Analogous Uses of Language, Eucharistic Identity, and the 'Baptist' Vision

body.

CHAPTER 1

Introduction

In the following book, I argue that attention to analogous uses of language reveals there to be an intrinsic relation between Eucharistic identity claims and James Wm. McClendon’s articulation of the ‘baptist’ vision, such that the baptist vision and the identity of Jesus’s body in the bread and in the church are not foreign to one another, but in fact share an internal ‘logic’ that is mutually illuminating of their real (i.e., not merely figural or symbolic) identity.1 Furthermore, it is the baptist vision itself that baptists ought fruitfully to offer as a constructive contribution to broadly catholic reflection on Eucharistic identity.2

In this first, introductory chapter, I identify the context that situates my claim (a context to be more fully explicated in chapter 2), and the method followed in defending the claim. I also briefly introduce what I mean by ‘real’ and ‘merely symbolic’ identity claims. Finally, I offer a brief survey of the chapters to come.

Whither a Claim About Eucharistic Identity and the ‘baptist’ Vision?

In the synoptic gospels and in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians we are told of the identity claim Jesus utters at the Last Supper, an identity claim that has proved seminally determinative of Christian Eucharistic practice and reflection: this is my body; this is my blood. Furthermore, Paul in the same letter makes explicit the link between Jesus’s body and the church, and between the church, Jesus’s body, and the bread: Is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf (1 Cor. 10:16-17).

The majority (though importantly, not all) of Baptists have understood these identity claims merely symbolically. That is, this is not really Christ’s body; it is, rather, nothing but a figure or symbol of Christ’s body.3 Likewise, if the church is one body, it can only be insofar as the bread is nothing but a symbol or figure of the church. Particularly among North American Baptists, this understanding of the sense of the words is so pervasive that Herschel H. Hobbs, the most prominent spokesperson in the mid-20th century for the largest Baptist denomination in the world can say simply without defense or explanation, Baptists believe that the Lord’s Supper is symbolic. The bread and fruit of the vine are but symbols of the broken body and spilled blood of Jesus.4

Yet, this majority Baptist impulse is at odds with the broad trajectory of the Christian church. As contemporary British Baptist John Colwell has observed, It is the reality of the Lord’s Supper as a participation in Christ’s body and blood, in his once-for-all sacrifice, that the overwhelming majority of the Church, for the overwhelming majority of its history, and from its earliest extant confessions, has unequivocally affirmed: the risen Christ is made present here in a unique manner and to a unique degree.5 Hence, while there are no doubt symbols involved, to reduce the Lord’s Supper to mere symbolism is strikingly out of step with most of the rest of the Christian church.

Herschel Hobbs and most Baptists have resisted ‘realistic’ identifications of bread and body as perceived by way of the Reformation disputes, where ‘realistic’ is set against merely metaphorical or merely symbolic (i.e., illustrative) identifications. Consequently, the Baptist rejection of real identity, though also having in view Lutheranism and variations of Reformed theology, has largely had in its sights Roman Catholic transubstantiation.

Yet, despite Roman Catholic claims to the contrary, it is not at all clear that Roman Catholic transubstantiation is any more in the broad tradition of the catholic church than the Baptist rejection of real identity. Some Eastern Orthodox theologians have raised objections to transubstantiation.6 The official way of articulating transubstantiation is not even the only way of articulating the claim in Roman Catholicism’s own history.7 So, while transubstantiation may be a Catholic teaching, it is disputable whether it is a catholic teaching.8

Furthermore, if transubstantiation is not catholic in the sense that it is not shared by all Christians, it furthermore may not be catholic insofar as it appears to be at variance with theologians and traditions Roman Catholicism claims as its own. In particular, Roman Catholic philosopher Garth L. Hallett has noted that the claim that the bread is changed without remainder into the body of Christ, so that after the conversion there is no longer bread but only body, appears to be at variance with, perhaps even in contradiction to, a number of the church fathers.9

A brief sampling should be enough to illustrate the point: Ignatius easily refers to the Eucharistic meal as Bread of God.10 Justin appears to hold together clearly bread and body: Not as common bread or as common drink do we receive these, but just as through the Word of God, Jesus Christ, our Savior, became incarnate and took on flesh and blood for our salvation, so … the food … is both the flesh and blood of that incarnate Jesus.11 Irenaeus appears to state rather explicitly that the Eucharistic bread is both bread and body: "For as the bread of the earth, receiving the invocation of God, is no longer common bread but Eucharist, made up of two things, an earthly and a heavenly, so also our bodies, partaking of the Eucharist are no longer corruptible, having the hope of the resurrection to eternity.12 Ephraem the Syrian affirmed explicitly the identification of bread with body.13 Augustine says, What you see, then, is bread and a cup. This is what your eyes report to you. But your faith has need to be taught that the bread is the body of Christ, the cup the blood of Christ;14 and The bread which you see on the altar, sanctified by God’s word, is the body of Christ. The cup, or rather its contents, sanctified by God’s word, is the blood of Christ. Through these Christ our Lord wished to bequeath his body and His blood which He shed for us for the forgiveness of sins."15

Of course, several of these may be consistent with transubstantiation; but they are not obviously so. Furthermore, there are more problematic sayings of the fathers. John of Damascus appears harder to square with transubstantiation: "since it is man’s custom to eat bread and drink water and wine, he joined his Divinity to these and made them His body and blood;"16 and "In like manner, the bread of communion is not plain bread, but bread united to divinity.17 Likewise, Theodoret of Cyrus: 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. But they are considered to be what they have become, and are believed to be that, and are adored as truly being those things they are believed to be.18 Finally, Pope Gelasius: Yet the substance or nature of the bread and wine does not cease to be.… Thus, as the elements pass into this, that is the divine, substance by the operation of the Holy Ghost, and nonetheless remain in their own proper nature, so they show that the principle mystery itself … consists in this, that the two natures remain each in its own proper being so that there is one Christ because He is whole and real."19

Now, of course, there may be ways for Roman Catholics to square these sayings with transubstantiation; or, if not, to understand them in terms of a trajectory or development of doctrine. But, at minimum, following the lead of Hallett, I only mean to note that it is not only conceptually possible, but apparently evidenced in the patristic sources, to affirm a real identity of bread and body (i.e., not merely symbolic) such that both poles of the identity remain without competition.

That such an identification is possible is relevant to the ‘baptist’ vision as articulated by James William McClendon Jr. McClendon frames his three volume systematic theology around what he calls the ‘baptist’ vision.20 McClendon claims that this vision is what organizes baptist practice and theology and animates baptist life. This vision is at heart a strategy for reading Scripture, a vision that effects a link between the church of the apostles and our own church.21 It is a hermeneutical principal of a shared awareness of the present Christian community as the primitive community and the eschatological community.22 Hence, the baptist vision is fundamentally an identity claim linking this church with that church.

In fact, it is an identity claim that helpfully illuminates Eucharistic identity, a claim that, I will argue, shares a ‘logic’ of real identity, without collapsing the poles of the identity into one another. If this proves true, that the baptist vision shares an intrinsic relationship with Eucharistic identity, then it may prove to be the case that, at least in one respect, this dissenting vision is a thoroughly catholic vision. Of course, the dissenters operating by this vision have come to conclusions about disputed matters and disputed practices that in some (though certainly not all) cases are at variance with the broadly catholic church. But, if I am right, the point remains: the vision that animates them is a catholic vision.

This is the claim I mean to pursue. I do not intend to construct a fullblown baptist doctrine of the Lord’s Supper, or of the real presence of Christ in the Lord’s Supper. Nor do I intend to construct a theory of sacrament that can account for the baptist vision and Eucharistic identity. Nor do I intend a primarily historical investigation of the church fathers, or of Roman Catholic transubstantiation, or of Baptist rejections of real identity. Rather, I intend this as a conceptual investigation, an exploration of the shared linguistic and conceptual contours of the claim ‘this is my body’ and ‘this church is that church.’ The fruit of this investigation is, hopefully, the thesis I mean to defend: namely, that attention to the analogous uses of language that constitute Eucharistic identity claims, and that constitute James William McClendon’s articulation of the ‘baptist’ vision, shows there to be an intrinsic relation between the two, such that the ‘baptist’ vision and the identity of Jesus’s body in the bread and in the church are not foreign to one another, but in fact share an internal ‘logic’ that is mutually illuminating of their real (i.e., not merely figural or symbolic) identity.

Consequently, this book is aimed first at Baptists, and secondarily at the church catholic. In particular, I mean to prod Baptists to reconsider their usual ways of articulating the identities of bread, body and church in light of their own animating vision. As suggested above, this is not a full theology of the Lord’s Supper. For Baptists, such a theology must center on Scripture, and while attention will be given to Scripture, it is not the primary goal to fully exegete the relevant Eucharistic passages. Hence, for Baptists, this can remain but a ‘working hypothesis,’ one that needs further, more complete biblical testing. Even so, as I will suggest later on, the ‘working hypothesis,’ if right, will demand a reconsideration of central biblical texts precisely because it suggests that the conceptual framework within which Baptists have traditionally read those texts has not adequately taken into account analogous uses of language in identity claims.

To the church catholic, I mean this investigation of Eucharistic identity and baptist identity to display the contours of a broadly catholic understanding of the identity of bread, body and church, an understanding that may be consistent with transubstantiation (or, a number of other ways of articulating the identity), but need not require it (or, any other particular way of articulating the identity). However, to repeat, there is no pretense of a broadly catholic theory of real presence. Rather, I mean to call attention to the conceptual contours of Eucharistic identity claims about bread, body, and the church in light of analogous uses of language. Furthermore, if I am right that there is an intrinsic relation between the baptist vision and Eucharistic identity, then the implicit suggestion is that baptist dissent has something constructive to say to the church catholic.

The sort of claim I mean to make can be illuminated by considering the method adopted for the project. As I indicated above, this project is neither historical, nor exegetical, but rather conceptual. My use of conceptual owes much to Ludwig Wittgenstein. Wittgenstein’s mode of doing philosophy turns out to be helpful for a theological project such as this. So, to method I now turn.

Method and Wittgenstein

The model followed in this book is that of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s way of doing philosophy. Wittgenstein’s writing is not thesis driven in the sense of a series of new proposals set out to solve philosophical problems. Rather, his writing is a series of comparisons, examples, pictures, often by means of pointed aphorisms or implicit dialogue, the purpose of which is to open our eyes to the unnoticed and unexamined pictures by which we operate. Calling attention to these unexamined pictures serves the ultimate purpose of bringing clarity to our ordinary uses of language. This way of writing constitutes a method of doing philosophy which self-consciously illuminates what is already before us in order to help us go on living well.

In what follows, I offer a brief overview of Wittgenstein’s method of doing philosophy for the purpose of identifying a pattern to follow throughout this book. First, I explore what Wittgenstein thought progress was in philosophy. What is philosophy aiming at? For Wittgenstein, what philosophy aims at is clarity, not solving philosophical problems, but providing the light necessary to avoid them in the first place. Second, if the goal is to dissolve philosophical problems, how does one go about doing that? For Wittgenstein, the method to be followed was not theory construction, but rather the identification and exploration of illuminating comparisons or models, comparisons or models that allow us to get our bearings in the thicket of language so that we are able to ‘go on.’ Finally, I will describe how it is that this method will shape the following book, including a brief defense of why I appeal to a method of philosophy for a book that has as its primary issue a matter of theology.

Progress in Philosophy

Wittgenstein’s method of philosophy contrasts with the dominant mode of philosophy in his day. When Wittgenstein first began in earnest his philosophical pursuits early in the 20th century, a philosophical idea with real traction was the notion that in order to make progress, what philosophy needed was a pure, ideal language with clear and unambiguous referents. Ordinary language was fine for mundane, everyday tasks, but was too messy to do rigorous philosophical work. Philosophical problems were to be analyzed into their smallest constituent components by means of a symbolic logic as a way of bypassing the vagaries of ordinary language. Bertrand Russell in England, and the Vienna circle (led principally by Moritz Schlick), assumed that philosophical problems were largely logical problems that could be overcome by a unified language of science. Such a language would have to be a philosophical construction in order to get around the inherent sloppiness of ordinary language.

As Wittgenstein saw it, the problem with this approach was that ‘progress’ in philosophy came to be defined in a way extrinsic to truly human life. Wittgenstein found himself out of touch, even repulsed by the overall tone of the project. Wittgenstein thought that this was another instance of what he called the spirit of the main current of European and American Civilization.23 This spirit of progress was linked with mechanization. Progress for the logical positivists was pursued by attempting to transcend the given boundaries of ordinary language. So, their ‘clarity’ was a foreign clarity to the actual ways humans lived. It was a clarity on the model of the machine, a clarity that was in the end instrumental to an abstract philosophical efficiency without reference to any actual human community. Hence, such progress in clarity was indexed to a manufactured language, rather than attending to the languages already in place.

For Wittgenstein, then, the purpose of philosophy was not an instrumental clarity in service of a mechanized ‘progress.’ He wrote, for me, on the contrary, clarity, perspicuity are valuable in themselves.24 They were valuable in themselves because they constituted a better view of the linguistic and lived contexts in which humans in fact find themselves. So, if perspicuity, clarity are valuable in themselves, then unlike the ideal language philosophers, what Wittgenstein sought were not philosophical or theoretical developments, breakthroughs, or anything new, but rather a better view of what is banal. He wrote early on, each of the sentences I write is trying to say the whole thing, i.e., the same thing over and over again; it is as though they were all simply views of one object seen from different angles.25

For Wittgenstein philosophy is the modest enterprise of clearing up conceptual difficulties, and we do this not by offering new theories, but by uncovering and displaying the sources of confusion. This is why ‘progress’ in the sense of ‘new’ philosophical discoveries cannot be the goal. Unlike modern progress, Wittgenstein seeks to attend to what is old, to language as we use it. This is because progress, in his view, is best measured by the criterion of real human community, not abstract criteria of the philosophers.

The rejection of theorizing in favor of the more modest goal of clarity displays Wittgenstein’s pervasive mistrust of generality. Wittgenstein thought that a number of philosophical puzzles were a result of our craving for generality.26 The result of this craving for generality is that we look for explanations, or principles that hold in all cases, or general laws lying ‘behind’ the world. Wittgenstein identifies several sources for this craving. For one, we regularly subsume under one general name a variety of objects and activities. But another main source of this craving, according to Wittgenstein, is our preoccupation with the method of science. Wittgenstein continues,

I mean the method of reducing the explanation of natural phenomenon to the smallest number of primitive natural laws; and, in mathematics, of unifying the treatment of different topics by using a generalization. Philosophers constantly see the method of science before their eyes, and are irresistibly tempted to ask and answer questions in the way science does.27

And yet, such a method while helpful in certain contexts leads the philosopher into complete darkness.28 The corollary of our temptation to generality is an embarrassment of the particular. We feel a definition is incomplete if it can only account for a limited number of cases. But, Wittgenstein insists in an aside, "Elegance is not what we are trying for."29 For Wittgenstein, what we are trying for is clarity—but, for Wittgenstein, clarity and elegance are rarely, if ever, found together. Hence, progress will not be found in theorizing about generalities.

Of course, to say that Wittgenstein is opposed to a spirit of progress is not to say that course corrections in our uses of language are always out of place. In his notes from 1931, Wittgenstein remarks that from one perspective philosophy is generally thought not to progress, that we still deal with the same philosophical puzzles as Plato. What Wittgenstein finds remarkable about this general acknowledgment is that why we deal with the same philosophical puzzles is generally overlooked. Why do the same puzzles continue to trouble us?

It is because our language has remained the same and keeps seducing us into asking the same questions. As long as there continues to be a verb ‘to be’ that looks as if it functions in the same way as ‘to eat’ and ‘to drink’, as long as we still have adjectives ‘identical’, ‘true’, ‘false’, ‘possible’, as long as we continue to talk of a river of time, of an expanse of space, etc. etc., people will keep stumbling over the same puzzling difficulties and find themselves staring at something which no explanation seems capable of clearing up.30

The problems of philosophy, for Wittgenstein, are problems of language. For example, that philosophers are befuddled by ‘the nature of being’ is a result of an examined picture of language—implicitly comparing ‘to be’ with verbal constructions like ‘to drink.’ The unexamined model implicitly suggests that if there is something we drink, then there must be something that just is. The problem, then is not a problem of being, but of ‘being’—and even more specifically, of the operative picture frequently at work when we use ‘being’ in speculative contexts: The confusions which occupy us arise when language is like an engine idling, not when it is doing work.31 If the confusion is about language, then we do not need a new theory of being, for instance. We need simply to clear up the confusion of the various uses of ‘to be,’ and often the confusion with language is at heart the dogmatism of a bad picture.

Hence, for Wittgenstein, there is something like progress to be made in philosophy, only it is the sort of progress an addict finds in therapy rather than the sort of progress of science. What we need is not something new, such as a theory of being. What we need is therapy that can show us how we in fact use the language, therapy that confronts us with the bad pictures we have inherited from language (and perhaps from some philosophical reflection on language). Of course, if it is the progress an addict makes in therapy, then there is always the danger, perhaps even the expectation, of regression. As Wittgenstein says, some pictures are more bewitching and harder to excise than others.32 And yet, progress can be made in the sense that we learn to see how our language works. Note again, however, that as we do come to see clearly, progress is made not by replacing the old with the new, but by gaining clarity on what is already there, and hence gaining facility, fluency in the language in which we find ourselves.

You must say something new and yet it must all be old.

In fact you must confine yourself to saying old things—and all the same it must be something new!33

Philosophical puzzles are not so much solved, as dissolved—and they are not dissolved by a new theory of language, but by paying attention to the rough ground, to the language as we use it: "The real discovery is the one that makes me capable of stopping doing philosophy when I want to.—The one that gives philosophy peace, so that it is no longer tormented by questions which bring itself into question."34

A Method for Clarity

If clarity is achieved by attending to the unexamined pictures by which we operate, then the method for achieving clarity is offering a series of models for comparison—problems are dissolved when we see the root of the problems in misleading pictures by which we are operating. The point of the method of offering models for comparisons is not to propose new theories based on the model. Rather, as Wittgenstein says, in giving all these examples I am not aiming at some kind of completeness, some classification of psychological concepts. They are only meant to enable the reader to shift for himself when he encounters conceptual difficulties.35 The pictures enable us to see the problem not from the ‘outside’ as the scientist sees the dissected rat, but rather to get our bearings ‘inside’ the uses of language at issue, bearings that make us puzzle at why we ever thought there was a puzzle to begin with. If this is the method, how does one go about doing philosophy without theses? Wittgenstein’s writing, especially his later work, is characterized by a series of thought experiments and aphorisms rather than traditional thesis-centered argumentation. Oskari Kuusela argues that the key to grasping how one would do philosophy without theses is to see how in fact Wittgenstein uses these philosophical aphorisms. Wittgenstein wrote:

for we can avoid the ineptness or emptiness in our assertions only by presenting the model as what it is, as an object of comparison—as, so to speak, a measuring-rod; not as a preconceived idea to which reality must correspond. (The dogmatism into which we fall so easily in doing philosophy.)36

Kuusela argues that a philosophical thesis in the traditional sense is a thesis concerning an essence.37 He continues,

Such theses are thought to concern the necessary features of ‘things’ in contrast to what is accidental to them. They tell us what something must be in order to be (or count as) whatever it is. In this sense, such theses bring to view what things really are in contrast to what they might happen to be, or appear to be.38

But Wittgenstein never intended to offer theses, "preconceived idea[s] to which reality must correspond."39 For Wittgenstein the danger of such theses is that they are frictionless, they spin in the air with no contact to the rough ground, and hence bewitch us—and insofar as we do not recognize them as so we run the danger of dogmatism; that is, the model becomes a necessary truth about the object of inquiry.40

Instead, for Wittgenstein, the philosopher is providing objects of comparison for the purpose of shedding light on the issue at hand, again not to solve it, but to allow us to find our way about. Joseph Incandela notes that what interpreters of Wittgenstein often overlook is the fact that Wittgenstein always says what he does for particular purposes.41 So, for example, Wittgenstein’s famous use of ‘language games’ is not intended as preparatory studies for a future regularization of language,42 but rather, language games are objects of comparison for the purpose of throwing light on what is often invisible to us, and is often the source of our confusion, so that we can ‘go on’ successfully.

Example 1: Meaning As Use

In order to show what Wittgenstein has in mind with philosophical models as objects of comparison, Kuusela focuses on Wittgenstein’s claim that meaning is use and the attendant claim of meaning as constituted by grammar. Wittgenstein says, ‘The meaning of a word is what is explained by the explanation of the meaning.’ I.e.: if you want to understand the use of the word ‘meaning’, look for what are called ‘explanations of meaning.’43 ‘Explanation of the meaning,’ however, is not an empirical proposition and not a causal explanation, but a rule, a convention.44 Hence, as Kuusela says, for Wittgenstein, meaning … can therefore be understood as something explainable in terms of rules.45 If we want to know what the meaning of ‘knowledge’ is, for instance, then we look at the ways we use ‘knowledge’; and the ways we use it are not random, but follow settled conventions. It is these settled conventions that give humor, or metaphor their power—for it is in breaking the rules that we find surprise, or new connections.

How are Wittgenstein’s statements about meaning and use not just another thesis? For if it is the case that meaning is constituted by rule-governed use, then it looks like Wittgenstein has made a theoretical claim about the essence of meaning.46 Kuusela argues that we take seriously Wittgenstein’s suggestion that his philosophical models are objects of comparison. If this is the case, then what we have with the notion of meaning as use is not an explanation or a theory of meaning, an articulation of what must be the case, but a useful model with which we can compare our actual uses of ‘meaning’—a comparison that sheds light on those uses by displaying both similarities and dissimilarities between the use and the model, and between uses themselves.47 The model is to be set against the manifoldness and blurredness of language use so as to bring order to linguistic relations and to make it possible to perceive them more clearly.48 Wittgenstein says:

If we look at the actual use of a word, what we see is something constantly fluctuating.

In our investigations we set over against this fluctuation something more fixed, just as one paints a stationary picture of a constantly altering landscape.

When we study language we envisage it as a game with fixed rules. We compare it with, and measure it against, a game of that kind.

If for our purposes we wish to regulate the use of a word by definite rules, then alongside its fluctuating use we set up a different one by codifying a characteristic aspect of the first one in rules.49

Significantly, in the project of comparing no claim need be made about what must be the case, for where we are confused is in our language use—and what we need is clarity on how we use those philosophically puzzling expressions like I know that … or This word means ….

Kuusela’s argument suggests that those who want to find Wittgenstein’s theory of language, meaning, or the like are on a wild goose chase—Wittgenstein simply does not have a theory of anything. Theories are a source of the problem, something that leads to confusion, because theories, though they purport to account for so much, in fact miss what is most important, that pictures are at the heart of the way we conceive of and articulate knowledge, meaning, understanding, and the like. Theorizing simply does not account for the fact that our confusions are not a lack of information, or of explanations of the information, but bad pictures that seduce how we organize our thoughts, and the sorts of ‘solutions’ we think we need.50 So what Wittgenstein offers us is not alternative theories, but a series of exercises, the purposes of which are to display to us the pictures that give rise to various kinds of explanations and conceptions, and consequently to that which puzzles us.

Example 2: Understanding

Consider another example of this method at work: Wittgenstein considers the philosophical problem of understanding. What, exactly, is meant when we say that someone understands something? In the section of Philosophical Investigations in which this consideration appears, Wittgenstein addresses a series of examples about what it means to say that someone has understood a notation.51 The point of the examples is to challenge the prevalent theory that understanding is a mental process of bringing before the mind a picture or image or idea of whatever the object of understanding is. For instance, on the prevalent view, when someone says the word cube, what it means to understand the word is to have before the mind an image of a cube and not, say, an image of a triangle. This process constitutes a mental state, the state of understanding.

Wittgenstein tackles this philosophical question with a series of examples, or ‘games’ as he often calls them. The purpose of the games is to suggest an alternative picture for conceptualizing ‘understanding.’ He addresses this alternative picture to an imaginary interlocutor who operates on the picture of understanding as a mental picture (Wittgenstein regularly uses interlocutors as a device in his writing). Wittgenstein writes, "I wanted to put that picture before him [the interlocutor], and his acceptance of the picture consists in his now being inclined to regard a given case differently: that is, to compare it with this rather than that set of pictures. I have changed his way of looking at things. If Kuusela is correct, then Wittgenstein is challenging the notion of understanding as a mental state not by offering a counter thesis (e.g., understanding is not a mental state but a …"), but by calling attention to the particular model of understanding at issue. So, Wittgenstein offers a series of examples to challenge the dogmatism of the model.

The immediate thought-experiment that Wittgenstein offers is a teacher trying to teach a pupil a notation that consists of a series of signs, say 0 through 9 ordered numerically.52 How would we know that the pupil truly understands the series, and is not, for instance, merely mimicking us when we write down the numbers 0-9? On the accepted model of understanding as mental process, we might say something like this: the pupil understands the notion when, on an occasion when we ask him to write out the series, he brings before his mind the series and then writes out the series for us.

Imagine, Wittgenstein suggests, how we might teach him the series 0-9: perhaps we guide his hand writing out the series; perhaps we flash cards at him; perhaps we make him recite out loud the series: "but then the possibility of getting him to understand will depend on his going on to write it down independently."53 Furthermore, imagine that when writing independently, the pupil makes mistakes: perhaps he slips up and randomly puts numbers out of order; or perhaps he systematically puts numbers out of order, or only writes every other number, etc. He does not appear to understand. But what then? Well, maybe with enough practice he will start to write the order correctly. Or, Wittgenstein suggests, perhaps we can teach him the order as a derivative of his order. Of course, it may also be the case that our pupil’s capacity to learn may come to an end.54

How does this example challenge the prevalent notion of understanding as mental state? By offering another model for comparison. Wittgenstein is saying something like this: imagine understanding as something more akin to training than to a mental state of picturing the object. Wittgenstein’s example turns on the fact that in the ordinary course of things, a teacher judges that a student understands the series when the student can go on and perform successfully with the series. Wittgenstein wants to suggest that such a model simply avoids all the problems of the mental process theory of understanding (e.g., how closely must the picture in the mind match the object? What criteria are used to determine whether the picture in the mind is in fact a picture of the object?) without needing to speculate about an essence of ‘understanding.’

The philosopher of course may not be satisfied: "Yes, but does the child understand?" But at this point this seems to be the philosopher’s problem, not ours, insofar as the philosopher would appear to be asking for a theoretical account of understanding that can take account of the child’s success or failure. Rather, given the whole series of examples that occur throughout the section it seems clear that what Wittgenstein wants his interlocutor to see is that he is blind to the picture of understanding that captures his conception of it. If the philosopher can accept an alternative model as illuminating, then the puzzle about what it really means to understand simply disappears, not because we have the proper theory of ‘understanding’ to inform us, but because we can stop demanding a theory and go on. The child and the teacher can go on successfully, and that is enough. Wittgenstein’s point is not that it must be the case that understanding is nothing but being successfully trained, but rather that this is a useful picture, a picture that helps clarify some of the confusion surrounding ‘understanding.’

The Method and this Book

In an academic book there are expectations that must be met, expectations that may not fit well with a rejection of theses. A series of aphorisms will likely not pass muster for most readers. So, I must spell out the way in which Wittgenstein’s method informs this project.

First, like Wittgenstein, I hope to achieve a measure of clarity in what follows, in particular about Eucharistic identity and the baptist vision. I mean to set clarity against ‘progress’ in the sense that what I hope to achieve is not a new theory of Eucharistic identity based on the baptist vision, or of Jesus’s presence, or of a notion of sacrament. Rather, I hope to achieve perspicuity on the way in which language is used to constitute the identity claims at issue, and what that suggests about the baptist vision itself. Gaining clarity, it is hoped, will help baptists ‘go on’ in felicitous Eucharistic practice and reflection.

Second, while like Wittgenstein I hope to avoid theses in the sense given above, this need not entail the adoption of aphorism over against argumentation. I do have claims to make, and hence arguments to offer in order to defend