Tradition

This is the night on which Christians commemorate Jesus’ celebration of the Passover with his disciples, when he first introduced the Eucharist—sometimes called the Great Thanksgiving because the Greek word eucharisto means “to give thanks.” That is how the early Greek-speaking Christians understood what they were doing in the liturgy of the table: giving thanks to God for saving them from destruction.

When Paul tells the Corinthians about the Eucharist, he describes the process of “handing on” the good news of Christ. “For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you: that the Lord Jesus, on the night when he was betrayed, took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’ For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11.23–26).

The Latin term for this process Paul describes of “handing on” knowledge of the mystery of God is traditio, from which we get the English word “tradition.” The Eucharist (and the gospel more generally) are treasures “handed on” from one generation to another, one people to another—a traditio now more than two millennia old. In fact, the story underlying the Eucharist and resonating with even more ancient meanings is far older—a tradition handed on faithfully across the generations from the time of Moses. The Jewish tradition of the passover of the Lord and the exodus from Egypt prefigure, shape, and inform the Christian tradition of the Eucharist and salvation from sin.

Why do people “hand on” anything at all? Why do we have traditions? Isn’t it better just to let people figure things out for themselves—why burden others with all the things we think? Why not just let them think ‘for themselves’?

I hope you can hear the irony in these questions, but in case not, let me spell it out for you. Why do people hand on things to others? What kinds of things do they hand on? Sometimes physical possessions with special meaning: family heirlooms, photographs, jewelry, books, buildings, farms, animals, businesses. Also things without a material form, such as “old wives’ tales” and other advice, ideas about right and wrong, social and political customs, family celebrations, and so on.

Usually people want to hand things on to others because they treasure them. They hope that by sharing the things they have loved they will spread to others the joy these treasures have given them. Of course, it’s true that people have different personalities and tastes—what one person treasures is not necessarily treasured by another. A grandfather’s bequest of his violin may not be appreciated by a tone-deaf grandson.

On the other hand, sometimes we treasure things handed on to us by others simply because we know how much value they found in these things—how much joy these treasures gave them. It is a sign of respect for the people who hand these things on to us—respect for others’ assessments of their value, even when we ourselves fail to appreciate it.

Maybe there is something that has escaped us. Maybe others have been able to see something that we haven’t; maybe we’ve overlooked something. Maybe we have a blind-spot that prevents us from seeing what is clear others. The world is far too big and complex—and we are far too limited by sin and creaturehood—for us to figure out everything for ourselves.

First of all, there is no “self” apart from others to begin with. We are created from the substance of two other human beings and are literally (and then figuratively) joined to other people for nearly two decades of our existence. There is no such thing as a “self-made” man (or woman). We exist from the very beginning already thoroughly embedded—entangled, if you will—with the rest of creation.

Moreover, even if we had an “independent” self, the requirement that we figure everything out “for ourselves” would become an oppressive burden leading to much pain, suffering, and even death. How many of us would come up with penicillin on our own? What about the computer chip? How many would figure out which herbs add spice—not poison—to our food? How would we even know what our “food” is—what is safe to eat?

Trying to actually carry out a proposal to do everything “for ourselves” quickly reveals how preposterous the notion really is. How many of us would prove capable even of discovering how to make (and control) fire? We can’t do everything for ourselves—and even if we could, why should we spend our time that way? The basic structure of the universe reflects the intricate interconnection of all of creation. Depending on each other is what God designed us to do. Fighting against it is not laudatory “independence” but prideful hubris—and a failure to acknowledge who we are and where we fit in the overall scheme of things.

So if we can’t figure everything out “for ourselves” (or wouldn’t want to even if we could), what sorts of things are worth taking the time of “handing on” to others? Material possessions may be passed on by greed or covetousness or other vices (as well as virtues such as stewardship). But what about immaterial possessions: ideas, stories, values, practices? Why have so many people taken the trouble to preserve the knowledge and love of God throughout all these centuries?

Christian tradition is a testament to what has been of highest value to people—individuals, institutions, cultures—for many long centuries. This “handing on” preserves life-giving answers to some of humankind’s most fundamental questions: Who are we? Why are we here? What is our purpose? What is real? What really matters? Of course each generation needs to answer these questions anew: Honoring a tradition is not the same as submitting to a tyrant. But whatever gains one generation or people makes can help smoothe the way for future generations or peoples.

Yes, traditions need to be adaptable to novel situations, and occasionally they become garbled and distorted in the transmission process. These errors must be rooted out if the tradition is to preserve its salutary value. But if a tradition is truly in touch with some deep reality and is passed on to others who care enough to study and preserve it intelligently, much that is good, true, and beautiful will remain in the tradition, even in new settings.

If Newton saw more because he stood on the shoulders of giants, how much do you think he could have seen with his feet planted firmly on the ground? We grow in knowledge, both individually and as a species, because we can build on the achievements of others. Rejecting everything that others take to be true—the basic premise of the Enlightenment “method of doubt”—is a misguided reaction to the sometimes painful truth that what was thought to be true is in fact not true or no longer true; or at least that, what others have taken to be true can no longer be seen to be true by some people.

“Handing on” what we have received from others is a natural and inevitable part of what we human beings—we social animals—do. The Enlightenment got it right, in part: Sometimes what is handed on must be revised and improved. We should not be so lazy as to mindlessly repeat what we don’t understand as if it were true. It is one thing to preserve a tradition out of respect for its authors and their assessment of its value; it is another to blindly repeat the mistakes of previous generations.

If we are unable to understand fully the traditions we inherit, this is not a sign that they should be rejected; rather, it indicates that more diligence and imagination are required from us to understand what others saw in these traditions that made them worth preserving. American constitutional democracy is one example of a tradition preserved over decades, yet subject to ever-new adjustments and adaptations designed to fit it to current contexts. No matter how valuable the American experiment, this honorable tradition will not prevail if new generations fail to invest the time and effort necessary to understand the noble ideals that motivated the Founders and to commit themselves to actions embodying these ideals.

Should it ever happen that the eucharistic tradition Paul handed on in his turn (as it was handed on to him) no longer can be readily understood by existing generations or peoples, I hope they will have enough respect for—or even mere curiosity about—the saints who preceded them to preserve it, in the hope of discovering what it meant to us: why it was that millions of Christians all over the globe, all across time, faithfully and carefully handed on this practice of gathering with friends to give thanks to God for salvation from destruction.

Imagine what it would look like if we could see the human chain—or web—of people who have handed on Christian knowledge of God. Imagine Moses and Joshua, David and Solomon, Ruth and Esther, Mary and Elizabeth, John and Matthew, Paul and Irenaeus, the Cappodocians and Chrysostom, Benedict and Cassian, Augustine and Aquinas, Hildegard and Julian, Teresa and Catherine . . . on and on up to this very day. This living web of tradition is the great “cloud of witnesses” Paul describes to the Hebrews—those who follow the example of their Lord in enduring hardship “for the sake of the joy that was set before him” (12.1, 2).