Giunta v. Popp: Some thoughts on the place of religious discourse in modern American society

By Tim Dunkin

Last month, two of my fellow contributors to Renew America, Eric Giunta and Dan Popp, engaged each other in a series of articles that appeared as if they might turn into a lengthy discussion. The subject was on the issue of transubstantiation, and more generally on the nature of Christianity in the first centuries of its existence. While this is perhaps a somewhat atypical subject for a site that focuses on politics, I must admit that I found nothing amiss about the exchange at all. I, for one, believe that religion and religious discussion have as much of a right to a hearing in the public square as any other subject. I reject the notion that a religiously plural society such as ours must muzzle discussion of religious and theological matters so as not to "offend" anyone or to spare the irreligious the inconvenience of seeing and hearing things with which they might disagree. Or, as Mr. Giunta said in his first offering,

"While eschewing and repudiating any tendency toward vulgar statist theocracy, the founders and contributors to this enterprise operate under the assumption that the source of America's political ills is a spiritual rot, which has infected every sphere of civil society. This rot is secularism, the doctrine that the state must be functionally atheistic, that the demands of a pluralistic society necessitate a polity where law and policy-making is conducted etsi Deus non daretur."

I would agree. In that vein, I also reject the politically correct notion that our individual discourse in the public square must also be "as if there was no God." Indeed, I was rather hoping that Mr. Popp and Mr. Giunta would continue their discussion beyond the two essays provided by each man, though I realize that they may have felt that an on-going conference specifically between the two of them might be laboring the point.

There's an essay that I've wanted to write for a long time, but just have never gotten around to, in which I would argue that, far from being detrimental, spirited theological discussion in an open and pluralistic society would actually be quite healthy, for a number of reasons. I don't plan on writing that essay here, though I will lay out its details briefly.

First of all, I do realize that religion is a topic that can lend itself to a good deal of acrimonious contention. It does not have to, however. One requirement that is needed when discussing religious topics is maturity. Of course, that is needed for living in a pluralistic society, period. In whatever situation, I think we have the right to expect that others will act with at least a modicum of dignity and common courtesy, regardless of how "different" we may be from them in whatever way. Contentiousness can arise over any topic — I've known people who would start an argument over the weather (seriously). Clearly, what is at issue is the individual maturity of the participants, not the issue under discussion itself. It is our responsibility to refrain from interpreting anything that we hear that disagrees with our own religious convictions as "inflammatory" unless it is obviously intended to be such.

Anywise, on to the benefits. As with anything else, spirited debate on religious matters encourages (or should encourage, at least) its participants to think about what they believe. If we truly believe that ours should be a reasonable faith, then it certainly ought to stand the test of a little disagreement, should it not? In his first article, Popp noted about the early patristic writers that "most of them had learned from the Greek philosophers to take apart their opponent's case not brick-by-brick, but almost molecule-by-molecule." He's right. They were men who thought long and hard about what they believed, why they believed it, and how best to present their case to skeptical opponents. Such an approach to your subject matter encourages precise thinking and reasoning abilities. Because theology, doctrine, and religion are subjects that turn on precision of meaning, it is useful both to the development of one's reasoning abilities, as well as one's personal faith, to give these subjects deep thought. These subjects also encourage us to pursue the study of history, to learn how to find, approach, and use historical sources.

This all being said, I was a bit disappointed to read this in Mr. Giunta's first essay,

I don't know why Dan decided to go ahead and publish on a subject that would be so divisive among conservative Christian activists, on a conservative site that is Christian, but not sectarian. Many (I suspect a disproportionate number) of Renew America's contributors (including founder Alan Keyes) are Catholics, and surely Dan knew his piece would invite a response from one of them.

Really, it shouldn't matter. I'm sure there are many Catholic readers and contributors to Renew America. Does that mean that a subject that disagrees with Catholicism should be rendered taboo, because they might be offended? I should certainly hope not. As a Baptist, I see plenty that is written with which I would disagree, but it doesn't enter into my mind to suggest that it shouldn't have been written. Part of the maturity necessary for a pluralistic society is the willingness to be "tolerant" in the true, classically-liberal sense of the word. A sectarian writing should be considered an invitation to discussion and deliberation, rather than as a personal insult.

For the reasons given above, I certainly think that religious discourse should have a valued place in the marketplace of ideas. We, as believers of whatever creed, should use the opportunity to turn back the false idea that religious belief belongs at home and in church only. Talking about religious doctrine and theology does not mean the imposition of theocracy, despite what some might say.

I would like to take a moment to briefly address, then, some of what Mr. Giunta and Mr. Popp were discussing. I certainly do not intend to deal with their dispute comprehensively or to the level of minutiae that they reached, both for reasons of time, and because I am something of an "uninvited guest" in their conversation.

As you might suspect, I would be more in agreement with Mr. Popp, and would certainly question Mr. Giunta's proposition that the early church was "Catholic." Indeed, I do not think that such is the case, and find him to be anachronizing his own theology backwards onto these first centuries, when the source materials we have do not support it. Indeed, in the New Testament, there does not seem to be a credible case for the "church" being universal in any way, either catholic or Catholic (this is probably a place where Mr. Popp and myself will part ways, though I don't know that for sure). Indeed, the Greek word translated as "church," ekklesia, in secular literature as well as in the New Testament, describes an assembly of individuals who are called out from among a larger body. Throughout the New Testament, only local churches are dealt with, and multiple churches were seen in larger geographical areas (the churches of Galatia, the churches of Macedonia, etc.). In I Corinthians 12:27, Paul specifically tells the individual church at Corinth that they are "the body of Christ" (not to be confused with broader terms such as "family of God" or "household of faith"). The plain, literal use of ekklesia in the Bible is in reference to local assemblies of believers called out from the world and assembled together into corporate bodies for worship, service, and edification.

What of the instances where "church" seems to be used more universally, such as in Ephesians 4, or in the early chapters of the Book of Acts? I would attribute this minority usage of the term to synecdoche, where one particular unit is being used as a general term that applies to all others that are like it. In the case of the church of Jerusalem in Acts, for a period of that time, the church at Jerusalem was, in fact, the only local church in existence, until the dispersion by persecution related in Acts 8:1. When we look at ekklesia through the lens of the natural meaning of the word, coupled with the specific contexts in which it is used in the Scripture, its local application becomes apparent. Even within the very early patristic writers, "church" seems to have had a local context (especially with Clement of Rome), and not until Irenaeus — who introduced numerous errors into the family of Christianity — do we see the consistent appearance of an unambiguous attribution of the church as universal.

The other area I would quibble with Mr. Giunta about, naturally, would be the matter of transubstantiation. It is not at all clear that the patristics understood the "body and the blood" to be literally referring to transubstantial change of the elements of the Lord's Supper. Indeed, if Mr. Giunta's aim really is to demonstrate the uniformity of the early churches in favor of this doctrine, I think he will be sorely disappointed. In addition to the witnesses adduced by Mr. Popp, there are other patristics who rejected transubstantiation. Even one as late as Gelasius I (d. 496 AD), revered as one of the greatest early popes, said this,

"The sacrament of the body and blood of Christ, which we receive, is a divine thing, because by it we are made partakers of the divine-nature. Yet the substance or nature of the bread and wine does not cease. And assuredly the image and the similitude of the body and blood of Christ are celebrated in the performance of the mysteries." (Gelasius, Against Eutyches and Nestorius, Bibl. Max. Patrum, Lyon, Vol. 8, p. 703)

Clearly, Gelasius understood the bread and wine to be symbols, images and similitudes, whose substance and nature, he says, do not cease. They don't change. They aren't transmuted, apparently or otherwise. Likewise, the apologist Theodoret, writing against a dialogical heretic named Eranistes, said,

'You have been caught in the nets which you have woven, for not even after the consecration do the mystical symbols depart from their own nature! They continue in their former essence, both in shape and appearance, and are visible, and palpable, as they were beforehand." (Against Eranistes, Dialog 2)

From there, Theodoret proceeds to suggest that the body and blood are understood by faith — not faith in a change in their substance, but in what they represent. Here we see that in this dialog, Theodoret specifically refutes the notion of transubstantiation, and indicates his view that the belief is heresy.

Even Augustine evinces a symbolic view of the Supper. At one point, while explaining his hermeneutical approach to Scripture, he specifically uses the "body-blood" discourse in John 6 as an example of where Scripture should be understood figuratively,

"'Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man,' says Christ, 'and drink His blood, ye have no life in you.' This seems to enjoin a crime or a vice; it is therefore a figure, enjoining that we should have a share in the sufferings of our Lord, and that we should retain a sweet and profitable memory of the fact that His flesh was wounded and crucified for us." (Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, Bk. 3, Sect. 16, par. 24)

Elsewhere (Exposition on the Psalms, Psalm XCIX, par. 8), Augustine pointedly says that the "spiritual" understanding of Christ's words in this portion of John 6 is the correct one, and says that those who left Christ because His words were hard were those who mistaken thought that He literally wanted them to eat His flesh and drink His blood. He wrote,

"For when twelve disciples had remained with Him, on their departure, these remaining followers suggested to Him, as if in grief for the death of the former, that they were offended by His words, and turned back. But He instructed them, and saith unto them, "It is the Spirit that quickeneth, but the flesh profiteth nothing; the words that I have spoken unto you, they are spirit, and they are life." Understand spiritually what I have said; ye are not to eat this body which ye see; nor to drink that blood which they who will crucify Me shall pour forth. I have commended unto you a certain mystery; spiritually understood, it will quicken. Although it is needful that this be visibly celebrated, yet it must be spiritually understood."

Indeed, the issue of transubstantiation was not settled within Catholicism for centuries. As late as 855, a Benedictine monk named Ratramnus felt at liberty to teach the spiritual, symbolic view of the bread and wine, and in 1045, no less than Berengar of Tours taught against transubstantiation, being opposed by Lanfranc. The issue only seems to have been decisively settled at the Lateran Council in 1215.

Well, that is my $0.02 contribution to the discussion, which I hope has been at least somewhat within the spirit of my presentation above.

© Tim Dunkin