De Jesús aprendieron que es preciso renunciar a la vida que llevaban, despojándose del hombre viejo… para renovarse en lo más íntimo de su espíritu y revestirse del hombre nuevo, creado a imagen de Dios en la justicia y en la verdadera santidad (Efesios 4:23-24).
La alternativa aparente es la escuela relativista, o bien, nominalista. Ésta supone que la palabra en sí no tiene sentido alguno. Contexto y consenso otorgan significado al signo, pero en forma provisoria. Así, las oraciones gramaticales no tienen por qué ser siquiera gramaticales, porque el grito reiterativo de sustantivos calificados (es decir, consignas y palabrotas) expresa un sentimiento único y válido; sin embargo, tan único, que nadie fuera del locutor puede entender de qué se trata. Algunos dirían que es el lenguaje de la poesía; pero no, es el idioma del Principito que vive solito en su propio planeta. Aunque todos griten la misma incoherencia, aunque la muchedumbre se deje llevar por la pasión del momento, sentido no hay, y nadie cree nada.
Todo así polarizado, los dos lados se descalifican, intentando, con palabras cada vez más agresivas y menos significativas, imponer su versión sobre los otros, y no pasa nada. Nadie gana y todos pierden. Se desperdicia la noción de la credibilidad en sí.
Tiene que haber una tercera alternativa. No digo, un término medio, porque a veces, los términos medios conllevan los vicios propios de los dos extremos. Pienso que tiene que existir un lenguaje que vincula signos válidos con realidades concretas, palabras en diálogo con referentes reales, es decir, palabras encarnadas. De hecho, ese lenguaje existe. Si no, estaría el caos absoluto. Está en la periferia, lejos de la academia, lejos de la cúpula de poder. En el centro de este pequeño universo, ya se abanderaron, cada uno contra su enemigo. A pesar de todo, gracias a Dios, la comunidad global no se ha hecho pedazos todavía. El mundo todavía está rebalsado de la gloria de Dios, de moléculas organizadas e infundidas con la chispa de vida. Hay una presencia real de vida verdadera; y con suerte, podrá haber sentido verdadero en el lenguaje, también.
Más allá de la prisión autoritaria de lenguaje absolutista, más allá del huracán de gruñidos insólitos del nominalismo radical, existe certeza cierta en esta dudosa oscuridad terrenal, un mapa verbal para el peregrino, que permite encontrar el camino acertado para llegar al destino. En algún lugar, tiene que haber sentido común, a pesar de todo.
A eso se refiere el católico cuando habla de la presencia real en la eucaristía, y por ende, presencia real en el pueblo. Existe pan de vida. No está en los supuestos milagros eucarísticos propios del campo esencialista (influenciados por el materialismo moderno) que alucina con hostias transformadas en churrascos del cadáver de Jesús. Es el Resucitado que se reconoce al partir el pan. Tampoco se trata tan sólo de una presencia simbólica, una dramatización ficticia ocasional para recordar. Ahí, según el mantra relativista, todo da lo mismo.
Se trata de una trascendencia transfigurada, una realidad espiritual infundida en el misterio subatómico, algo difícil de capturar pero fundamental, algo sólido que realmente alimenta a los que caminan hacia tierra prometida, algo que actualiza el Reino de Dios.
Si el cristianismo es especulativo, si se vive sentado en la comodidad del aire acondicionado con abundancia de luz, agua e comida; los fieles pueden darse el lujo de abanderarse con absolutismos y despotricar contra los otros; o compadecerse del nominalismo perseguido y teorizar sobre el amanecer de un mundo feliz donde todo da lo mismo y cada uno se entiende a sí mismo. Pero así, ninguno va a conocer al pan de vida que baja del cielo. Ninguno va a encontrarse con Jesús, el signo real de la compasión concreta del Padre.
Aquí, en terreno misionero, se precisa un discurso cuerdo de palabras encarnadas, con presencia real del Resucitado para sobrevivir. Las teorías no sirven de nada cuando los insectos que te pican de a miles. Las formalidades absolutas no significan nada para las culebras que se pisan al caminar, ni para los que te calumnia por proclamar el evangelio. Cuando cae la lluvia y hay que pasar el río; cuando el agua te llega hasta el cuello y sigues andando; por la gracia de Dios, por amor al evangelio; uno palpa la presencia real. Presencia simbólica no es suficiente. Tampoco basta un decreto del Catecismo. Si el Resucitado no va contigo, no llegas.
The real deal
From Jesus we learned to put away the old self, the former way of life, corrupted through deceitful desires, and be renewed in mind and spirit; to put on the new self, recreated God's way, in justice and true holiness (Ephesians 4:23-24).
There are two schools on words and meaning. Each one is extreme. Theoretically, they are opposites. And yet, strangely, they end up in the same place; empty discourse, meaningless language, baseless formality, all sound and fury that no one can believe.
The first is the absolutist, or essentialist school. This one supposes that each word has an intrinsic meaning; a precise, clear, mathematically determined sense; no shades of gray; no connotations or feelings or figurative representations. According to this theory, grammatical sentences can be reduced to algebraic equations that affirm exact statements in black and white with all the authority of the FrenchAcademy. In reality, no one speaks that language, with the possible exception of erudite Parisians. It is useful for writing legal contracts perhaps, but useless for living. It is so precise that it corresponds to nothing in the real world; so perfect that it can only be a lie; and no one really believes any of it.
The apparent alternative is the relativist, or nominalist school. This one supposes that words in themselves mean nothing. Context and consensus make signs significant, but only in a provisional way. Thus, sentences need not even really be grammatical at all, because if you shout nouns and qualifiers often enough and loud enough, (as in, at the stadium), that expresses something unique and valid; so unique, in fact, that usually only the speaker (or the shouter) really understands what that something is. Some would say this is the language of poetry. But no, it is the idiom of the Little Prince alone on his tiny planet. Even though sometimes everyone shouts the same nonsense, even though the crowd sometimes gets carried away by the passion of the moment, there isn’t much meaning there, and no one really believes any of it.
When everything gets completely polarized, both sides attack each other. Words become more violent and less significant. Each tries to impose its version on the other, and it isn’t going to happen, clearly a no-win situation. In fact, the notion of credibility itself comes into question.
There has to be a third alternative. Not a middle road, really, because often middle roads include the vices of both extremes, and offer no virtues of their own. There must be a language that connects valid signs with concrete realities; words in dialogue with the extensional actualities they represent; which is like saying, incarnate words.
In fact, that language does exist. If it didn’t, chaos would have already taken over. It’s out there on the edge, far from the academy, far from the seat of power. In the center of this petty universe, most have already taken sides against their supposed enemy. And yet, thanks be to God, the global consensus has yet to completely fall apart. Creation is still filled with the glory of God. There are still organized molecules infused with the spark of life. There is still a real presence of life and truth which, with luck, might still give true meaning to language.
Beyond the authoritarian prison of absolutist language, beyond the hurricane of insular grunting and yelping of radical nominalism, there is some form of certainty in this doubt-filled sublunary darkness. There is a verbal map for pilgrims, allowing them to find their way and get where they are going. Somewhere, in spite of everything, there must be common sense.
This is what Catholics mean when they speak of real presence in the Eucharist, and therefore, real presence in the community. There is a real deal. There is a bread of life. It’s not in the supposed Eucharistic miracles, to which the essentialist camp is prone. They tend to hallucinate with consecrated hosts morphing into steak sliced from the cadaver of the crucified Lord. It is the Risen Lord that we recognize in the breaking of the bread. Neither are we talking about just a symbolic presence, some sort of fictional dramatization to help us remember a very special day; as relativists chant their mantra, it’s all the same and nothing really matters.
Some things do matter. This is transfigured transcendence, spiritual reality infused in subatomic mystery, hard to capture but fundamental; something solid that really sustains those on the road to the Promised Land; something that makes the Kingdomof Goda reality.
If Christianity is speculative, if it is to be taken sitting down in air conditioned comfort, with plenty of food and drink; the faithful might think they can afford the luxury of signing on with absolutism and spend their days lashing out at others; or they might feel sorry for poor persecuted nominalism and sit back to theorize about the dawn of the brave new world in which each person understands himself, (and no one else). But no one will ever know the bread of life that comes down from the heavens. No one will ever encounter Christ, the real sign of the Father’s concrete compassion.
Here, in mission territory, a sensible discourse of incarnate words infused with the real presence of the Risen Lord is necessary for survival. Theories are useless when you are being eaten alive by thousands of insects. Absolute formalities don’t mean a thing to the snakes that you step on as you walk, nor to those who slander you for proclaiming the Gospel. When the rain begins to fall and you have to cross the river; when the water is up to your neck and you keep walking, by the grace of God, for love of the Gospel; one can reach out and actually touch real presence. Symbolic presence isn’t enough. Clear statements from the Catechism don’t help, either. If the Risen Lord isn’t right there beside you, you won’t make it.
Nathan Stone, S.J.
