Growing up, I remember the first time I was exposed to Greek insights that were “hidden” from me as a monolingual English speaker. The passage was John 21:15–18, where Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?” And three times Peter answers, “You know that I love you.” What insights awaited when I learned that the first two times, Jesus asked Peter, “Do you agapao me?” And Peter instead answered that he phileo-d Jesus, a lesser word for brotherly love instead of the agapao of unconditional love. The third time Jesus asked the question, he said, “Do you phileo me?” Peter was grieved, as this insight went, that Jesus essentially asked him, “Do you even phileo me?” Jesus had used the lesser word for love, the lesser word that Peter has been using. I remember being blown away by this nuance, feeling that my eyes had been opened to a deeper meaning in the text.
I have heard various insights given that came from the original languages over the years. Before I learned any other languages, I felt that these word studies gave me a better understanding of the text than I could have had from just using plain old stilted English. After all, Greek was so much more expressive and could communicate things that just could not be captured in English. As I came to learn more languages and more about linguistics, I realized that many of the “insights” I had been given from the original languages were linguistically naive or just plain wrong.
I want to use this post to focus on a common exegetical fallacy to highlight why we should be careful in how we handle the original languages, and also careful in how we hear appeals to the original languages. To focus just on the supposed differences between agapao and phileo in John 21:15–18, I quote at length D. A. Carson’s handling of the passage in his book, Exegetical Fallacies:
In a similar vein, although it is doubtless true that the entire range of ἀγαπάω (agapao, to love) and the entire range of φιλέω (phileo, to love) are not exactly the same, nevertheless they enjoy substantial overlap; and where they overlap, appeal to a “root meaning” in order to discern a difference is fallacious. In 2 Samuel 13 (LXX), both ἀγαπάω (agapao, to love) and the cognate ἀγάπη (agape, love) can refer to Amnon’s incestuous rape of his half-sister Tamar (2 Sam. 13:15, LXX). When we read that Demas forsook Paul because he loved this present, evil world, there is no linguistic reason to be surprised that the verb is ἀγαπάω (agapao, 2 Tim. 4:l0). John 3:35 records that the Father loves the Son and uses the verb ἀγαπάω (agapao); John 5:20 repeats the thought, but uses φιλέω (phileo)—without any discernible shift in meaning. The false assumptions surrounding this pair of words are ubiquitous; and so I shall return to them again. My only point here is that there is nothing intrinsic to the verb ἀγαπάω (agapao) or the noun ἀγάπη (agape) to prove its real meaning or hidden meaning refers to some special kind of love.[1]
Carson continues later on,
We are now equipped to resume our discussion of ἀγαπάω (agapao) and φιλέω (phileo), introduced in the discussion about the root fallacy. There we saw that ἀγαπάω (agapao) does not always refer to a “good” love or a sacrificial love or a divine love, and certainly there is nothing in the root to convey such a meaning. But the question arises whether the well-known exchange between Jesus and Peter reported in John 21:15 – 17, using the two different verbs, is intended to convey a distinction in meaning, or to provide an example of semantic overlap, of synonymy.[2]
Carson says that for “For various reasons, I doubt very much that there is an intended distinction.”[3] He contends that the major issue creating the fallacy is arguing that because agapao and phileo have slightly different semantic ranges, then there must be a semantic difference in how the words are used in the passage. He continues,
This particular example of a confused understanding of synonymy is a special instance of “illegitimate totality transfer,” discussed again under fallacy 13. Intriguingly, those who insist on two distinguishable meanings for ἀγαπάω (agapao) and φιλέω (phileo) in John 21:15-17 rarely observe that there are other subtle differences in the three sets of exchanges between Jesus and Peter:
(v. 15) βόσκε τὰ ἀρνία μου (boske ta arnia mou, “Feed my lambs”)
(v.16) ποίμαινε τὰ πρόβατά μου (poimaine ta probata mou, “Shepherd my sheep”)
(v. 17) βόσκε τὰ πρόβατά μου. (boske ta probata mou, “Feed my sheep”)
My somewhat pedantic translation, in parentheses, highlights the changes. But very few preachers judge these changes to be of fundamental importance to the meaning of the passage. One can show that there is some difference between “lambs” and “sheep” when the totality of their respective semantic ranges is taken into account; similarly, there is a difference between “to shepherd” and “to feed.” But in this context, it is difficult to see a fundamental theological or linguistic or syntactical reason for the changes. We seem to be in the realm of slight variation for the sake of vague things like “feel” or “style.” In any case, my point is that it is rather strange to insist on a semantic distinction between the two words for “to love” in this context, and not on small distinctions between other pairs of words in the same context.[4]
In other words, there are slight differences other than just agapao and phileo, yet they are almost never highlighted. The words agapao and phileo have overlap in their meaning, and can be varied for stylistic reasons. Further, to posit only on the grounds that agapao is used means a higher form of love, regardless of context, is to apply a meaning that the context often does not call for. In all likelihood, the back and forth between agapao and phileo was stylistic, rather than significant, just as differentiating between “feed” and “shepherd” and “lambs” and “sheep” is stylistic.
A common piece of advice I have heard regarding preachers using Greek or Hebrew in sermons is that the original languages should be like underwear. They are there for support, but they should not be seen. While I would not say preachers should never use the original languages in their sermons (there are times where a nuance can be clearer), I believe there are a couple of motivating factors behind the sentiment. First, much pointing to the original languages is just plain wrong due to the teacher having a poor grasp of the language. Second, the exegesis could be done just as well in English without ever mentioning the original languages. Our English translations do the job just fine. There is often nothing added by appealing to the original languages because it can be understood just as well in English, and there is the added risk that the insight may be wrong or naive due to the low linguistic ability of the one making the insight. I think Moises Silva makes this point well:
In the course of his sermon preparation, a minister may feel obligated to use his knowledge of Greek. If he is unable to draw from a true familiarity with the structure of the language, he may say, “The original here means. …” But what does it mean? The congregation already knows what it means, for they have just read their English version. So the minister often makes comments on the etymology of the word. If the word happens to be ἁμαρτία, it means not just ‘sin’ but ‘missing the mark’; if it is ὑπομένειν, it means not just ‘to endure’ but ‘to remain under.’ If the word is ἐκκλησία, it means not just ‘church’ but ‘those who are called out.’[5]
So why does this matter? First, because mishandling the text on linguistic grounds can give those who hear a wrong understanding of the passage. They may feel they have an insight that does not truly exist, and thus carry and spread this misunderstanding.
Second, this type of appeal to the original languages for the “real meaning” of the text gives the impression that English just cannot adequately communicate the Word of God. It can suggest that only those who know the original languages truly have access to God’s real words, and it can lead to the idea that the Bible has hidden meaning just below the surface of translation.
If you take one thing away from this post, I want you to know this: Your English Bible translations communicate the Word of God. While knowing the original languages can give greater clarity, those who read the Bible in translation are not missing out on special insights. When you read the Bible in English, you are reading the same as what has been communicated in Hebrew and Greek. I think Mark Ward put it very well when he said, “If a preacher or a Christian book appeals to the Greek or Hebrew to tell you what some passage really means, and if you could never have known that point from reading good English Bible translations alone, do some more homework before you believe this preacher or writer.”[6]
[1] D. A. Carson, Exegetical Fallacies, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1996), 31–32.
[2] Carson, Exegetical Fallacies, 51.
[3] Carson, Exegetical Fallacies, 51.
[4] Carson, Exegetical Fallacies, 53.
[5] Moises Silva, Biblical Words and Their Meaning: An Introduction to Lexical Semantics (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1994), 44–45.
[6] Mark Ward, “How Language Works, and How It Doesn’t” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULEw6dK0_nU
