [Phillips, e.g.,] seeks for equivalent
effect. . . . In Romans 16:16 he quite naturally translates “greet
one another with a holy kiss” as “give one another a hearty
handshake all around.”
Between the two poles of translating (i.e., between strict formal
equivalence and complete dynamic equivalence) there are
a number of intervening grades, representing various acceptable
standards of literary translating.9
Edward L. Greenstein further describes the principle of dynamic equivalence
as proposing a “three-stage translation process: analysis of the expression in
the source language to determine its meaning, transfer of this meaning to the
target language, and restructuring of the meaning in the world of expression of
the target language.”10

Two observations may be helpful at this point. First, it is instructive that the
NIV retains “Greet one another with a holy kiss” in Romans 16:16. Second, it is
significant that Eugene Nida seems to open the door for a mediating position
between the two main translation philosophies, theories, or methods. In general
terms, all Bible translation is simply “the process of beginning with something
(written or oral) in one language (the source language) and expressing it in
another language (the receptor language).”11 A translation cannot be said to be
faithful that does not pay adequate attention to both the source language and the
receptor language.
A distinction must be made between dynamic equivalence as a translation
principle and dynamic equivalence as a translation philosophy. The latter exists
only when a version sets out to produce a dynamic-equivalence rendering from
start to finish, as the GNB did. The foreword to the Special Edition Good News
Bible indicates that word-for-word translation does not accurately convey the
force of the original, so the GNB uses instead the “dynamic equivalent,” the
words having the same force and meaning today as the original text had for its
first readers. Dynamic equivalence as a translation principle, on the other hand,
is used in varying degrees by all versions of the Bible.12 This is easily illustrated
by a few examples, several of which were given to me about 1990 by former Old
Testament professor (Calvin Theological Seminary) Dr. Marten Woudstra (now
deceased).
• A literal rendering of the opening part of the Hebrew text of Isaiah 40:2
would read, “Speak to the heart of Jerusalem.” Yet all English versions
(including the KJV) see the need for a dynamic-equivalence translation
here (e.g., the NIV has “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem”).
• In Jeremiah 2:2 the KJV and the NASB read “in the ears of Jerusalem,”
but the NKJV and the NIV have “in the hearing of Jerusalem.” Here
the NKJV is just as “dynamic” as the NIV. That it did not have to be is
clear from the NASB. Yet the translators wanted to communicate the
meaning in a natural way to modern readers, which is precisely what
the NIV also wanted to do.
• In Haggai 2:16 the NASB has “grain heap,” but the KJV, NKJV, and NIV
all use “heap” alone (which is all the Hebrew has). Here the formalequivalent
version, the NASB, is freer than the NIV.
• The KJV and the NKJV read “no power at all” in John 19:11, whereas
the NIV has only “no power” (in accord with the Greek). Which version
is following the formal-equivalence approach here, and which ones are
following the dynamic approach?
One could continue ad infinitum with this kind of illustration. Suffice it to mention
additionally that there is a book of over two hundred pages published as a
glossary to the oddities of the KJV word use and diction.13
In a similar vein, Ron Youngblood has written the following:To render the Greek word sarx by “flesh” virtually every
time it appears does not require the services of a translator; all
one needs is a dictionary (or, better yet, a computer). But to recognize
that sarx has differing connotations in different contexts,
that in addition to “flesh” it often means “human standards” or
“earthly descent” or “sinful nature” or “sexual impulse” or “person,”
etc., and therefore to translate sarx in a variety of ways is to
understand that translation is not only a mechanical, word-forword
process but also a nuanced [I would have said contextually
nuanced], thought-for-thought procedure. Translation, as
any expert in the field will readily admit, is just as much an art
as it is a science. Word-for-word translations typically demonstrate
great respect for the source language . . . but often pay only
lip service to the requirements of the target language. . . .
When translators of Scripture insist on reproducing every
lexical and grammatical element in their English renderings,
the results are often grotesque.14
Because I have served on the executive committee of the NIV’s Committee
on Bible Translation (CBT) since 1975 and have been the chief spokesperson for
the NIV, people often ask me, “What kind of translation, then, is the NIV?
Where does it fit among all the others?” While these related questions have been
dealt with generally in several publications and reviews, they are addressed
specifically in only one published authoritative source dating back to the release
of the complete NIV in 1978:

Broadly speaking, there are several methods of translation:
the concordant one, which ranges from literalism to the comparative
freedom of the King James Version and even more of
the Revised Standard Version, both of which follow the syntactical
structure of the Hebrew and Greek texts as far as is
compatible with good English; the paraphrastic one, in which
the translator restates the gist of the text in his own words; and
the method of equivalence, in which the translator seeks to
understand as fully as possible what the biblical writers had to
say (a criterion common, of course, to the careful use of any
method) and then tries to find its closest equivalent in contemporary
usage. In its more advanced form this is spoken of as
dynamic equivalence, in which the translator seeks to express
the meaning as the biblical writers would if they were writing
in English today. All these methods have their values when
responsibly used.As for the NIV, its method is an eclectic one with the emphasis
for the most part on a flexible use of concordance and equivalence,
but with a minimum of literalism, paraphrase, or outright
dynamic equivalence. In other words, the NIV stands on middle
ground—by no means the easiest position to occupy. It may
fairly be said that the translators were convinced that, through
long patience in seeking the right words, it is possible to attain
a high degree of faithfulness in putting into clear and idiomatic
English what the Hebrew and Greek texts say. Whatever literary
distinction the NIV has is the result of the persistence with
which this course was pursued.15
The CBT has also formulated certain guidelines in an unpublished document
(“Translators’ Manual,” dated 29 November 1968):
1. At every point the translation shall be faithful to the Word of God as represented
by the most accurate text of the original languages of Scripture.
2. The work shall not be a revision of another version but a fresh translation
from the Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek.
3. The translation shall reflect clearly the unity and harmony of the Spiritinspired
writings.
4. The aim shall be to make the translation represent as clearly as possible
only what the original says, and not to inject additional elements by
unwarranted paraphrasing.
5. The translation shall be designed to communicate the truth of God’s
revelation as effectively as possible to English readers in the language of
the people. In this respect the Committee’s goal is that of doing for our
own times what the King James Version did for its day.
6. Every effort shall be made to achieve good English style.
7. The finished product shall be suitable for use in public worship, in the
study of the Word, and in devotional reading.
The following statements appear later in this same document:
1. Translators should keep the principles of the translation constantly in
mind and strive for accuracy, clarity, and force of expression.
2. Translators should do their work originally from the original language,
but before the completion of their work representative translations and
commentaries shall be consulted.
3. Certain notes of text variation, alternative translation, cross reference,
or explanation will be put in the margin.4. The purpose of the project is not to prepare a word-for-word translation
nor yet a paraphrase.
5. Read the passages as a whole and aloud to check for euphony and suitability
for public reading.

At the time of the NIV’s publication I wrote this about the translation work:
About two thousand years ago, when confronted with the
prospect of translating Plato’s Protagoras into Latin, Cicero
declared, “It is hard to preserve in a translation the charm of
expressions which in another language are most felicitous. . . . If
I render word for word, the result will sound uncouth, and if
compelled by necessity I alter anything in the order or wording,
I shall seem to have departed from the function of a translator.”
Such is the dilemma of all translators! And the problem is particularly
acute for those who attempt to translate the Bible, for it
is the eternal Word of God. The goal, of course, is to be as faithful
as possible in all renderings. But faithfulness is a doubleedged
sword, for true faithfulness in translation means being
faithful not only to the original language but also to the “target”
or “receptor” language. That is precisely what we attempted to
produce in the New International Version—just the right balance
between accuracy and the best contemporary idiom.16
In spite of that goal, I am certain that from time to time we will continue to be
criticized—by some for being literal but not contemporary enough, and by others
for being contemporary but not literal enough. Yet perhaps that fact in itself
will indicate that we have basically succeeded.
All this clearly indicates that the CBT attempted to make the NIV a balanced,
mediating version—one that would fall about halfway between the most
literal and the most free. But is that, in fact, where the NIV fits? Many neutral
parties believe so. For example, Steven Sheeley and Robert Nash state, “The NIV
committees attempted to walk this fine line and, to their credit, usually achieved
a good sense of balance between fidelity to the ancient texts and sensitivity to
modern expression.” They conclude, “Like any other modern translation of the
Bible, the NIV should not be considered the only true translation. Its great
achievement, though, lies in its readability. No other modern English translation
has reached the same level and still maintained such a close connection to the
ancient languages.”17

A similar opinion is expressed in the “Report to General Synod Abbotsford
1995” by the Committee on Bible Translations appointed by General Synod Lin-coln 1992 of the Canadian Reformed Churches. The members of the committee
(P. Aasman, J. Geertsema, W. Smouter, C. Van Dam, and G. H. Visscher) thoroughly
and carefully investigated the NASB, the NKJV, and the NIV. They indicated
that the NIV “attempted to strike a balance between a high degree of
faithfulness to the text and clarity for the receptor in the best possible English.”
They added that “it was frequently our experience that very often when our initial
reaction to an NIV translation was negative, further study and investigation
convinced us that the NIV translators had taken into account all the factors
involved and had actually rendered the best possible translation of the three versions.”
18 Similarly, when the committee questioned a passage as being too interpretive,
upon closer examination it was often discovered that the NIV had
produced a text that was accurate yet idiomatic.19 They concluded that “the NIV
is more idiomatic than the NASB and NKJV but at the same time as accurate as
the NASB and NKJV.”20 (By the way, the General Synod Abbotsford 1995 of the
Canadian Reformed Churches adopted these two recommendations—among
others: [1] to continue to recommend the NIV for use in the churches, and [2] to
continue to leave it in the freedom of the churches if they feel compelled to use
other translations that received favorable reviews in the reports.)
Another neutral voice is that of Terry White in an article about how a Baptist
General Conference church (Wooddale in Eden Prairie, Minnesota) endorsed
the NIV as the best translation for their membership. The church appointed a
task force to evaluate the NIV, the RSV, the NASB, and the NKJV. The NIV
came out ahead in nine of ten areas evaluated (most readable, best scholarship
used, best grammatically, best paragraphing, best concordances and supplemental
writing, best for use by laity, best Old Testament, best New Testament, and
best total Bible). A slight edge was given to the NASB as the most accurate rendering
of the original texts. Nonetheless it was clear that the NIV had the best
overall balance.21

Strictly speaking, then, the NIV is not a dynamic-equivalence translation.
If it were, it would read “snakes will no longer be dangerous” (GNB) instead of
“dust will be the serpent’s food” (Isa 65:25). Or it would read in 1 Samuel 20:30
“You bastard!” (GNB) instead of “You son of a perverse and rebellious woman!”
Similar illustrations could be multiplied to demonstrate that the NIV is an
idiomatically balanced translation.
How was such a balance achieved? By having a built-in system of checks
and balances. We called it the A–B–C–Ds of the NIV, using those letters as an
alphabetic acrostic to represent accuracy, beauty, clarity, and dignity. We wanted
to be accurate, that is, as faithful to the original text as possible (see our comments
on the rendering of Genesis 1:1 at the beginning of this chapter). But it wasimportant to be equally faithful to the target or receptor language—English in
this case. So we did not want to make the mistake—in the name of accuracy—
of creating “translation English” that would not be beautiful and natural. Accuracy,
then, must be balanced by beauty of language. The CBT attempted to make
the NIV read and flow the way any great English literature should. Calvin D.
Linton (professor emeritus of English at George Washington University) has
praised the beauty of the NIV as literature:
The NIV is filled with sensitive renderings of rhythms, from
the exultant beat of the Song of Deborah and Barak (Judg 5:1–
31) to the “dying fall” of the rhythms of the world-weary
Teacher in Ecclesiastes, with myriad effects in between. As a
random sample, let the reader speak the following lines from
Job (29:2–3), being careful to give full value to the difference
between stressed and unstressed syllables:
How I long for the months gone by,
for the days when God watched over me,
when his lamp shone upon my head
and by his light I walked through darkness!
It is better than the KJV!22
At the same time we did not want to make the mistake—in the name of
beauty—of creating lofty, flowery English that would not be clear. So beauty
must be balanced by clarity: “When a high percentage of people misunderstand
a rendering, it cannot be regarded as a legitimate translation.”23 If a translation
is to be both accurate and clear (idiomatic), it cannot be a mechanical exercise;
instead, it must be a highly nuanced process. Popular columnist Godfrey Smith
wrote in The Sunday Times (London, England):
I was won over by the way the new Bible [the NIV] handles
Paul’s magnificent [First] Epistle to the Corinthians [13:4].
“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity
vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up.” So runs the old version
[the KJV], but the word charity is a real showstopper. The new
version puts it with admirable simplicity: “Love is patient, love
is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” The
old thunder has been lost, but the gain in sense is enormous.24
My favorite illustration of lack of clarity is the KJV rendering of Job 36:33:
“The noise thereof sheweth concerning it, the cattle also concerning the vapour.”
In the interest of clarity the NIV reads, “His [God’s] thunder announces the coming
storm; even the cattle make known its approach.” Or consider the Lord’sdescription of the leviathan in Job 41:12–14 (KJV): “I will not conceal his parts,
nor his power, nor his comely proportion. Who can discover the face of his garment?
or who can come to him with his double bridle? Who can open the doors
of his face? His teeth are terrible round about.” Again, in order to communicate
clearly in contemporary English idiom, the NIV translates as follows:
I will not fail to speak of his limbs,
his strength and his graceful form.
Who can strip off his outer coat?
Who would approach him with a bridle?
Who dares open the doors of his mouth,
ringed about with his fearsome teeth?
The importance of clarity in Bible translations is obvious. Yet, the CBT did
not want to make the mistake—in the name of clarity—of stooping to slang, vulgarisms,
street vernacular, and unnecessarily undignified language. Clarity, then,
must be balanced by dignity, particularly since one of our objectives was to produce
a general, all-church-use Bible. Some of the dynamic-equivalence versions are at
times unnecessarily undignified, as illustrated above in 1 Samuel 20:30.
Additional examples could be given. But the point is that when we produced
the NIV, we wanted accuracy, but not at the expense of beauty; we wanted beauty,
but not at the expense of clarity; and we wanted clarity, but not at the expense of
dignity. We wanted all these in a nice balance. Did we succeed? Rather than be
restricted to using descriptive terms like formal equivalence, dynamic equivalence,
paraphrase, and the like, in answering this question, it may be more helpful
to note the distinctions John Callow and John Beekman make between four
types of translations: highly literal, modified literal, idiomatic, and unduly free.
Their view can be diagrammed like this:25

In their classification system the NIV, in my opinion, contains primarily modified
literal and idiomatic renderings, though with a greater number of idiomatic
ones. To sum up, there is a need for a new category in classifying translations—
a classification I’d call a mediating position.
What, then, makes a good Bible translation? In my opinion, a good translation
will follow a balanced or mediating translation philosophy. Donald Burdick
puts it this way:
Chapter 2: Bible Translation Philosophies 61
Unacceptable
highly literal
Acceptable
modified literal idiomatic
Unacceptable
unduly freeA good translation is neither too much nor too little. It is neither
too slavish a reproduction of the Greek [and Hebrew], nor
is it too free in its handling of the original. It is neither too modern
and casual, nor is it too stilted and formal. It is not too much
like the KJV, nor does it depart too far from the time-honored
beauty and dignity of that seventeenth-century classic. In short,
the best translation is one that has avoided the extremes and has
achieved instead the balance that will appeal to the most people
for the longest period of time.26
An appropriate conclusion to this chapter is provided by Bible translation
specialist Bruce Metzger:
Translating the Bible is a never-ending task. As long as English
remains a living language it will continue to change, and
therefore new renderings of the Scriptures will be needed. Furthermore,
as other, and perhaps still more, ancient manuscripts
come to light, scholars will need to evaluate the history of the
scribal transmission of the original texts. And let it be said,
finally, alongside such developments in translating the Bible
there always remains the duty of all believers to translate the
teaching of Holy Writ into their personal lives.27

NOTES
1. This chapter is adapted from a similar one in Kenneth L. Barker, The Balance of
the NIV: What Makes a Good Translation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1999), 41–55, 112–14.
Appreciation is hereby expressed to the publisher for permission to use some of that
material. I take great pleasure in presenting this chapter in honor of my dear friend and
esteemed colleague, Dr. Ronald Youngblood, on the occasion of his retirement at age
seventy. Ron and I have known each other since 1959. I have appreciated his valuable
contributions to the New International Version (NIV), The NIV Study Bible, and the
New International Reader’s Version (NIrV)—all of them being projects I’ve had the
enjoyable privilege of working on with him. God be praised!
2. Moisés Silva, God, Language, and Scripture (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1990), 134.
3. Daniel Taylor, “Confessions of a Bible Translator,” Books & Culture (November/
December 1995), 17.
4. Bob Sheehan, Which Version Now? (Sussex: Carey Publications, n.d.), 21.
5. Kenneth L. Barker, The Accuracy of the NIV (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996), 16–17.
6. Silva, God, Language, and Scripture, 134.
7. E. A. Speiser, Genesis, Anchor Bible (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1964), lxiii–lxiv.
8. Ibid., lxvi; see also Herbert M. Wolf, “Literal versus Accurate,” in The Making of
the NIV, ed. Kenneth L. Barker (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1991), 125–34, 165.

9. Eugene A. Nida, Toward a Science of Translating (Leiden: Brill, 1964), 159–60.
10. Edward L. Greenstein, “Theories of Modern Translation,” Prooftexts 3 (1983):
9–39; quoted by J. T. Barrera, The Jewish Bible and the Christian Bible, trans. W. G. E.
Watson (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998): 126.
11. R. Elliott, “Bible Translation,” in Origin of the Bible, ed. Philip W. Comfort
(Wheaton, Ill.: Tyndale, 1992), 233.
12. See Cecil Hargreaves, A Translator’s Freedom (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993).
13. Melvin E. Elliott, The Language of the King James Bible: A Glossary Explaining
Its Words and Expressions (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1967); see also Edwin H.
Palmer, “The KJV and the NIV,” in The Making of the NIV, 140–54, 165.
14. Ronald Youngblood, “The New International Version was published in 1978—
this is the story of why, and how,” The Standard (November 1988): 18. For an example of
such a “grotesque” rendering, see Bob Sheehan, Which Version Now? 19 (this latter work
is available from International Bible Society in Colorado Springs, Colorado).
15. The Story of the New International Version (New York: The New York International
Bible Society, 1978), 13 (italics mine).
16. Kenneth L. Barker, “An Insider Talks about the NIV,” Kindred Spirit (Fall 1978): 7.
17. Steven M. Sheeley and Robert N. Nash Jr., The Bible in English Translation
(Nashville: Abingdon, 1997), 44, 46.
18. “Report to General Synod Abbotsford 1995” from the Committee on Bible
Translations appointed by Synod Lincoln 1992 of the Canadian Reformed Churches, 16.
19. See “Report to General Synod Abbotsford 1995,” 169.
20. “Report to General Synod Abbotsford 1995,” 63.
21. See Terry White, “The Best Bible Version for Our Generation,” The Standard
(November 1988): 12–14.
22. Calvin D. Linton, “The Importance of Literary Style,” in The Making of the NIV, 30.
23. Eugene A. Nida and Charles R. Taber, The Theory and Practice of Translation
(Leiden: Brill, 1982), 2.
24. Quoted in A Bible for Today and Tomorrow (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1989), 19.
25. John Callow and John Beekman, Translating the Word of God (Grand Rapids:
Zondervan, 1974), 23–24.
26. Donald W. Burdick, “At the Translator’s Table,” The [Cincinnati Christian] Seminary
Review 21 (March 1975): 44.
27. Bruce M. Metzger, “Handing Down the Bible Through the Ages: The Role of
Scribe and Translator,” Reformed Review 43 (Spring 1990): 170.

PART 1: THE THEORY OF BIBLE TRANSLATION

Moisés Silva offers personal reflections on an old Italian complaint
that translators are traitors in the sense that they always (and necessarily)
fall short of conveying the total meaning of a text in one language into another.
His personal struggle early on to translate into English all the rich nuances of
Spanish, his own first language, convinced him that any “literal” word-for-word
translation strategy will prove both impossible and ultimately unhelpful. As he
points out, even so-called literal Bible translations like the ESV reflect countless
interpretive decisions and departures from strict literalism. With literary sensitivity
Silva explains that a faithful translator is obliged to convey in clear and
readable form, not only the meanings of individual words and phrases, but something
also of the structure, rhythm, and emotive elements of the original text.
Ultimately the “accuracy” of a translation should be measured by the degree to
which a translator has achieved all of these things. Silva sees the good translator,
not as a traitor, then, but as someone who responsibly “transforms a text by transferring
it from one linguistic-cultural context to another.”

Kenneth Barker, longtime member of and spokesperson for the Committee
on Bible Translation, which has among its many translation achievements the
New International Version, sagely observes in chapter 2 that every group of Bible
translators must establish at the very outset the type of translation they intend to
produce. This in turn requires a conscious philosophical positioning of their
translation project. After emphatically rejecting as naive the possibility of meaningful
translation without at least some degree of interpretation, Barker
acknowledges that a group of translators may choose to pursue a philosophy that
leans either toward formal equivalence or toward dynamic equivalence. But he
argues that it is also possible to adopt a balanced or mediating translation philosophy
that combines the strengths of these respective options while avoiding
the weaknesses inherent in their more extreme forms. Barker presents the NIV
as an example of such optimal balance in its intentional pursuit of the four highly
desirable translation characteristics of accuracy, clarity, beauty, and dignity.
D. A. Carson (chapter 3) begins by noting two opposing trends in recent years:
(1) the virtual triumph of functional-equivalence theory across the scholarly disciplines
relevant to Bible translation, and (2) the contrasting rise of what he calls
“linguistic conservatism”—a popular movement with a strongly expressed preference
for more direct and “literal” translation methods. By pointedly challenging
a couple of representatives of this latter perspective, he builds his case for
functional equivalence as the only responsible approach to Bible translation for a
general readership. As he then points out, the ideological gulf between the practitioners
of these two competing approaches is nowhere more evident than in the
recent debate over gender-accurate language in Bible translation.
Carson devotes the remainder of his essay to sounding a caution on the limitations—
and even risks, when taken to excess—of functional-equivalence
theory. Responsible practitioners of functional equivalence will not make “reader
response” the supreme criterion in translation decision, nor will they concede the
skeptical assumption of an impassible dichotomy between message and meaning.
He calls for limits on a variety of other factors as well, from the pursuit of
comprehensibility and stylistic elegance at all costs to the dubious incorporation
of opinionated study notes in the published text of Scripture.

 Mark Strauss addresses current issues in the gender-language
debate. The chapter is essentially a response to various charges leveled by Vern
Poythress and Wayne Grudem against recent gender-accurate Bible translations
(see The Gender-Neutral Bible Controversy: Muting the Masculinity of God’s Word
[2000]). Strauss begins by listing a surprising number of important areas of agreement
between the two sides—shared convictions about the nature of authoritative
Scripture, the translation enterprise, and even gender language itself.
Strauss then moves on to critical areas of disagreement between the two
camps. Most of these, he suggests, are rooted in different understandings of linguistics.
Throughout this section Strauss repeatedly concedes that the genderinclusive
approach may in some cases sacrifice some of the nuances of the original
text. But such losses, he insists, are unavoidable and “come with the territory” of
translation work. He urges the opponents of gender-inclusive translation to be
equally up-front about the dimensions of meaning they are compelled to sacrifice
through their approach. At the very least there should be a cessation on both sides
of emotive charges that the opposition is deliberately distorting the Word of God.
The late Herbert Wolf, a longtime member of the Committee on
Bible Translation, reflects from his own experiences on the communal dimensions
of translation. He begins with a carefully nuanced acknowledgment that
translators belong to larger communities and traditions that powerfully inform
and shape (but—and here he shows his epistemological optimism—need never
completely determine) their reading of the biblical text.

Wolf also sees great benefits in the fact that most recent translations of the
Bible have been group projects—not least that group arrangements enable translators
to pool strengths and purge idiosyncrasies; and here he speaks (as only an
experienced translation practitioner can) of the humbling aspect of having one’s
work tested and improved by peers. He also sees translation as communal in the
sense that it draws from related fields like archaeology and linguistics, a point
he illustrates with fascinating insights from the field of rhetorical criticism.
Finally, the potential readers of a translation also constitute a most relevant community,
inasmuch as responsible translation decisions will always factor in readers’
anticipated responses to the text.
In chapter 6 Charles Cosgrove reflects on the values that should inform and
the approach that should characterize a Bible translation methodology compatible
with the legitimate aspirations of postmodernism. The defining feature of
such a legitimate postmodern approach, he suggests, is best encapsulated in theadjective holistic. Under this rubric he first considers translating the Bible as a
whole (that is, as a canonical integrity), then translating the whole communicative
effect of Scripture (that is, its genre and medium, as well as its language), and
finally, translation as an activity of the whole people of God (the democratization
of translation).

Cosgrove’s first point—translating the Bible with canonical integrity—
raises such difficult issues as whether the translation of the Old Testament should
be guided in any way by how the New Testament purports to quote it. His second
point affirms the postmodern trend to “challenge traditional distinctions
between form and content and the hierarchy that subordinates one to the other.”
At the same time, he notes, the postmodern view is properly sensitive to the enormous
challenge (and downright trickiness) of achieving holistic equivalence in
any communication transfer between distinct cultural-linguistic systems. Finally,
Cosgrove argues that “the democratizing or ‘flattening’ cultural effect of postmodernity—
epitomized by the Internet” means that the age of officially authorized
versions is permanently over. He anticipates such a future scenario with
optimism, because he believes that the inevitable diffusion of translations will
only make the fullest sense of Scripture more accessible to all.

Privacy As A Moral Good

Privacy is another fundamental issue, especially with the dramatic growth of digital
technologies for gathering and storing personal information. Privacy is not merely
a legal right but a condition or status in which humans, by virtue of their humanness,
control the time, place, and circumstances of information about themselves.
A private domain gives people their own identity and unique self-consciousness
within the human species. Democracies as a system of rule by the people distinguish
themselves in these terms. Legally it means that citizens have freedom from
government control over what they themselves control. Totalitarian societies use
the near absence of privacy to produce a servile populace. Those with no privacy
lose their sense of human dignity. Government surveillance may demand personal
records outside owner controls, but human dignity requires absolute protection.
Security measures that intrude upon personal information without notification in
the process of securing a nation state deny its democratic character.
Instead of a bevy of rules and constraints to determine whether privacy is being
invaded by the press or the government, the question is whether the people themselves
consider the information or action invasive. Protection of privacy is basically a
citizen’s ethics, understood and implemented by policy makers and media professionals
who see themselves first of all as human beings, not as professionals. The human
dignity of the citizenry, rather than legalities, is the alpha and omega, the beginning
and end. Hence the formal criterion for privacy as a moral good: Since human dignity
entails control of private life space, information is communicated about human beings
to others if and only if a reasonable public considers it permissible.

Public opinion polls indicate that the invasion of privacy ought to be a premier
issue in journalism ethics. Intruding on privacy creates resentment and damages
the credibility of the information providers. Legal definitions by themselves are an
inadequate foundation. How can the legally crucial difference between newsworthy
material and gossip or voyeurism be reasonably determined? Privacy is not a
legal right only but a moral good. For all of the sophistication of case law and tort
law in protecting privacy, legal safeguards do not match the challenges of powerful
new media technologies for storing data and disseminating information.
Therefore, while acknowledging legal distinctions and boundaries, the protection
of privacy must be constructed and defended as a normative principle. Privacy
is a moral good since it is a condition for developing a healthy sense of personhood.
Violating it, therefore, violates human dignity. However, privacy cannot be made
absolute because people are cultural beings with responsibility in the social and
political arena. People are individuals and therefore need privacy. People are social
beings and therefore need public information about others. Since people are individuals,
eliminating privacy would eliminate human existence as they know it; since
people are social, elevating privacy to absolute status would likewise render human
existence impossible. These considerations lead to the formal criterion that the
intimate life space of individuals cannot be invaded without permission unless the
revelation averts a public crisis or is of overriding public significance and all other
means to deal with the issue have been exhausted.
ICTs have greatly facilitated data collection, privacy invasion, and surveillance.
And with the “War on Terrorism”, ICT-based surveillance policies and practices
have increased dramatically.

Invasion of privacy and abuse of personal data by third parties, as well as harassment
and identity theft are oft-criticized side effects of data networks and new communication
technologies. Popular Web 2.0 applications such as social networking sites, provide a
convenient socializing tool for its users who often carelessly reveal detailed personal
information in their profiles. This makes social networking sites gigantic data collection
agencies that allow highly individualized forms of marketing and advertising through
the combination of user profiles and user behaviors (Debatin, 2008, p. 261).
Small micromedia, such as podcasts, blogs, mobile phones, and social networking
sites are increasingly used to publicize personal and intimate information within the
so-called anonymity of the digital environment. It can be assumed that the threats to
privacy will only be aggravated as new smart communication technologies pervade
industrial societies. This type of technology tends to become invisible because it is so
widely adapted that it is readily taken for granted. “In the not-too-distant future,
ubiquitous computer technology will be embedded in every aspect of our everyday
environment. It is obvious that this new pervasive technology will inevitably lead to
unintended consequences with ethical implications due to its invisibility, definitional
power and deep impact on existing social structures” (Debatin, 2008, p. 261).
In fostering an ethics of privacy, the vitality of education becomes our preoccupation
rather than focusing on the violations of privacy one-by-one. The question is
not first of all policy makers and media professionals dealing with privacy issues caseby-
case, but their commitment to privacy as normative for a healthy democracy. To
the extent that privacy as a moral good is known and appreciated, the details of
privacy protection in law and professional practice will be interpreted correctly.

Human Dignity

The principle of human dignity is also of primordial importance to communication
ethics across the globe. Different cultural traditions affirm human dignity in a
variety of ways, but together they insist that all human beings have sacred status
without exception. Native American discourse is steeped in reverence for life, an
interconnectedness among all living forms so that we live in solidarity with others
as equal constituents in the web of life. In communalistic societies, likute is loyalty
to the community’s reputation, to tribal honor. In Latin-American societies, insistence
on cultural identity is an affirmation of the unique worth of human beings. In
Islam, every person has the right to honor and a good reputation. In Confucius,
veneration of authority is necessary because authorities are human beings of dignity.
Humans are a unique species, requiring from within itself regard for its members
as a whole.

From this perspective, one understands the ongoing vitality of the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights issued by the United Nations General Assembly in
1948. As the preamble states: “Recognition of the inherent dignity and of the
equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation
of freedom, justice and peace in the world” (Universal Declaration of Human
Rights, 1988, p. 1). Every child, woman, and man has sacred status, with no exceptions
for religion, class, gender, age, or ethnicity. The common sacredness of all
human beings regardless of merit or achievement is not only considered a fact but
is a shared commitment.
For two decades now, media ethicists have emphasized human dignity in working
on ethnic diversity, racist language in news, and sexism in advertising. Gender equality
in hiring and eliminating racism in organizational culture are no longer dismissed
as political correctness, but seen as moral imperatives. Human dignity takes seriously
the decisive contexts of gender, race, class, and religion. A community’s polychromatic
voices are understood to be essential for a healthy democracy.
Ethnic self-consciousness these days is considered essential to cultural vitality.
The world’s cultures each have a distinctive beauty. Indigenous languages and ethnicity
have come into their own. Culture is more salient at present than countries.
Rather than the melting-pot Americanization of the past century, immigrants now
insist on maintaining their culture, religion, and language. With identity politics
arising as the dominant issue in world affairs following the end of the cold war,
social institutions, including the media, are challenged to develop a healthy cultural
pluralism. Human dignity pushes us to comprehend the demands of cultural diversity,
and give up an individualistic morality of rights. The public sphere is conceived
as a mosaic of distinguishable communities, a plurality of ethnic identities intersecting
to form a social bond, but each seriously held and competitive as well.
Putting the principle of human dignity to work, Robert Entman and Andrew
Rojecki (2000) indicate how the race dimension of cultural pluralism ought to
move forward in the media. Race in twenty-first century United States remains a
preeminent issue, and their research indicates a broad array of White racial sentiments
toward African Americans as a group. They emphasize not the minority of
outright racists but the perplexed majority. On a continuum from comity (acceptance)
to ambivalence and then racism, a complex ambivalence most frequently
characterizes the majority . Correcting White ignorance and dealing with
ambiguities appear to hold “considerable promise for enhancing racial comity”.

The reality is, however, that ambivalence shades off into animosity most
easily and frequently. In Entman and Rojecki’s interviews, personal experiences of
Black effort and achievement tend to be discounted “in favor of television images,
often vague, of welfare cheats and Black violence. … The habits of local news – for
example, the rituals in covering crime – facilitate the construction of menacing
imagery” . Rather than actively following human dignity and enhancing
racial understanding among those most open to it, the media tend to tip “the balance
toward suspicion and even animosity among the ambivalent majority of
Americans” . When the normative principle of human dignity becomes a
priority in the media, this important swing group would be enabled to move forward
and cultural pluralism would be enhanced.

Nonviolence

Nonviolence is also an important ethical principle at present, and how to implement
it a major challenge. Mahatma Ghandi and Martin Luther King, Jr., developed
this principle beyond a political strategy into a philosophy of life. Vaclev
Havel and Nelson Mandella were totally committed to it. In Emmanuel Levinas,
interaction between the self and the Other makes peace normative. “The first word
from the Other’s face is ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ It is an order. There is a commandment
in the appearance of the face, as if a master spoke to me” (Levinas, 1985,
p. 89). In the dialogic, face-to-face encounter, the infinite is revealed. The Other’s
presence involves an obligation to which I owe my immediate attention. In communalistic
and indigenous cultures, care of the weak and vulnerable (children, sick,
and elderly), and sharing material resources are a matter of course. Along with
dharma, ahimsa (nonviolence) forms the basis of the Hindu worldview. For St
Augustine, peace is natural to human relationships. The public’s general revulsion
against physical abuse in intimate settings and its consternation over brutal crimes
and savage wars, are glimmers of hope reflecting this principle’s validity.
The golden rule is the ethical principle for dealing nonviolently with unrest,
protest, and civil disobedience (Battles, 1996). In fact, almost all discussion of ethics
in a violent context refers to the golden rule as the best guide for morally appropriate
action. It can function effectively as an ethical principle without borders, that
is, as an expression of the common moral wisdom of humanity worldwide. “Do
unto others as you would have them do unto you” is fully practicable in the face of
the extremely complex situations in which individuals or groups must often act. Its
brevity and simplicity obscure its radical implications (Kang, 2006).
The golden rule when understood generally as a rule of reciprocity between
others and oneself seems unarguable, the natural way to live harmoniously in
human community. It proceeds from the assumption of human equality; in thinking
about and living the golden rule we regard others as basically like ourselves. For
media institutions internally and externally, the golden rule leads away from hostile
actions and verbal abuse toward respect and goodwill.
Peace journalism is an illustration of how this principle works itself out for the
news in violent conflicts worldwide. As a form of reporting, peace journalism is an
interpretive process, and the principle of nonviolence gives the foundation and
direction by which the interpretation ought to be done.

The Norwegian scholar, Johan Galtung, has developed and applied the principle
systematically through peace studies, concerned not simply with the standards of
war reporting, but positive peace – creative, nonviolent resolution of all cultural,
social, and political conflicts (e.g., 2000, 2004). As with Galtung, Jake Lynch
recognizes that military coverage feeds the very violence it reports, and therefore
he has developed an on-the-ground theory and practice of peace initiatives and
conflict resolution (e.g. Lynch and McGoldrick, 2005; Lynch, 2008).
Conflict has significant news value. Peace journalism is a self-conscious, working
concept which denies that premise. Galtung (1998) has sought to reroute journalism
when they fixate on “a win-lose outcome, and simplify the parties to two combatants
slugging it out in a sports arena.” In his literature review of war and peace
journalism, Seow Ting Lee (2009) sees three contrasting features of each.
The three characteristics of mainstream war journalism are: (1) Focus on the
here and now, on military action, equipment, tangible casualties and material damage;
(2) An elite orientation: use official sources, follow military strategy, quote
political leaders, be accurate with the military command perspective; and (3) A
dichotomy of good and bad. Simplifying the parties to two combatants, them
versus us, in a zero sum game – binaries such as Arab intransigence and Israeli
militarism (Lee, 2009).
There are three salient features of peace journalism, grounded in the principle
of nonviolence (Lee, 2009). (1) Present context, background, historical perspective
following the golden rule. Use linguistic accuracy – not generic Muslim
rebels but rebels identified as dissidents of a particular political group. (2) Take
an advocacy stance editorially for peace, and focus in news on common values
rather than on vengeance, retaliation, and differences. Emphasis on people’s
perspective – not just organized violence between nations, but patterns of
cooperation and integration among people. 3) Multiplicity orientation. Represent
all sides and all parties. Create opportunities for society at large to consider and
value nonviolent responses to conflict. Include ways the conflict can be resolved
without violence (e.g. as in Dayton and Kriesberg, 2009). Consensus building
efforts are considered newsworthy.

Peace journalism is typically understood as an innovation in mainstream newsgathering
– along with developmental and public journalism. If these three, and
perhaps others, offer new paradigms for reporting then a detailed comparative
analysis is needed of their histories, demographics, achievements, and structure
(e.g., see Hackett and Zhao, 2005). In order to advance this demanding agenda,
journalism needs to give up its utilitarian neutrality and detachment, and adopt the
principle of nonviolence. Humans are moral beings and this ethical principle,
implemented through the golden rule, can inspire journalists to report on a violent
world and act peaceably at the same time.

Truth

Truth is not only a primordial issue, but a perennial one in normative media ethics.
Nearly all codes of ethics begin with the reporter’s duty to tell the truth under all
circumstances. Credible language has long been considered pivotal to the media
enterprise as a whole – accuracy in news, no deception in advertising, authenticityin entertainment. Media professionals have tended to agree, at least in a low-level
sense, with philosopher Karl Jaspers (1955): “The moment of communication,” he
said, “is at one and the same time the preservation of, and a search for, the truth.”
Though interpreted in various ways, media ethics as a scholarly field and professional
practice recognizes the wheel imagery of the Buddhist tradition – truth is the
immovable axle.
Historically the mainstream media have defined themselves in terms of an objectivist
worldview. Centered on human rationality and armed with the scientific
method, the facts in news have been said to mirror reality. The aim has been true
and incontrovertible accounts of a domain separate from human consciousness.
Truth is understood in elementary epistemological terms as accurate representation
and precision with data. News corresponds to context-free algorithms, and
professionalism is equated with impartiality.

During a formative period for the media in the 1920s, a dichotomy between facts
and values dominated Western thinking. Genuine knowledge was identified with
the physical sciences, and the objectivity of physics and mathematics set the standard
for all forms of knowing. Journalistic morality became equivalent to unbiased
reporting or neutral data. Presenting unvarnished facts was heralded as the standard
of good reporting. Objective reporting was not merely a technique, but withholding
value judgments was considered a moral imperative (Ward, 2004, ch. 6).
James Carey has observed correctly that the commitment to objectivism is rooted
in both academia and the profession. Objectivity emerged in journalism out of the
struggle within the press for a legitimate place to stand within the complexities of
rapid industrialization. “Journalists, capitalizing on the growing prestige of science,
positioned themselves outside the system of politics, as observers stationed on an
Archimedean point above the fray of social life” (Carey, 1997b, p. 207). Originally
this form of journalism – beginning most prominently with the wire services – was
rooted “in a purely commercial motive: the need of the mass newspaper to serve
politically heterogeneous audiences without alienating a significant segment” of
them. Subsequently this strategy of reporting “was rationalized into a canon of professional
competence and the ideology of professional responsibility” (Carey, 1997b,
p. 208). With scientific naturalism the ruling paradigm in the academy, universities
institutionalized the conventions of objective reporting in journalism curricula.
Seeking the truth in newsgathering and producing the truth in newswriting have
been complicated by budget constraints, deadlines, editorial conventions, and selfserving
sources. Agreeing on visual accuracy in a digital world has been almost
impossible, even among competent professionals of good will. Even if we could get
our thinking straight, sophisticated electronics bury us with unceasing information
and little time to sift through the intricacies of truth-telling.

The prevailing view of truth as accurate information is now seen as too narrow
for today’s social and political complexities. Objectivity has become increasingly
controversial as the working press’ professional standard, though it remains
entrenched in various forms in our ordinary practices of news production and
dissemination. In Carey’s dramatic terms,The conventions of objective reporting were developed as part of an essentially utilitarian-
capitalist-scientific orientation toward events. … Yet despite their obsolescence,
we continue to live with these conventions as if a silent conspiracy had been undertaken
between government, the reporter, and the audience to keep the house locked
up tight even though all the windows have been blown out (Carey 1997a, p. 208).
As Ward describes it, “the traditional notion of journalistic objectivity, articulated
about a century ago, is indefensible philosophically, weakened by criticism inside
and outside of journalism” (Ward, 2004, p. 4). “Traditional news objectivity is, by
all accounts, a spent ethical force, doubted by journalists and academe” (p.261).
With the dominant scheme no longer tenable for this primordial principle,
philosophical work on it is critically needed. Instead of abandoning the idea or
appealing to coherence versions, the concept of truth needs to be transformed
intellectually. In Descartes’ mathematical reasoning, it is the mind alone that
knows. However, in a fuller understanding, there is no propositional truth independent
of human beings as a whole. Truthtelling is not considered a problem
of cognition per se, but is integrated into human consciousness and social
formation. In Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Ethics, a truthful account takes hold of the
context, motives, and presuppositions involved” (Bonhoeffer, 1995, ch. 5).
Truth means, in other words, to strike gold, to get at “the core, the essence, the
nub, the heart of the matter” (Pippert, 1989, p. 11). To replace newsgathering
rooted in the methods of the natural sciences, rigorous qualitative procedures
must be followed instead. Reporters aiming to inform the public adequately will
seek what might be called interpretive sufficiency, or in Clifford Geertz’s terms,
thick description. This paradigm opens up the social world in all its dynamic
dimensions.

The thick notion of sufficiency supplants the thinness of the technical, exterior,
and statistically precise received view. No hard line exists between fact and interpretation;
therefore, truthful accounts entail adequate and credible interpretations
rather than first impressions. The best journalists weave a tapestry of truth
from inside the attitudes, culture, and language of the people and events they are
actually reporting. The reporters’ frame of reference is not derived from freefloating
data, but from an inside picture that gets to the heart of the matter.
Rather than reducing social issues to the financial and administrative problems
defined by politicians, the media disclose the subtlety and nuance that enable
readers and viewers to identify fundamental issues themselves. Telling the truth is
not aimed at informing a majority audience of racial injustice, for example, but
offers a form of representation that fosters participatory democracy. Interpretive
sufficiency in its multicultural dimension locates persons in a noncompetitive,
nonhierarchical relationship to the larger moral universe. It imagines new modes
of human transformation and emancipation, while nurturing those transformations
through dialogue among citizens. The nature of truth as the larger context
requires continuing debate so that this cornerstone of communication ethics
continues to have credibility.

Normative Ethics

The bulk of the work in communication ethics is normative, where principles are
established for media institutions and practitioners. Of the five normative principles
requiring the most attention, justice is first. To insure the effectiveness of new
media technologies for the long term, a number of moral issues have become transparent
within the global information system. Some are new moral problems and
others are being transformed. The centerpiece is social justice. Especially in these
days of the information revolution, the venerable concept of justice should be at
in entertainment. Media professionals have tended to agree, at least in a low-level
sense, with philosopher Karl Jaspers (1955): “The moment of communication,” he
said, “is at one and the same time the preservation of, and a search for, the truth.”
Though interpreted in various ways, media ethics as a scholarly field and professional
practice recognizes the wheel imagery of the Buddhist tradition – truth is the
immovable axle.

Historically the mainstream media have defined themselves in terms of an objectivist
worldview. Centered on human rationality and armed with the scientific
method, the facts in news have been said to mirror reality. The aim has been true
and incontrovertible accounts of a domain separate from human consciousness.
Truth is understood in elementary epistemological terms as accurate representation
and precision with data. News corresponds to context-free algorithms, and
professionalism is equated with impartiality.
During a formative period for the media in the 1920s, a dichotomy between facts
and values dominated Western thinking. Genuine knowledge was identified with
the physical sciences, and the objectivity of physics and mathematics set the standard
for all forms of knowing. Journalistic morality became equivalent to unbiased
reporting or neutral data. Presenting unvarnished facts was heralded as the standard
of good reporting. Objective reporting was not merely a technique, but withholding
value judgments was considered a moral imperative (Ward, 2004, ch. 6).
James Carey has observed correctly that the commitment to objectivism is rooted
in both academia and the profession. Objectivity emerged in journalism out of the
struggle within the press for a legitimate place to stand within the complexities of
rapid industrialization. “Journalists, capitalizing on the growing prestige of science,
positioned themselves outside the system of politics, as observers stationed on an
Archimedean point above the fray of social life” (Carey, 1997b, p. 207). Originally
this form of journalism – beginning most prominently with the wire services – was
rooted “in a purely commercial motive: the need of the mass newspaper to serve
politically heterogeneous audiences without alienating a significant segment” of
them. Subsequently this strategy of reporting “was rationalized into a canon of professional
competence and the ideology of professional responsibility” (Carey, 1997b,
p. 208). With scientific naturalism the ruling paradigm in the academy, universities
institutionalized the conventions of objective reporting in journalism curricula.
Seeking the truth in newsgathering and producing the truth in newswriting have
been complicated by budget constraints, deadlines, editorial conventions, and selfserving
sources. Agreeing on visual accuracy in a digital world has been almost
impossible, even among competent professionals of good will. Even if we could get
our thinking straight, sophisticated electronics bury us with unceasing information
and little time to sift through the intricacies of truth-telling.

The prevailing view of truth as accurate information is now seen as too narrow
for today’s social and political complexities. Objectivity has become increasingly
controversial as the working press’ professional standard, though it remains
entrenched in various forms in our ordinary practices of news production and
dissemination. In Carey’s dramatic terms,The conventions of objective reporting were developed as part of an essentially utilitarian-
capitalist-scientific orientation toward events. … Yet despite their obsolescence,
we continue to live with these conventions as if a silent conspiracy had been undertaken
between government, the reporter, and the audience to keep the house locked
up tight even though all the windows have been blown out (Carey 1997a, p. 208).
As Ward describes it, “the traditional notion of journalistic objectivity, articulated
about a century ago, is indefensible philosophically, weakened by criticism inside
and outside of journalism” (Ward, 2004, p. 4). “Traditional news objectivity is, by
all accounts, a spent ethical force, doubted by journalists and academe” (p.261).
With the dominant scheme no longer tenable for this primordial principle,
philosophical work on it is critically needed. Instead of abandoning the idea or
appealing to coherence versions, the concept of truth needs to be transformed
intellectually. In Descartes’ mathematical reasoning, it is the mind alone that
knows. However, in a fuller understanding, there is no propositional truth independent
of human beings as a whole. Truthtelling is not considered a problem
of cognition per se, but is integrated into human consciousness and social
formation. In Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Ethics, a truthful account takes hold of the
context, motives, and presuppositions involved” (Bonhoeffer, 1995, ch. 5).
Truth means, in other words, to strike gold, to get at “the core, the essence, the
nub, the heart of the matter” (Pippert, 1989, p. 11). To replace newsgathering
rooted in the methods of the natural sciences, rigorous qualitative procedures
must be followed instead. Reporters aiming to inform the public adequately will
seek what might be called interpretive sufficiency, or in Clifford Geertz’s terms,
thick description. This paradigm opens up the social world in all its dynamic
dimensions.

The thick notion of sufficiency supplants the thinness of the technical, exterior,
and statistically precise received view. No hard line exists between fact and interpretation;
therefore, truthful accounts entail adequate and credible interpretations
rather than first impressions. The best journalists weave a tapestry of truth
from inside the attitudes, culture, and language of the people and events they are
actually reporting. The reporters’ frame of reference is not derived from freefloating
data, but from an inside picture that gets to the heart of the matter.
Rather than reducing social issues to the financial and administrative problems
defined by politicians, the media disclose the subtlety and nuance that enable
readers and viewers to identify fundamental issues themselves. Telling the truth is
not aimed at informing a majority audience of racial injustice, for example, but
offers a form of representation that fosters participatory democracy. Interpretive
sufficiency in its multicultural dimension locates persons in a noncompetitive,
nonhierarchical relationship to the larger moral universe. It imagines new modes
of human transformation and emancipation, while nurturing those transformations
through dialogue among citizens. The nature of truth as the larger context
requires continuing debate so that this cornerstone of communication ethics
continues to have credibility.

ARGUMENTS FOR GOD'S EXISTENCE?

Dawkins holds that the existence or nonexistence of God is a scientific

hypothesis which is open to rational demonstration. In

The Blind Watchmaker, he provided a sustained and effective critique

of the arguments of the nineteenth-century writer William

Paley for the existence of God on biological grounds. It is Dawkins's

home territory, and he knows what he is talking about.

This book remains the finest criticism of this argument in print.12

The only criticism I would direct against this aspect of The Blind

Watchmaker is that Paley's ideas were typical of his age, not of

Christianity as a whole, and that many Christian writers of the

age were alarmed at his approach, seeing it as a surefire recipe for

the triumph of atheism. There is no doubt in my mind that Paley

saw himself as in some way "proving" the existence of God, and

Dawkins's extended critique of Paley in that book is fair, gracious

and accurate.

In The God Delusion, Dawkins turns his attention to such other

"arguments" based on the philosophy of religion. I am not sure

that this was entirely wise. He is clearly out of his depth, and

achieves little by his brief and superficial engagement with these

great perennial debates, which often simply cannot be resolved

empirically. His attitude seems to be "here's how a scientist

would sort out this philosophical nonsense."

For example, Dawkins takes issue with the approaches developed

by Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century, traditionally

known as the "Five Ways." The general consensus is that while

such arguments cast interesting light on the questions, they settle

nothing. Although traditionally referred to as "arguments for God's

existence," this is not an accurate description. All they do is show

the inner consistency of belief in God—in much the same way as

the classic arguments for atheism (such as Ludwig Feuerbach's famous

idea of the "projection" of God; see p. 54) demonstrate its

inner consistency, but not its evidential foundations.

The basic line of thought guiding Thomas is that the world mirrors

God, as its Creator. It is an assumption derived from faith,

which Thomas argues to resonate with what we observe in the

world. For example, its signs of ordering can be explained on the

basis of the existence of God as its creator. This approach is still

widely encountered in Christian writings which argue that an existing

faith in God offers a better "empirical fit" with the world

than its alternatives. As Dawkins himself uses this same approach

to commend atheism elsewhere, I cannot really see that he has

much to complain about here.

At no point does Thomas speak of these as being "proofs" for

God's existence; rather they are to be seen as a demonstration of

the inner coherence of belief in God. Thomas is interested in exploring

the rational implications of faith in terms of our experience

of beauty, causality and so forth. Belief in God is actually assumed;

it is then shown that this belief makes sense of what may

be observed within the world. The appearance of design can offer

persuasion, not proof, concerning the role of divine creativity in

the universe. Dawkins misunderstands an a posteriori demonstration

of the coherence of faith and observation to be an a priori

proof of faith—an entirely understandable mistake for those new

to this field, but a serious error nonetheless.

Where Dawkins sees faith as intellectual nonsense, most of us

are aware that we hold many beliefs that we cannot prove to be

true but are nonetheless perfectly reasonable to entertain. To

lapse into jargon for a moment: our beliefs may be shown to be justifiable,

without thereby demonstrating that they are proven. This

is not a particularly difficult or obscure point. Philosophers of science

have long made the point that there are many scientific theories

that are presently believed to be true but may have to be discarded

in the future as additional evidence emerges or new

theoretical interpretations develop. There is no difficulty, for example,

in believing that Darwin's theory of evolution is presently

the best explanation of the available evidence, but that doesn't

mean it is correct

FAITH IS INFANTILE

As anyone familiar with antireligious polemics knows, a recurring
atheist criticism of religious belief is that it is infantile—a childish
delusion which ought to have disappeared as humanity reaches its
maturity. Throughout his career Dawkins has developed a similar
criticism, drawing on a longstanding atheist analogy. In earlier
works he emphasized that belief in God is just like believing in the
Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus. These are childish beliefs that are
abandoned as soon as we are capable of evidence-based thinking.
And so is God. It's obvious, isn't it? As Dawkins pointed out in his
"Thought for the Day" on BBC Radio in 2003, humanity "can leave
the crybaby phase, and finally come of age." This "infantile expla
how to persuade "dyed-in-the wool faith-heads" that atheism is
right, when they are so deluded by religion that they are immune
to any form of rational argument. Faith is thus essentially and irredeemably
irrational. In support of his case Dawkins has sought
out Christian theologians who he believes will substantiate this
fundamentally degenerate aspect of religious faith. In earlier writings
he asserted that the third-century Christian writer Tertullian
said some particularly stupid things, including "it is by all means
to be believed because it is absurd." This is dismissed as typical religious
nonsense. "That way madness lies."

He's stopped quoting this now, I am pleased to say, after I
pointed out that Tertullian actually said no such thing. Dawkins
had fallen into the trap of not checking his sources and merely repeating
what older atheist writers had said. It's yet another wearisome
example of the endless recycling of outdated arguments that
has become so characteristic of atheism in recent years.
However, Dawkins now seems to have found a new example of
the irrationalism of faith—well, new for him, at any rate. In The
God Delusion he cites a few choice snippets from the sixteenthcentury
German Protestant writer Martin Luther, culled from the
Internet, demonstrating Luther's anxieties about reason in the life
of faith. No attempt is made to clarify what Luther means by reason
and how it differs from what Dawkins takes to be the selfevident
meaning of the word.

What Luther was actually pointing out was that human reason
could never fully take in a central theme of the Christian faith—
that God should give humanity the wonderful gift of salvation
without demanding they do something for him first. Left to itself,
human common sense would conclude that you need to do something
to earn God's favor—an idea that Luther regarded as compromising
the gospel of divine graciousness, making salvation
something that you earned or merited.
Dawkins's inept engagement with Luther shows how Dawkins
abandons even the pretense of rigorous evidence-based scholarship.
Anecdote is substituted for evidence; selective Internet
trawling for quotes displaces rigorous and comprehensive engagement
with primary sources. In this book, Dawkins throws
the conventions of academic scholarship to the winds; he wants
to write a work of propaganda and consequently treats the accurate
rendition of religion as an inconvenient impediment to his
chief agenda, which is the intellectual and cultural destruction of
religion. It's an unpleasant characteristic that he shares with other
fundamentalists.

The God Delusion

GOD IS A DELUSION—A "PSYCHOTIC DELINQUENT"
 i n v e n t e d by m a d , d e luded people.
That's the take-home message of The God Delusion.
Although Dawkins does not offer a rigorous definition of a delusion,
he clearly means a belief that is not grounded in evidence—
or, worse, that flies in the face of the evidence. Faith is "blind trust,
in the absence of evidence, even in the teeth of evidence." It is a
"process of non-thinking." It is "evil precisely because it requires
no justification, and brooks no argument." These core definitions
of faith are hardwired into Dawkins's worldview and are obsessively
repeated throughout his writings. It is not a Christian definition
of faith but one that Dawkins has invented to suit his own
polemical purposes. It immediately defines those who believe in
God as people who have lost touch with reality—as those who are
deluded.

                                                              (Richard Dawkins)

Dawkins rightly notes how important faith is to people. What
you believe has a very significant impact on life and thought. That
makes it all the more important, we are told, to subject faith to
critical, rigorous examination. Delusions need to be exposed—
and then removed. I agree entirely. Since the publication of my
book Dawkins' God in 2004, I am regularly asked to speak on its
themes throughout the world. In these lectures, I set out Dawkins's
views on religion and then give an evidence-based rebuttal, point
by point.

After one such lecture, I was confronted by a very angry young
man. The lecture had not been particularly remarkable. I had simply
demonstrated, by rigorous use of scientific, historical and
philosophical arguments, that Dawkins's intellectual case against
God didn't stand up to critical examination. But this man was angry—
in fact, I would say he was furious. Why? Because, he told
me, wagging his finger agitatedly at me, I had "destroyed his faith."
His atheism rested on the authority of Richard Dawkins, and I had
totally undermined his faith. He would have to go away and rethink
everything. How dare 1 do such a thing!
As I reflected on this event while driving home afterward, I
found myself in two minds about this. Part of me regretted the
enormous inconvenience that I had clearly caused this person. I
had thrown the settled assumptions of his life into turmoil. Yet I
consoled myself with the thought that if he was unwise enough to
base his life on the clearly inadequate worldview set out by Dawkins,
then he would have to realize someday that it rested on de
cidedly shaky foundations. The dispelling of the delusion had to
happen sometime. I just happened to be the historical accident
that made it happen at that time and place.

Yet another part of me began to realize how deeply we hold our
beliefs, and the impact that they make on everything. Dawkins is
right—beliefs are critical. We base our lives on them; they shape
our decisions about the most fundamental things. I can still remember
the turbulence that I found myself experiencing on making
the intellectually painful (yet rewarding) transition from atheism
to Christianity. Every part of my mental furniture had to be
rearranged. Dawkins is correct—unquestionably correct—when
he demands that we should not base our lives on delusions. We all
need to examine our beliefs—especially if we are naive enough to
think that we don't have any in the first place. But who, I wonder,
is really deluded about God?

THE INVENTION OF A WORD: PROTESTANTISM

Although popular accounts of
the origins of Protestantism often identify Martin Luther’s posting
of the Ninety-five Theses against indulgences on October 31, 1517, as
marking the origins of the Reformation, the truth is much more complex
and interesting.5 Although undoubtedly influenced and catalyzed
by significant individuals—such as Martin Luther and John Calvin—
the origins of Protestantism lie in the greater intellectual and social
upheavals of that era, which both created a crisis for existing forms of
Christianity and offered means by which it might be resolved.

The use of the term “Protestantism” to refer—somewhat vaguely, it
must be said—to this new form of Christianity appears to have been a
happenstance of history. Its origins can be traced back to the Diet of
Worms (1521), which issued an edict declaring Martin Luther to be a
dangerous heretic and a threat to the safety of the Holy Roman Empire.
Any who supported him were threatened with severe punishment. It
was an unpopular move with many German princes, a growing number
of whom were sympathetic to Luther’s demands for reform. One of
them, Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony, arranged for Luther to be
abducted and given safety in Wartburg Castle, where he began his great
German translation of the Bible. This hostility on the part of many
German rulers toward his policies led Emperor Charles V to dilute the
Edict of Worms. In 1526 the Diet of Speyer decreed that it was up to
individual princes to enforce its draconian anti-Lutheran measures.
The outcome—though clearly not the intention—of this measure was
to allow Luther’s reforming vision and program to gain strength in
many regions of Germany.

Emperor Charles V was seriously preoccupied with other matters at
this time and therefore was distracted from dealing with the rise of this
unpredictable new form of religious faith within Germany. His empire
was under immediate and serious threat. One worrying challenge came
from a perhaps unexpected source: Rome itself had challenged his authority.
Exasperated, in 1527 Charles V sent a task force of twenty thousand
mercenaries to sack Rome and place Pope Clement VII under
house arrest. The episode undoubtedly dampened any slight enthusiasm
Charles might have had for dealing with the pope’s enemies in
Germany.
Yet a far greater danger lay to the east, where decidedly ominous
storm clouds were gathering. Following their capture of the great Byzantine
city of Constantinople in 1453, Islamic armies were pressing
westward, making deep inroads into hitherto Christian areas of eastern
Europe as they pursued their jihad. These armies had occupied much of
the Balkans, where Islamic spheres of influence were well established (a
development that has resounded throughout the subsequent history of
the area, especially in the Bosnian civil war of 1992–95). Following their
defeat of the Hungarians in 1526, Turkish armies headed north. By 1529
they had laid siege to Vienna. The Islamic conquest of western Europe
suddenly became a real possibility. Urgent action was required to deal
with this clear and present danger to western Christendom.
The second Diet of Speyer was hurriedly convened in March 1529.
Its primary objective was to secure, as quickly as possible, a united front
against the new threat from the east. Hard-liners, however, saw this as a
convenient opportunity to deal with another, lesser threat in their own
backyards. It was easy to argue that the reforming movements that were
gaining influence throughout the region threatened to bring about destabilization
and religious anarchy. The presence of a larger number of
Catholic representatives than in 1526 presented conservatives with an
opportunity they simply could not ignore. They forced through a resolution
that demanded the rigorous enforcement of the Edict of Worms
throughout the empire. It was a shrewd tactical move, with immense
strategic ramifications. Both enemies of the Catholic church—Islam
and the Reformation—would be stopped dead in their tracks.
Outraged, yet ultimately powerless to change anything, six German
princes and fourteen representatives of imperial cities entered a formal
protest against this unexpected radical curtailment of religious liberty.
The Latin term protestantes (“protesters”) was immediately applied to
them and the movement they represented. Although its origins lay in
the religious situation in Germany, the movement rapidly came to be
applied to related reforming movements, such as those then associated
with Huldrych Zwingli in Switzerland, the more radical reforming
movements often referred to at the time as “Anabaptism” (though now
more generally known as “the Radical Reformation”), and the later
movement linked with John Calvin in the city of Geneva. Older reforming
movements—such as the Waldensians in northern Italy and
the Bohemian reforming movements tracing their origins back to Jan
Hus—gradually became assimilated within this new larger entity.

Although a word had been invented, its connotations remained vague,
subject to the whims and agendas of propagandists on both sides of the
Reformation controversies. Faced with a significant political and theological
threat, the Catholic church used the term to lump together a series
of threats arising from a group of loosely interconnected but ultimately
distinct movements. The tense and dangerous situation demanded unity
within the Catholic church; presenting the various evangelical groupings
as a coordinated anti-Catholic movement proved instrumental in catalyzing
unity within that church and galvanizing its members into action.
Protestants, for their part, saw a revitalized Catholic church as
posing a serious threat to their continuing existence. Anglican and Lutheran,
Reformed and Anabaptist—the four main evangelical strands
present by the 1560s—saw their antagonisms, divisions, and mutual distaste
eclipsed as the need for collaboration against a coordinated and
dangerous opponent became clear. Whatever their differences, they
reasoned, they were all “Protestants”—even though there was a conspicuous
lack of clarity over what that actually meant.