In response to Jake's post The Pursuit of Literature, I decided to discuss the purported purpose of the art form in relation to the intent of philosophical discourse. I agree with Jacob that the author of literature and the authors of philosophical discourse generally seem to have different intentions. I must, however, disagree on several points. First of all, while it may be commonplace, I do not think that the essential or primary goal of literature is aesthetic pleasure. As a fellow student and good friend of mine once claimed, aesthetic pleasure does not need to be the goal of an art form, literature included. One may construct a work of literature in order to shock, scare, or sadden his audience. This may seem like a trivial point, but I think it is important to address for later discussions of literature.
Second, in some cases, it may very well be that the philosopher and the novelist are working towards the same end. As an example, I think of the book "The Lord of the Flies," where I believe that Golding's intention was very much the same as Hobbes' in addressing the brutish and savage aspect of inherent human nature. While Golding may have indeed given more aesthetic consideration to his work than Hobbes did, I do not think that it necessarily means that the primary goal of the novel was some sort of aesthetic transmission to the .
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Literal Lacking (Q&A 2)
Must all metaphors have some literal equivalent?
At the outset, I would like to distinguish between the meaning of a metaphor and the function of a metaphor. Strictly speaking, a metaphor cannot contain any semantic meaning that is indescribable through literal statements. It is a function of language that allows us to understand words used in a non-literal way in order to accomplish a task; part of what makes works of fiction possible. In this sense, it seems, all metaphors would have a literal equivalent.
The function of a metaphor, however, is a different matter entirely. Davidson was right in his assertion that metaphor is a vehicle primarily designed for the function of words. Taken from the rest of his theory, I believe this aspect at least is compatible with Black's notion of the interactive theory of metaphor. At the base of the matter, metaphor is a relational mechanism; it employs aspects of a subsidiary concept in order to constitute a frame of reference for a primary concept. Much like a lens through which one should view an object, a metaphor is designed to organize one's thoughts or views of a particular concept. Here, the metaphor has no literal equivalent. One may go on to explain the metaphor in more detail, but this is not substitution for the metaphor; the structure of the subsidiary concept in relation to the framing of the primary concept is a function the metaphor achieves alone. Whether the metaphor is contained in one sentence or the comparison is drawn out and explained over an essay, the comparison itself is still inherently the same because the metaphor is still serving it's intended function.
Objectors to this claim may state that one might simply list the qualities of the primary subject which the metaphor serves to highlight or distinguish, thereby rendering the metaphor as an aesthetic feature. The metaphor, however, does more than that. Through the process of its relational mechanism (which is essentially at the heart of every comparison) it frames the primary object in a manner that allows the audience to relate through means of their other experiences or conceptualizations. Thus, the metaphor, if crafted in Black's interactive sense of the term, could not be translated literally without losing it's effectiveness.
At the outset, I would like to distinguish between the meaning of a metaphor and the function of a metaphor. Strictly speaking, a metaphor cannot contain any semantic meaning that is indescribable through literal statements. It is a function of language that allows us to understand words used in a non-literal way in order to accomplish a task; part of what makes works of fiction possible. In this sense, it seems, all metaphors would have a literal equivalent.
The function of a metaphor, however, is a different matter entirely. Davidson was right in his assertion that metaphor is a vehicle primarily designed for the function of words. Taken from the rest of his theory, I believe this aspect at least is compatible with Black's notion of the interactive theory of metaphor. At the base of the matter, metaphor is a relational mechanism; it employs aspects of a subsidiary concept in order to constitute a frame of reference for a primary concept. Much like a lens through which one should view an object, a metaphor is designed to organize one's thoughts or views of a particular concept. Here, the metaphor has no literal equivalent. One may go on to explain the metaphor in more detail, but this is not substitution for the metaphor; the structure of the subsidiary concept in relation to the framing of the primary concept is a function the metaphor achieves alone. Whether the metaphor is contained in one sentence or the comparison is drawn out and explained over an essay, the comparison itself is still inherently the same because the metaphor is still serving it's intended function.
Objectors to this claim may state that one might simply list the qualities of the primary subject which the metaphor serves to highlight or distinguish, thereby rendering the metaphor as an aesthetic feature. The metaphor, however, does more than that. Through the process of its relational mechanism (which is essentially at the heart of every comparison) it frames the primary object in a manner that allows the audience to relate through means of their other experiences or conceptualizations. Thus, the metaphor, if crafted in Black's interactive sense of the term, could not be translated literally without losing it's effectiveness.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Delightful Davidson
Davidson, in his attempt to conceptualize and discuss metaphors, asserted that they were solely vehicles for the use of words, devoid of inherent meaning. I've noted this all before, but I felt as though a separate post should be devoted to the disturbing implications that his positions generate.
Davidson goes on to clarify his claim of meaningless metaphors by saying that a metaphor is falsely associated with cognitive content that an author wishes to convey and that a reader must grasp in order for the reader to understand the metaphor. He believes that instead of containing cognitive content, a metaphor does its work through "intermediaries" (which he does not specify) which allow the reader to notice things she did not notice before. Furthermore, since the metaphor is not attached to any cognitive content from the author, there is not one particular way to understand it. In fact, Davidson exclaims that "there is no limit to what a metaphor calls to our attention."
This seemingly radical notion of metaphor leaves me with a lot of questions. If the writer of the metaphor did not intend to send a message of some kind to the reader then why did she write it? Is it simply to create something which people might extrapolate infinite inferences upon? Are we, as the audience, entitled to attribute the function of the metaphor to anything we desire? Indeed, if Davidson is correct in his characterization of metaphors, I cannot think how they could be of any practical or substantive use to literature, save as a kind of linguistically constructed portrait (like Spazio) from which we can entertain notions of noticing things we may not have noticed before.
Davidson goes on to clarify his claim of meaningless metaphors by saying that a metaphor is falsely associated with cognitive content that an author wishes to convey and that a reader must grasp in order for the reader to understand the metaphor. He believes that instead of containing cognitive content, a metaphor does its work through "intermediaries" (which he does not specify) which allow the reader to notice things she did not notice before. Furthermore, since the metaphor is not attached to any cognitive content from the author, there is not one particular way to understand it. In fact, Davidson exclaims that "there is no limit to what a metaphor calls to our attention."
This seemingly radical notion of metaphor leaves me with a lot of questions. If the writer of the metaphor did not intend to send a message of some kind to the reader then why did she write it? Is it simply to create something which people might extrapolate infinite inferences upon? Are we, as the audience, entitled to attribute the function of the metaphor to anything we desire? Indeed, if Davidson is correct in his characterization of metaphors, I cannot think how they could be of any practical or substantive use to literature, save as a kind of linguistically constructed portrait (like Spazio) from which we can entertain notions of noticing things we may not have noticed before.
Metaphorical Meanings (Q&A 1)
Is a metaphor void of meaning?
In his essay, Davidson writes that "I depend on the distinction between what words mean and what they are used to do. I think metaphor belongs exclusively to the domain of use." He goes on to add "We must give up the idea that a metaphor carries a message, that it has a content or meaning (except, of course, its literal meaning)."
I have many objections to Davidson's essay, only a few of which I will enumerate here. First of all, while I acknowledge that we may draw a distinction between the meaning of words and how we use those words, I find it difficult to claim that any function of language can be exclusively either. The use of words in language may serve different functions, but the meaning of those words is integral to the communication process and thus the use for which the words are intended.
Second, Davidson's claim that metaphors have no meaning is at least partially based off of the faulty premise I argued against before. He claims that the metaphor simply uses its literal meaning to "bring something to our attention." However, when faced with a metaphor such as the popularly used "Richard is a Lion," I begin to have difficulties reconciling the message of the metaphor with the literal meaning of the words. If the nature of the metaphor functions like Davidson would have us believe, then it would make me notice that Richard is in fact a large member of the cat family. Thus, it seems to fail at distinguishing itself as a metaphor as opposed to a falsehood. But then again, with no inherent meaning or message contained within the metaphor itself, I suppose that whatever information I gleaned from my understanding of it is sufficient to appease Davidson's understanding of it's function.
In his essay, Davidson writes that "I depend on the distinction between what words mean and what they are used to do. I think metaphor belongs exclusively to the domain of use." He goes on to add "We must give up the idea that a metaphor carries a message, that it has a content or meaning (except, of course, its literal meaning)."
I have many objections to Davidson's essay, only a few of which I will enumerate here. First of all, while I acknowledge that we may draw a distinction between the meaning of words and how we use those words, I find it difficult to claim that any function of language can be exclusively either. The use of words in language may serve different functions, but the meaning of those words is integral to the communication process and thus the use for which the words are intended.
Second, Davidson's claim that metaphors have no meaning is at least partially based off of the faulty premise I argued against before. He claims that the metaphor simply uses its literal meaning to "bring something to our attention." However, when faced with a metaphor such as the popularly used "Richard is a Lion," I begin to have difficulties reconciling the message of the metaphor with the literal meaning of the words. If the nature of the metaphor functions like Davidson would have us believe, then it would make me notice that Richard is in fact a large member of the cat family. Thus, it seems to fail at distinguishing itself as a metaphor as opposed to a falsehood. But then again, with no inherent meaning or message contained within the metaphor itself, I suppose that whatever information I gleaned from my understanding of it is sufficient to appease Davidson's understanding of it's function.
Emotional Echoes
This is in response to Corey's post about the emotional response from literature as opposed to other artistic media. He bases his concept of emotion off of Malcolm Bud, who claims that emotion in relation to music is a "positive or negative response to the content of a thought." Corey goes on to note that while this definition seems to work well for literature, for music "the case seems to be not so clear as to what exactly a particular song references in terms of a concept or thought." He also says that he is skeptical of the claim that the listener has an emotional response to music because he or she recognizes a particular emotion within the song itself.
I agree with most of Corey's claims. I believe that concepts are much more difficult to discern in music (without lyrics) than in literature. I too and skeptical of the claim that our emotional response to music is based off our understanding of some concept contained within the music itself. I believe that the issue with this problem is Bud's definition of emotional response; not that it is completely invalid, but that it does not accurately describe the relationship of emotional responses to music. I have claimed in a previous post that I believe the nature of our emotions is often a pre-cognitive response to stimuli. I think that this definition applies to music. While the contents of a song may not inherently contain a particular concept or emotion, the structure, rhythm, and notes of a particular song may indeed illicit emotional responses from it's audience. Why do many of us feel melancholy when we hear a slow, resonant violin? (played in D-Minor perhaps). Or why do we get excited when we hear loud rhythmic drumming and bass, as is common amongst the dance music of today? It seems far more likely to me that our emotional response is to the direct stimuli of the music as opposed to the concept of melancholy or excitement that is imbued within the song.
I agree with most of Corey's claims. I believe that concepts are much more difficult to discern in music (without lyrics) than in literature. I too and skeptical of the claim that our emotional response to music is based off our understanding of some concept contained within the music itself. I believe that the issue with this problem is Bud's definition of emotional response; not that it is completely invalid, but that it does not accurately describe the relationship of emotional responses to music. I have claimed in a previous post that I believe the nature of our emotions is often a pre-cognitive response to stimuli. I think that this definition applies to music. While the contents of a song may not inherently contain a particular concept or emotion, the structure, rhythm, and notes of a particular song may indeed illicit emotional responses from it's audience. Why do many of us feel melancholy when we hear a slow, resonant violin? (played in D-Minor perhaps). Or why do we get excited when we hear loud rhythmic drumming and bass, as is common amongst the dance music of today? It seems far more likely to me that our emotional response is to the direct stimuli of the music as opposed to the concept of melancholy or excitement that is imbued within the song.
The Pursuit of Ethics
In response to Andrew Bagley's post "Why does emotion matter in fiction?", he notes that by creating empathy for characters through works of fiction, an author may thereby make his or her audience "feel" something, which in turn lends itself to philosophical concepts relating to ethics. Andrew goes on to say that "This is what makes literature and probably fiction valuable for ethical philosophy, which, from my outsider's perspective (I'm not well-versed in philosophy), is not a strictly intellectual pursuit."
I found this last line of his post to be interesting, because I had never considered philosophy to transcend the confines of intellectualism (not good philosophy anyways.) I will give a great degree of latitude to the phrase "not strictly intellectual", but this leads to more questions. What degree of philosophical discourse of ethics is (or should be) beyond the scope of intellectual debate? While employing emotion may be an effective method for an author to try and cast certain ethics or axiological claims in a particular light, I think that it behooves the philosophical thinker to approach those same concepts with not only an intellectual rigor, but also a healthy consideration of the irrational biases which emotions may cause one to form.
I found this last line of his post to be interesting, because I had never considered philosophy to transcend the confines of intellectualism (not good philosophy anyways.) I will give a great degree of latitude to the phrase "not strictly intellectual", but this leads to more questions. What degree of philosophical discourse of ethics is (or should be) beyond the scope of intellectual debate? While employing emotion may be an effective method for an author to try and cast certain ethics or axiological claims in a particular light, I think that it behooves the philosophical thinker to approach those same concepts with not only an intellectual rigor, but also a healthy consideration of the irrational biases which emotions may cause one to form.
Pathos ex Cogito
Jacob (who will undoubtedly take issue with the title of this post)brought forth in class the idea that emotion could arise from a concept. Thus, when reading about a particular character in a fictional story who elicits some type of emotional response from us, the readers, we are in fact reacting to the concept portrayed as opposed to the character itself. For instance, those who read The Scarlet Letter may feel anger towards Hester Prynne for her many betrayals, but in fact it is the concept of betrayal which we are truly reacting to. This notion of conceptual stimuli prompting emotional response seems to solve many of the issues which Walton and Radford articulate towards "real" emotional responses to fiction.
I think that people respond emotionally to conceptual stimuli on a regular basis, and the occurrence is evidenced in a spectrum of scenarios. One may feel sad at the death of a family member, one may feel sad for the death of someone they read about in the news yet never met before, and one may feel sad for the death of a character in a book or movie. These emotional responses, though they may very well vary by degree and severity, are essentially the same in nature. Our emotions in each case respond to the concept of loss (or death) and not one of them can me credibly discerned as being real in relation to the others.
I think that people respond emotionally to conceptual stimuli on a regular basis, and the occurrence is evidenced in a spectrum of scenarios. One may feel sad at the death of a family member, one may feel sad for the death of someone they read about in the news yet never met before, and one may feel sad for the death of a character in a book or movie. These emotional responses, though they may very well vary by degree and severity, are essentially the same in nature. Our emotions in each case respond to the concept of loss (or death) and not one of them can me credibly discerned as being real in relation to the others.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Emotional Stimuli
Kendall Walton, in his essay on emotional responses to fiction, argues that emotions in general have a cognitive dimension. Walton goes on to argue that those who suppose that emotions arise independently of cognition are question-begging; they start with the premise that the individual does in fact feel the emotion and set out to explain why he does.
It seems to me that it is altogether reasonable, in dealing with emotion, to take into consideration of one's perceived feelings in response to a particular stimulus. It was, in my understanding, that particular feeling which was one's emotional response to phenomena. If one were to find a dead animal in the forest, must one first decide whether the event is worthy of emotional response before feeling sad? It seems to me that emotions arise as (seemingly) pre-cognitive responses to stimuli. Why we felt those emotions at the time is a matter of analysis post-fact. I would also like to note here that I do believe that emotions can also arise in response to conceptual stimuli as well, but that is a matter for another post.
It seems to me that it is altogether reasonable, in dealing with emotion, to take into consideration of one's perceived feelings in response to a particular stimulus. It was, in my understanding, that particular feeling which was one's emotional response to phenomena. If one were to find a dead animal in the forest, must one first decide whether the event is worthy of emotional response before feeling sad? It seems to me that emotions arise as (seemingly) pre-cognitive responses to stimuli. Why we felt those emotions at the time is a matter of analysis post-fact. I would also like to note here that I do believe that emotions can also arise in response to conceptual stimuli as well, but that is a matter for another post.
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