In some circles (rhetoric and analytics philosophy come to mind), much is made of the difference between metaphor and simile.
(Rhetoricians pay attention to it because they like taxonomies of communicative devices and analytic philosophers spend time on it because of their commitment to a truth-theoretical account of meaning and naive assumptions about compositionality).
It is true that their surface and communicative differences have an impact in certain contexts but if we’re interested in the conceptual underpinnings of metaphor, we’re more likely to ignore the distinction altogether.
But what’s even more interesting, is to think about metaphor and simile as just part of the process of interpersonal meaning construction. Consider this quote from a blog on macroeconomics:
[1a] Think of [1b] the company as a ship.  The captain has steered the ship too close to the rocks, and seeing the impending disaster has flown off in the ship’s helicopter and with all the cash he could find. After the boat hit the rocks no lives were lost, but many of the passengers had a terrifying ordeal in the water and many lost possessions, and the crew lost their jobs.  Now if this had happened to a real ship you would expect the captain to be in jail stripped of any ill gotten gains.  But because this ship is a corporation its captains are free and keep all their salary and bonuses.  The Board and auditors which should have done something to correct the ship’s disastrous course also suffer no loss.
Now, this is really a single conceptual creation but it happens in about 5 moves highlighted above (I picked these 5 as an illustrative heuristic but this is not to assume some fixed sequence).
 The first move establishes an idea of similarity through a simile. But it is not in the traditional form of ‘X is like Y’. Rather, it starts with the performative ‘Think of’ [1a] and then uses the simile ‘as’. [1b]. ‘Think of X as Y’ is a common construction but it is rarely seen as an example in discussions of similes.
 This section lays out an understanding of the source domain for the metaphorical projection. It also sets the limit on the projection in that it is talking about ‘company as a ship’ in this scenario, not as a ship (for instance, the similarities in internal organisation structure.) This is another very common aspect of metaphor discourse that is mostly ignored in thinking about it. It is commonly deployed instrument in the process of what I like to call ‘frame negotiation’. On the surface, this part seems like a narrative with mostly propositional content that could easily stand alone. But…
 By saying, ‘if this happened to a real ship’ the author immediately puts the preceding segment into question as an innocent proposition and reveals that it was serving a metaphorical purpose all along. Not that any of the readers were really lulled into a false sense of security, nor that the author was intending some dramatic reveal. But it is an interesting illustration of how the process of constructing analogies contains many parts.
 This part looks like a straightforward metaphor: ‘the ship is a corporation’ but it is flipped around (one would expect ‘the corporation is a ship’. This move links  and  and reminds us that .
 This last bit seems to refer to both domains at once. ‘The board and the auditors’ to the business case and ‘ships course’ to the narrative in the simile. But we could even more profitably think of it as referring to this new blended domain in which we have a hypothetical model in which both the shipping and business characteristics were integrated.
But the story does not end there even though people who are interested in metaphors often feel that they’ve done enough at this stage (if they ever reach it). My recommended heuristic for metaphor analysts is to always look at what comes next. This is the start of the following paragraph:
To say this reflects everything that is wrong with neoliberalism is I think too imprecise.  I also think focusing on the fact that Carillion was a company built around public sector contracts misses the point. (I discussed this aspect in an earlier post.)
If you study metaphor in context, this will not surprise you. The blend is projected into another domain that is in a complex relationship to what precedes and what follows. This is far too conceptually intricate to take apart here but it is of course completely communicatively transparent to the reader and would have required little constructive effort on the part of the author (who is most likely to have spent time on constructing the simile/metaphor and its mappings but little on their embedding into the syntactic and textual weave that give it its intricacy).
In the context of the whole text, this is a local metaphor that plays as much an affective as it does a cognitive role. It opens up some conceptual spaces but does not structure the whole argument.
The metaphor comes up again later and in this case it also plays the role of an anaphor by linking 2 sections of the text:
Few people would think that never being able to captain a ship again was a sufficient disincentive for the imaginary captain who steered his boat too close to the rocks.
Also of note is the use of the word ‘imaginary’ which puts that statement somewhere between a metaphor (similarity expressed as identity) and simile (similarity expressed as comparison).
There are two lessons here:
The distinction between metaphor and simile could be useful in certain contexts but in practice, their use blends together and is not always easy to establish boundaries between them. But even if we could, the underlying cognition is the same (even if truth-conditionally they may differ). We could even complicate things further and introduce terms such as analogy, allegory, or even parable in this context but it is hard to see how much they would help us elucidate what is going on.
Both metaphor and simile are not static components of a larger whole (like bricks in a wall or words in a dictionary). They are surface aspects of a rich and dynamic process of meaning making. And the meaning is ‘literally’ (but not really literally) being made here right in front of our eyes or rather by our eyes. What metaphor and simile (or the sort of hybrid metasimile present here) help structure the conceptual spaces (frames) being created but they are not doing it alone. There are also narratives, schemas, propositions, definitions, etc. All of these help fill out the pool of meaning into which we may slowly immerse ourselves or hurtle in headlong. This is not easy to see if we only look at metaphor and simile outside their natural habitat of real discourse. Let that be a lesson to us.
These are rough notes for a metaphor reading group, not a continuous narrative. Any comments, corrections or elaborations are welcome.
Why should you read WFDT?
Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal About the Mind is still a significantly underappreciated and (despite its high citation count) not-enough-read book that has a lot to contribute to thinking about how the mind works.
I think it provides one of the most concise and explicit models for how to think about the mind and language from a cognitive perspective. I also find its argument against the still prevalent approach to language and the mind as essentially fixed objects very compelling.
The thing that has been particularly underused in subsequent scholarship is the concept of ‘ICMs’ or ‘Idealised Cognitive Models’ which both puts metaphor (for work on which Lakoff is most well known) in its rightful context but also outlines what we should look for when we think about things like frames, models, scripts, scenarios, etc. Using this concept would have avoided many undue simplifications in work in the social sciences and humanities.
Why this guide
Unfortunately, the concision and explicitness I extolled above is surrounded by hundreds of pages of arguments and elaborations that are often less well-thought out than the central thesis and have been a vector for criticism (I’ve responded to some of these in my review of Verena Haser’s book).
As somebody who translated the whole book into Czech and penned extensive commentary on its relevance to the structuralist linguistic tradition, I have perhaps spent more time with it than most people other than the author and his editors.
Which is why when people ask me whether to read it, I usually recommend an abreviated tour of the core argument with some selections depending on the individual’s interest.
Here are some of my suggestions.
Chapters everyone should read
Chapters 3, 4, 5, 6 – Core contribution of the book – Fundamental structuring principles of human cognition
These four chapters summarize what I think everybody who thinks about language, mind and society should know about how categories work. Even if it is not necessarily the last word on every (or any) aspect, it should be the starting point for inquiry.
All the key concepts (see below) are outlined here.
Preface and Chapter 1 – Outline of the whole argument and its implications
These brief chapters lay out succinctly and, I think very clearly, the overall argument of the book and its implications. This is where he outlines the core of the critique of objectivism which I think is very important (if itself open to criticism).
Chapter 2: Precursors
This is where he outlines the broader panoply of thinkers and research outcomes in recent intellectual history whose insights this books tries to systematise and take further.
The chapter takes up some of the key thinkers who have been critical of the established paradigm. Read it not necessarily for understanding them but for a way of thinking about their work in the context of this book.
The case studies represent a large chunk of the book and few people will read all 3. But I think at least one of them should be part of any reading of the book. Most people will be drawn to number 1 on metaphor but I find that number 2 shows off the key concepts in most depth. It will require some focus and patience from non-linguists but I think is worth the effort.
Case study 3 is perhaps too linguistic (even though it introduces the important concept of constructions) for most non-linguist.
No matter how the book is read, these are the key concepts I think people should walk away with understanding.
Idealized Cognitive Models (also called Frames in Lakoff’s later work)
I don’t know of any more systematic treatment of how our conceptual system is structured than this. It is not necessarily the last word but should not be overlooked.
When people talk about family resemblances they ignore the complexity of the conceptual work that goes into them. Radial categories give a good sense of that depth.
Schemas and rich images
While image schemas are still a bit controversial as actual cognitive constructs, Lakoff’s treatment of them alongside rich images shows the importance of both as heuristics to interpreting cognitive phenomena.
Objectivism vs Basic Realism
Although objectivism (nothing to do with Ayn Rand) is not a position taken by any practicing philosophers and feels a bit straw-manny, I find Lakoff’s outline of it eerily familiar as I read works across the humanities and social sciences, let alone philosophy. When people read the description, they should avoid dismissing it with ‘of course nobody thinks that’ and reflect on how many people approach problems of mind and language as if they did think that.
Prototype effects and basic-level categories
These concepts are not original to Lakoff but are essential to understanding the others.
Role of metaphor and metonymy
Lakoff is best known for his earlier work on metaphor (which is why figurative language is not a key concept in itself) but this book puts metaphor and metonymy in perspective of the broader cognition.
Embodiment and motivation
Embodiment is an idea thrown around a lot these days. Lakoff’s is an important early contribution that shows some of the actual interaction between embodiment and cognition.
I find it particularly relevant when he talks about how concepts are motivated but not determined by embodied cognition.
Lakoff’s work was taking shape alongside Fillmore’s work on construction grammar and Langacker’s on cognitive grammar. While the current construction grammar paradigm is much more influenced by those, I think it is still worth reading Lakoff for his contribution here. Particularly case studies 2 and 3 are great examples of the power of this approach.
Additional chapters of interest
Elaborations of core concepts
Chapters 17 and 18 elaborate on the core concepts in important ways but many people never reach them because they follow a lot of work on philosophical implications.
Chapter 17 on Cognitive Semantics takes another more deeper look at ICMs (idealized cognitive models) across various dimensions.
Chapter 18 deals with the question of how conceptual categories work across languages in the context of relativism. The name of the book is derived from a non-English example but this takes the question of universals and language specificity head on. Perhaps not the in the most comprehensive way (the debate on relativism has moved on) but it illuminates the core concepts further.
Case Studies 2 and 3 should be of great interest to linguists. Not because they are perfect but because they show the depth of analysis required of even relatively simple concepts.
Lakoff is not shy about placing his work in the context of disrruption of the reigning philosophical paradigm of his (and to a significant extent our) day. Chapter 11 goes into more depth on how he understands the ‘objectivist paradigm’. It has been criticised for not representing actual philosophical positions (which he explicitly says he’s not doing) but I think it’s representative of many actual philosophical and other treatments of language and cognition.
This is then elaborated in chapters 12 – 16 and of course in his subsequent book with Mark Johnson Philosophy in the Flesh. I find the positive argument they’re making compelling but it is let down by staying on the surface of the issues they’re criticising.
What to skip
Where Lakoff (and elsewhere Lakoff and Johnson) most open themselves to criticism is their relatively shallow reading of their opponents. Most philosophers don’t engage with this work because they don’t find it speaks their language and when it does, it is easily dismissed as too light.
While I think that the broad critique this book presents of what it calls ‘objectivist approaches’ is correct, I don’t recommend that anyone takes the details too seriously. Lakoff simultaneously gives it too little and too much attention. He argues against very small details but leaves too many gaps.
This means that those who should be engaging with the very core of the work’s contribution fixate on errors and gaps in his criticism and feel free to dismiss the key aspects of what he has to say (much to their detriment).
For example, his critique of situational semantics leaves too many gaps and left him open to successful rejoinders even if he was probably right.
What is missing
While Lakoff engages with cognitive anthropology (and he and Johnson acknowledge their debts in the preface to Metaphors We Live By), he does not reflect the really interesting work in this area. Goffman (shockingly) gets no mention, nor does Victor Turner whose work on liminality is pretty important companion.
There’s also little acknowledgement of work on texts such as that by Halliday and Hasan (although, that was arguably still waiting for its greatest impact in the mid 1980s with the appearance of corpora). But Lakoff and most of the researchers in this areas stay firmly at the level of a clause. But give that my own work is mostly focusing on discourse and text-level phenomena, I would say that.
What to read next
Here are some suggestions for where to go next for elaborations of the key concepts or ideas with relevance to those outlined in the book.
Moral politics by Lakoff launched his forays into political work but I think it’s more important as an example of this way of thinking applied for a real purpose. He replaces Idealized Cognitive Models with Frames but shows many great examples of them at work. Even if it falls short as an exhaustive analysis of the issues, it is very important as a methodological contribution of how frames work in real life. I think of it almost as a fourth case study to this book.
The Way We Think by Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner provides a model of how cognitive models work ‘online’ during the process of speaking. Although, it has made a more direct impact in the field of construction grammar, its importance is still underappreciated outside it. I think of it as an essential companion to the core contribution of this book. Lakoff himself draws on Fauconnier’s earlier work on mental spaces in this book.
Work on construction grammar This book was one of the first places where the notion of ‘construction’ in the sense of ‘construction grammar’ was introduced. It has since developed in its own substantive field of study that has been driven by others. I’d say the work of Adele Goldberg is still the best introduction but for my money William Croft’s ‘Radical Construction Grammar’ is the most important. Taylor’s overview of the related ‘Cognitive Grammar’ is also not a bad next read.
Work on cognitive semantics There is much to read here. Talmy’s massive 2 volumes of ‘Cognitive Semantics’ are perhaps the most comprehensive but most of the work here happens across various journals. I’m not aware of a single shorter introduction.
Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature by Richard Rorty is a book I frankly wish Lakoff had read. Rorty’s taking apart of philosophy’s epistemological imaginings is very much complementary to Lakoff’s critique of ‘objectivism’ but done while engaging deeply with the philosophical issues. While I basically go along with Lakoff’s and later Lakoff and Johnson’s core argument, I can see why it could be more easily dismissed than Rorty. Of course, Rorty’s work is also better known for its reputation than deeply reflected in much of today’s philosophy. Lakoff and Johnson’s essential misunderstanding of Rorty’s contribution and fundamental compatibility with their project in Philosophy in the Flesh is an example of why so many don’t take that aspect of this work seriously. (Although, they are right that both Rorty and Davidson would have been better served by a less impoverished view of meaning and language.)
Indeed, if it had been me writing on the topic, I would have chosen a more judicious title. Such as “The legacy of discrimination behind the humble Miss” or “Past and present inequalities encoded in the simple Miss”.
In fact, the only reason I tweeted that article in the first place was because it was making a much more subtle and powerful point than simple etymology (as you would expect from one based on the work of the eminent scholar of language and gender Jennifer Coates). Going all the way back to Language and the Woman’s Place and even before, people have been trying to peg the blame on simple words. All along the response has been, but these are just words, we don’t mean anything bad by them. Or, these are just words, the real harm is done in the real world.
Many women I meet continue to like the Miss/Mrs distinction despite the long availability of the now destigmatized Ms. It was not too long ago that I set up a sign up form with only Prof Dr Mr Ms and got lots of complaints from women who wanted to keep their Miss or Mrs. So restigmatizing Miss is actively harmful to the self-image of many women whose identity is tied with that label. Feminist tend to make light of the ‘unfeminist’ cry of “I like it when men open the door to me”, or “Carrying my bag for me just shows respect”. Or going back even further, “I don’t need a vote, I exercise my influence through my husband.” But change is literally hard, it takes time and effort, so an attempt at making the world better will always making temporarily worse (at least for some people).
The fact is that Miss is a bound in a network of meanings, interactions and power relations. And even if it takes some mental pain, it’s worth picking at all it covers up.
But not every minute of every day. Sometimes, we need to say something to get from conversational point A to conversational point B and even a laden word may be better than no word. As one of the respondents in the article says:
My response is always that my name isn’t Miss; it’s Mrs Coslett. But if I’m in a school where students don’t know me and they call me Miss, I’m fine with that. They’re showing respect by giving me a title, rather than ‘hey’ or ‘oi, you’ or whatever.
Most of the time contentious words are used, challenging them is not feasible. But she’s wrong in her conclusion:
That’s just the way the English language works.
That’s absolutely not true. Just like words don’t mean anything on their own, language does not just work. It’s used to do things (to riff on Austin’s famous book) by people. It is not always used purposefully but its use is always bound in the many ways and means of people. The way we speak now is a result of centuries of little power plays, imitations of prestige, prescriptions of obedience. When you look closer, they’re all easy to see.
Things have let up considerably since the 1970s. Many fewer people are concerned about how language encodes gender inequality and it’s worthwhile reminding ourselves that many of the historical unfairnesses hidden in word histories are still with us. Just like you can’t get away with saying “I didn’t mean anything by the ‘n’ word”, you can’t just shrug off the critique of the complex tapestry of gender bias in ‘Miss’.
Miss does not “really mean” anything. It’s just a sequence of letters or sounds. And most people using it do not “really mean” anything by it. Or it does not “really mean” anything to them. But context is everything.
It is a truism to say that racism will be done away with when people don’t dislike each other because of the color of their skin. But the opposite is the case. The sign that racism has disappeared is when I can say “I really don’t like black people” simply because I don’t like the color of their skin in the same way I may prefer redheads to blondes. Preference for skin colour is then just a harmless quirk. But we’re centuries away from that because any such preference is tied to a system of discrimination going back a long way. (BTW: just to avoid misunderstanding, I personally find black skin beautiful.)
The same thing applies to “Miss”, we can’t just turn our back on its pernicious potential. Most of the time it’s hidden from sight but it’s recoverable at a moment’s notice. Because we live in a world where male is still the default position. We have to work to change that. Change our minds, hearts, cognitions and languages. They don’t just work on their own. We make them work. So let’s make them work for us. The ‘us’ we want to be, rather than the ‘us’ we used to be in the bad old days.
“Metaphor allows us to speak the truth by saying something that is wrong. That means it can be creatively liberating but it can also be surreptitiously coercive.”
This dual nature of coerciveness and liberation was echoed throughout the discussion by all three speakers. But they also shared the view of ubiquity of metaphor which is what this post is about.
What is not a metaphor? The question!
The moderator of the discussion was much more stereotypically ambivalent about such expansive attitude toward metaphor and challenged the speakers with the question of ‘what is the opposite of metaphor’ or ‘what is not a metaphor’. He elicited suggestions from the audience, who came up with this list:
The interesting thing is that most of the items on this list are in fact metaphorical in nature. Most certainly models, diagrams and definitions (more on these in future posts). But mathematics and logic are also deeply metaphorical (both in their application but also internally; e.g. the whole logico mathematical concept of proof is profoundly metaphorical).
Things get a bit more problematic with things like truth, fact, denotation and the object. All of those seem to be pointing at something that is intuitively unmetaphorical. But it doesn’t take a lot of effort to see that ‘something metaphorical’ is going on there as well. When we assign a label (denotation), for instance, ‘chair’ or ‘coast’ or ‘truth’ we automatically trigger an entire cognitive armoury for dealing with things that exist and these things have certain properties. But it is clear that ‘chair’, ‘coast’ and ‘metaphor’ are not the same kind of thing at all. Yet, we can start treating them the same way because they are both labels. So we start asking for the location, shape or definition of metaphor, just because we assigned it a label in the same way we can ask for the same thing about a chair or a coast. We want to take a measure of it, but this is much easier with a chair than with a coast (thus the famous fractal puzzle about the length of the coast of Britain). But chairs are not particularly easy to nail down (metaphorically, of course) either, as I discussed in my post on clichés and metaphors.
Brute facts of tiny ontology
So what is the thing that is not a metaphor? Both Bronk and Mellor suggested the “brute fact”. A position George Lakoff called basic realism and I’ve recently come to think of as tiny ontology. The idea, as expressed by Mellor and Bronk in this discussion, is that there’s a real world out there which impinges upon our bodily existence but with which we can only interact through the lens of our cognition which is profoundly metaphorical.
But ultimately, this does not give us a very useful answer. Either everything is a metaphor, so we might as well stop talking about it, or there is something that is not a metaphor. In which case, let’s have a look. Tiny ontology does not give us the solution because we can only access it through the filter of our cognition (which does not mean consciously or through some wilful interpretation). So the real question is, are there some aspects of our cognition that are not metaphorical?
Metaphor as model (or What is metaphor)
The solution lies in the revelation hinted at above that labels are in themselves metaphors. The act of labelling is metaphorical, or rather, it triggers the domain of objects. What do I mean by that? Well, first let’s have a look at how metaphor actually works. I find it interesting that nobody during the entire discussion tried to raise that question other than the usual ‘using something to talk about something else’. Here’s my potted summary of how metaphor works (see more details in the About section).
Metaphor is a process of projecting one conceptual domain onto another. All of our cognition involves this process of conceptual integration (or blending). This integration is fluid, fuzzy and partial. In language, this domain mapping is revealed through the process of deixis, attribution, predication, definition, comparison, etc. Sometimes it is made explicit by figurative language. Figurative language spans the scale of overt to covert. Figurative language has a conceptual, communicative and textual dimension (see my classification of metaphor use). In cognition, this process of conceptual integration is involved in identification, discrimination, manipulation. All of these can be more or less overtly analogical.
So all of this is just a long way of saying, that metaphor is a metaphor for a complicated process which is largely unconscious but not uncommonly conscious. In fact, in my research, I no longer use the term ‘metaphor’ because it misleads more than it helps. There’s simply too much baggage from what is just overt textual manifestation of metaphor – the sort of ‘common sense’ understanding of metaphor. However, this common sense ordinary understanding of ‘metaphor’ makes using the word a useful shortcut in communication with people who don’t have much of a background in this thought. But when we think about the issue more deeply, it becomes a hindrance because of all the different types of uses of metaphor I described here (a replay of the dual liberating and coercive nature of metaphor mentioned above – we don’t get escape our cognition just because we’re talking about metaphors).
In my work, I use the term frame, which is just a label for a sort of conceptualmodel (originally suggested by Lakoff as Idealized Cognitive Model). But I think in this context the term ‘model’ is a bit more revealing about what is going on.
So we can say that every time, we engage conceptually with our experience, we are engaging in an act of modelling (or framing). Even when I call something ‘true’, I am applying a certain model (frame) that will engage certain heuristics (e.g. asking for confirmation, evidence). Equally, if I say something like ‘education is business’, I am applying a certain model that will allow me to talk about things like achieving economies of scale or meeting consumer demand but will make it much harder to talk about ethics and personal growth. That doesn’t mean that I cannot apply more than one model, a combination of models or build new models from old ones. (Computer virus is a famous example, but natural law is another one. Again more on this in later posts.)
Action as an example of modelling
The question was asked during the discussion by an audience member, whether I can experience the world directly (not mediated by metaphoric cognition). The answer is yes, but even this kind of experience involves modelling. When I walk along a path, I automatically turn to avoid objects – therefore I’m modelling their solid and interactive nature. Even when I’m lying still, free of all thought and just letting the warmth of the shining sun wash over me, I’m still applying a model of my position in the world in a particular way. That is, my body is not activating my ears to hear the sun rays, nor is it perceiving the bacteria going about their business in my stomach. A snake, polar bear or a fish would all model that situation in a different way.
This may seem like unnecessary extension of the notion of a model. (But it echos the position of the third speaker Roger Kneebone who was talking about metaphor as part of the practice of surgery.) It is not particularly crucial to our understanding of metaphor, but I think it’s important to divert us from a certain kind of perceptual mysticism in which many people unhappy with the limitations of their cognitive models engage. The point is that not all of our existence is necessarily conceptual but all of it models our interaction with the world and switches between different models as appropriate. E.g. my body applies different models of the world when I’m stepping down from a step on solid ground or stepping into a pool of water.
The languages of metaphor: Or how a metaphor do
I am aware that this is all very dense and requires a lot more elaboration (well, that’s why I’m writing a blog, after all). But I’d like to conclude with a warning that the language used for talking about metaphor brings with it certain models of thinking about the world which can be very confusing if we don’t let go of them in time. Just the fact that we’re using words is a problem. When words are isolated (for instance, in a dictionary or at the end of the phrase ‘What is a…’) it only seems natural that they should have a definition. We have a word “metaphor” and it would seem that it needs to have some clear meaning. The kind of thing we’re used to seeing on the right-hand side of dictionaries. But insisting that dictionary-like definition is what must be at the end of the journey is to misunderstand what we’ve seen along the way.
There are many contexts in which the construction “metaphor is…” is not only helpful but also necessary. For example when clarifying one’s use: “In this blog, what I mean by metaphor is much broader than what traditional students of figurative language meant by it.” But in the context of trying to get at what’s going on in the space that we intuitively describe as metaphorical, we should almost be looking for something along to the lines of “metaphor does” or “metaphors feels like”. Or perhaps refrain from the construction “metaphor verb” altogether and just admit that we’re operating in a kind of metaphor-tasting soup. We can get at the meaning/definition by disciplined exploration and conversation.
In conclusion, metaphor is a very useful model when thinking about cognition, but it soon fails us, so we can replace it with more complex models, like that of a model. We are then left with the rather unsatisfactory notion of a metaphor of metaphor or a model of model. The sort of dissatisfaction that lead Derrida and his like to the heights of obscurity. I think we can probably just about avoid deconstructionist obscurantism but only if we adopt one of its most powerful tools, the fleeting sidelong glance (itself a metaphor/model). Just like the Necker cube, this life on the edge of metaphor is constantly shifting before our eyes. Never quite available to us perceptually all at once but readily apprehended by us in its totality. At once opaque and so so crystal clear. Rejoice all you parents of freshly screaming thoughts. It’s a metaphor!
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While people keep banging on about Chomsky as being the be all and end all of linguistics (I’m looking at you philosophers of language), there have been many linguists who have had a much more substantial impact on how we actually think about language in a way that matters. In my post on why Chomsky is not really a linguist at all I listed a few.
Sadly, one of these linguists died yesterday. It was Charles J Fillmore who was a towering figure among linguists without writing a single book. In my mind, he changed the face of linguistics three times with just three articles (one of them co-authored). Obviously, he wrote many more but compared to his massive impact, his output was relatively modest. His ideas have been with me all through my life as a linguist and on reflection, they form a foundation about what I know language to be. Therefore, this is not so much an obituary (for which I’m hardly the most qualified person out there) as a manifesto for a linguistics of a truly human language.
The case for Fillmore
The first article, more of a slim monograph at 80 odd pages, was Case for Case (which, for some reason, I first read in Russian translation). Published in 1968 it was one of the first efforts to find deeper functional connections in generative grammar (following on his earlier work with transformations). If you’ve studied Chomskean Government and Binding, this is where thematic roles essentially come from. I only started studying linguistics in 1991 which is when Case for Case was already considered a classic. Particularly in Prague where function was so important. But even after all those years, it is still worth reading for any minimalist out there. Unlike so many in today’s divided world, Fillmore engaged with the whole universe of linguistics, citing Halliday, Tesniere, Jakobson, Whorf, Jespersen, and others while giving an excellent overview of the treatment of case by different theories and theorists. But the engagement went even deeper, the whole notion of ‘case’ as one “base component of the grammar of every language” brought so much traditional grammar back into contact with a linguistics that was speeding away from all that came before at a rate of knots.
From today’s perspective, its emphasis on the deep and surface structures, as well as its relatively impoverished semantics may seem a bit dated, but it represents an engagement with language used to express real meaning. The thinking that went into deep cases transformed into what has become known as Frame Semantics (“I thought of each case frame as characterizing a small abstract ‘scene’ or ‘situation’, so that to understand the semantic structure of the verb it was necessary to understand the properties of such schematized scenes” ) which is where things really get interesting.
Fillmore in the frame
When I think about frame semantics, I always go to his 1982 article Frame Semantics published in the charmingly named conference proceedings ‘Linguistics in the morning calm’ but it had its first outing in 1976. George Lakoff used it as one of the key inspirations to his idealized cognitive models in Women, Fire, and Dangerous things which is where this site can trace its roots. As I have said before, I essentially think about metaphors as a special kinds of frames.
In it, he says:
By the term ‘frame’ I have in mind any system of concepts related in such a way that to understand anyone of them you have to understand the whole structure in which it fits; when one of the things in such a structure is introduced into a text, or into a conversation, all of the others are automatically made available. I intend the word ‘frame’ as used here to be a general cover term for the set of concepts variously known, in the literature on natural language understanding, as ‘schema: ‘script’, ‘scenario’, ‘ideational scaffolding’, ‘cognitive model’, or ‘folk theory’.
It is a bit of a mouthful but it captures in a paragraph the absolute fundamentals of the semantics of human language as opposed to projecting the rules of formal logic and truth conditions onto an impoverished version of language that all the generative-inspired approaches try to do. Also, it brings together many other concepts from different fields of scholarship. Last year I presented a paper on the power of the concept of frame where I found even more terms that have a close affinity to it which only underscores the far reaching consequences of Fillmore’s insight.
As I was looking for some more quotes from that article, I realized that I’d have to pretty much cut and paste in the whole of it. Almost, every sentence there is pure gold. Rereading it now after many many years, it’s becoming clear how many things from it I’ve internalized (and frankly, reinvented some of the ideas I forgot had been there).
About the same time, and merging the two earlier insights, Fillmore started working on the principles that have come to be known as construction grammar. Although, by then, the ideas were some years old, I always think of his 1988 article with Paul Kay and Mary Catherine O’Conner as a proper construction grammar manifesto. In it they say:
The overarching claim is that the proper units of a grammar are more similar to the notion of construction in traditional and pedagogical grammars than to that of rule in most versions of generative grammar.
Constructions, according to Fillmore have these properties:
They are not limited to the constituents of a single syntactic tree. Meaning, they span what has been considered as the building blocks of language.
They specify at the same time syntactic, lexical, semantic and pragmatic information.
Lexical items can also be viewed as constructions (this is absolutely earth shattering and I don’t think linguistics has come to grips with it, yet).
They are idiomatic. That is, their meaning is not built up from their constituent parts.
Although Lakoff’s study of ‘there constructions’ in Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things came out a year earlier (and is still essential reading), I prefer Fillmore as an introduction to the subject (if only because I never had to translate it).
The beauty of construction grammar (just as the beauty of frame semantics) is in that it can bridge much of the modern thinking about language with grammatical insights and intuitions of generations of researchers from across many schools of thought. But I am genuinely inspired by its commitment to language as a whole, expressed in the 1999 article by Fillmore and Kay:
To adopt a constructional approach is to undertake a commitment in principle to account for the entirety of each language. This means that the relatively general patterns of the language, such as the one licensing the ordering of a finite auxiliary verb before its subject in English as illustrated in 1, and the more idiomatic patterns, such as those exemplified in 2, stand on an equal footing as data for which the grammar must provide an account.
(1) a. What have you done? b. Never will I leave you. c. So will she. d. Long may you prosper! e. Had I known, . . . f. Am I tired! g. . . . as were the others h. Thus did the hen reward Beecher.
(2) a. by and large b. [to] have a field day c. [to] have to hand it to [someone] d. (*A/*The) Fool that I was, . . . e. in x’s own right
Given such a commitment, the construction grammarian is required to develop an explicit system of representation, capable of encoding economically and without loss of generalization all the constructions (or patterns) of the language, from the most idiomatic to the most general.
Notice that they don’t just say ‘language’ but ‘each language’. Both of those articles give ample examples of how constructions work and what they do and I commend them to your linguistic enjoyment.
Ultimately, I do not subscribe to the exact version of construction grammar that Fillmore and Kay propose, agreeing with William Croft that it is still too beholden to the formalist tradition of the generative era, but there is something to learn from on every page of everything Fillmore wrote.
Once more with meaning: the FrameNet years
Both frame semantics and construction grammar impacted Fillmore’s work in lexicography with Sue Atkins and culminated in FrameNet a machine readable frame semantic dictionary providing a model for a semantic module to a construction grammar. To make the story complete, we can even see FrameNet as a culmination of the research project begun in Case for Case which was the development of a “valence dictionary” (as he summarized it in 1982). While FrameNet is much more than that and has very much abandoned the claim to universal deep structures, it can be seen as accomplishing the mission of a language with meaning Fillmore set out on in the 1960s.
I only met Fillmore once when he came to lecture at a summer school in Prague almost twenty years ago. I enjoyed his lectures but was really too star struck to take advantage of the opportunity. But I saw enough of him to understand why he is remembered with deep affection and admiration by all of his colleagues and students whose ranks form a veritable who’s who of linguists to pay attention to.
In my earlier post, I compared him in stature and importance to Roman Jakobson (even if Jakobson’s crazy voluminous output across four languages dwarfs Fillmore’s – and almost everyone else’s). Fillmore was more than a linguist’s linguist, he was a linguist who mattered (and matters) to anyone who wanted (and wants) to understand how language works beyond a few minimalist soundbites. Sadly it is possible to meet graduates with linguistics degrees who never heard of Jakobson or Fillmore. While it’s almost impossible to meet someone who doesn’t know anything about language but has heard of Chomsky. But I have no doubt that in the decades of language scholarship to come, it will be Fillmore and his ideas that will be the foundation upon which the edifice of linguistics will rest. May he rest in peace.
I am far from being an expert on Fillmore’s work and life. This post reflects my personal perspective and lessons I’ve learned rather than a comprehensive or objective reference work. I may have been rather free with the narrative arc of his work. Please be free with corrections and clarifications. Language Log reposted a more complete profile of his life.
Fillmore, C., 1968. The Case for Case. In E. Bach & R. Harms, eds. Universals in Linguistic Theory. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, pp. 1–88. Available at: http://pdf.thepdfportal.com/PDFFiles/123480.pdf [Accessed February 15, 2014].
Fillmore, C.J., 1976. Frame Semantics and the nature of language. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 280 (Origins and Evolution of Language and Speech), pp.20–32.
Fillmore, C., 1982. Frame Semantics. In The Linguistic Society of Korea, ed. Linguistics in the morning calm : International conference on linguistics : Selected papers. Seoul Korea: Hanshin Pub. Co., pp. 111–139.
Fillmore, C.J., Kay, P. & O’Connor, M.C., 1988. Regularity and Idiomaticity in Grammatical Constructions: The Case of Let Alone. Language, 64(3), pp.501–538.
Kay, P. & Fillmore, C.J., 1999. Grammatical constructions and linguistic generalizations: the What’s X doing Y? construction. Language, 75(1), pp.1–33.
Things were not going well for Mitt Romney in early autumn of last year. And then he responded to a query about gender equality with this sentence:
“I had the chance to pull together a cabinet, and all the applicants seemed to be men… I went to a number of women’s groups and said, ‘Can you help us find folks?’ and they brought us whole binders full of women.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Binders_full_of_women
This became a very funny meme that stuck around for weeks. The reason for the longevity was the importance of women’s issues and the image of Romney himself. Not the phrase itself. What it showed or rather confirmed that journalists who in the same breath bemoan the quality of language education are completely ignorant about issues related to language. Saying things like:
In fairness, “binders” was most likely a slip of the tongue. http://edition.cnn.com/2012/10/17/opinion/cardona-binders-women/index.html
The answer to this is NO. This was not some ‘freudian slip of the tongue’ nor was it an inelegant phrase. It was simply a perfectly straightforward use of metonymy. Something we use and hear used probably a dozen times every day without remarking on it (or mostly so – see below).
What is metonymy
Metonymy is a figure of speech where something stands for something else because it has a connection to it. This connection can be physical, where a part of something can stand for a whole and a whole can stand for one of its parts.
Part for a whole:InI got myself some new wheels., ‘wheels’ stand in for ‘car’.
Whole for a part: In My bicycle got a puncture., ‘bicycle’ stands for a ‘tyre‘ which is a part of the it.
But the part/whole relationship does not have to be physical. Something can be a part of a process, idea, or configuration. The part/whole relationship can also be a membership or a cause and effect link. There are some subdomain instantiations where whole sets of conventional metonymies often congregate. Tools also often stand for jobs and linguistic units can stand for their uses. Materials can also be used to stand for things made from them. Some examples of these are:
Membership for members: “The Chess club sends best wishes.” < the ‘chess club’ stands for its members
Leader for lead: “The president invaded another country.” < the ‘president’ stands for the army
Tool for person: “hired gun” < the tool stands for the person
Linguistic units for uses: “no more ifs and buts’ < if’ and ‘but’ stand for their types of questions
End of a process for process: “the house is progressing nicely” < the ‘house’ is the final end of a process which stands for the process as a whole.
Tool/position for job: “chair person” < ‘chair’ stands for the role of somebody who sits on it.
Body part for use: “lend a hand”, the ‘hand’ stands for the part of the process where hands are used.
City for inhabitants: “Detroit doesn’t like this” < the city of ‘Detroit’ stands for the people and industries associated with the city.
Material for object made from material: “he buried 6 inches of steel in his belly” < the steel stands for a sword as in “he filled him full of lead”, lead stands for bullets.
Metonymies often occur in chains. A famous example by Michael Reddy is
“You’ll find better ideas than that in the library.”
where ideas are expressed in words, printed on pages, bound in books, stored in libraries.
In fact the ‘binders full of women’ is an example of a metonymic chain where women stand for profiles which are written on pages contained in binders.
It has been argued that these chains illustrate the very nature of metonymic inference. (See more below in section on reasoning.) In fact, it is not unreasonable to say that most metonymy contains some level of chaining or potential chaining. Not in cases of direct parts like ‘wheels’ standing for ‘cars’ but in the less concrete types like ‘hands’ standing for help or ‘president’ for the invading army, there is some level of chaining involved.
Metonymy vs. synechdoche
Metonymy is a term which is a part of a long standing classification of rhetorical tropes. The one term from this classification that metonymy is most closely associated with is synechdoche. In fact, what used to be called synechdoche is now simply subsumed under metonymy by most people who write about it.
The distinction is:
– Synechdoche describes a part standing for a whole (traditionally called pars pro toto) as in ‘The king built a cathedral.’ or the whole standing for a part (traditionally called totum pro parte) as in ‘Poland votes no’
– Metonymy describes a connection based on a non-part association such as containment, cause and effect, etc. (see above for a variety of examples)
While this distinction is not very hard to determine in most cases, it is not particularly useful and most people won’t be aware of it. In fact, I was taught that synechdoche was pars pro totoand metonymy was totum pro parte and all the other uses are an extension of these types. This makes just as much as sense as any other division but doesn’t seem to be the way the ancients looked at it.
Metaphor vs. metonymy
More commonly and perhaps more usefully, metonymy is contrasted with metaphor. In fact, ‘metaphor/metonymy’ is one of the key oppositions made in studies of figurative language.
People studying these tropes in the Lakoff and Johnson tradition will say something along the lines of metonymy relies on continguitywheras metaphor relies on similarity.
So for example:
“you‘re such a kiss ass” is a metaphor because ‘kissing ass’ signifies a certain kind of behavior, but the body part is not involved, while
“I got this other car on my ass” is a metonymy because ‘ass’ stands for everything that’s behind you.
“all men are pigs” is a metaphor because we ascribe the bad qualities of pigs to men but
“this is our pig man” is a metonymy because ‘pig’ is part of the man’s work
Some people (like George Lakoff himself) maintain that the distinction between metaphor and metonymy represent a crucial divide. Lakoff puts metonymic connections along with metaphoric ones as the key figurative structuring principles of conceptual frames (along with propositions and image schemas). But I think that there is evidence to show that they play a similar role in figurative language and language in general. For example, we could add a third sentence to our ‘ass’ opposition such as ‘she kicked his ass’ which could be either metonymic when actual kicking occured but only some involved the buttocks or metaphoric if no kicking at all took place. But even then the metaphor relies on an underlying metonymy.
When we think of metaphor as a more special instance of domain mapping (or conceptual blending, as I do on this blog), then we see that very similar connections are being made in both. Very often both metaphor and metonymy are involved in the same figurative process. There is also often a component of social convention where some types of connections are more likely to be made.
For example, in “pen is mightier than the sword” the connections of ‘pen’ to writing and ‘sword’ to war or physical enforcement is often given as an example of metonymy. But the imagery is much richer than that. In order to understand this phrase, we need to compare two scenarios (one with the effects of writing and one with the effects of fighting) which is exactly what happens in the conceptualisation taking place in metaphors and analogies. These two processes are not just part of a chain but seem to happen all at once.
Another example is ‘enquiring minds want to know’ the labeling of which was the subject of a recent debate. We know that minds often metonymically stand for thinkers as in ‘we have a lot of sharp minds in this class’. But when we hear of ‘minds’ doing something, we think of metaphor. This is not all that implausible because ‘my mind has a mind of its own’ is out there: http://youtu.be/SdUZe2BddHo. But this figure of speech obviously relies on both conceptualisations at once (at least in the way some people will construe it).
Metonymy and meronymy
One confusion, I’ve noticed is putting metonymy into opposition to meronymy. However, the term ‘meronymy‘ has nothing to do with the universe of figurative language. It is simply a term for a name used to label a the meaning of a word in relationship to another word where one of these words denotes a whole and another its part. So ‘wheels’ are a meronym of ‘car’ and ‘bike’ but calling a nice car ‘sharp wheels’ is synechdoche, not meronymy as this post http://wuglife.tumblr.com/post/68572697017/metonymy-or-meronymy erroneously claims.
Meronyms together with hyponyms and hyperonyms are simply terms that describe semantic relationships between words. You could say that synechdoche relies on the meronymic (or holonymic) relationship between words or that it uses meronyms for reference.
It doesn’t make much difference for the overall understanding of the issues but perhaps worth clarifying.
William Croft also claims that meronymy is the only constituent relationship in his radical construction grammar (something which I have a lot of time for but not something hugely relevant to this discussion).
Compared to metaphor, metonymy is often seen as the more pedestrian figure of speech. But as we saw in the reactions to Romney’s ‘binders of women’ that this is not necessarily the case:
he managed to conjure an image confirming every feminist’s worst fears about a Romney presidency; that he views women’s rights in the workplace as so much business admin, to be punched and filed and popped on a shelf http://www.theguardian.com/world/shortcuts/2012/oct/17/binders-full-of-women-romneys-four-words
The meme that sprang up around it consisted mostly of people illustrating this image, many of which can be found on http://bindersfullofwomen.tumblr.com (see one such image above).
This is not uncommon in the deconstructions and hypostatic debates about metonymies. ‘Pen is mightier than the sword’ is often objected to on the basis that somebody with a sword will always prevail over somebody with a pen. People will also often critique the ’cause of’ relationships, as in ‘the king did not erect this tower, all the hard-working builders did’. Another example could be all the gruesome jokes about ‘lending a hand’ or ‘asking for a hand in marriage’. I still remember a comedy routine from my youth which included the sentence, “The autopsy was successful, the doctor came over to me extending a hand…for me to take to the trash.”
But there is a big difference in how the imagery works in metonymy and metaphor. Most of the time we don’t notice it. But when we become aware of the rich evocative images that make a metaphor work, we think of the metaphor as working and those images illustrate the relationship between the two domains. But when we become aware of the images that are contained in a metonymy (as in the examples above), we are witnessing a failure of the metonymy. It stops doing its job as a trope and starts being perceived as somehow inappropriate usage. But metaphor thus revealed typically does its job even better (though not in all cases as I’ve often illustrated on this blog).
Reasoning with metonymy
Much has been written about metaphoric reasoning (sometimes in the guise of ‘analogic reasoning’) but connection is just as an important part of reasoning as similarity is.
Much of sympathetic magic requires both connection and similarity. So the ‘voodoo doll’ is shaped like a person but is connected to them by a their hair, skin, or an item belonging to them.
But reasoning by connection is all around us. For instance, in science, the relationship of containment is crucial to classification and much of logic. Also, the question of sets being part of sets which has spurred so much mathematical reasoning has both metaphoric and metonymic dimensions.
But we also reason by metonymy in daily life when we pay homage to the flag or call on the president to do something about the economy. Sometimes we understand something metonymically by compression, as if when we equate the success of a company with the success of its CEO. Sometimes we use metonymy to elaborate as when we say something like 12 hard working pistons brought the train home.
Metonymy is also involved in the process of exemplars and paragons. While the ultimate conceptualization is metaphoric, we also ask that the exemplar has some real connection. Journalists engage the process of metonymy when they pick someone to tell their story to exemplify a larger group. This person has to be both similar and connected to engage the power of the trope fully. On a more accessible level, insults and praise often have a metonymic component. When we call someone ‘an asshole’ or ‘a hero’, we often substitute a part of who they are for the whole, much to the detriment of our understanding of who they are (note that a metaphor is also involved).
Finally, many elements of representative democracy rely on metonymic reasoning. We want MPs to represent particular areas and think it is best if they originate in that area. We think because we paid taxes, the police ‘work for us’. Also, the ideology of nationalism and nation states are very much metonymic.
Warning in conclusion
I have often warned against the dangers of overdoing the associations generated by metaphors. But in many ways metonymy is potentially even more dangerous because of the magic of direct connection. It can be a very useful (and often necessary) shortcut to communication (particularly when used as compression) but just as often it can lead us down dangerous paths if we let it.
This post is an elaboration and reworking of my comment on Stan Carey’s post on metonymy: It seemed to me a surprisingly confused and unclear about what metonymy does. This could be because Stan is no linguistic lightweight so I have expected more. But it’s easy to get this wrong, and rereading my comment there, it seems, I got a bit muddled myself. And, I’m sure even my more worked out description here could be successfully picked over. Even Wikipedia, which is normally quite good in this area, is a bit confused on the matter. The different entries for synechdoche and metonymy as well as related terms seem a bit patched together and don’t provide a straightforward definition.
Ultimately, the finer details don’t matter as long as we understand the semantic field. I hope this post contributes to that understanding but I’ll welcome any comments and corrections.
“when history is at its most obliging, the history-writer needs be at his most wary.” (China by John Keay)
I came across this nugget of wisdom when I was re-reading the Introduction to John Keay’s history of China. And it struck me that in some way this quote could be a part of the motto of this blog. The whole thing might then read something like this:
Hack at your thoughts at any opportunity to see if you can reveal new connections through analogies, metonymies and metaphors. Uncover hidden threads, weave new ones and follow them as far as they take you. But when you see them give way and oblige you with great new revelations about how the world really is, be wary!
Metaphors can be very obliging in their willingness to show us that things we previously thought separate are one and the same. But that is almost always the wrong conclusion. Everything is what it is, it is never like something else. (In this I have been subscribing to ‘tiny ontology’ even before I‘ve heard about it). But we can learn things about everything when we think about it as something else. Often we cannot even think of many things other than through something else. For instance, electricity. Electrons are useful to think of as particles or as waves. Electrons are electrons, they are not little balls nor are they waves. But when we start treating them as one or the other, they become more tractable for some problems (electrical current makes more sense when we think of them as waves and electricity generating heat makes sense when we think of them as little balls).
George Lakoff and Mark Johnson summarize metaphors in the X IS Y format (e.g. LOVE IS A JOURNEY) but this implied identity is where the danger lies. If love is a journey as we can see in a phrase like, ‘We’ve arrived at a junction in our relationship’, then it surely must be a journey in all respects: it has twists and turns, it takes time, it is expensive, it happens on asphalt! Hold on! Is that last one the reason ‘love can burn with an eternal flame’? Of course not. Love IS NOT a journey. Some aspects of what we call love make more sense to us when we think of them as a journey. But others don’t. Since it is obvious that love is not a journey but is like a journey, we don’t worry about it. But it’s more complicated than that. The identities implied in metaphor are so powerful (more so to some people than others) that some mappings are not allowed because of the dangers implied in following them too far. ‘LOVE IS A CONTRACT’ is a perfectly legitimate metaphor. There are many aspects of a romantic relationship that are contract-like. We agree to exclusivity, certain mode of interaction, considerations, etc. when we declare our love (or even when we just feel it – certain obligations seem to follow). But our moral compass just couldn’t stomach (intentional mix) the notion of paying for love or being in love out of obligation which could also be traced from this metaphor. We instinctively fear that ‘LOVE IS A CONTRACT’ is a far too obliging a metaphor and we don’t want to go there. (By we, I mean the general rules of acceptable discourse in certain circles, not every single cognizing individual.)
So even though metaphors do not describe identity, they imply it, and not infrequently, this identity is perceived as dangerous. But there’s nothing inherently dangerous about it. The issue is always the people and how willing they are to let themselves be obliged by the metaphor. They are aided and abetted in this by the conceptual universe the metaphor appears in but never completely constrained by it. Let’s take the common metaphor of WAR. I often mention the continuum of ‘war on poverty’, ‘war on drugs’, and ‘war on terror’ as an example of how the metaphors of ‘war’ do not have to lead to actual ‘war’. Lakoff showed that they can in ‘metaphors can kill’. But we see that they don’t have to. Or rather we don’t have to let them. If we don’t apply the brakes, metaphors can take us almost anywhere.
There are some metaphors that are so obliging, they have become cliches. And some are even recognized as such by the community. Take, for instance, the Godwin law. X is Hitler or X is Nazi are such seductive metaphors that sooner or later someone will apply them in almost any even remotely relevant situation. And even with the awareness of Godwin’s law, people continue to do it.
The key principle of this blog is that anything can be a metaphor for anything with useful consequences. Including:
United States is ancient Rome
China today is Soviet Union of the 1950s
Saddam Hussein is Hitler
Iraq is Vietnam
Education is a business
Mental difficulties are diseases
Learning is filling the mind with facts
The mind is the software running on the hardware of the brain
Marriage is a union between two people who love each other
X is evolved to do Y
X is a market place
But this only applies with the HUGE caveat that we must never misread the ‘is’ for a statement of perfect identity or even isomorphims (same shapedness). It’s ‘is(m)’. None of the above metaphors are perfect identities – they can be beneficially followed as far as they take us, but each one of them is needs to be bounded before we start drawing conclusions.
Now, things are not helped by the fact that any predication or attribution can appear as a kind of metaphor. Or rather it can reveal the same conceptual structures the same way metaphors do.
‘John is a teacher.’ may seem like a simple statement of fact but it’s so much more. It projects the identity of John (of whom we have some sort of a mental image) into the image schema of a teacher. That there’s more to this than just a simple statement can be revealed by ‘I can’t believe that John is a teacher.’ The underlying mental representations and work on them is not that different to ‘John is a teaching machine.’ Even simple naming is subject to this as we can see in ‘You don’t look much like a Janice.’
Equally, simple descriptions like ‘The sky is blue’ are more complex. The sky is blue in a different ways than somebody’s eyes are blue or the sea is blue. I had that experience myself when I first saw the ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ and was shocked that they were actually white. I just assumed that they were a lighter kind of cliff than a typical cliff or having some white smudges. They were white in the way chalk is white (through and through) and not in the way a zebra crossing is white (as opposed to a double yellow line).
A famous example of how complex these conceptualisations can get is ‘In France, Watergate would not have harmed Nixon.’ The ‘in France’ and ‘not’ bits establishe a mental space in which we can see certain parts of what we know about Nixon and Watergate projected onto what we know about France. Which is why sentences like “The King of France is bald.” and “Unicorns are white.” make perfect sense even though they both describe things that don’t exist.
Now, that’s not to say that sentences like ‘The sky is blue’, ‘I’m feeling blue’,’I’ll praise you to the sky.’, or ‘He jumped sky high.’ and ‘He jumped six inches high.’ are cognitively or linguistically exactly the same. There’s lots of research that shows that they have different processing requirements and are treated differently. But there seems to be a continuum in the ability of different people (much research is needed here) to accept the partiality of any statement of identity or attribution. On the one extreme, there appears something like autism which leads to a reduced ability to identify figurative partiality in any predication but actually, most of the time, we all let ourselves be swayed by the allure of implied identity. Students are shocked when they see their teacher kissing their spouse or shopping in the mall. We even ritualize this sort of thing when we expect unreasonable morality from politicians or other public figures. This is because over the long run overtly figurative sentence such as ‘he’s has eyes like a hawk’ and ‘the hawk has eyes’ need similar mental structures to be present to make sense to us. And I suspect that this is part of the reason why we let ourselves be so easily obliged by metaphors.
Update: This post was intended as a warning against over-obliging metaphors that lead to perverse understandings of things as other things in unwarranted totalities. In this sense, they are the ignes fatui of Hobbes. But there’s another way in which over-obliging metaphors can be misleading. And that is, they draw on their other connections to make it seem we’ve come to a new understanding where in fact all we’ve done is rename elements of one domain with the names of elements of another domain without any elucidation. This was famously and devastatingly the downfall of Skinner’s Verbal Behavior under Chomsky’s critique. He simply (at least in the extreme caricature that was Chomsky’s review) took things about language and described them in terms of operant conditioning. No new understanding was added but because the ‘new’ science of psychology was in as the future of our understanding of everything, just using those terms made us assume there was a deeper knowledge. Chomsky was ultimately right-if only to fall prey to the same danger with his computational metaphors of language. Another area where that is happening is evolution, genetics and neuroscience which are often used (sometimes all at once) to simply relabel something without adding any new understanding whatsoever.
…analogies work best when they are opportunistic, ad hoc, and abandoned as quickly as they are adopted. Analogies, if used generatively (i.e. to come up with new ideas), can be incredibly powerful. But when used exegeticaly (i.e. to interpret or summarize other people’s ideas), they can be very harmful.
The big problem is that in our cognition, ‘x is y’ and ‘x is like y’ are often treated very similarly. But the fact is that x is never y. So every analogy has to be judged on its own merit and we need to carefully examine why we’re using the analogy and at every step consider its limits. The power of analogy is in its ability to direct our thinking (and general cognition) i.e. not in its ‘accuracy’ but in its ‘aptness’.
I have long argued that history should be included in considering research results and interpretations. For example, every ‘scientific’ proof of some fundamental deficiencies of women with respect to their role in society has turned out to be either inaccurate or non-scalable. So every new ‘proof’ of a ‘woman’s place’ needs to be treated with great skepticism. But that does not mean that one such proof does not exist. But it does mean that we shouldn’t base any policies on it until we are very very certain.
I just found out that both abstracts I submitted to the Cognitive Futures of the Humanities Conference were accepted. I was really only expecting one to get through but I’m looking forward to talking about the ideas in both.
The first first talk has foundations in a paper I wrote almost 5 years ago now about the nature of evidence for discourse. But the idea is pretty much central to all my thinking on the subject of culture and cognition. The challenge as I see it is to come up with a cognitively realistic but not a cognitively reductionist account of culture. And the problem I see is that often the learning only goes one way. The people studying culture are supposed to be learning about the results of research on cognition.
Frames, scripts, scenarios, models, spaces and other animals: Bridging conceptual divides between the cognitive, social and computational
While the cognitive turn has a definite potential to revolutionize the humanities and social sciences, it will not be successful if it tries to reduce the fields investigated by the humanities to merely cognitive or by extension neural concepts. Its greatest potential is in showing continuities between the mind and its expression through social artefacts including social structures, art, conversation, etc. The social sciences and humanities have not waited on the sidelines and have developed a conceptual framework to apprehend the complex phenomena that underlie social interactions. This paper will argue that in order to have a meaningful impact, cognitive sciences, including linguistics, will have to find points of conceptual integration with the humanities rather than simply provide a new descriptive apparatus.
It is the contention of this paper that this can be best done through the concept of frame. It seems that most disciplines dealing with the human mind have (more or less independently) developed a similar notion dealing with the complexities of conceptualization variously referred to as frame, script, cognitive model or one of the as many as 14 terms that can be found across the many disciplines that use it. This paper will present the different terms and identify commonalities and differences between them. On this, it will propose several practical ways in which cognitive sciences can influence humanities and also derive meaningful benefit from this relationship. I will draw on examples from historical policy analysis, literary criticism and educational discourse.
The second paper is a bit more conceptually adventurous and testing the ideas put forth in the first one. I’m going to try to explore a metaphor for the merging of cultural studies with linguistic studies. This was done before with structuralism and ended more or less badly. For me, it ended when I read the Lynx by Lévi-Strauss and realized how empty it was of any real meaning. But I think structuralism ended badly in linguistics, as well. We can’t really understand how very basic things work in language unless we can involve culture. So even though, I come at this from the side of linguistics, I’m coming at it from the perspective of linguistics that has already been informed by the study of culture.
If Lévi-Strauss had met Langacker: Towards a constructional approach to the patterns of culture
Construction/cognitive grammar (Langacker, Lakoff, Croft, Verhagen, Goldberg) has broken the strict separation between the lexical and grammatical linguistic units that has defined linguistics for most of the last century. By treating all linguistic units as meaningful, albeit on a scale of schematicity, it has made it possible to treat linguistic knowledge as simply a part of human knowledge rather than as a separate module in the cognitive system. Central to this effort is the notion of language of as an organised inventory of symbolic units that interact through the process of conceptual integration.
This paper will propose a new view of ‘culture’ as an inventory of construction-like patterns that have linguistic, as well, as interactional content. I will argue that using construction grammar as an analogy allows for the requisite richness and can avoid the pitfalls of structuralism. One of the most fundamental contributions of this approach is the understanding that cultural patterns, like constructions, are pairings of meaning and form and that they are organised in a hierarchically structured inventory. For instance, we cannot properly understand the various expressions of politeness without thinking of them as systematically linked units in an inventory available to members of a given culture in the same as syntactic and morphological relationships. As such, we can understand culture as learnable and transmittable in the same way that language is but without reducing its variability and richness as structuralist anthropology once did.
In the same way that Jakobson’s work on structuralism across the spectrum of linguistic diversity inspired Lévi-Strauss and a whole generation of anthropological theorists, it is now time to bring the exciting advances made within cognitive/construction grammar enriched with blending theory back to the study of culture.
This is an insight at the very heart of linguistics. Every language act we are a part of is an act of categorization. There are no simple unitary terms in language. When I say, “pull up a chair”, I’m in fact referring to a vast category of objects we refer to as chairs. These objects are not identified by any one set of features like four legs, certain height, certain ways of using it. There is no minimal set of features that will describe all chairs and just chairs and not other kinds of objects like tables or pillows. But chairs don’t stand on their own. They are related to other concepts or categories (and they are really one and the same). There are subcategories like stools and armchairs, containing categories like furniture or man-made objects and related categories like houses and shops selling objects. All of these categories are linked in our minds through a complex set of images, stories and definitions. But these don’t just live in our minds. They also appear in our conversations. So we say things like, “What kind of a chair would you like to buy?”, “That’s not real chair”, “What’s the point of a chair if you can’t sit in it?”, “Stools are not chairs.”, “It’s more of a couch than a chair.”, “Sofas are really just big plush chairs, when it comes down to it.”, “I’m using a box for a chair.”, “Don’t sit on a table, it’s not a chair.” Etc. Categories are not stable and uniform across all people, so we continue having conversations about them. There are experts on chairs, historians of chairs, chair craftsmen, people who buy chairs for a living, people who study the word ‘chair’, and people who casually use chairs. Some more than others. And their sets of stories and images and definitions related to chairs will be slightly different. And they will have had different types of conversations with different people about chairs. All of that goes into a simple word like “chair”. It’s really very simple as long as we accept the complexity for what it is. Philosophers of language have made a right mess of things because they tried to find simplicity where none exists. And what’s more where none is necessary.
But let’s get back to cliches. Cliches are types of categories. Or better still, cliches are categories with a particular type of social salience. Like categories, cliches are sets of images, stories and definitions compressed into seemingly simpler concepts that are labelled by some sort of an expression. Most prominently, it is a linguistic expression like a word or a phrase. But it could just as easily be a way of talking, way of dressing, way of being. What makes us likely to call something a cliche is a socially negotiated sense of awareness that the compression is somewhat unsatisfactory and that it is overused by people in lieu of an insight into the phenomenon we are describing. But the power of the cliche is in its ability to help us make sense of a complex or challenging phenomenon. But the sense making is for our benefit of cognitive and emotional peace. Just because we can make sense of something, doesn’t mean, we get the right end of the stick. And we know that, which is why we are wary of cliches. But challenging every cliche would be like challenging ourselves every time we looked at a chair. It can’t be done. Which is why we have social and linguistic coping mechanisms like “I know it’s such a cliche.” “It’s a cliche but in a way it’s true.” “Just because it’s a cliche, doesn’t mean, it isn’t true.” Just try Googling: “it’s a cliche *”
So we are at once locked into cliches and struggling to overcome them. Like “chair” the concept of a “cliche” as we use it is not simple. We use it to label words, phrases, people. We have stories about how to rebel against cliches. We have other labels for similar phenomena with different connotations such as “proverbs”, “sayings”, “prejudices”, “stereotypes”. We have whole disciplines studying these like cognitive psychology, social psychology, political science, anthropology, etc. And these give us a whole lot of cliches about cliches. But also a lot of knowledge about cliches.
The first one is exactly what this post started with. We have to use cliches. It’s who we are. But they are not inherently bad.
Next, we challenge cliches as much as we use them. (Well, probably not as much, but a lot.) This is something I’m trying to show through my research into frame negotiation. We look at concepts (the compressed and labelled nebulas of knowledge) and decompress them in different ways and repackage them and compress them into new concepts. (Sometimes this is called conceptual integration or blending.) But we don’t just do this in our minds. We do it in public and during conversations about these concepts.
We also know that unwillingness to challenge a cliche can have bad outcomes. Cliches about certain things (like people or types of people) are called stereotypes and particular types of stereotypes are called prejudices. And prejudices by the right people against the right kind of other people can lead to discrimination and death. Prejudice, stereotype, cliche. They are the same kind of thing presented to us from different angles and at different magnitudes.
So it is worth our while to harness the cliche negotiation that goes on all the time anyway and see if we can use it for something good. That’s not a certain outcome. The medieaval inquistions, anti-heresies, racism, slavery, genocides are all outcomes of negotiations of concepts. We mostly only know about their outcomes but a closer look will always reveal dissent and a lot of soul searching. And at the heart of such soul searching is always a decompression and recompression of concepts (conceptual integration). But it does not work in a vacuum. Actual physical or economic power plays a role. Conformance to communcal expectations. Personal likes or dislikes. All of these play a role.
So what chance have we of getting the right outcome? Do we even know what is the right outcome?
Well, we have to pick the right cliches says Abhijit Banerjee. Or we have to frame concepts better says George Lakoff. “We have to shine the light of truth” says a cliche.
“If you give people content, they’re willing to move away from their prejudices. Prejudices are partly sustained by the fact that the political system does not deliver much content.” says Banerjee. Prejudices matter in high stakes contexts. And they are a the result of us not challenging the right cliches in the right ways at the right time.
It is pretty clear from research in social psychology from Milgram on, that giving people information will challenge their cliches but only as long as you also give them sanction to challenge the cliches. Information on its own, does not seem to always be enough. Sometimes the contrary information even seems to reinforce the cliche (as we’re learning from newspaper corrections).
This is important. You can’t fool all of the people all of the time. Even if you can fool a lot of them a lot of the time. Information is a part of it. Social sanction of using that information in certain ways is another part of it. And this is not the province of the “elites”. People with the education and sufficient amount of idle time to worry about such things. There’s ample research to show that everybody is capable of this and engaged in these types of conceptual activities. More education seems to vaguely correlate with less prejudice but it’s not clear why. I also doubt that it does in a very straightforward and inevitable way (a post for another day). It’s more than likely that we’ve only studied the prejudices the educated people don’t like and therefore don’t have as much.
Bannerjee draws the following conclusion from his work uncovering cliches in development economics:
“Often we’re putting too much weight on a bunch of cliches. And if we actually look into what’s going on, it’s often much more mundane things. Things where people just start with the wrong presumption, design the wrong programme, they come in with their own ideology, they keep things going because there’s inertia, they don’t actually look at the facts and design programmes in ignorance. Bad things happen not because somebody wants bad things to happen but because we don’t do our homework. We don’t think hard enough. We’re not open minded enough.”
It sounds very appealing. But it’s also as if he forgot the point he started out with. We need cliches. And we need to remember that out of every challenge to a cliche arises a new cliche. We cannot go around the world with our concepts all decompressed and flapping about. We’d literally go crazy. So every challenge to a cliche (just like every paradigm-shifting Kuhnian revolution) is only the beginning phase of the formation of another cliche, stereotype, prejudice or paradigm (a process well described in Orwell’s Animal Farm which itself has in turn become a cliche of its own). It’s fun listening to Freakonomics radio to see how all the cliche busting has come to establish a new orthodoxy. The constant reminders that if you see things as an economist, you see things other people don’t don’t see. Kind of a new witchcraft. That’s not to say that Freakonomics hasn’t provided insights to challenge established wisdoms (a term arising from another perspective on a cliche). It most certainly has. But it hasn’t replaced them with “a truth”, just another necessary compression of a conceptual and social complex. During the moments of decompression and recompression, we have opportunities for change, however brief. And sometimes it’s just a memory of those events that lets us change later. It took over 150 years for us to remember the French revolution and make of it what we now think of as democracy with a tradition stretching back to ancient Athens. Another cliche. The best of a bad lot of systems. A whopper of a cliche.
So we need to be careful. Information is essential when there is none. A lot of prejudice (like some racism) is born simply of not having enough information. But soon there’s plenty of information to go around. Too much, in fact, for any one individual to sort through. So we resort to complex cliches. And the cliches we choose have to do with our in-groups, chains of trust, etc. as much as they do with some sort of rational deliberation. So we’re back where we started.
Humanity is engaged in a neverending struggle of personal and public negotiation of concepts. We’re taking them apart and putting them back together. Parts of the process happen in fractions of a second in individual minds, parts of the process happen over days, weeks, months, years and decades in conversations, pronouncements, articles, books, polemics, laws, public debates and even at the polling booths. Sometimes it looks like nothing is happening and sometimes it looks like everything is happening at once. But it’s always there.
So what does this have to do with metaphors and can a metaphor hacker do anything about it? Well, metaphors are part of the process. The same process that lets us make sense of metaphors, lets use negotiated cliches. Cliches are like little analogies and it takes a lot of cognition to understand them, take them apart and make them anew. I suspect most of that cognition (and it’s always discursive, social cognition) is very much the same that we know relatively well from metaphor studies.
But can we do anything about it? Can we hack into these processes? Yes and no. People have always hacked collective processes by inserting images and stories and definitions into the public debate through advertising, following talking points or even things like pushpolling. And people have manipulated individuals through social pressure, persuasion and lies. But none of it ever seems to have a lasting effect. There’re simply too many conceptual purchase points to lean on in any cliches to ever achieve a complete uniformity for ever (even in the most totalitarian regimes). In an election, you may only need to sway the outcome by a few percent. If you have military or some other power, you only need to get willing compliance from a sufficient number of people to keep the rest in line through a mix of conceptual and non-conceptual means. Some such social contracts last for centuries, others for decades and some for barely years or months. In such cases, even knowing how these processes work is not much better than knowing how continental drift works. You can use it to your advantage but you can’t really change it. You can and should engage in the process and try to nudge the conversation in a certain way. But there is no conceptual template for success.
But as individuals, we can certainly do quite a bit monitor our own cognition (in the broadest sense). But we need to choose our battles carefully. Use cliches but monitor what they are doing for us. And challenge the right ones at the right time. It requires a certain amount of disciplined attention and disciplined conversation.
I never meant to listen to this LSE debate on modern atheism because I’m bored of all the endless moralistic twaddle on both sides but it came on on my MP3 player and before I knew it, I was interested enough not to skip it. Not that it provided any Earth-shattering new insights but on balance it had more to contribute to the debate than a New Atheist diatribe might. And there were a few stories about how people think that were interesting.
The first speaker was the well-known English cleric, Giles Fraser who regaled the audience with his conversion story starting as an atheist student of Wittgenstein and becoming a Christian who believes in a “Scripture-based” understanding of Christianity. The latter is not surprising given how pathetically obssessed Wittgensteinian scholars are with every twist and turn of their bipolar master’s texts.
But I thought Fraser’s description of how he understands his faith in contrast to his understanding of the dogma was instructive. He says: “Theology is faith seeking understanding. Understanding is not the basis on which one has faith but it is what one does to try to understand the faith one has.”
In a way, faith is a kind of axiomatic knowledge. It’s not something that can or need be usefully questioned but it is something on which to base our further dialog. Obviously, this cannot be equated with religion but it can serve as a reminder of the kind of knowledge religion works off. And it is only in some contexts that this axiomatic knowledge needs be made explicit or even just pointed to – this only happens when the conceptual frames are brought into conflict and need to be negotiated.
Paradox of utility vs essence and faith vs understanding
This kind of knowledge is often contrasted with scientific knowledge. Knowledge that is held to be essentially superior due to its utility. But if we look at the supporting arguments, we are faced with a kind of paradox.
The paradox is that scientists claim that their knowledge is essentially different from religious (and other non-scientific) knowledge but the warrant for the special status claim of this knowledge stems from the method of its aquisition rather than its inherent nature. They cite falsificationist principles as foundations of this essential difference and peer review as their practical embodiment (strangely making this one claim immune from the dictum of falsification – of which, I believe, there is ample supply).
But that is not a very consistent argument. The necessary consequences of the practice of peer review fly in the face of the falsificationist agenda. The system of publication and peer review that is in place (and that will always emerge) is guaranteed to minimize any fundamental falsificationism of the central principles. Meaning that falsification happens more along Kuhnian rather than Popperian lines. Slowly, in bursts and with great gnashing of teeth and destroying of careers.
Now, religious knowledge does not cite falsificationism as the central warrant of its knowledge. Faith is often given as the central principle underlying religious knowledge and engagement with diverse exegetic authorities as the enactment of this principle. (Although, crucially, this part of religion is a modern invention brought about by many frame negotiations. For the most part, when it comes to religion, faith and knowing are coterminous. Faith determines the right ways of knowing but it is only rarely negotiated.)
But in practice the way religious knowlege is created, acquired and maintained is not very different from scientific knowledge. Exegesis and peer review are very similar processes in that they both refer to past authorities as sources of arbitration for the expression of new ideas.
And while falsificationism is (perhaps with the exception of some Budhist or Daoist schools) never the stated principle of religious hermeneutics, in principle, it is hard to describe the numerous religious reforms, movements and even work-a-day conversions as anything but falsificationist enterprises. Let’s just look at the various waves of monastic movements from Benedictines to Dominicans or Franciscans to Jesuits. They all struggled with reconciling the current situation with the evidence (of the interpretation of scripture) and based their changed practices on the result of this confrontation.
And what about religious reformers like Hus, Luther or Calvin? Wasn’t their intellectual entreprise in essense falsificationist? Or St Paul or Arianism? Or scholastic debates?
‘But religion never invites scrutiny, it never approaches problems with an open mind.’ Crow the new-atheists. But neither does science at the basic level. Graduate students are told to question everything but they soon learn that this questioning is only good as long as it doesn’t disrupt the research paradigm. Their careers and livelihoods depend on not questioning much of anything. In practice, this is not very different from the personal reading of the Bible – you can have a personal relationship with God as long as it’s not too different from other people’s personal relationships.
The stories we know by
One of the most preposterous pieces of scientific propaganda is Dawkins’ story about an old professor who went to thank a young researcher for disproving his theory. I recently heard it trotted out again on an episode of Start The Week where it was used as proof positive of how science is special – this time as a way of establishing its superiority over political machinations. It may have happened but it’s about as rare as a priest being convinced by an argument about the non-existence of God. The natural and predominant reactions to a research “disproving” a theory are to belittle it, deny its validity, ostracise its author, deny its relevance or simply ignore it (a favourite passtime of Chomskean linguists).
So in practice, there doesn’t seem to be that much of a difference between how scientific and religious knowledge work. They both follow the same cognitive and sociological principles. They both have their stories to tell their followers.
Conversion stories are very popular in all movements and they are always used on both sides of the same argument. There are stories about conversions from one side to the other in the abortion/anti-abortion controversy, environmental debates, diet wars, alternative medicine, and they are an accompanying feature of pretty much any scientific revolution – I’ve even seen the lack of prominent conversions cited as an argument (a bad one) against cognitive linguistics. So a scientist giving examples of the formerly devout seeing the light through a rational argument, is just enacting a social script associated with the spreading of knowledge. It’s a common frame negotiation device, not evidence of anything about the nature of the knowledge to the profession of which the person was converted.
There are other types of stories about knowledge that scientists like to talk about as much as people of religion. There are stories of the long arduous path to knowledge and stories of mystical gnosis.
The path-to-knowledge stories are told when people talk about the training it takes to achieve a kind of knowledge. They are particularly popular about medical doctors (through medical dramas on TV) but they also exist about pretty much any profession including priests and scientists. These stories always have two components, a liminal one (about high jinks students got to while avoiding the administration’s strictures and lovingly mocking the crazy demanding teachers) and a sacral one (about the importance of hard learning that the subject demands). These stories are, of course, based on the sorts of things that happen. But their telling follows a cultural and discursive script. (It would be interesting to do some comparative study here.)
The stories of mystical gnosis are also very interesting. They are told about experts, specialists who achieve knowledge that is too difficult for normal mortals to master. In these stories people are often described as loosing themselves in the subject, setting themselves apart, or becoming obsessively focused. This is sometimes combined or alternated with descriptions of achieving sudden clarity.
People tell these stories about themselves as well as about others. When told about others, these stories can be quite schematic – the absent minded professor, the geek/nerd, the monk in the library, the constantly pracising musician (or even boxer). When told about oneself, the sudden light stories are very common.
Again, these stories reflect a shared cultural framing of people’s experiences of knowledge in the social context. But they cannot be given as evidence of the special nature of one kind of knowledge over another. Just like stories about Gods cannot be taken as evidence of the superiority of some religions.
Utility and essence revisited
But, the argument goes, scientific knowledge is so useful. Just look at all the great things it brought to this world. Doesn’t that mean that its very “essence” is different from religious knowledge.
Here, I think, the other discussant in the podcast, the atheist philosopher, John Gray can provide a useful perspective: “The ‘essence’ is an apologetic invention that someone comes up with later to try and preserve the core of an idea [like Christianity or Marxism] from criticism.”
In other words this argument is also a kind of story telling. And we again find these utility and essence stories in many areas following remarkably similar scripts. That does not mean that the stories are false or fabricated or that what they are told about is in some way less valid. All it means is that we should be skeptical about arguments that rely on them as evidence of exclusivity.
Ultimately, looking for the “essence” of any complex phenomenon is always a fool’s errand. Scientists are too fond of their “magic formula” stories where incredibly complex things are described by simple equations like e=mc2 or zn+1 = zn2 + c. But neither Einstein’s nor Mandlebrot’s little gems actually define the essence of their respective phenomena. They just offer a convenient way of capturing some form of knowledge about it. e=mc2 will be found on T-shirts and the Mandelbrot set on screen savers of people who know little about their relationship to the underlying ideas. They just know they’re important and want to express their alegiance to the movement. Kind of like the people who feel it necessary to proclaim that they “believe” in the theory of evolution. Of course, we could also take some gnostic stories about what it takes to “really” understand these equations – and they do require some quite complex mix of expertise (a lot more complex than the stories would let on).
But we still haven’t dealt with the question of utility. Scientific knowledge derives its current legitimacy from its connection to technology and religious knowledge makes claims on the realms of morality and human relationships. They clash because both also have views on each other’s domains (science on human relationships and religion on origins of the universe). Which is one of the reasons why I don’t think that the non-overlapping magisteria idea is very fruitful (as much as I prefer Gould over the neo-Darwinists).
Here I have to agree with Dawkins and the new atheists. There’s no reason why some prelate should have more of a say on morality or relationships than anyone else. Reading a holy book is a qualification for prescribing ritual not for the arbitration of morality. But Dawkins should be made to taste his own medicine. There’s no reason why a scientist’s view on the origin of the universe should hold any sway over any theologian’s. The desire of the scientist to provide a cosmogony for the atheist crowd is a strange thing. It seeks to make questions stemming from a non-scientific search for broader meaning consistent with the scientific need for contiguous causal explanations. But the Big Bang or some sort of Priomordial Soup don’t provide internal consistency to the scientific entreprise. They leave as many questions open as they give answers to.
It seems that the Augustinian and later scholastic solution of a set of categories external to the ones which are accessible to us. Giles Fraser cites Thomas Acquinas’ example of counting everything in the world and not finding God. That would still be fine because God is not a thing to be counted, or better still, an entity that fits within our concept of things and the related concept of counting. Or in other words, God created our world with the categories available to the cognizing humans, not in those categories. Of course, to me, that sounds like a very good argument for atheism but it is also why a search for some Grand Unified Theory leaves me cold.
Epistemology as politics
It is a problem that the better philosophers from Parmenides to Wittgenstein tried to express in one way or another. But their problems were in trying to draw practical conclusions. There is no reason why the two political factions shouldn’t have a good old fight over the two overlapping magisteria. Because the debate about utility is a political one, not an epistemological one. Just because I would rather go to a surgeon than a witch doctor doesn’t mean that the former has tapped into some superior form of cognition. We make utility judgements of a similar nature even within these two domains but we would not draw essentialist epistemological conclusions based on them. People choose their priests and they choose their doctors. Is a bad doctor better than a good healer? I would imagine that there are a whole range of ailments where some innocuous herb would do more good than a placebo with side effects.
But we can consider a less contentious example. Years ago I was involved with TEFL teacher training and hiring. We ran a one-month starter course for teachers of English as a foreign language. And when hiring teachers I would always much rather hire one of these people rather than somebody with an MA in TESOL. The teachers with the basic knowledge would often do a better job than those with superior knowledge. I would say that when these two groups would talk about teaching, their understanding of it would be very different. The MAs would have the research, evidence and theory. The one-month trainees would have lots of useful techniques but little understanding of how or why they worked. Yet, there seemed to be an inverse relationship between the “quality” of knowledge and practical ability of the teacher (or at best no predictable relationship). So I would routinely recommend these “witch-teachers” over the “surgeon-teachers” to schools for hiring because I believe they were better for them.
There are many similar stories where utility and knowledge don’t match up. Again, that doesn’t mean that we should take homeopathy seriously but it means that the foundations of our refusal of accepting homeopathy cannot also be the foundations of placing scientific knowledge outside the regular epistemological constraints of all humanity.