Is there anything mere about the symbolic? Perhaps its the influence of Jordan Peterson’s Maps of Meaning, an influence that must be always kept in check when discussing theology especially, but I’m inclined to think that something about the symbolic is closer in meaning to the spiritual than the physical is. This is an idea I’m much less settled on than I am still ruminating on it. So, if you please, I invite you to ruminate along.

The Baptist view of the Lord’s Supper is often explained as a view that the elements are “merely symbolic.” Now, this isn’t entirely unfair, as this description is certainly prescient for a great deal of Baptists, and, if memory serves, Zwingli himself used such phrasing to describe his view. I would propose, however, that there is indeed nothing “mere” about a symbolic view of the Lord’s Supper with regard to significance. We might properly describe the mere-ness of it as referring to a view that is simply, only, or primarily symbolic, but I will argue that a symbolic view is not lower than a more literal view, but is even higher.

This contention depends highly on the supposition that symbol is in fact higher than literal. I think this is profoundly true. Consider language. If we reduce written language to its bare material facts, it is nothing more than ink or graphite on a page or illuminated pixels on a screen. The material reality of written language is of no consequence to animals, for instance. To the human mind, however, the glyphs, letters, characters or runes of written language dance off the page imbued with meaning. Even a language in which the individual is not remotely literate is generally identifiable as language. It is not the physical fact of the letters or words that has meaning, but their symbolic nature which enables them to carry and evoke meaning.

Another, more helpful metaphor might be the cross. The conjoining of two pieces of wood is in itself mundane, but the act nonetheless creates an item that is in some sense sacred because of the crucifixion of our Lord that it evokes. The cross is but a material object, but it spells salvation. In keeping with the scripture’s constant command to avoid worshiping that which is fashioned with human hands, we should not find the meaning of a symbol in the thing itself but rather in the thing to which it refers. As the bread and wine are fashioned by human hands, it is thus important, I think, to err on the side of caution against making idols of them by treating them as though they are in themselves Christ, in themselves God. 

That said, when we eat of the elements of the Lord’s Supper, the significant principle in operation is faith. Faith is, by nature, not sight (2 Cor 5:6). Faith is pertinent to the visible but predicated on the invisible, as the author of Hebrews so eloquently intimates (Heb. 11:1). So, the Lord’s Supper is predicated on the invisible rather than the visible. The visible symbol refers to the invisible reality. It is the invisible aspect, that which is symbolized, which is its meaning. The invisible reality of Christ’s cleansing of the sin-stained soul is the definition of the word spelled with bread, wine, prayer and thanksgiving. 

On the other hand, I think that transubstantiation is the worst offender in lowering the meaning of the ritual. If it is necessary that the bread and wine physically be Christ’s body and blood, then the meaning is dragged down to the level of the symbol. The two are conflated such that the rite speaks of a truth that is primarily physical, even if in some sense invisible. If the elements must be literally, physically the body and blood, then I think something critical is missing from the understanding of the invisible nature of our faith. I would also suggest that a specifically Roman Catholic view of transubstantiation is untenable because of its dependence on Aristotelean ontology.

In the spiritual presence camp, which the view I’m presenting could be construed as a part of, there is nonetheless a prevalent conception of spiritual presence as hardly different from physical. Spiritual realities are spoken of as invisible, but not transcendent or abstract. The metaphysical is treated as though it functions identically to the physical. This view is still closer to the truth than transubstantiation, but I think it downplays the profoundness of the mystery that takes place. It is also worth noting Christ’s word that He is present whenever two or more are gathered in His name (Matt 18:20). Therefore, the onus falls on the defender of spiritual presence to explain what is specifically unique about His presence in the elements of the Supper, except perhaps that the presence is somehow physically devoured and destroyed (Matthew 15:17). 

If all this has been correct thus far, we can say with confidence that the Lord’s Supper is fundamentally symbolic and simultaneously that we do truly eat of Christ’s flesh and blood in the Supper. Now, I suspect a detractor to this view would suggest that the simultaneity of these statements is only made possible by a bit of dirty, underhanded wordplay, that I’ve only suggested we truly eat of Christ’s flesh and drink His blood by changing what is meant by the statement.

I don’t feel entirely obligated to answer this objection, at least not in light of the fact that determining the meaning of statements is nine tenths of the business of theology and ten tenths of hermeneutics. There is no inherent error in the attempt to determine the precise meaning of a statement, in this case, the statement that we truly feast upon Christ, though there may be error in the result. So, it is more important to defend the result and the manner of the attempt than the fact of the attempt itself.

Consider the emotional valence of symbols. Symbols like a national flag can evoke pride, sentimentality, affection, or indignation, bitterness, even rage depending on which flag, which individual, and in what context the symbolic encounter takes place. The burning of a flag, for example, can be an act that moves some to revolutionary fervor and others to patriotic lament. But it’s just a piece of fabric. The burning of an old t-shirt (probably) wouldn’t make any headlines. We understand that a flag, especially our Ol’ Glory here in the U.S.A., is a symbol that is rendered sacred because of its invisible meaning. It evokes a concept whose meaning is transformed by its treatment.

I would not suggest that the emotional significance of symbols is their only power, but rather a reflection of the objective reality of the meanings that they appeal to. Their poignance is evidence of their capacity for truth. Likewise, I am not trying to advocate a sort of naturalistic view in which Christ is present in the elements because the idea of and belief in His presence changes the feelings or behavior of the congregants. Instead, I am suggesting that symbols matter like words matter. The feelings they evoke are the result of the meanings hiding within them, and just as the words of God are sacred for the perfect, pure, authoritative truth they contain, the ordinances of Christ are much the same.

It’s worth mentioning that a great deal of what’s at play in this discussion hinges on the understanding of “spirit.” At the time of writing, the best conception of spirit I can muster is the invisible being of life, whose closest analog physically is breath or wind. In some sense, it is more of a pattern or phenomenon than a strict object. I’m afraid I can’t do much better than that, but I have been largely unsatisfied by language of spirit that portrays it as metaphysical matter, the aether, the mushy invisible substance which only differs from visible substance in the human ability to perceive it.

While the nature of spirit is critically important here, a more comprehensive examination of it will doubtlessly span many more discussions, hopefully forthcoming. What I do wish to impart most clearly here is the concession that spirit is necessarily a tricky thing to pin down. There is certainly a great deal of mystery in it for me, but more importantly I think it is necessary to acknowledge that some amount of mystery can and should be expected to persist in any construction of the spirit this side Glory. This is an acknowledgment that many conceptions, especially the Roman scholastic notion of transubstantiation, appear unequipped to adequately make.

I’m willing to hazard sounding excessively Eastern in my theology to suggest that an element of mystery is actually essential to a working definition of spirit. Spirit is, by nature, invisible, impervious to sensory categorization, and therefore necessarily eludes a critical component of human experience and cognition. Again, faith is definitionally juxtaposed to sight. Perhaps if we who are still patiently bearing with this unsure rumination were to substitute the word “mysteriously” for “spirtually,” the connection to symbol might be more clear in the statement that Christ is mysteriously present in the elements of the Supper. This phrasing is perhaps the best I can do at the time of writing to summarize the tentative position I’ve taken.

Ultimately, I hope I have at least legitimated the possibility that a symbolic view of Christ’s presence in the Supper is capable of suggesting more than the mere. There is nothing less meaningful about symbolic truths than material truths, but quite possibly the opposite. I don’t say this to eradicate the importance of concrete truth, for if the physical reference Christ ordained is absent then we might rightly say the referent is as well. The faith depends upon the concretely historical realities of the gospel (1 Cor 14:16-17), but is, in this life, abstract (1 Cor 13:11-12, John 20:29). Though, at this stage, all I can say with certainty is that our Lord commands this rite in accordance with properly memorializing His ultimate sacrifice, and the apostle Paul adds that this must be done with the right posture of heart. That is sufficient to convey its importance and meaningfulness even as we attempt to work out the exact nature of that importance and meaning.

I’m sure Nate M. and I will agree on the importance of this mystery, but I look forward to seeing how our views differ in the hope that we can sharpen each other’s knowledge and draw closer to right understanding. This entry is part one of a dialogue we will be having on the subject, so stay tuned for the rest.

And when he had given thanks, he brake [it], and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me. After the same manner also [he took] the cup, when he had supped, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink [it], in remembrance of me. For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord’s death till he come. Wherefore whosoever shall eat this bread, and drink [this] cup of the Lord, unworthily, shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord. But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of [that] bread, and drink of [that] cup. For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord’s body. – 1 Corinthians 11:24-29 (KJV)