[This is an ongoing project that will analyze N.T. Wright’s
5 volume series Christian Origins and the Question of God. This series is
widely read and bridges the gap between the academic and devotional world. It
is therefore worthy to be carefully analyzed so that all readers can understand
his key points while at the same time gaining a critical eye to some of his
rather bold claims. This series of posts are concerning volume 1 – The New Testament and the People of God.]
Chapter 2: “Knowledge: Problems and Varieties”
N.T. Wright, in his second chapter of his magnum opus begins to set out a very
important theoretical base which will govern the following 5 volumes (and at
least one more is forthcoming). It is necessary, then, for us as readers to
carefully analyze his approach to historiography. Wright does a good job of
having the presence of mind to set out his governing theory that organizes the
remainder of his work. Wright is to be lauded for his attempt to take seriously
the challenge of modern epistemology to move beyond the shackles of
fundamentalism. However, while his intentions are quite good, his application
is weak – he attempts to show that one simultaneously interprets all data while
at the same time still making positive claims about an object. He presents this
well in theory, but his application by means of the concept of “story” fail to
hold up to his original theory.
First, Wright is correct that “historiography” is simply one
element of a much larger debate on epistemology – how well we can “know”
something. Wright explains well that the differences of opinion among scholars
are far less due to application of exegetical theory as much as the acceptance
of the larger governing theory in the first place.[1]
For example, for Lutheran readers who accept the hermeneutic of Law and Gospel,
there are relatively few major differences of opinion based upon exegetical
reading. However, as soon as one introduces a non-Lutheran reader who does not
accept that hermeneutic, no agreement can be found at any level.
To explain this, Wright moves in the parlance of
“worldviews.” This common term is his way of suggesting which of the
epistemological frameworks one accepts. This, he argues, is the determinative
reason there are clear distinctions and disagreements among scholars on
readings of the New Testament. At this point, it is not at all surprising what
he says and he should be praised for his insights.
Where Wright presents his particular argument, however, is
that worldviews are best expressed through his concept of “story.” He argues
that story is the thing that creates a worldview:
The basic argument I shall advance
in this Part of the book is that the problem of knowledge itself, and the three
branches of it that form our particular concern, can all be clarified by seeing
them in the light of a detailed analysis of the worldviews which form the grid through which humans, both
individually and in social groupings, perceive all of reality. In particular,
one of the key features of all worldview is the element of story. This is of vital importance not least in relation to the New
Testament and early Christianity, but this is in fact a symptom of a universal
phenomenon. “Story,” I shall argue, can help us in the first instance to
articulate a critical-realist epistemology, and can then be put to wider uses
in the study of literature, history, and theology.[2]
He attempts to focus completely on the aspect of “story” as
he believes it is the most productive element of worldview and is the basis
upon which one can find knowledge about things.
Wright then tries to make the key argument that “story” is
valuable because it moves beyond the myth of “objective” knowledge. Instead, he
argues that people can never “know” something in that sense – all things are
interpreted at least at some level. He argues that people will not “know”
things from data that they then build into a narrative, but rather that they
have a preexisting narrative that they then use to interpret a story:
Instead of working as it were
upwards from empirical data, in however chastened and hence cautious a fashion,
knowledge takes place, within this model, when people find things that fit with the particular story or (more likely)
stories to which they are accustomed to give allegiance.[3]
His argument, then, is the idea that one values a particular
“story” – or more academically mythos –
wherein new data will either fit or not fit. Based upon the coherence of the
new data with the old leads one to accept or deny this as something “known.”
Wright further explains that given this framework there is a process wherein one can truly
know something. He argues that when this knowledge is processed through
what he calls “critical realism,” then it is possible to make positive
statements concerning “reality.”
Over against both these positions,
I propose a form of critical realism.
This is a way of describing the process of ‘knowing’ that acknowledges the reality of the thing known, as something
other than the knower (hence ‘realism’), while also fully acknowledging
that the only access we have to this reality lies along the spiraling path of appropriate dialogue or conversation between
the knower and the thing known (hence ‘critical’). This path leads to
critical reflection on the products of our enquiry into ‘reality,’ so that our
assertions about ‘reality’ acknowledge their own provisionality. Knowledge, in
other words, although in principle concerning realities independent of the
knower, is never itself independent of the knower.[4]
He essentially argues that so long as we recognize that we
interpret data, we should be able to still value the reality of the object.
This argument is a very paired down presentation of what
Charles Sanders Peirce presented in his semeiotic triad. Peirce, studying
logical semiotics (signs), argued that a sign can relate to the object only via
the interpreter. Pierce argues that there any interpreter of an object (the
thing that is actually there), actually dialogues with 2 objects – the object and
the representation of that object in the interpreter’s mind. Pierce’s views are
therefore called a “triad” in that the interpreter sees and interprets both the actual object and the way that
object is represented. Further, the way the object is represented should have a
natural relationship with the actual object – therefore, all three elements of
the triad are in relationship with each other. The value in Peirce’s logical
semeiotics is that it recognizes the human interpreter as one who changes the
real object and still allows the real
object to exist and be part of the discussion.[5]
Wright’s argument for a Peircean semeiotic – if he is
thinking in that complex a manner (he never mentions Peirce in his discussion
though his argument seems based upon it) – is a valuable theory. It can be
criticized in a variety of ways, but it is a good theory that deserves some
attention as it is applied to the New Testament. If Wright were to use this
theory and apply it carefully for the first century, his book would be a
fascinating triumph. The problem is that he is not able to accomplish this task
when he tries to apply this theory to the concept of “story.”
When Wright discusses “story,” he unwittingly abandons
Peirce’s triads and moves far closer to a Structuralist idea that gives far
less practical place for individuals. First, Wright argues that “stories” are
essentially the worldview of individuals: “Stories thus provide a vital
framework for experiencing the world. They also provide a means by which views
of the world may be challenged.”[6]
He considers “stories” – the framework for how we understand the world – as the
key interpretant for all experience.
When he applies this process, though, he suggests how it is
a story is supported/supplanted, organized by processing new data:
When we examine how stories work
in relation to other stories, we find that human beings tell stories because
this is how we perceive, and indeed relate to, the world. What we see close up,
in a multitude of little incidents whether isolated of (more likely)
interrelated, we make sense of drawing on storyforms already more or less known
to us and placing the information within them. A story, with its pattern of
problem and conflict, of aborted attempts at resolution, and final result, whether
sad or glad, is, if we may infer from the common practice of the world,
universally perceived as the best way of talking about the way the world
actually is. Good stories assume that the world is a place of conflict and
resolution, whether comic or tragic. They select and arrange material
accordingly. And, as we suggested before, stories can embody or reinforce, or
perhaps modify, the worldviews to which they relate.[7]
Here Wright applies his theory to the way people function.
He argues that stories are the thing that we already know and the way we manage
information by placing new pieces of information into preexisting stories.
This idea, while having some merit, moves away from Peirce’s
good model into a more questionable model that is more familiar to us in the
figure of Ferdinand de Saussure. Saussure is a semeiotician and is in the same
“field” as Pierce. However, Saussure spoke rather differently than Pierce did.
He does not speak of any triads. Instead he focuses on a general system which a
person knows (which he calls a “langue”). This is the “way of speaking” that
governs how we think of things. He argues that this langue was present before
we were born and persists outside of ourselves. He further argues that this
whole system becomes “real” in that from the langue we can accept and express
“parole” – essentially words. He argues that when we see an object, we give it
a “parole” so that it fits within our “langue” – essentially, that we form
reality to fit our system.[8]
This seems to be precisely what Wright suggests a “story” does for a person –
it allows the person to place a new piece of information – an “object” – into a
system (langue/story) by labeling it in ways that correspond (parole).
The problem with using Saussure when one originally argued
that one agreed with Peirce is that Saussure did not take seriously the third
element that made Peirce’s model a triad. Peirce was insistent that the way one interpreted the actual object
created a new object. In that sense, most all knowledge was not based upon
the actual object and how it was signified – rather, most knowledge is based
upon the representamen – the way the interpreter has created this “second
object.” To deny this is to deny that the individual has much of a role at all.
Therefore, Wright begins laudably – he wants to address the
challenge of individual subjectivity while at the same time not falling into
the negative trap of logical positivism. He further presents a reasonable (if
somewhat controversial) theory to do this by means of Peirce. However, his
analysis of “story” – while it might be quite practical and useful – denies the
very nuance he wanted to achieve with Peirce. Instead, he essentially has
limited the individual to merely be a cog in a much larger machine. This
machine is societal and it makes the whole system far less messy and less
complex. The problem will be seen is if he has simplified this too much. At
best, he has begun a chapter with a goal and then counteracted that same goal.
[1] Wright, NTPG, 31.
[2] Ibid., 32.
[3] Ibid., 37.
[4] Ibid., 35.
[5] For a brief
and relatively clear presentation of Peirce’s semeiotics, see Crystal L.
Downing, The Changing Signs of Truth: A Christian
Introduction to the Semeiotics of Communication (Downers Grove, IL:
Intervarsity Press Academic, 2012), 198-220.
[6] Wright, NTPG, 39.
[7] Ibid., 40.
[8] See
Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General
Linguistics trans. Wade Baskin (New York: McGraw Hill, 1959).
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