The sociologist Peter Worsley tells a story about being at a conference in a big hotel, and in the gents found himself next to his footballing hero. I think it was Geoff Hurst (but it was actually Dennis Law). Peter was a good ‘schmoozer’, well-known and well-regarded in the academic world and in the school-teaching world. (I’d used his textbooks myself, teaching A-Level Sociology.) He turned to his football hero and said something like, ‘wow, it’s Geoff Hurst!’ The footballer turned to him and said, ‘wow, it’s Peter Worsley!’ Peter was so impressed that this footballer recognised him, and knew of a sociologist. It made him very proud. ‘I’m so impressed that you’ve heard of me, a sociology professor’, he said to Hurst. Hurst replied, ‘no, it’s just that you’re still wearing your conference badge’. Pride and humility, in one short encounter. It was an example of two worlds coming together, with an unexpected outcome. Worsley specialised professionally in trying to bridge worlds, as an anthropologist and sociologist. One of his best-known books is on ‘knowledges’. He realised that simple ideas of ‘knowledge’ are complicated by the large-scale distinctions between the ways of knowing that people may have. There is not one simple ‘knowledge’, but a whole set of knowledges within distinct worldviews. How do people bridge those knowledges and worldviews? We discuss this in our podcast, but also the distinction between trying to tell one big story, and trying to add to the set of small pieces of knowledge. Do we write ‘one big thing’, one story or theory, or do we write a lot of small things? Scientists may write ground-breaking paradigm-shifting works, or smaller-scale ‘normal’ science within the current paradigm. Religious studies scholars may write from ‘within’ a religious tradition, or may try to bridge traditions. Historians may write large-scale theories or report ‘one damn thing after another’. As academic writers we should be aware of what we are doing, and try to take some account of the other end of the spectrum. ‘Big’ story-tellers should acknowledge the small-scale details, and ‘small’ story-tellers should give a guide, perhaps in the introduction or conclusion, about how these may fit in a larger story. Isiah Berlin wrote about the fox and the hedgehog. A fox knows many things, a hedgehog knows one big thing. As writers, let’s try to be a bit of both; at least, respect both – and respect the reader enough to tell them things they might not want to hear.
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