Bom, eu diria simplesmente que a oração foi ensinada pelo próprio Cristo e suas palavras são claras fazendo com a tradução seja também clara.
Não se deve mudar "não nos leve para tentações" para "não nos deixeis cair em tentação". A tradução usada em português e espanhol é simplesmente errada, não corresponde às palavras de Cristo, e o Papa não deveria tentar impor uma tradução errada.
Sem falar, que em termos puramente técnicos de tradução seria uma mudança errada e teologicamente controversa.
Mas aqui vai o que diz o famoso tradutor Anthony Esolen sobre o assunto. Ele é famoso mundialmente por traduzir por exemplo a Divina Comédia de Dante. Ele é também terminantemente contra a versão que se tem em português e espanhol.
Em destaque, Esolen lembra que o próprio Cristo disse para rezarmos, caos contrário, nós seríamos "testados" ou colocados em tentação. Todos têm que "lutar o bom combate".
O texto de Esolen foi publicado no site First Things.
WHY WE SHOULDN’T CHANGE THE LORD’S PRAYER
Pope Francis has caused another round of cheering and dismay by calling for a “better translation” of the words of the Lord’s Prayer. Specifically, he says that the line familiar to us English speakers as “lead us not into temptation” should be rendered as “let us not fall into temptation,” because a loving Father does not subject His children to evil. We may cite here, in apparent support of that statement, the words of St. James: “Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am tempted by God’; for God cannot be tempted with evil and he himself tempts no one; but each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire” (Jas. 1:13–14). It was not God who tempted Job, but Satan. It was not God who tempted David with the sight of Bathsheba bathing in her garden, but David himself, whose desire gave birth to the sins of adultery and murder. All Christians, I suppose, will agree.
And yet,
and yet: The words of Jesus are clear. The original Greek is not ambiguous.
There is no variant hiding in the shelves. We cannot go from an active verb,
subjunctive mood, aorist tense, second person singular, with a clear direct
object, to a wholly different verb—“do not allow”—completed by an infinitive
that is nowhere in the text—“to fall”—without shifting from translation to theological exegesis. The task of the translator, though he should be informed by the
theological, cultural, and linguistic context of the time, is to render what
the words mean, literally, even (perhaps especially) when those words sound
foreign to our ears.
Here
someone will shout, “But sometimes the meanings are not literal.” I agree.
Sometimes the primary meaning is figurative; but that is still a linguistic
judgment, and not theological exegesis. Even so, we are far more likely to
paint for our readers a broad range of figurative meaning by keeping close to the literal field wherein that meaning takes root
and flourishes, than by
dispensing with the literal, and losing it and much of the figurative to boot.
Hence translations that suppress the word “seed” (as in “Abraham's seed”), or
“fruit” (as in “be fruitful, and multiply,” or Jesus’s parable of the vineyard
owner who sent his servants to gather the “fruit” of his land), replacing these
words with “offspring” and “produce,” are not only pallid English. They make it
impossible for us to hear the figurative resonances of these words as Jesus and
his fellow Jews heard them, across all of Scripture. They distance us—who are
already farther off than is healthy—from what Aidan Nichols, O. P. has called
“the warmth and wonder of created things,” of fruit, and seed, and the marital
act that sows the seed.
Someone
else will say that language changes over time, and that is why we need
revisions. Perhaps; but the ancient Greek has not changed, and English in this
regard has not changed. “Lead us not into temptation” means “do not lead us
into temptation,” and that is that. We might revise and render “temptation” as
“testing” or “trial”: “Do not lead us to the test,” but that would still fall
under the pope’s disapproval.
No, I
believe that the Greek means what it means, and what it means is accurately
rendered as “lead us not into temptation,” exactly the same in Matthew as it is
in Luke.
Then
someone objects, and says that the Greek is just a translation of the Lord’s
Aramaic, so that we, by guesswork, can efface the Greek and replace it with a
supposititious original. There are three problems here. First, the Greek is the
text we have, and it is canonical. Second, there is no reason to suppose that
Greek-speaking Jews did not pray the prayer exactly as the Greek-speaking Saint
Luke records it, which in this line is identical to Matthew’s. Third, if we
consider a Semitic substrate it becomes more likely, not less, that the Greek me eisenenkeis hemas eis peirasmon is an exact rendering of what would be a verse of psalmic poetry,
as I believe all of the Lord’s Prayer is. We would have A + B + C, where A is
the negative, B is a causative verb (in Hebrew, “lead” = “to cause to go,” as in Psalm
23) with affixes for second-person singular subject and third-person plural
object, and C is “into-temptation.” Such a verse or half-verse would be
familiar to every one of Jesus's listeners, and they would have expected it to
be completed by a second half. And so it is, in another A + B + C: “but +
free-us + from-evil,” each element in correspondence with its partner in the
previous half. No, I’m afraid that all attempts to justify an alteration on
linguistic grounds fail. But what about the theology?
Let us
be careful here. Jesus himself, in Gethsemane, instructed his apostles to pray
“lest they be put to the test,” echoing his own words in the Lord’s Prayer. It
is not a prayer that they should not fall into temptation, much less that they should not yield to temptation. It is parallel
instead with Jesus’s prayer in the garden, that he might be spared the cup that
he was about to drink. Jesus knows our weakness, and knows that trials will
come. He knows that, as James says, “blessed is the man who endures trial, for
when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life which God has
promised to those who love him” (1:12). But we are weak. We are not yet heroes.
We are hardly soldiers at all. So we confess our weakness.
We pray,
then, that God will spare us that test—even as we know that tests will come.
Jesus himself says it. Satan has demanded Peter, to sift him like wheat, says
Jesus, “but I have prayed for you, that your faith might not fail; and when you
have turned again, strengthen your brethren” (Luke 22:31). We are not heroes,
we are poor and unprofitable servants, yet we are called to say, with St. Paul,
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith”
(2 Tim. 3:7). And a Father might very well allow His grown sons and daughters
to stand the test, that they might show their strength—His strength in
them!—and triumph over the Slanderer.
The
words of Jesus, as words, are clear. Their implications are profound. They are
hard for us to fathom. They strike us as strange. That is as it should be. Let
them stand.
Anthony Esolen
is professor of English Renaissance and classical literature at the Thomas
More College of Liberal Arts.
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