Author Archives: jptomey

Conceptualizing “Worldview:” Ontology, Epistemology & Linguistics

I’m currently working on a project focused on examining the rhetoric of “worldview” language in certain cultures of the evangelical tradition. In preparation for this project, I have been reviewing various definitions and conceptualizations of “worldview.” One valuable resource I have just read through is James W. Sire’s most recent work on the subject, Naming the Elephant: Worldview as a Concept. He is also the author of The Universe Next Door (1976 and two later editions), in which he first defined the concept of worldview and examined how one’s worldview may conceptualize the world in a completely different way than another’s.

In Naming the Elephant he is concerned with revising his earlier definition of worldview, and in doing so he reviews the literature for significant definitions of worldview and the philosophical starting points from which scholars have theorized in conceptualizing the “first things” of a worldview. His new definition adds two elements that I track with: (1) that a worldview is a “commitment of the heart” more than merely a set of intellectual presuppositions, (gets at Jamie Smith’s argument in Desiring the Kingdom that we are primarily “desiring beings”) and (2) that the worldview serves as a foundation for the way that we live. (He notes that our lived actions are a truer indicator of our actual worldview than what we state to be our worldview beliefs.)

One particular issue that Sire explores is the philosophical starting point for a worldview — the “first thing.” He argues that ontology (being, specifically God’s existence) must precede epistemology (knowledge) in constructing a worldview. In other words, he says that our ontology (what is ultimately real) is what determines our capacity for knowledge. He says that because God exists we are then able to comprehend things about him, or about anything he has created in the world.

It is on this point — his order of “first things first” — that I am not sure if I agree with him. As a Christian, I of course believe in God’s existence and his creation of all things. However, I am not sure that we (as finite human beings) are able to separate what is real (ontology) from what we know is real (epistemology). As soon as a claim is made that something is real, the question that comes immediately to mind is how do we know what is real? To further complicate things, the question that comes next is how can we separate what we know from how we talk about what we know (linguistics)? Sire of course presents his arguments for why ontology precedes both epistemology and linguistics, and he also reviews the thoughts of philosophers who have raised the same challenges/questions that I just mentioned. He particularly addresses the contribution of postmodern philosophers, some of whom I think raise important issues.

The issue of whether ontology, epistemology and linguistics can be understood apart from each other — at least in our rhetoric — is one that has been particularly interesting to be as of late. It gets at the question of what God intended our humanness and our interpreting nature as human beings to be. (Jamie Smith’s first book, The Fall of Interpretation–see particularly the second edition–is all about this question. For those of you who are also in process on these important “first things” kind of questions (and they are vitally important), I encourage you to share your comments and the resources that you have found useful in your journey.

Living By Memory

This morning I’m listening to Chopin while I work. His “Waltz No. 7 in C Sharp Minor” came on, and I was instantly transported back to the living room of my 8th grade piano teacher. I fell in love with this piece by watching her fingers float across the keys, needing no sheet music or prodding; she knew the piece by memory because she had played it frequently and recently. I knew this was the piece I wanted to play for my next competition, and so I started the work of committing it to memory myself.

Today, years since I have play the waltz, it still ignites a deep emotional and cognitive connection for me. I can “feel” every note as if it were my fingers touching the keys. However, if I sat down at the piano I would not remember how to play one note. I remember playing this piece; I do not remember how to play it. Why? Because I haven’t played it in years, and no amount of listening to it makes up for that lapse in practice.

This seems a poignant analogy for spiritual disciplines and faith practice. There are plenty of cognitive memories of significant moments in our faith. But stored memory of the mind is not the same as “active memory,” a concept similar to the principle of “muscle memory” in physical activity. Stored cognitive memory is what allowed me to recognize that waltz as soon as it began to play, and it is also cognitive memory that ignited associated emotions about playing the piece. But cognitive memory stops short of allowing me to actually play that piece again. I can remember everything about playing it; but I cannot play it. I would have to re-learn how to play the piece from memory, and that requires behavior associated with discipline and ritual — re-establishing active memory.

In our spiritual lives, and consequently our rhetoric about the spiritual, I think we confuse these two kinds of memory. Both have their place, and both are needed. But it would be unwise to hold our cognitive and intellectual memory responsible for delivering the how, the action. It would be analogous to me sitting down at the piano after all these years and saying to myself, “Play it! You remember the melody; you remember the emotions ignited from the melody — play it!” I can tell myself to “play it” all day long, but I don’t remember how to play it. Through practicing (with various instructional guides) I could once again be able to play it by memory.

I want to live by memory too, but I often find myself relying on cognitive and intellectual “memories” of my faith — thinking that those are enough to give me the how, to produce the action. It’s as if I’m taking those cognitive memories and saying to myself, “Live it! You know what scripture says; you remember the emotions you felt when you lived it before — live it!” I don’t remember how to live it; I’m out of practice.

Jamie Smith gets at this phenomenon in his book Desiring the Kingdom (2009). He talks about the fact that we are desiring beings — we are created primarily to be beings that love, by the design of the creator. Therefore we are what we love, and what we love is what we ritualistically practice loving on a daily basis. When we are practicing the ritual of our faith, the ritual of spiritual disciplines we are creating active memories. When faced with a situation of prescriptive Christian living or ethical/moral dilemma, the muscle memory takes over. We have done this before (frequently and recently); so we know how to do it again. We are living by memory.

The Indirect Communication of “Mad Men”

I am a big fan of AMC’s “Mad Men.” The 1960s is a time period ripe for social critique, and there is certainly no shortage of material with which to craft compelling narratives. One theme the show depicts on a continual basis–and one I was again reminded of in the episode that aired yesterday–is how some of the strong female characters often accomplish their desired goals by fulfilling someone else’s concept of their role in society, rather than acting intuitively from the characteristics that make them the unique individuals that they are. From a communication standpoint, we would identify this as indirect versus direct communication. Indirect communication is regularly illustrated in the show as women in the 1960s male-dominated business setting had to suggest ideas in ways that made men think they (or other men) were responsible for thinking of them. Women had ideas, but they had to present them indirectly — in a way that they would be heard and not dismissed.

While musing over this theme in the show, it occurred to me that this illustration of indirect communication could provide an interesting analogy for how rhetorical persona functions in religious settings. It is certainly not a new idea to explore the use of indirect communication by theologians and pastors. (Humor is one form of indirect communication often used — in the work of C.S. Lewis for example). However, how have members of various religious communities had to indirectly communicate their ideas or create rhetorical personas through which a message would be well-received? I need to spend some time cultivating this idea, but I sense that something may be there.