Model and Metaphor

Language is the medium with which we communicate, and hence, of course, how we communicate truths. But language is not as straightforward as we might think. There are the issues already mentioned, of redundancy and communication in lossy (say, noisy) environments. There are also the issues Wittgenstein raised around the use of language in specific contexts, where a word can mean different things depending on what we are trying to communicate. But there are other issues as well.

The most obvious extra issue is about how language actually works. In principle, letters are just marks on a page and sounds are just compressions and rarefactions in the air. The meaning is given to these marks by the hearer or reader. When we learn a language, we learn how these marks on a page (I will simplify, but it works the same for learning a spoken language) relate to objects, ideas, concepts and so on, in other words, what was intended by the writer.

Language evolves, and the meanings of words evolve with it. Thus, for example, the word ‘tradition’ means ‘that which is handed down’. This retains pretty much its basic meaning, but extra elements, nuances and so on, accrue as well. Tradition can be used as a word which is positive, such as ‘traditional church service’ or one which is negative, say contrasting ‘tradition’ with ‘progressive’. In many cases, of course, the use of the word is subjective, depending on whether I like a traditional service or not.

Things are never even as simple as this. Much language is folded into metaphors. Even something fairly simple, such as ‘understand’ is a metaphor – the original meaning is ‘stand under’ in the sense of knowing and agreeing with something. Much of the time, of course, such a metaphor does not trouble our thinking: the metaphor is, so to speak ‘dead’, the metaphorical content in our ordinary language is practically nil.

Other metaphors are alive, well and living in our language. Some we may not recognise: ‘The case is closed’ for example, is a metaphor related, I imagine, to packing for a holiday. The packing comes to an end, the suitcase is sealed and nothing more is to be added. The case is closed, and we get on to the next thing. The allusions of the metaphorical expression are not explicitly brought to mind when we hear it, but they are there. In context we simply understand that someone is trying to draw a line under a controversy, trying to rule out further discussion and argument.

In illustrating the original metaphor and its meaning I have, of course, just used two more. I do not, in fact, literally draw a line under a controversy. In a document, I might put a line in to separate sub-regions, but in a conversation, we understand the meaning without considering the metaphor. To rule out is a similar sort of thing. We exclude something by framing the area of discussion – and there is another metaphor, explaining the previous one which explains the original metaphor. And so on.

Metaphors can act as traps for the unwary. Often they can be read literally and metaphorically. For example, ‘God is the Father’ can be read as God being someone who has male characteristics – a beard for example. But further investigation suggests that ‘God is the Father’ is not to be read in this way – ‘God has characteristics of fatherhood’, perhaps is a better way of putting it, or maybe better ‘God has the characteristics of the very best possible human fathers, and then some’. What we gain in accuracy we lose in compactness of expression.

Religious language is of course littered with metaphors. We are trying to express the inexpressible. If God is supernatural and spiritual, it is unlikely that our ordinary language, most of which is material and experience bound, is going to manage any sort of direct expression of God. The finite struggles to express the infinite; it can only be achieved by allusion, illustration, story and model, hoping that the reader or hearer will catch on, grasp the meaning which we cannot elucidate directly.

Modern science also is riddled with the language of metaphor and model, particularly the latter. As a metaphor is an illustration of something for another to catch on to, not a direct reference, so a model is an aspect of the world, perhaps simplified, for others to grasp. A model of an atom is not a representation of how an atom ‘works’, it is an object, a mental construct, which can help us grasp how an atom behaves.

As with metaphors, if we mistake the model for the real thing, we will ultimately be led into errors, or at least surprises. So, for example, the original ‘plum pudding’ model of the atom, whereby the electrons and protons were distributed evenly in a sphere, led to Rutherford famous experiment firing alpha particles at a thin sheet. Every once in a while, one of the alpha particles bounced backwards, while the majority passed through the sheet. According to the plum pudding model this should not have happened, the atomic spheres were uniform. Something was wrong with the model, evidently.

The languages of religion, and the languages of science, are, therefore riddled with models and metaphors. These are not ‘twiddly’ bits of language which we can discard when we try to speak exactly, they are intrinsic to the process of doing theology and doing science. When we say that an atom is like the solar system, or that God is our Rock, we mean neither expression literally. God is our rock in the sense that he is the ultimate foundation of being, for example, not because he is a lump of granite in someone’s back garden. Similarly, an atom is a bit like a solar system in that it has a massive centre, like the Sun, and bits orbiting around it. But if we push these models or metaphors too far we start to say silly things. Awareness of the limits of models and metaphors is as important as knowledge of their potential.