False cognates — that is, words that appear similar between languages but actually have quite different meanings — are a major pitfall for the translator. The problems here are multifarious, for even when the translator has a keen ear and realizes that two seemingly congruent terms are not equivalent, there may be resistance on the part of the customer to “deviation” from the German — or, even worse, the feeling on the part of the translator that it is not worth opening up the veritable can of worms posed by such terms. The result is an attempt to fit square pegs in round holes, and a piss-poor translation.
False cognates lurk everywhere in texts, and are much more common than one would assume. In fact, I would argue that nearly all “accepted” terms in language dictionaries are false cognates on some level, as speakers of different languages almost always ascribe a different range of meaning to seemingly equivalent terms, even those that appear to be completely straightforward (i.e. “coffee”). One goal of this blog is to plumb the depths of the difference between German and English, in an attempt to solve some of the myriad problems that pervade effective translation between the two languages.
An interesting false cognate that I ran across today is the German term “Wissenskultur”, which is often translated as “knowledge culture”. These two terms have quite different meanings, however. The former is (typically) used in German to refer to “high culture”, that is, to the literary and cultural achievements of civilization. In English, however, the direct translation “knowledge culture” has a quite different meaning, and is typically used in the business sciences to designate the way a specific organization deals with and manages knowledge. Clearly, the non-equivalence between these two terms can generate major error in a translation, and the translator must go about his work with extreme care in order to avoid such pitfalls.
Incidentally, in my view “Wissenskultur” is best rendered in English as “knowledge society”. Use this recommendation with caution, however, as even here the terms are overlaid with different subtleties of meaning.
“Linguistic interference” refers to when speakers of one language apply knowledge from a second, with occasionally strange results.
An interesting example of linguistic interference that I often see in English texts written by German natives was on display in an interview given by the economist Heiner Flassbeck of Hamburg University for Real News Network: Flassbeck refers at one point to “private households,” a direct translation of “private Haushalte.” This error is quite common: The descriptor “private” is wholly superfluous, as “households” are always “private” in English (“public households” do not exist, as they do in German).
Yet there are additional examples of linguistic interference in the interview. The title of the interview itself seems to have been selected by Flassbeck, as the article and gerund use in “Systemic Malfunctioning of the Labor and Financial Markets” is slightly off. Rephasing is needed; the best title is probably “Systematic Malfunction in Labor and Financial Markets”. Also good: “The Systemic Malfunction of Labor and Financial Markets.”
In addition, at the beginning of the interview, an awkward translation for Flassbeck’s book is offered: “Act Now! The Global Manifesto for Economic Policy.” Although the phrasing in German is “Das Manifesto,” a direct translation here is slightly stilted. The English title should read “A Global Manifesto for Economic Policy.”
When I was first living in Berlin and new to Germany I was surprised to regularly overhear telephone conversations on the subway that went something like this: “Hey Klaus, I’m on my way but I will be a bit late; you can expect me in 6 to 7 minutes.” Sometimes the delay cited would be 13 to 14 minutes, or 17 to 18 minutes, but it would invariably involve a narrow time range and at least one prime number. An American, of course, would never attempt to quantify the delay with such precision, as this would seem foolish (“will you really be there in exactly 6 to 7 minutes??”) and/or completely anal, as it violates the unwritten law that you must announce you are going to be late with numbers divisible by five. From the German perspective, however, providing a fastidiously accurate Zeitangabe (i.e. “time specification”) is completely reasonable, as everyone knows the average station-to-station travel time in Berlin is 2 minutes, so you merely have to multiply the number of subway stops by 2 and add the additional walking time required, considering that at a brisk pace you can cover 500 meters in 3.5 minutes. This simple calculation method yields an arrival time with a margin of error of +/-30 seconds. Of course, I’m exaggerating (slightly), but punctuality is a big deal in Germany, and accurately stating when you will arrive is simply considered polite.
The German penchant for accuracy in weights and measures is also particularly evident when figures are cited in magazine and newspaper articles. From a German perspective, extremely accurate figures add color to the story and also underscore the thoroughness of the reporting. A recent article in Der Spiegel about the Mexican drug war, for example, begins by recounting a drug bust in which an undercover police officer was carrying “155 grams of heroin”. As this figure could be interpreted by American and British readers as gratuitously precise, in the English version of the article, it was simply changed by the translators at Der Spiegel to “150 grams of heroin.”
This modification of the German original is an excellent example of effective adaptation, as it places consideration for the reader above a slavish adherence to the content of the source text, which may not be effective in a different cultural space. The fact that the numbers themselves need to be changed when translating into English speaks to the level of adaptation that is occasionally required.
On a side note, the modification made to the article’s title is also illustrative: Originally titled “Hombre, du bist am Arsch” (“Hombre, you’re fucked”), the English version reads “El Paso Vice.” This demonstrates an additional principle of good translation: if the direct equivalent in English is weird or otherwise inappropriate, you should simply change it.
“Dynamic adaptation” is one way of referring to the various modifications and adjustments that are required when translating from one language to another in order to assure a clear and readable target text. It means taking a proactive approach to the translation process by actively searching for modes of expression in the target language that are effective for conveying the content of the original document. Often, to create a readable English translation massive modification is required, as equivalents for the German terms and phrases simply don’t exist. In many instances, the lack of equivalents is attributable to institutional differences, as in the following example:
“[Mit einem Minijob vermeiden sie] die hohe implizite Besteuerung durch das Ehegattensplitting und die beitragsfreie Mitversicherung in der gesetzlichen Krankenversicherung.”
This sentence describes labor market and tax regulations in Germany that don’t have direct correlates in the US or UK. The difficulties in translating this sentence are actually two-fold: While there are in fact weakly established translations for a few of the terms in the sentence, these “translations” are to some extent completely useless, for the reader, lacking knowledge of the circumstances that prevail in Germany, will simply not understand the “English” terms. The only solution, therefore, is to go about the translation in a way that explains the situation to the reader. This problem is posed in particular by “Ehegattensplitting”. While a direct translation might be “spouse splitting,” we should perhaps avoid implying that the Germans are running a government-subsidized “wife swapping” program. My translation thus includes a gloss: “… the high implicit taxes resulting from the ‘splitting rule’ (which allows spouses to pool and equally divide their income to determine tax liability) ….”
Yet the more crucial problem that emerges in this sentence – and the actual crux of my point – relates to the dynamic transformation that is needed to convert the phrasing “die beitragsfreie Mitversicherung in der gesetzlichen Krankenversicherung” into acceptable English. The outcome of a word-for-word translation is completely unintelligible: “the contribution-free co-insurance in the statutory health insurance.” The term “co-insurance” – apparently an accepted translation for “Mitversicherung” – is laughably bad, as it is totally misleading. Massive conversion is needed to arrive at a coherent English phrase. Here is one possible way to word the idea being presented: “tax-free extension of government insurance coverage held by a working partner to his or her spouse.”
If the goal is to produce an understandable and correct English text, this sort of adaptation is actually required in nearly every sentence that ones translates, demonstrating that translation is much less a form of transcription than actually a reinventing of the source text’s ideas to accommodate the possibilities and restrictions of a radically different system of words and sempahore. The individual words hardly correspond at all – because words are tangential to ideas, which tend to reside in phrases, and not just individual particles.
One of the most surprising phenomena in the world of translation that I encounter with great frequency is the tendency for clearly incorrect translations of certain terms to become accepted and widely used as standard terminology. This phenomenon is certainly attributable in part to native speakers of German who don’t know any better translating into English (a widely recognized no-no). Yet sheer laziness must also play a large role. The problem is rampant, and does not speak highly to the standards of many working in my profession. To provide an example: The accepted translation for “Trennbankensystem” at LEO and in other specialized dictionaries is “separate banking system.” This translation really raises my hackles, as it is completely incorrect. The term “Trennbankensystem” refers to the separation that previously existed in the US between between commercial and investment banks, as per the requirements of Glass-Steagall. The German term thus refers expressly to circumstances in the United States, which should make the identification of a good translation an easy task. The accepted terms in English for this separation are “dual banking system” and “two-tiered banking system”, but not “separate banking system,” which almost seems to refer to some sort of “secondary” or “shadow” banking sector. The term is thus not only incorrect, but highly misleading. Nevertheless, it is found in all online dictionaries that contain a entry for the term, and has been used faithfully by translators in innumerable documents. It really is a sad state of affairs.
This is by no mean an isolated example. Consistent mistranslation – or “codified error,” as I like to call it – is extremely common: In the area of finance, for example, I often see the English term “participations” used as a translation for “Beteiligungen”, which is just about as correct as Arnold Schwarzenegger talking about the “advices” he gives to Franco Columbu. The correct way phrase this, of course, it to speak of an “ownership stake” or “holdings” in a company. “Participation” for describing investment interest can work, but should almost always be kept singular.
Of the many German terms that are difficult to render in accurate but digestible English, “im Spannungsfeld” is certainly one, perhaps not least because it is a highfalutin term that is often used in an ambiguous manner. Indeed, how is the translator to generate a good text in English when the German may read well at first glance but is actually quite unclear, evincing shortcomings that may only become apparent when the translator scratches beneath the surface in an attempt to distill the author’s intentions. The blurry line between a meaningful assertion of ideas and the hollow rhetorical flourish becomes all too apparent at times like these. The perennial question thus looms large: What is the translator’s role? If the German version makes a professional impression rhetorically, but ultimately suffers from substantive weakness, isn’t it the translator’s remit to produce a text that can at least be taken seriously when read superficially? For it is certainly possible to tart up bad content for a day at the circus, and this is preferable to bad content written poorly.
To the crux of the matter: Most of the translations offered for “im Spannungsfeld der …” at LEO and in other dictionaries are quite hopeless. While it is actually not uncommon to see nonsense become an accepted standard for the translation of various German terms, the bumbling of others is particularly conspicuous in this case because there is great solution that frequently works well: namely, the phrase “(stands) at the intersection of …”.
German usage of academic titles is often troublesome for the translator. Clearly, titles are used in German texts in many contexts in which they would be omitted in English. In the English-speaking world, of course, there is the perception that titles should be used sparingly, for they can rub the wrong way. Depending on the context, readers may view titles as a pretentious effort to impress, perhaps because of a need to compensate for feelings of inadequacy. This cultural perception places the translator in a bind, for when German customers are not familiar with title-usage conventions in the English-speaking world, they may view the removal of titles from a translation when they are not appropriate as an affront. Yet simply retaining titles in English as a strategy for circumventing this problem is actually no solution at all, as it may weaken the text, and, by extension, ill serve the customer. In my view, the best solution is to try and educate customers about proper title usage in English.
One resource to draw on in this regard is the Economist Manual of Style, which recommends never using the “Dr.” title in a body text in English, except for medical doctors. Amusingly, the Style Guide takes a direct shot at German title usage, stating that some titles are “tiresomely long (Mr Dr Dr Federal Sanitary-Inspector Schmidt)”.
Another strategy for educating customers is to draw attention to actual usage in prominent English publications. In Scientific American, for example, the “Prof.” and “Dr.” titles are rarely used, even when referring to high-ranking academics. Instead, the typical approach is to simply cite the individual’s field and university affiliation (i.e. “physicist Niels Bohr of the University of Copenhagen says” and not “Nobel Prize Winner Prof. Dr. Dr. Niels Bohr says” ).
To cite an example: In a recent article in Scientific American about Ewan Birney, a full professor and physicist at the University of Cambridge, no mention is made of his academic laurels. Instead, the article adopts the physicist’s own self-deprecating title “cat herder in chief”. I think this is a telling example of perceptual differences between the German and English speaking worlds when it comes to title usage.