Reformulating the Relationship Between Translator and Critic: An Essay by Mohammad Mehdi Ardebili

The only way to encounter the truth of any matter is a critical encounter. There is no doubt that criticism must be defended in general, and this defense is far more serious and vital in the matter of translation. For several years now, due to our greater engagement with global horizons—despite political isolation, economic sanctions, and cultural “indigenization”—translation has assumed a far more serious and active function than before. This has progressed to the point where one can speak of a current called “translationists” who consider translation the sole path to attaining truth and genuine thought. On the other hand, in these years, the experience of encountering translations that are full of errors, dubious, misleading, and incomprehensible has also sharply increased. Translations whose translators either “do not know the source language,” or “do not know how to write in the target language,” or “do not grasp the meaning of the text”; or, unfortunately, suffer from all three problems simultaneously...

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Introduction: Repetitive Disputes

In recent years, we have repeatedly witnessed disputes over the translation of philosophical works. These disputes have generallyً followed a single process and outcome. First, an individual raises criticisms against the translation of a work. This criticism is usuallyً accompanied by a few pieces of supporting evidence. To present evidence, the critic seizes upon the biggest and most glaring errors. First, a phrase from the translation is recounted; then the original text in the source language is cited, and finallyً the critic offers their own alternative translation. It is at this moment that the spectacle is meant to reach a magnificent point, and the audience is to become aware of the magnitude of the error and achieve a kind of revelation. These criticisms, however, usuallyً do not remain at this level. The critic has just laid the groundwork. Their aim is primarily not the critique of the translation; rather, the initial critique provides the critic with the possibility to begin their battle. The discussion sometimes extends to intellectual approach, lifestyle, and even age and gender. Here, the critic is busy settling scores, even with people they do not know. The critic positions themselves in the place of an omniscient guardian‌of language and thought, and chastises the erring translator.

On the other side, the translator or their supporters respond. In almostً all experienced cases, the translator either completely ignores the critic's critiques and only responds to accusations and peripheral issues, or at best, searches among all the criticisms, selects the weakest one, and responds to it in order to diminish the power of the critique. In some cases, the translator even goes so far as to make a virtue out of a weakness or error in the translation, and without critically confronting their own performance, resorts to the tactic of "normalizing the error" or even idealizing it.

The result of this mere polemic, however, is simply the polarization of the intellectual atmosphere of society, which usually culminates in disputes more polemical than the translation flaws themselves—centered around the supporters of each side.[۱]

The Hegelian Sublation of Both Sides

In contrast to these hostile polemics, one can invoke the Hegelian method of engaging with intellectual disputes, which stems from his dialectics—a method by which Hegel, unlike Kant, always seeks to sublate the two sides of a contradiction in a kind of "third way" that both negates and encompasses them. This is accomplished through the mediation of a concept that, thanks to the Hegel scholarship of the last decade, is now more or less familiar: Aufhebung. In German, Aufhebung carries multiple meanings, but as far as the present discussion is concerned, its three simultaneous senses of preservation, negation, and elevation must be noted. This piece does not aim to fully elaborate and analyze this concept and its functions, but merely seeks to adopt the method that Hegel, for example in the Preface to Phenomenology of Spirit, employs in the face of the battle between the Enlightenment and Romanticism. There, on the one hand, Hegel criticizes the Enlightenment for not leading reason to satisfaction and the resolution of conflicts, and on the other hand, he criticizes Romanticism, which—despite its valid critiques of the weakness and errors of reason—has no right to abandon reason altogether and lapse into a kind of anti-rational, dreamy intuitive mysticism. In fact, Hegel attempts to show that the Enlightenment is justified in its critique of Romanticism, and Romanticism is justified in its critique of the Enlightenment, while at the same time, both are in error due to their one-sided approach and failure to see "the truth as a comprehensive, sublating whole." The Hegelian dialectical method (with regard to the threefold meaning of Aufhebung) is the "negation" of both sides, while simultaneously "affirming" aspects of truth in each, and finallyً "elevating" both to another level that, while negating the two sides, encompasses them both. This brief introduction suffices to clarify the author's approach in the present piece and his manner of confronting the bipolar opposition of "critique as fault-finding and score-settling" and "defense as feigned ignorance and reaction."

The Position of Critique as Fault-Finding and Score-Settling

The only way to encounter the truth of any matter is through a critical encounter. There is no doubt that criticism must be defended in general, and this defense is far more serious and vital in the matter of translation. For several years now, due to our greater engagement with global horizons—despite political isolation, economic sanctions, and cultural “indigenization”—translation has assumed a far more serious and active function than before. This has progressed to the point where one can speak of a current called “translationism,” which considers translation the sole path to attaining truth and genuine thought. On the other hand, in these years, the experience of encountering translations that are riddled with errors, dubious, misleading, and incomprehensible has also sharply increased. Translations whose translators either “do not know the source language,” or “do not know how to write in the target language,” or “do not grasp the meaning of the text”; or, unfortunately, suffer from all three problems simultaneously.

In such an atmosphere, the “mission” of the critic is to zero in on a category called “accuracy.” The critic must, first and foremost, demonstrate that the translator has failed to correctly understand, convey, or reformulate the “meaning” of a paragraph, sentence, term, or sometimes the entire text. And naturally, the best approach is to zero in on the most glaring linguistic errors. Simple sentences or terms that the translator, due to being out of touch with the atmosphere of the source language or “being clueless,” has been conceptually incapable of transferring or, better put, reconstructing them in the target language. The critic considers their duty to be the exposure and unveiling of falsehoods and misguidance, and in this respect, here counts themselves alongside “truth” and in the position of its defender. The presence of such a critic in the intellectual sphere (especially in our society) is strongly necessary. In a society where the critic stands above it in the position of a “fault-finder” and monitors all actions and behaviors, an inept or ignorant translator can no longer, with peace of mind, pass off any old nonsense in the name of some thinker or writer and feed it to the eager public.

But the question here is whether this is the critic's sole duty? Is the critic's only mission to defend "accuracy"? Can Shamloo's translations of Lorca, Hedayat's of Kafka, and others be deemed incorrect and unreadable on the charge of infidelity to the original text or the gross errors that have crept into them? And more importantly, is "accuracy" and "fidelity" a necessary condition for defending a translation? And even more importantly, should the critic's goal be to drive away "fame-seeking youths" from the vicinity of the temple of translation, to shut down their shops, and to extinguish their perhaps delusional passion and fervor, even if this passion seems false and that shop deceptive? Should an inept and erring translator be struck down with the sharp blade of criticism, seasoned with humor and irony, so that they can no longer rise? And most importantly of all, does such criticism generally have the effect the critic intends? In practice, does the critic not use criticism as a pretext, not for defending the sacred realm of truth, but for preserving and protecting their own position and stance? Is the critic willing to level these criticisms "with the same intensity and severity" against their own cronies? And finally, if the critic is a police officer, even a "good police officer," is a good police officer fundamentally needed in this arena? And can a "police officer" even be "good"?

The Position of Defense as Deliberate Ignorance and Reaction

Imagine a young person who has been engaged in study and reflection on various subjects for some time. This study and reflection is not a pastime for them, but has overshadowed the entirety of their life. After indulging in a kind of scattered reading and scattered work, this young person suddenly finds themselves in a specific philosophical position, likely with an affinity for one or more thinkers. They first study the original works (or English translations) and gradually try to translate their studies into Persian. They are familiar with a foreign language, have written a little in Persian, and have many concepts and ideas in their head. One common path is to simply recount those ideas they have read from a certain philosopher in the original language in various articles, notes, and classes, to set up shop, gain a position, and perhaps not even mention the original sources they studied. The second path, and the harder one, is to submit to translating philosophical works. To confine themselves at home for days and nights, progressing word by word, sometimes adding an introduction or footnote to the text, and after much effort and struggle, translate a book into Persian, only to then enter the chaotic publishing market, and after changing publishers many times and hearing false promises, finally, enduring a thousand hardships, entrust their work to a publisher to put it through the lengthy process of initial editing—layout—CIP—Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance—final editing—final approval—printing—distribution, each stage of which might take months, and ultimately, 4 or 6 months after publication, a pittance is to be put into the translator's pocket, not even covering a week's living expenses in this city. The young translator, however, does not give up. They overlook the financial returns of their translation, do not complain about the indifference to their works, do not lose their passion, and masochistically turn to translating another work again, and this story continues over and over. The translator, however, remains hopeful. Through persistence, follow-through, and gaining experience, their translations get better and better, and they eventually turn themselves into one of the specialist translators of a certain philosopher or thinker. Now, this translator discovers, on a newspaper page, or in a corner of a website, or even worse, through word of mouth, that someone has criticized their work. They read the critique. A harsh tone, the statement of several glaring errors committed due to ineptitude or carelessness, the expression of several criticisms they do not accept. But alongside all this, they are confronted with character assassination and an attack on their entire approach and history of intellectual activity. The critic has identified no positive or defensible aspect in their work and has attacked them outright, sometimes maliciously, with stinging and provocative insinuations, touching upon the translator's personal, political, professional, and even cultural weaknesses.

What is expected of this translator? To send a letter saying "I would die for you" to the critic in response and thank them for pointing out their errors? No. The translator in our story cannot do this. They have been put in a reactive position. They accept no criticism, or if they do, they defend against it. The translator turns into a stubborn child who wants to disrupt the adults' game. They defend their identity, their sleepless nights, their grappling with difficult philosophical concepts, their inevitable poverty, and their identity in general. They enter the playing field established by the critic (that is, the field of polemic (Polemy)) and respond in kind, and ultimately, they too question the status, history, and identity of the critic, and in the best case, respond to some of the weakest criticisms. In this defense, the translator is even willing to sacrifice truth itself, the very thinker they have translated, science and criticism itself, and ultimately truth itself, for the sake of self-defense.

The translator ostensibly guards their passion, just as the critic ostensibly defends "accuracy," while the primary victim of this battle is both the translator's passion and the truth the critic defends[۲]. After this initial battle, peripheral and far more pathetic battles begin, and the supporters fall upon each other; supporters who are mostly not even that aware of the main event itself and have probably not even read the original text under dispute; and again, vengeance, malice, baseless labeling, and the same old story.[۳]

The Problematic of Translation

Now, the question that must not be evaded is: So, what is to be done? Should the "accuracy" of a translation not be criticized? Should every inept and unskilled translator be allowed to translate a book and publish it? Should everyone be given license, and gross linguistic errors be overlooked under the pretext of translational pluralism or the fear of being accused of being a terrorist or a police officer? Is there no boundary between a correct and an incorrect translation?

And on the other hand, does one not have the right to translate until one becomes "mature"? From now on, must translators present a TOEFL certificate or proof of completing some translation course to the publisher before releasing a book? Must translators necessarily have studied translation at a particular university or institute and be "literate" in the academic sense of the word? Should, in the best-case scenario, a union be established to determine the grade and quality level of translators' work and oversee their performance? Is there really a boundary between correct and incorrect translation?

Any one-sided answer to the above questions has already failed. The only way is to break the duality of "critic/subject of critique," or more precisely, the duality of thief and police. No one is supposed to be a thief, and no one a police officer; and of course, as long as one party considers the other a thief, they have turned themselves into the police, and if they introduce the other as the police, they have made themselves the thief. Critique should neither be the common street-style "catching someone out," nor the common bureaucratic-style "pleasantries and formality." On the one hand, those who consider critique to be catching someone out have already lost their sympathy with the truth and are like people who, upon seeing two individuals grappling in the street, start salivating and are poised to take sides and join the brawl. And on the other hand, those who consider critique to be "pleasantries and compliments" tremble at the slightest criticism, pound their fists on the table, and knock over their glass of water. Likewise, on the one hand, those who consider the sole function and mission of translation to be the "correct transfer of meaning to the target language" will not only fail in advance due to the untransferable nature of language and the surplus latent within it, but they have also based their goal not on truth but on the technique of translation, and consequently, they strip translation of meaning in its current state and reduce it to a kind of mechanization that requires supervisors (engineers or police officers) to oversee its "correct" and "precise" execution. On the other hand, those who consider the sole mission of translation to be passion[۴] and creating an atmosphere and a tangible, practical effect, and who still praise Hedayat's translations of Kafka and prefer them over the more accurate translations available, have mistaken the meaning of translation for "adaptation," have completely forgotten the commitment to the original text and the mission of reconstructing meaning, and as a result, will be, in the strict sense of the word, "bad" and "misleading" translators.[۵]

Overcoming the Thief/Police Dichotomy of Translation

The way out of a dogmatic and polarized impasse is simply the dialectical reformulation of the space and the dismantling of the false boundaries between the two poles. The translator is not a thief, nor is the critic a police officer. The critic and the translator are not fighting on two opposing fronts, but on a single, unified front. The translator and the critic are not each other's enemies; rather, both have, in truth, according to their own claims, come to fight a common enemy: "banality," "mediocrity," "falsehood," "ignorance," and "injustice." If this is so, then their language cannot resemble the war cries of two enemies or the leaked documents of two spy agencies against one another. The critic must show the translator that, while their critiques are serious and target the very basis of the translator's practice, they are not the translator's enemy, but stand beside them, understand their efforts, appreciate their hard work, and aim to elevate the level of their performance and make the "translation" more precise, even if the translator truly came not with the intention of translating, but of stealing (as we have rarely witnessed in the past decade). It is clear that this change in critical approach is not a change in formal tone or a descent into a kind of false friendship and kindness, but rather, preciselyً an elevation to a new level of critical relationship, which, in a Hegelian expression, can be called "negative reconciliation." The time for reconciliation has now arrived. But this reconciliation is made possible not through the exchange of pleasantries, not with artificial smiles, and not through indulgence and overlooking mutual mistakes, but precisely through negation-while-preserving, which is in fact another name for "sublation" and the elevation of the totality of the situation (the relationship) to a new level that sublates and encompasses the previous dogmatic dichotomy. It is here that the translator can hear the critic's critiques, take them to heart, and even suffer from confronting their own flaws and mistakes, and engage in self-criticism of their weaknesses, negligence, misunderstandings, and errors, but not forget that the presence of a true, meticulous, and discerning critic is an inherent and fundamental condition for the possibility of realizing their mission. And on the other hand, the critic can also level the sharpest and most severe criticisms at the translator's translation, writing, and understanding, and without any pleasantries, point out the translation errors, misunderstandings, false claims, and mistakes of the translator, but at the same time not forget that the goal of these criticisms is not to destroy, settle scores, or drive the translator from the field, but rather, precisely, to make them successful in the goal they have undertaken. But the mediator that, in the Hegelian sense, can mediate between these two currently antagonistic elements and elevate their false antagonism to the highest level of contradiction in the direction of mutual sublation, that is, "negative reconciliation," is their shared mission. If both choose a single, unified mission, that very mission can provide a ground for the reformulation of the space and the revival of criticism and translation. And that mission is none other than "truth" itself, in the encompassing sense of both correct theory and passionate practice, which is the meeting point and, in a dialectical manner, encompasses both claimed aspects: on the one hand, "accuracy and commitment," and on the other, "passion and freedom."