Now for something completely different:Jordan Peterson: A Narrative Philosopher in a Fractured Age

In the polarized cultural debates of our time, Jordan Peterson has become a lightning rod. To some, he is a dangerous reactionary; to others, a much-needed voice of sanity. To dismiss or canonize him outright, however, is to miss the more interesting truth: Peterson is neither prophet nor pariah. He is best understood as a narrative philosopher — someone whose power lies not in scientific precision but in his ability to tell stories that resonate deeply with many seeking meaning in modern life.

Peterson’s critics often focus on his generalizations, particularly around gender, hierarchies, and social roles. But to see these as scientific claims is, in many ways, to misunderstand their function. His work, especially in books like 12 Rules for Life, is not meant to be read as a forensic social critique. Instead, it offers moral and psychological guidance framed through archetypes, myths, and life lessons. These narratives are not universally or eternally true — but they can be profoundly useful in helping people orient themselves in chaotic times. As a practising Christian, I find his biblical references particularly powerful. They weave together personal responsibility, sacrifice, and redemption — themes central to both faith and moral reflection.

Yet as someone educated in relativism, I do not believe in absolute truths — except in the personal truth I find in Christianity, which I acknowledge may itself be wrong. From my studies, including under figures like Professor Harry Collins, I know that all knowledge is socially constructed. However, it does not follow that all ideas are equally valuable in every context. Some narratives are better suited to particular historical and cultural moments. In societies beset by corruption or defeatism, Peterson’s call for individual responsibility may be especially helpful, even necessary. While systemic inequalities do exist — something I have seen first-hand in places like the Caribbean and in my wife’s Mauritian heritage — I also believe self-help and moral agency can accelerate personal and societal improvement. Victimhood alone does not liberate.

Peterson’s emphasis on freedom of speech, particularly in the realm of state control over language, also strikes me as timely and valid. Drawing on thinkers like Gramsci and Wittgenstein, we know that language frames thought and limits discourse. Peterson’s warning about compelled speech should not be casually dismissed as reactionary; it raises deep questions about who gets to define reality through words.

Of course, there are limits to Peterson’s framework. His treatment of social justice issues often seems dismissive, and his critics are right to point out that structural disadvantages cannot be solved solely through personal effort. In debates such as those around trans rights in the UK, I side with caution in balancing competing claims — where the protection of women’s sex-based rights has, at times, been sidelined. Peterson’s generalizations, while useful as narrative, can also lead to oversimplifications that risk minimizing complexity.

Finally, while Peterson cannot reasonably be held responsible for the extremes of his online following, he should remain mindful of the ways in which his rhetoric is received. All belief systems — including Christianity — have been misused. Still, moral and intellectual leadership requires active stewardship of ideas.

In the end, Peterson’s true value may be as a modern moral narrator. His stories offer many — especially young men — a sense of direction and purpose. His critics, though often raising important concerns, sometimes fail to see that his role is not to produce airtight academic arguments but to tell stories that help people live. Thoughtful engagement with his ideas does not require wholesale acceptance or rejection, but rather a recognition of his work’s strengths, weaknesses, and proper place in the broader intellectual landscape