by Mark Turner
28 .8 THE LITERARY MIND
In everyday conception, we often project a spatial action—story onto a spa- tial event—story. We might say, for example, that a duplicating machine chewed up a document. The target story is a physical and spatial event without an ac- tor: A document is damaged in a copying machine. The source story is a physi- cal and spatial action with an actor: The actor chews food. We understand the target event—story of damage by projection from the source action—story of eat- ing. Chewing in the source story is projected onto the mechanical process of copy- ing in the target story; food is projected onto the document; chewer is projected onto the copying machine. An action—story of eating is thus projected paraboli- cally onto an event—story of damage.
We can say of a sailor exposed to the elements at sea that the sun tortured him and that he was beaten mercilessly by savagewinds. The story of an actor who tortures someone by burning him is projected onto the story of the sailor’s becoming sunburned. The story of a savage actor’s mercilessly heating a victim is projected parabolically onto the story of forcible gusts of wind impinging on the sailor.
Many everyday event-stories lack causal actors. EVENTS ARE ACTIONS can turn them into action—stories: We complete the event—story to include a causal actor by projecting the actor in the action—story onto a nonactor in the event—story. The nonactor becomes thereby a metaphorical actor, usually a person. The dupli- cating machine becomes achewer. The sun becomes a torturer. The wind becomes a savage and merciless heater.
Not just any element of the event—story can receive projection from the actor in the action—story. Not just any action—story can be projected in just any way to cover just any event—story. There are constraints on parable. Not surprisingly, these constraints depend on the image schemas we use to structure the event- story and the action—story.
THE IMAGE-SCHEMATIC STRUCTURE OF EVENTS
We appear to understand an event as having its own “internal” structure: It can be punctual or drawn out; single or repeating; closed or open; preserving, creat- ing, or destroying entities; cyclic or not cyclic, and so on. This internal structure is image—schematic: it is rooted in our understanding of small spatial stories. Technically, this internal structure of an event is called its “aspect.” Iwill refer to it loosely as its “event shape.” We think of a season as coming around again, time as progressing along a line, a search as going on, a sale as closed, a blink as punc- tual (like a spatial point). None of these events has the literal spatial or bodily form we associate with it, but we use these image schemas to structure and rec- ognize these events.
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In addition to “event shape,” events also have causal structure, which is also .image—schematic. Causation by physical force, for example, is typically under- stood through image schemas of force dynamics. When the force of the sledge- hammer causes the door to fall, or a punch causes a boxer to fall, or a gust of wind topples the tree, we understand all of these events as instances of a particu- lar image schema of physical force dynamics, which is why we can say of all of them that the first entity (sledgehammer, boxer, wind) “knocked” the other entity (door, opponent, tree) “down.” Phrases like “The tidal wave swept the resort away,” “The telephone pole crushed the car,” “The roof gave in when the tree fell on it,” “The river cut a new path,” and similar expressions all por- tray causal events through image schemas of physical force dynamics.
Leonard Talmy has shown that image schemas of force dynamics are also used to structure nonphysical causation, as when we say, “The sight of blood forced him to run,” “His ambition propelled him to excess,” or “The committee finally gave in and eolla,o.rea’.” Causes are often understood by projecting onto them image schemas of force dynamics.
Some causes are understood by projecting onto them the image schema of movement along a path. First consider physical causation. A physical event of movement often involves a change of location. We are in one location, and then we are in another. The change is caused by our movement along a path. We say, “The road led us from the mountaintop to the valley floor,” and understand it to mean that first we were in one situation, the mountaintop, and then we were in a different situation, the valley floor, and that going from one location to the other constituted a change of situation, and that the cause of this change in situ- ation was movement along the path. Now consider nonphysical causation. The image schema of movement along a path can be projected onto nonphysical cau- sation, as when we say, “The economy sank to its lowest point.” The initial situ- ation (strong economy) is understood by projection from the beginning of the path, and the final situation (bad economy) is understood by projection from the endpoint of the path. Both situations are understood by projection from spatial locations. The causal relation connecting the first situation to the second situa- tion is understood image-schematically as a path between the first location and the second. Of course, “path” causation and “force—dynamic” causation usually go together. In “Fear drove him to a situation he otherwise would have zwoz'a’ea’,” we have both.
We also recognize the elements and parts of an event as standing in certain relations to each other, such as ability (actors are able to perform actions), obli- gation or necessity (a command may require the action), possibility (some con- dition may allow the actor to perform the action), and so on. Relations of these sorts are referred to technically as “modal” structure. These relations too are
30 .8 THE LITERARY MIND
understood through projection from physical image schemas. When we think of someone as able to deal with a difficulty, we say, “He can break through that psychological barrier if he wants to.” In that case, will is understood as a physical force and difficulty as a physical barrier, where the physical force is strong enough to break through the barrier (difficulty). Alternatively, we might say, “He can overcome that if he tries.” In that case, will is understood as a physical force and difficulty as a physical barrier, where the physical force is strong enough and oriented suitably to flow over the physical barrier (difficulty). In either case, we know from the force-dynamic image schema that the force continues past the point of the barrier. It is therefore an inference that someone who “breaks through” or “overcomes” a “barrier” will continue along his “path” toward his “destination.”
The projection of an action-story onto an event-story depends on the pro- jection of the image schemas of the first story onto the second story.
IMAGE SCHEMAS AND INVARIANCE
Just as we categorize events according to shared image schemas and actions according to shared image schemas, so we project action-stories onto event- stories in accord with their image schemas. We project image-schematic struc- ture from the action-story to give structure to the event-story, but under a con- straint: The result shall not be a clash of image-schematic structures in the target. Let us consider an example, Robert Browning’s poem “Porphyria’s Lover,” which begins:
The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake.
In the source action-story, there is a causal link between the actor who tears something down and the event of tearing down. This structure is image-schematic. In the target event-story, there is a causal link between the wind and the falling of the trees. This structure is image-schematic. Projecting one onto the other creates no clash in the target, since they match. But we could not say, for example, “The transparency of the wind tore the treetops down for spite,” without pro- voking objection or offering an explanation, because the expression asks us to project an image~schematic causal link in the action-story onto two things in the event-story that we cannot think of as causally linked. Anyone who found the expression unobjectionable would have to be interpreting the target inventively
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so as to find such a causal link between the transparency of the wind
and the fall- ing of the trees.
The event in which standing objects are torn down by a person has an event shape structured by image schemas; the event in which elms are toppled in the wind has an event shape structured by the identical image schemas. Projecting the first onto the second creates no image-schematic clash. But we could not say, for example, “It wore the treetops down for spite,” to express the same event- story, because the action of wearing down has an image-schematic event shape incompatible with the image-schematic event shape of windforcing trees over.
In general, conceptual projection from a source to a target is not arbitrary: it is guided by the principle of avoiding an image-schematic clash in the target. This principle is called “the invariance principle.” We will encounter it often in our investigation of parable. It does not require that the image schema projected
from the source already exist in the target before the projection, but instead that -
the result of the projection not include a contradiction of image schemas.
In Browning’s poem, a spatial event-story of trees falling before the wind is understood by parabolic projection from a spatial action-story of someone tear- ing something down intentionally. The instrument of this projection is EVENTS ARE ACTIONS, which invites us to personify something in the event that is caus- ally related to the event. Browning takes advantage of that possibility to personify the wind.
EURlPlDES'S ALCESTIS
In Browning’s poem, we saw a spatial action-story projected onto a spatial event- story. A spatial action story can also be projected onto a nonspatial event story. In Euripides’s Alcestis, Apollo has arranged for Admetus to live beyond his appointed moment of death, provided he can produce a volunteer to die in his place. His wife, Alcestis, has volunteered. The play opens on the day of her death.
An event of death is not essentially a spatial story. Certainly, a corpse may be buried, so that the body moves from one spatial location to another, but the event of death is conceptually independent of any such movement. Yet we rou- tinely conceive of the event-story of death parabolically by projection from the action-story of someone’s departing, willingly or not, as when we say “He’s gone” or “He’s left us” to indicate that someone has died: the spatial action-story of departure is projected onto the nonspatial event-story of death.
There is an image-schematic event shape associated with the standard con- ception of death: Something that has existed goes out of existence forever. There is also an image-schematic event shape associated with the standard conception
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of departure without chance of return: Someone who has been present goes away forever. The image-schematic structure of the event shape of death ac- cords with the image-schematic structure of the event shape of departure; there- fore, projecting the action-story onto the event-story does not create a clash in the target.
In any particular event-story of death, there will be a particular cause: ill- ness, disease, injury, old age. We count all of them as instances of a general cause, Death-in-general. The notion that Death causes dying follows from our general conception of causal tautology: Death causes dying, Hunger causes hunge.ring, Lust causes lusting, Desire causes desiring, Sleep causes sleeping. In all of these, an event of a certain kind is caused by an abstract causal element. In an event- story of dying, Death-in-general causes the particular death. In an action-story of departure, there can be an actor who came: someone to depart. If we project the person who departs onto the person who dies and the actor who causes the departure onto Death-in-general, we personify Death-in-general while preserving causal relationships. In “He left us,” we project the person who departs onto the person who dies. In “Death took him,” we additionally project the actor who enforces the departure onto Death-in- general.
The general personification of Death-in-general as an actor can be made more specific, depending on which action-story we project. Infllcestis, Death is personified in a number of ways. At one point, Death is personified as Thartatos, a wrestler who intends to take Alcestis away by dragging her body down to the halls of the dead. Heracles, a houseguest of Admetus’s at the time, waits in hid- ing for Thanatos to appear at the grave, pounces on him, and wrestles him into yielding. In this personification, Death is an actor who tries to enforce the departure but fails.
Much earlier in the play, we have witnessed Alcestis “die.” After her death, she lies in state, to be visited by her father-in-law and mother-in-law. Admetus and his father have a nasty quarrel over which of them bears responsibility for her death: The father, quite old, has refused to die in the place of his son. Dur- ing this spat, Alcestis lies between them, dead. How can Alcestis be saved from death later by Heracles if indeed we have already seen her die? The answer is that in Alcestis death is conceived of as a complicated event with stages. Conse- quently, the action-story that is projected onto the event-story of death is equally complicated and has stages—it contains various actions and various actors. The complicated event-story of death involves not only the body’ s going underground but also the body's going limp because it no longer has a soul.
The event-story of the body’s going underground is understood by projec- tion from the action-story of Thanatos’s dragging the body away. But the dif- ferent event—story of the body's going limp is understood by projection from a
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different action-story of departure: The soul leaves the body and goes down to Hades. This departure of the soul involves a team of two actors, neither of them Alcestis. Alcestis sees these two actors as she is “dying” on stage. The first actor is an assistant to her departure: Charon, the ferryman, who is waiting to carry her soul over the river Styx. He leans on his pole, calling to her, hurrying her along. “Why are you so slow?” he asks.
The other actor, teamed with Charon, attempts to force Alcestis to depart on her parabolicjourney from this life. Alcestis says:
I feel a hand grasping my hand,
Leading me--don’t you see him?—leading me To the home of the dead. He has wings;
His eyes glow dark under his frowning brow. VVhat are you doing? Let me go.
I am treading a fearful path; I am terrified.
éiyet u’ éiyet ué *cL6—o1’)x opqIg;— veK1')u)v ég on')7to‘tv
int’ o¢p1')cL Kvuvuuyécst
Bkiznwv mepurcog "Atfiug.
ti pééetg; uéfleg. oiuv
osov dz Setkutordru npofiuivm.
In Alcestis, Death-in-general is personified not as a single agent but rather as a series of enforcers and assistants involved in the action-story of departure. The complicated event-story of Alcestis’s death is not essentially spatial; the action-story of departure projected onto it is entirely spatial.
APOLLO AND THE SHIPMATES
The story of Apollo and the shipmates in the Odyssey is another case in which a spatial action-story is projected onto a complicated event-story. The source action-story is Apollo’s taking something from the shipmates. The body action in this case is not primarily movement of a body through space, as in Alcestis, but rather manipulation of p/Jysical objects.
Grasping a physical object so as to control it is a common body action per- formed by an actor. If we grasp a physical object, we can do what we want with it: We can put it into our mouth, throw it, throw it away, give it away, put it into a pocket, enjoy it as we wish. When a physical object is within our reach, only a small movement separates us from grasping it and controlling it. Reaching for a
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physical object, or moving near to it so as to reach for it, is a body action acces- sory to grasping it and therefore to controlling it. These are some of the earliest spatial stories learned by a child. In them, the child is the actor. Grasping a physi- cal object so as to control it often seems to be the central story of the infant imagination.
It is common to project action-stories of grasping and controlling physical objects onto ot
her event-stories. Conditions we control and enjoy correspond parabolically to physical objects we grasp, possess, and control. We can say of someone that he has a wonderful office when in fact it is owned legally by his employer; that an opportunity was handed to him on a platter; that he is havin g a good time; that he grabbed the chance; that he hold: a good job.
Within the logic of obj ects and grasping, something reliably within our grasp is subject to our control. When we project an action-story of grasping, we project this logic. Thus we can say of an elected official that he has his voting district in his hip pocket, implying that he controls it. An object that we almost grasp is almost under our control. We project this inference, and so can say of a job candidate that he has one hand on the job but has not yet got it.
If something is near enough to us to be grasped and we have not yet grasped it but see no obstruction to doing so, then we are close to controlling it but do not yet control it. Projecting this logic, we can say of a thinker that the solution to the problem he is working on is easily within his reaeh. We know that a lost or discarded physical object was once in our grasp or reliably within our grasp but is no longer; we controlled it but now do not. Thus we can say that someone lost his ob or threw away an opportunity. Something we give away is no longer under our control, so we can say that someone gave up the chairmanship. Something that is taken away is no longer under our control, so we can say that someone’s job was taken away.