We have reached the end of the first part of our group read through N.T. Wright’s New Testament and the People of God (p. 1-80, chapters 1-3).
Wright starts by delving into the nature of knowledge, history, and textual and literary criticism in some depth, as well as worldview and the importance of story. I won’t attempt to summarize this tremendous amount of material in any detail, but Wright presents himself as a critical realist.
The hard-and-fast distinction between objective and subjective must be abandoned as useless. p. 44
In other words, he believes that our observations are challenged by critical reflection, and can ultimately survive these challenges to speak truly of reality (see diagram on p. 36). He critiques both naive realism and the rather more radical postmodern philosophers who suggest that nothing can be known with any certainty.
One way humans know is through stories. Stories, Wright says, are not simply useful case studies or examples, but are at the very core of our existence:
Human life, then, can be seen as grounded in and constituted by the implicit or explicit stories which humans tell themselves and one another. This runs contrary to the popular belief that a story is there to “illustrate” some point or other which can in principle be stated without recourse to the clumsy vehicle of narrative. p. 38
He speaks of the power of stories, as a type of metaphor, to subvert other stories:
Tell someone to do something, and you change their life - for a day; tell someone a story and you change their life. Stories, in having this effect, function as complex metaphors. Metaphor consists in bringing two sets of ideas close together, close enough for a spark to jump, but not too close, so that the spark, in jumping, illuminates for a moment the whole area around, changing perceptions as it does so. Even so, the subversive story comes close enough to the story already believed by the hearer for a spark to jump between them; and nothing will ever quite be the same again. p. 40

Wright goes on to orient literature, story, and worldview in relation to one another. I was amused by these remarks on epistemology:
When you agree with the point of view, you tend to watch as a realist (this is how things actually are); when you disagree, you quickly become a phenomenalist at the author/event stage (it was just her point of view) or even subjectivist (she simply made it all up). p. 51
Wright is profoundly optimistic and clear that we can read scripture fruitfully without becoming entangled in all the problems identified by the biblical criticism of the last century. And yet, evangelicalism has not been free from these problems:
Most Bible-readers of a conservative stamp will look askance at deconstructionism. But its proposed model is in fact too close for comfort to many models implicitly adopted within (broadly speaking) the pietist tradition. The church has actually institutionalized and systematized ways of reading the Bible which are strangely similar to some strands of postmodernism. In particular, the church has lived with the gospels virtually all its life, and familiarity has bred a variety of more or less contemptible hermeneutical models.
Even sometimes within those circles that claim to take the Bible most seriously - often, in fact, there above all - there is a woeful refusal to do precisely that, particularly with the gospels. The modes of reading and interpretation that have been followed are, in fact, functions of the models of inspiration and authority of scripture that have…often made nonsense of any attempt to read the Bible historically.
The devout predecessor of deconstructionism is that reading of the text which insists that what the Bible says to me, now is the be-all and end-all of its meaning; a reading which does not want to know about the intention of the evangelist, the life of the early church, or even what Jesus was actually like. There are some strange bedfellows in the world of literary epistemology. p. 60.
This is the reason I find so much value in Wright’s work - he paves a faithful path into the realm of questions that most of us have been afraid to ask for most of our believing lives. We worry that if we learn too much about what Jesus meant when he said this or that, we might realize that it was some embarassingly specific first-century-Jewish thing that really doesn’t mean what we thought it meant.
Yet this will not take us off course from the orthodox faith. Wright opens the book with the Parable of the Vineyard, and helps us understand the vineyard, the tenants, the owner, and the son. The Kingdom is the vineyard, Israel is represented by the tenants, God is the owner, and Jesus himself is the son he describes in the parable. He will be rejected, like a stone rejected by builders, and yet will become the cornerstone. Wright frames this parable within the story of Israel and her lost vocation, which will be handed over to the whole world through Jesus’ ministry.
Let’s make the next reading p. 81-144, chapters 4 and 5, to be finished by Sunday, October 1. Sound OK?