Preface

            Metaphors and other forms of figurative language are intrinsically interesting, fun to discuss and write about.  Metaphors also afford tantalizing insights into the cognitive processes through which language is used and interpreted, and provide a means for investigating the interplay of language and mind with culture and social interactions.  It is primarily these insights that have attracted the attention of linguists and cognitive scientists in recent decades.

            My own interest in metaphors began with a more general curiosity about the way mind and social interaction are mutually constituted through communication.  These are not easy questions, and I did not find much enlightenment in the cognitive science of the early 1980s, still largely dominated by the computational approaches associated with Artificial Intelligence.  When I first encountered Lakoff and Johnson’s (1980) Metaphors We Live By, their metaphor-based analysis of concepts seemed far more promising than the more formal approaches that preceded them, but at the time I could not see how to pursue these insights within the context of my own discipline, Communication.  Attempting to transfer theoretical insights and analytic methods from a very different discipline is not the sort of activity usually recommended to dissertation-writing graduate students or untenured faculty members, so I turned my primary attention to other issues that promised a shorter and more certain pay-off, while continuing to follow the rapidly accumulating knowledge about the neural basis of cognition from the sidelines.

            I found myself drawn back toward the cognitive theory of metaphor by way of a somewhat unlikely route.  Beginning early in graduate school, I was encouraged by my mentor and friend, Steve Chaffee, to think reflectively about the theoretical and epistemological basis for research methods.  Stimulated by conversations with Steve, both inside and outside class, and by statistics teachers Merle Carlsmith and David Rogosa, I observed with bemusement the occasional misuse and misinterpretation of inferential statistics in social science research, in particular the widespread practice of reporting significance levels based on samples with very high rates of non-response (hence non-random).  It was not until several years later that I connected this practice with cognitive metaphors. 

While I was preparing to teach a graduate seminar on the effects of violent and sexual media content, a colleague, Susan Owen, drew my attention to an extended and heated exchange between Dolf Zillmann and Jennings Bryant (1982) and a series of critical reviewers of their research on the effects of viewing pornographic material.  As I examined this exchange, I was first struck by the angry and insulting language that originated from all sides, language that actually impeded the apparent intellectual purposes of the exchange.  However, I soon perceived an even more interesting feature of the exchange, the use of probability in two very distinct senses, each of which seemed to stand in metaphorical relationship to the other.  On the one hand, probability was frequently used in an epistemological sense, to refer to the logical force of a proposition or argument.  On the other hand, it was also used in a statistical sense, to refer to the expected or observed distribution of outcomes from a set of randomized events.  Neither Zillmann and Bryant nor any of the critics of their research seemed to realize how they were conflating two distinct meanings of probability, much less recognize how this conflation was contributing to the mutual misunderstanding.

            I had previously analyzed a similar conflation of statistical with epistemological uses of uncertainty in discussions of information theory (Ritchie, 1986; 1991), but without fully exploring the metaphorical nature of the usage, or the implication that this usage can be traced to an underlying conceptual metaphor that is deeply entrenched in contemporary social scientific thought.  After analyzing the rhetorical effects of the conflation in the Zillmann and Bryant exchange, I came to realize that the apparent misuse of inferential statistics might more accurately be understood as an implicit mapping of the conceptual metaphor, “epistemological probability is statistical probability.”  Even more interestingly, the concept of statistical probability was itself originally a metaphorical extension of “epistemological probability.”

When I submitted my analysis of the “epistemological probability is statistical probability” metaphor to the journal, Metaphor and Symbol, the editor, John Kennedy, provoked me through an astute combination of tactful suggestions and penetrating questions to refocus the essay in such a way that it would address issues in metaphor theory as well as in the rhetoric of social science.  As I responded to John’s comments and questions, I found myself drawn more and more deeply into recent applications of cognitive theories to metaphor. 

            As happens so frequently, theories and theoretical models that seemed at first glance complete, perfect, and powerful turned out upon closer examination to harbor inconsistencies, gaps, circular reasoning, and other flaws, both minor and major.  By the time I had completed my analysis of “probability” (Ritchie, 2003e), I found myself drawn into a series of follow-up studies and analyses of several contemporary theories.  By now, the editorship of Metaphor and Symbol had changed, but the new editor, Ray Gibbs, Jr., continued the pattern of responding to my work with a combination of thoughtful criticisms, tactful suggestions, and stimulating questions that invariably led to new insights, new connections, and new questions to be examined.  Even Conceptual Metaphor Theory, which had originally inspired me with its daring, elegance, and power, seemed on closer examination to incorporate some questionable assumptions and unsupportable generalizations.  When I first encountered Vervaeke and Kennedy’s (1996) insightful critique of Conceptual Metaphor Theory, I set out to defend Conceptual Metaphor Theory but soon discovered that many of Vervaeke and Kennedy’s criticisms were well-taken, and that some of the flaws I had noticed in Vervaeke and Kennedy’s analysis applied equally well to Lakoff and Johnson’s (1980) work (Ritchie, 2003a).  At the same time I was also beginning to think about the implications of Keysar and Bly’s (1999) findings that people do not necessarily interpret metaphors at all, and when they do often interpret them in very different ways:  At the very least, Keysar and Bly’s findings necessitate a qualification of Conceptual Metaphor Theory. 

            By the time I had completed what turned out to be a limited defense of Conceptual Metaphor Theory, I had also begun to formulate an extension of some of what I take to be its fundamental insights, in particular proposing a shift from the almost lexicalized metaphor interpretations implied by Conceptual Metaphors to a more diffuse approach which I called Conceptual Fields or Fields of Meaning (Ritchie, 2004c).  I had begun to criticize the circularity of most contemporary theories of metaphor interpretation, their tendency to rely on interpretations that were already metaphorical, and that often missed the power of the metaphor under discussion (Ritchie, 2003b).  I was working toward a theory based on strengthening synaptic connections between aspects of the vehicle and topic (Ritchie, 2004c) – but I found little in the neurological wing of cognitive science that would explain how this might actually happen, or even justify the claim that it is possible.  Embarassing as it is to admit, when I first read Barsalou’s (1999a) essay on perceptual simulation, I missed its relevance to this question.  It was only when I returned to it a couple of years later, again responding to a recommendation from Ray Gibbs, that I realized how perfectly it fits the model of metaphor interpretation that was beginning to emerge from this series of studies.

            It was at about this time that Ray suggested I think about developing my still-nascent ideas into a book-length treatment.  At first I was reluctant to take on such a project, but as I continued to grapple with the limitations and gaps in the available theories of metaphor, the present book began to take shape in my mind.  As with the shorter essays that preceded it, I have found that the process of writing is for me an indispensable part of the process of thinking.  Equally indispensable are the reviewers’ criticisms and suggestions, and my own process of considering, analyzing, and responding to these criticisms and suggestions.  I think there are some writers who complete the processes of analysis and thinking, and begin the writing process with their ideas fully formed.  For these writers, the only challenge is to find the right combinations and sequences of words to express those completed ideas effectively.  Perhaps all really good writers do this; I don’t know.  I certainly don’t! 

            For me, the writing process and the thinking process are interwoven to the extent that they are truly one and the same.  I do not seek words to express a completely formed thought; rather I seek words to express my thoughts as they develop, and then my thoughts incorporate and adapt themselves to the words and phrases as they are assembled.  Invariably, I come to feel that I understand the topic much better at the end of a particular writing project than I did at the beginning – and invariably, as one project comes to a close, the seeds of the next project are already beginning to gather in moisture and swell with the beginnings of the next germination.  This seems at least consistent with emerging theories of extended cognition (Clark, 1997; Hutchins, 1995) and with Barsalou’s (1999a) perceptual simulation theory of cognition, a thought that I will develop further in later chapters. 

            Given this style of thinking/writing as a seamless and unitary process, I have benefited greatly from a series of first-rate colleagues, mentors, critics, reviewers, and editors.  I owe a considerable debt of gratitude to Donald Roberts and Mary Anne Fitzpatrick, who each, at different times, mentored me through difficult early stages of my academic career.  Many of the ideas expressed in this book have benefited from conversations with a number of colleagues, friends, and students over the years.  These include Sandra Braman, Chris Carey, Ringan Douglas, Seth Finn, Eric Jensen, Eriko Maeda, Bob McPhee, Masami Nishishiba, Jay Peterson, Vince Price, Leslie Snyder, Doug Storey, and Craig Stainbrook, along with many, many others. 

I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Dr. Steven Chaffee, my long-time teacher, colleague, mentor, critic, reviewer, editor, and friend.  As a mentor, he inspired and continues to inspire me in my own teaching, in my research and in my writing.  Both as a teacher and as an editor, Steve was both fair and astute, incisive and kind:  He taught me to understand that disagreements and criticisms are compliments and invitations, not obstacles, part of the process of getting closer to objective truth.  As an editor, Steve had a passion for both ideas and language, for clarity in both thought and expression.  As I have worked on this book, I have frequently thought about a comment Steve once made to me:  “The difference between us, is that you don’t believe in the possibility of communication, but I do.”  To the extent that “communication” implies the transfer or exact replication of a thought, idea, or feeling from one person to another, the observation was and is valid:  I am coming more and more to the view that communication involves simulation more than replication, approximation more than matching, emotion more than logic.  Indeed, this entire project can be viewed as part of an extended exploration of the implications of Steve’s observation.  There are many passages in the following pages that would benefit from Steve’s criticisms and insights:  I have never felt more acutely the loss from Steve’s untimely death than during the process of writing and revising this book.

            As I have intimated in the foregoing, I have benefited throughout this process from frequent interactions with Ray Gibbs, both in his formal capacity as editor and in informal e-mail exchanges.  Ray has the talent, invaluable in an editor, for asking just the right question, offering just the right observation, always in a spirit that disarms resistance.  His questions, suggestions, and criticisms often have the effect of a small pebble, dropped on a steep-walled sand pile, that precipitates a massive landslide, or a small splash of color added to a previously bland visual design, that brings everything into focus.  I am particularly endebted to Ray for encouraging me to undertake this project in the first place, and for his kind moral support at several difficult moments during the process.  The folks at Palgrave Macmillan, in particular Jill Lake and Melanie Blair, have shown their tolerance and helpfulness in countless ways that have helped to bring this project to completion. 

            Finally, none of this would have been possible without my wife, LaJean Humphries, with her unflagging mixture of realism and good cheer, her faith in me and my work, her unfailing support and encouragement – and the patience with which she listens to me as I expound on yet one more abstruse point about cognitive theory, often at breakfast or dinner – or in the car or on the airplane en route to a week’s vacation.