Essences and the Meaning of Metaphorical Language Author(s): Eddy M. Zemach Source: Poetics Today, Vol. 4, No.

2, Metaphor (1983), pp. 259-273 Published by: Duke University Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1772288 Accessed: 09/04/2010 15:00
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ESSENCES AND THE MEANING OF METAPHORICAL LANGUAGE

EDDY M. ZEMACH
Philosophy, Hebrew University, Jerusalem

1. The Problem It is customary, in modern intensional semantics, to identify statements (meanings of sentences) with sets of possible worlds. Thus the statement made by Jones on May the fourth when he uttered the sentence 'Texas is larger than Florida' is the set of all possible worlds in which Texas is larger than Florida; the statement made by Jones on May the fourth when he uttered the sentence 'I am hungry today' is the set of all possible worlds in which Jones is hungry on May the fourth; etc. This semantics may be very useful in the theory of literature if we let, for example, the terms 'Hamlet' and 'Ophelia' denote Hamlet and Ophelia.t The meaning of 'Ophelia loved Hamlet' would then be the set of all possible worlds in which Ophelia loved Hamlet. The meaning of Shakespeare's Hamlet, as a whole, under a certain interpretation, is thus one set of possible worlds. One can then see different interpretations of Hamlet as assigning to Hamlet distinct subsets of some such worlds. One of these sets, for example, is the set of worlds in which Hamlet, consumed by desire for his mother, has never touched Ophelia; another is the set of worlds in which Ophelia has been made pregnant by Hamlet, and that is why she kills herself. Thus an inter1. I prefer Kripke's original (1963) position to his later (1972) view that Hamlet does not exist in any possible world. A similar position is taken by Pavel (1978). David Kaplan, who also argues that 'Hamlet' denotes nothing (1973:505-508) says that many distinct individuals may satisfy, in different worlds, everything that is predicated in Hamlet about Hamlet. But it seems to me that since possible worlds may be ordered, there is a way to solve that difficulty. Take any property F which orders all possible worlds (and if one property, such as the number of grains of sand in it, will not do, take another one, and yet another, for ties, until a good order is achieved) and stipulate that the first F world which fills the bill, i.e., in which everything which is said in Hamlet is true, is the world such that the entity in it which satisfies what Shakespeare says about Hamlet is Hamlet. There is, however, one additional proviso here: none of the entities identified as the referents of the fictional terms in Hamlet (such as 'Hamlet,' 'Ophelia,' etc.) may exist (in any shape or form) in the real world, while each of the entities identified as the referents of the nonfictional terms in Hamlet (such as 'Denmark,' 'Norway,' etc.) must be identical with the referents of these terms in the real world. Poetics Today, Vol. 4:2 (1983) 259-273

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pretation is a function from a text to a set of worlds, that is, those worlds which are correctly described by (i.e., satisfy) the text under that interpretation. This semantics, however, though illuminating and useful, makes most metaphorical sentences (especially those that include oxymorons), and therefore almost all of poetry and large segments of literature, either meaningless or else having, all of it, the same meaning. There is no possible world in which sunlight is a parable; therefore the set of all possible worlds in which ". . . he walked with his mother / Through the parables / Of sun light" (Dylan Thomas) is empty. Thus this sentence is either meaningless or else its meaning is the null set. Again, inanimate objects cannot be sick or faint. Thus the set of all possible worlds in which the sentence "Albion'scoast is sick, silent, the American meadows faint" (William Blake) is true, is, once more, the null set. Hence what Blake said is either meaningless, or else, if it is meaningful, it means the same as what Dylan Thomas said. But this is just false. It is not true that these sentences are meaningless (i.e., as used, made no statements). They are meaningful, and we understand what they mean. Nor is it true that they have the same meaning: it is perfectly clear that they were used to make different statements. Could we overcome this difficulty if we claim, as it is usually done, that key words in metaphorical sentences should not be taken literally? On this view metaphorical terms are alleged to have a special, "metaphorical,"or meaning. (Cf. Beardsley 1967; Brinkley 1974; or almost anyone "figurative" else who wrote on metaphors; examples of such theories are too plentiful to enumerate.) I agree, however, with Donald Davidson (1978) and Bogen (1978) that all these theories are seriously misguided. At any rate, they cannot be used to solve our problem. For suppose that the sentence 'Ireland is a sow' is interpreted as making, not the statement that Ireland is a sow, but that Ireland is like a sow. This latter statement is completely trivial. As pointed out by Davidson, everything is like everything else; hence any statement to the effect that Ireland is like something is true in all possible worlds (or at least in all possible worlds in which Ireland exists). Therefore all metaphors (or, at least, all metaphors concerning the same object) have exactly the same meaning. But this is surely false. Thus we still need a semantical theory which shows how metaphorical sentences may sometimes be meaningful, assigns to them the right meanings, and, last but not least, shows how, far from being ridiculously false, they may often be true and cognitively important. 2. Individualsand Objects Most intensional semanticists follow Kripke (1963) in having one set of individuals, which are assigned to various possible worlds. In this model a given individual may exist in several possible worlds. The value of the term 'Socrates' for every possible world in which Socrates exists (and, according to Kaplan (1973), in all worlds) is Socrates. In symbols, we write (when 'V(x,y)' is 'the value of x at y'): V('Socrates,'W1 = Socrates

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V('Socrates,'W2 = Socrates V('Socrates,'W3 = Socrates and so on. That is, Socrates is the value, or the extension, of the term 'Socrates' with respect to any world at which it is evaluated (again, one may wish to add, 'provided that Socrates exists in that world'). From now on I shall call such Kripkean entities, that is, entities which are as Kripke maintains all entities are, individuals.One may say that in Kripke's view, the same individual may have different properties in different worlds, but its identity is not thereby jeopardized. One may then, following Kaplan, speak of the intensions of 'Plato'and 'Socrates'as trans-World-Heir-Lines, which pick out Plato and Socrates, respectively, in each world, thus: Plato World 1: Socrates World 2: NNPlato Socrates

and so on. Trans-World-Heir-Lines can never coincide: it is a theorem in all Kripkean logics that if Socrates and Plato are distinct individuals in one world, they are distinct in every possible world (and, of course, if they coincide in one world they coincide in all worlds, i.e., they are the same individual, tout court). Another approach is taken by David Lewis (1968). According to him, no entity exists in more than one possible world. I shall call such worldbound entities 'objects,' to distinguish them from the earlier described trans-world individuals.(The term 'entity' I keep non-theoretically neutral.) Some objects may have very similar counterparts which exist in other worlds, but they are only counterparts, not identical, to the objects to which they are similar. Each world has its own unique set of objects; individuals do not exist. Lewis's ontology can therefore be presented thus: World 1: World 2:
O o

Socrates Socra counterpart

Plato Plato's counterpart

The Kripkean strategy has one great advantage over Lewis's: it has a very useful way for capturing and formulating essential views. In Kripke's semantics it is easy to give an account of the truth conditions of, for example, 'Socrates is essentially rational, and accidentally snub-nosed,' thus: 'There are some possible worlds in which Socrates is not snub-nosed, but there is no possible world in which he is not rational.' Yet this forte of the Kripkean approach is also one of its most problematic features. For it is obviously a matter of fact whether there is, or there is not, a possible world in which Socrates is not rational. Therefore, for Kripkeans, whether Socrates is essentially rational or not is a matter of fact. We thus have to endorse a far reaching Aristotelian Essentialism. For example, whether gold is essentially or only accidentally malleable becomes a question of fact: inspect all possible worlds in which gold exists and verify whether in any of them gold is not malleable. Thus Kripke forces all users of possible worlds semantics to endorse an objectivistic, Aristotelian view concerning essences. Kripke himself (1972) tries to argue that being made out of this

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particular peice of wood is an essential property of this lectern, and having resulted from the union of this particular sperm cell with that particular ovum is an essential (i.e., a necessary) property of me; there is no possible world in which I lack it. The question, what is my real essence, becomes thus no less factual than the question, what is the color of my eyes (in the real world, at a given time). I find this position counterintuitive and lacking any empirical basis. In fact, Aristotelian Essentialism alienated many philosophers, (most noteworthy, Quine) who believe that which feature of an entity is deemed essential is not given, in the sense that the features of the said entity are given. What one considers to be essential about a given entity depends on the context of one's viewing that entity, on one's purposes at that time, etc. In one kind of discourse one may regard Socrates' being human as an essential (necessary) feature of Socrates, while in another context one may tell a story: how the Martians have constructed that philosophical robot, Socrates, and planted it in Athens, in order to change the course of human history. That story is, of course, false, but I cannot agree that it is devoid of any meaning (as it must be if there is no possible world in which it is true). Again, I cannot see why it does not make sense to wonder what would Socrates have taught had he been a twentieth-century American rather than a fifth-century Greek. Since possible worlds talk is a way of giving adequate semantics to an important segment of language, that is, counterfactual sentences, it cannot relegate a sizeable part of it to nonsensicality. Yet it is very often the case that in wondering, on different occasions, what would have happened if . . ., we take, on each occasion, a different property as essential to the entity under discussion, and thus hypothetically permute different features (which are therefore deemed inessential for that context)on each occasion. Intensional semantics should account for this important, if fictive, use of language, and not dismiss it as simply meaningless-as both Kripke's and Lewis's semantics unfortunately do. 3. Beings Another approach to the problem of individuation was first offered by Jakko Hintikka (1969) and then developed by R. Thomason (1973). These authors have applied their new approach to the philosophy of perception only, but I wish to develop and generalize it. According to this view there are several kinds of individuating functions, and two distinct trans-worldheir-lines belonging to two different kinds of individuation may intersect, that is, coincide in some worlds and not in others. Thus if you take two singular terms, 'a' and 'b,' and evaluate them (i.e., find out what is their extension) in various worlds by using an intensional individuating function of one kind with respect to 'a'and a function of a different kind with respect to 'b,'it may turn out that in one world a and b are identical and in another world they are distinct. Let me refer to entities which obey such laws by the term 'beings,' and distinguish them from the world-bound objects and the non-intersecting individuals. One may say that individuals are beings of one kind, but, according to the theory here espoused, there are many other kinds of beings. Thus an individual and a being of another kind may be the same object in one world and two different objects in another.

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To illustrate the concept of a being let me again use a simple drawing. Let a solid line represent one kind of individuating function, say, a physicalistic principle. Let a dotted line represent a cross-world individuating function of another kind, say, a phenomenalistic principle. In the drawing below we have two physical beings, my cat and her book, and two phenomenal beings, this black patch and that distant spot. In world 1, my cat is this black patch and her book is that distant spot; in world 2, my cat is that distant spot and her book is this black patch. Identity between different beings of different kinds in a certain world is thus contingent. The nature of any world lies, then, in the contingent identities that hold in it between beings whose respective essences are determined by their individuating principle, which is reflected in their trans-world-heir-lines: This black patch: my cat That distant spot: her book World 1: World 2: That distant spot: my cat This black patch: her book For example, suppose that I see a black patch on the floor. In fact it is my cat, but, by the way it looks, that is, phenomenalistically speaking, it might have been her book. Now, what does the word 'it' in the previous sentence refer to? It cannot refer to my cat, nor to her book, nor to any other individual, since no (Kripkean) individual which is a cat in one world can be a book in another world. This is because, judging by physicalistic principles only, nothing that has an essence (nature) that a cat must have, can have the essence (nature) that a book must have. In other words, according to Kripke, this book and that cat have different necessary properties (essences); therefore these two objects cannot be the same individual (in different worlds) because then they would have a common essence, after all. Thus in order to say what is the reference of the word 'it' in the said sentence we must recognize entities which are not Kripkean individuals (e.g., sense data). Then we have a plain answer to our question: the word 'it'above refers to that black patch. A sense datum is a material entity because in every possible world in which it exists, it is identical with a certain material object. This black patch, for example, is identical in the actual world with my cat, while in another world it is identical with her book. Here we have a very important ontological innovation: what is not physicalistic about the denotation of sense datum terms (such as 'this black patch') is not any of their extensions, but, rather, their intensions: the principle of individuation which generates their transworld-heir-lines. Note that in the above diagram there exist only two objects in each world, but each world contains all four beings: a, b, c, and d. Say that a is my cat, b is her book, c is this black patch, and d is that distant spot. Now since 'my cat' denotes this black patch in Wi and that distant spot in W2, and 'this black patch' denotes my cat in Wi and her book in W2, etc., we can evaluate the names of all our beings in each world, thus: V('c,'W2) = b V('d,' W1) = b V('d,'W2) = a
V('c,' W1) = a

V('a,'W2) = d V('b,'W1) = d V('b,'W2) = c

V('a,'W1) = c

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The moral of this evaluation is plain: to know which are the objects in a world does not amount to knowing which are the beings in it. To investigate that question, I shall argue, is the task of metaphors, both in science and in art. 4. Same or Different? Every segment of the world, the real world, has the properties it has; no property is more or less privileged or essential than any other. Take, for example, a segment of the world, call it 'a,'and ask: "Whatkind of changes can a sustain without ceasing to be itself, i.e., a?"It is clear, I think, that this question cannot be answered by any amount of observations and experimentations with a. Rather, the answer wholly depends on which changes we are going to allow as changes in (or, of) a, and which we count as the destruction of a and the emergence of a new entity, b, which replaces a. That is, the question is really about our interests, values, and systems of classification. If we so wish, we may regard any deviation from the original state of a as a's ceasing to exist. This would not be a fruitful strategy, but it is not logically wrong. On the other hand we may refuse under any conditions to say that a exists no more, and instead regard what others will call 'the entity b' as the entity a: changed, but still the same entity a. This strategy is also impractical, but there is nothing logically wrong with it either. Suppose that we burn the chair a. Has a gone out of existence, or has it merely changed into this heap of ashes? The question is clearly not about matters of fact, since we can say both things. Rather, it is about what decision is more fruitful, and pragmatically significant, for us to make. What is true of different times in this world is true, mutatis mutandis, of different possible worlds. Suppose that in another possible world we have, instead of this wooden chair, a heap of ashes. Is the heap the same individual as my chair, or not? Kripke answers that by denying that the problem exists. We start out, he says, with a in many different worlds, not with many different worlds, looking for a. That is surely so, but how can we start out with a without having previously decided what forms it may, and what forms it may not, take without jeopardizing its self-identity? We must, therefore, start out by making up our minds what kind of entity should we take a to be; that is, what is the principle of individuation we shall employ in deciding what a may or may not be. This will amount to a decision, which of all of a's properties in the real world is going to be considered necessary, and which accidental. I conclude that what is to be considered as a's essence depends, in each context, on the kind of concepts we use to classify a by in that context, and this is determined primarily by what a's significance for us in that context is taken to be. The dependence of essentiality on mere subjective factors such as significance to us is strongly denied by the essentialists, for example, Kripke (1972), Putnam (1973), Brody (1967) and Slote (1966) and is far from obvious. Suppose, for example, that the main significance of this pen for me is that it was given to me by my late mother. But, these philosophers argue, this property is surely not a necessary property of the pen, a property which it has in every possible world in which it exists. Surely,

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they say, the pen might not have been given to me? Thus the question, which properties an object has essentially, and which accidentally, they claim, does not depend on its significance to anyone, but is a scientific or, in other words, an objective fact about the object. I believe, however, that this is a mistake. The essentialist has classified this entity here primarily as a pen. Then when asked what this entity may have been, he uses the following strategy: he ponders, what properties can pens have in this world. Now this latter question is easily answered. A pen may be bought as a gift or left unbought in the store; but a pen cannot be made into a silk tie, nor can a silk tie be fashioned into a metal pen. Hence the essentialist's conviction that while there are some possible worlds in which this entity here was not bought by mother, there are no possible worlds in which it is a tie. But, I repeat, there is a mistake in the whole procedure, and this is the primacy given to 'this pen' as the main sortal under which this object is identified. Try, instead, to refer to it primarily as 'Mother's gift.' If you now ask yourself what properties can mothers' gifts have in this world, the answer is again pretty obvious, but it is not the same as the one previously given. Mother's gift may be a tie, or the same gift (e.g., given for the same occasion, to the same person, etc.) may be a pen instead. Thus there is one being, Mother's Gift to Me, which is in this world a pen, but, in another world, 'it' is a tie. The enraged essentialist will accuse me here of confusing rigid with nonrigid designators and repeating Quine's notorious mistake concerning the mathematical cyclist (1960:199). Quine considered a mathematician who is also a cyclist, and asked, what are his essential properties? As a mathematician, Quine said, he must be rational, but need not be two legged; as a cyclist, the reverse is the case. Thus Quine concluded that essences are not objective features of entities, since what we take as a necessary property of an entity depends on the way we refer to it. It is now, I think, generally agreed that Quine's argument was fallacious (as shown by Plantinga [1974: 23-26]): no one referred to as a cyclist is necessarily a cyclist, since that very individual might have existed and not been a cyclist. Thus the essentialist concludes that essence is independent of way of reference. The same argument can now be used against my position, even more convincingly. The essentialist will say: "this thing here, no matter how it is referred to, could not have been a tie, but it might have not been bought by your mother and still be the same individual." Yet this rebuttal seems so plausible and sensible only because it tacitly assumes that there are some conditions under which this very entity, regardless of the way one refers to it, still exists, and some conditions under which this very entity, regardless of the way one refers to it, does not exist. As I have previously argued, this is a mere superstition. If you refer to something merely by 'this', I have no idea under what conditions, not fully identical with the original ones, the entity is to be taken as still existing. Therefore I believe that, in the last account, Quine is more right than his Aristotelian critics. Coming back to the argument against my view, the fallacy is exposed when we spell out the steps of this argument: (1) This is a pen. (2) No pen could have been a tie. (3) Therefore this could not have been a tie. The unsound step is (2). In order to imply (3), it must

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be interpreted as saying that no being is such that it is a tie in one world and a pen in another. But how does the essentialist know this? Transworld-heir-lines are not given, and no one can "observe"that no such being exists. Identity of matter is not the only possible criterion of being the same being, as shown by the test case of sense data. (2) would be true only if we assume that all beings are individuals, that is, beings whose identity conditions are physical, since indeed the same chunk of matter cannot be made from a pen into a tie. But not all beings are individuals. If this is primarily a souvenir of my mother, then I cannot imagine it to exist and not be a souvenir of my mother. I can well imagine another object just like it which is not a souvenir, but that would not be it. The only facts of the matter are that this object is both (1) a pen and (2) a souvenir. Which feature is more essential than the other? The essentialist may protest that neither of these features is essential, but a third one is, that the object in question is (3) this chunk of matter. This object may exist without being either (1) or (2), but not without being (3). Here I disagree. Why should (3) be more important that (1) or (2)? This object is also (4) emotionally charged in a certain way. Why not take this as its defining feature, the property it has in all possible worlds in which it exists? The concept pen is important to us because there are many useful generalizations and laws using this concept. In order to say what pens may or may not be, however, we need the concept of an individual, in other words, a being physically individuated. But the concept of a souvenir is also important, there being informative laws and generalizations involving it. In order to say, however, what souvenirs may or may not be, we need to countenance non-physically individuated beings. This, of course, does not imply that this souvenir is a non-physical object, any more than the existence of sense data in Thomason's semantics implies that my cat is a non-physical object. 5. Significance, Sortals, Essences To view the world as a domain of criss-crossing beings frees intensional semantics from a commitment to Aristotelian essentialism. It does this by showing that there need not be only one principle of individuation which makes an entity, any entity, the entity it is. I would now go even further than that and claim that in fact there is no one physicalistic principle of individuation, either. It is more correct to say that we have as many principles of individuation as there are sortal terms in our language. Each sortal term (e.g., 'cow,' 'town,' 'person,' etc.) involves a method of identifying entities falling under it which is slightly different than the others'. The methods for determining sameness of cows, and sameness of towns, are not exactly identical. We saw earlier that when it comes to different kinds of sortals, such as 'pen' and 'souvenir' we individuate the beings falling under them in radically different ways; but the difference between 'pen' and 'person' are also considerable, when identity-of-matter criteria are replaced, or supplemented, by those of functional similarity and continuity. The sortals we use were chosen for their significance for people having certain interests and needs. Once we are given a certain sortal, say, 'cow,'

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we can roughly say which are the properties that are necessary for any being to fall under that sortal, and these properties are then considered as the essential properties of each of those beings (cows). But this essentiality is relative to one choice of a system of sortals. Since we may employ many kinds of systems of sortals to accommodate our various interests, then, relative to a sortal of a different kind, under which the same object falls, it may have a different essence (i.e., those properties necessary for any being to fall under the other sortal). Since an essence determines a trans-worldheir-line, the same object may be the instance of quite a few beings, depending on the various essences we may discern in it. Possible world semanticists have hitherto failed to understand these determinations: how significance determines a choice of sortals, sortals determine essences, and essences determine what beings are there in the world. The whole process appeared factual: if the identity of the individual is given, it does not depend on our choice of sortals; thus one gets the erroneous impression that a being's falling under this or that sortal is a factual matter. I want to say again that this is a mistake, demonstrating how very subtle and natural a mistake it is to make. If you observe the behavior of an entity in various situations, you can indeed find out what sort of entity it is. But possibility space is not given, nor is the identity of a being across possible worlds given to us. Therefore it is conceptually impossible for one to observe the behavior of a given being in various hypothetical situations and find out what sort of being it is. Here, the process must be reversed: you must first stipulate, or decree, an instance of what sort of being a given object is (perhaps employing, as a guide, some of the frequently used principles of individuation), plot its transworld-heir-line, determine its essence, and hope that this newly recognized essence (and the being whose essence it is) will prove useful and illuminating in the process of understanding the nature of our real world. A Humean natural history may predict which situation may succeed a given situation; but this is not a science and it has no genuine laws, because it lacks the concept of a persistent being. In order to have this concept we must decide when to say that we have the same being in different forms. Now to say of an A that it is a B is to use a metaphor. Therefore understanding is basically a process of making metaphors. We need not jettison possible world semantics in order to avoid its Aristotelian confusions. Rather, we may use it admitting the multiplicity of our points of view, interests, needs-in short, that there are many contexts of discourse. Then we get not a unique system of Kripkean individuals, but a rich variety of coalescing and sundering beings. Any object in this world can then be seen as an instance of a variety of beings, and it has as many essences as there are beings whose instance it is. Which beings are there in the world is then determined by our needs and interests. To be more precise: the question, which beings are there in the world, is a question about the relative efficacy, interest and explanatory powers of metaphors. Metaphors, as I shall now try to explain, represent the various kinds of significance objects have for us. To summarize: The meaning of the metaphorical sentence 'a is F,' I say, is the set of all possible worlds in which the being, which is actually a, is F.

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One should remember, however, that not all metaphors are good; that is, not all beings are equally interesting for us to countenance. In this, beings are like ordinary objects. The object which consists of my desk, Reagan's nose, and the Taj Mahal, surely exists, but it is a very uninteresting object, scientifically and practically. To deal with the world effectively we need to recognize the interestingkinds of objects. If I am right, we also need to find interesting beings. To do that, we make metaphors. 6. Essence and Metaphor Many, and perhaps all, of those who wrote about the nature of metaphorical language stressed, primarily, one aspect of it: metaphors make us see things in a new light. When F. G. Lorca says that the guitar is five stabs of a sword, we see the Spanish guitar in a new way (and, perhaps, also the sword become more guitarlike in our eyes; this point is much debated in the literature on metaphor, and I do not wish to join the argument here). This function of poetry was insisted upon by diverse writers, from Aristotle to Nelson Goodman. Metaphorical language, by using sentences which seem outrageously false, even logically false (as in all oxymorons, etc.), still tells us something important and true about our world, something which is new, exciting and provocative, something which (if a metaphor, or a similar trope, is really good) we cannot possibly paraphrase and without which we cannot express the same idea or precept. How is this possible? I suggest that a metaphorical sentence is a kind of modal sentence. It describes beings in more than one possible world. In this way it alerts us to essences of those beings, to functions which determine their identity through several possible worlds. Thus metaphors open up new ways of looking at our daily objects: because they are now seen not as instances of individuals such as those described by science and history, but as instances of beings of other kinds having other essences. The ingenuity and creative power of the poet lies (among other things) in pointing out those essences, that is, in identifying such beings in the world which, literally, were never discerned before and which give this world a whole new sense, when its objects are now seen as identical with these beings. into different pieces, The world is differently understood when it is "cut" and associated with denizens of other worlds in ways which reveal new essences and new laws governing these beings. If the world were merely a totality of individuals, each having its own nature (essence), then science would be our only mentor, and only it could give us any knowledge about reality. Science is supposed to reveal the nature of every individual, that is, what makes it the individual it is. If the essence of flowers, what flowers really are, is determined by each flower's trans-world identity as an individual, then there is only one way to learn anything at all about flowers, and this is by consulting a treatise on botany and chemistry. The sciences and only the sciences, could tell us what is essential to, for example, a lily, by stating the laws governing the various possible changes in it under various possible circumstances. If, however, the lily in this world is a being with many other essences,

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then what science says about its essence as an individual is not all that can be said about it. When the poet (C. Day Lewis) speaks of lily light, he is talking about an entity which is both lily and light. How is it possible? I think that it is possible if we see this entity as a being which is a lily in one world and light in another. The poet thus directs our attention to the essence of that lily (or, that light), that which makes it possible for it to be, in another reality, light (or, lily). The important fact that a metaphor "cuts both ways" mandates, however, a certain change in the above definition of the meaning of metaphorical sentences. For example, if in 'lily light' it is not only 'lily' that modifies 'light,' but 'light' also modifies 'lily,' then the value of 'lily light' cannot be just the set of worlds in which the being, which is light in our world, is a lily. It must also be the set of worlds in which an entity which is a lily in reality, is light. Thus, I finally define the meaning of a is metaphorical sentence, 'Fa',as a set of two sets, Ia, B), such that ex the set of worlds where the being that is actually a, is F, and 0 is the set of worlds where a being which is actually F is a. 7. Complex Metaphors The above analysis applies easily to simple metaphors, for example, "lifeis a river.' This sentence says that for some being d and some worlds wl and w2, d is life in w1 and a river in w2. Thus there is a common essence which the reader is called upon to contemplate and research; for example, see whether it underlies some other known objects in this world. More often, however, metaphors are much more complicated. Consider the famous metaphor, 'I fall upon the thorns of life"; it has, so to speak, two interwoven sub-metaphors: my falling, and the thorns of life. How is it to be elucidated? For 'the thorns of life,' use the simple analysis, as above: there are some beings d1 and d2, and some worlds wl and w2, such that in w1 life has d1, and in w2 d2 has thorns, and V('d1,'w2) = thorns, and V('d2,'w1) = life. Thus, life has something whose essence is such that it can be thorns, and thorns are had by something which can be life. But what is the meaning of the rest? (Note, that reality is apparently w1; in much of modern poetry this point is not quite clear, and is not very important.) There is a simple, but somewhat misleading, answer which comes to mind: let the meaning of 'I fall upon the thorns of life' be the set of all worlds in which I fall upon the thorns of d2. Now this answer is not wrong, but it is, I think, incomplete. Let us remember that basic feature of metaphors: they may cut both ways (according to some theoreticians, they always work in this way); a semantics of metaphorical language cannot obliterate that hallmark. Yet the above suggestion only shows how the concept of falling influences the concept of life, when they are juxtaposed in a metaphor, and says nothing on how the concept of life may influence the concept of falling, in such a context. Thus the meaning of 'I fall upon the thorns of life' must include, as in the previous cases, at least two sets of worlds. The first set is the one mentioned above, that is, the set of all worlds in which < I, the thorns of d2> e Falls Upon, when in some world w1, V('d2,' w1) = Life. In other words, this is the set of all worlds in which I fall upon the thorns of some being which is, in some other world, life. But

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which is the other set of worlds, intended to supply the semantics for the other cutting edge of our metaphor? It seems that it must be the set of all worlds in which < I, the dl of life> e Falls Upon, when in some world w2, V('dl,' w2) = Thorns. In other words, the set of all worlds in which I fall upon some being of life which is, in some other possible world, thorns. But this is impossible: how can one fall, literally fall, upon (something or other of) life itself? This problem, however, will not detain us for long, because we already have all the machinery needed for its solution. In intensional semantics, a predicate is a function from a possible world to a set of things. Thus the value of the predicate 'red'in W is the set of all things which are red in W; the value of the predicate 'kills' in W is the set of all ordered pairs < x,y> such that, in W, x kills y; and the value of the predicate 'soluble' in W is the set of all things in W which, in some other world, dissolve. This latter predicate is a modal predicate, and thus specially relevant to us, since in the present theory metaphorical language is basically modal. The domain of our theory, though, includes beings rather than individuals. Therefore if, for example, we recognize some nature common to red things and trumpet sounds (say, Being Trumpred) we shall have a predicate whose value in this world is all the red things which are trumpet sounds in some other world. Coming back to our problem we recognize now the predicate F, which is a function from possible worlds to sets of ordered pairs of beings < x, y> such that in other worlds x falls upon y. Thus while there is no possible world in which I literally fall upon life, there is a possible world in which I stand to life in the relation F which, in some other possible world, is Falling Upon. Thus, the second set of worlds, which constitutes the meaning of our metaphor, is that in which < I, the d1 of life> e F. 8. An Example. To conclude, I shall show how this analysis of metaphorical meaning applies to an actual text, the first stanza of Ted Hughes' poem, Wind. The analysis includes a few short cuts (the missing steps, however, can be filled in easily and trivially) so that the main point can be readily understood. The construction of the precise logical model is left as an exercise for the reader who is so inclined. First, the text: This house has been far out at sea all night, The woods crashingthroughdarkness,the boominghills, Winds stampedingthe fields under the window black astrideand blindingwet. Floundering The meaning of this text is a set of sets of worlds. The first of these sets, which (apparently) is intended to include the real world, is the set of worlds wl, such that in each of these worlds, for some sets of beings Fl, F2, F3, F4, F5, F6, F7, G1, and H1, and a being e, it is true that This house has been Fl all night The woods F2 throughe, the F3 hills, Winds F4 the fields under the window F5 F6 G1 and HI F7

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and there are beings dl, d2, d3 and d4, such that in each world in w1, d, = this house, d2 = the woods, d3 = (some) hills, d4 = (some) winds. Then there is another set of worlds, w2, such that, in each of these worlds, for these beings dl, d2, d3 and d4, and for some being e, and for some sets of beingsG1 and H1, it is true that dl has been far out at sea all night d2 crashingthroughe, the booming d3 d4 stampedingthe fields under the window floundering,black, G1, and H1 wet when in each world in w2, Fl = the set of beings which are far out at sea, and F2 = the set of beings which are crashing through something, and F3 = the set of booming beings, and F4 = the set of stampeding beings, and F5 = the set of floundering beings, and F6 = the set of black beings, and F7 = the set of wet beings. The third set of worlds, w3, includes all the worlds which are exactly like the worlds in w2, except that, in these worlds, F2 is not the set of beings which crash through something, and e = darkness. The fourth set of worlds, w4, includes all the worlds which are exactly like wl, except that in them d4 is not winds, and G1 is the set of beings which are astride. The fifth set of worlds, w5, includes all the worlds which are exactly like wl, except that in them d4 is not winds, and H1 is the set of blinding beings. This analysis is, of course, very rough. But perhaps it constitutes a prolegomenon for an intensional semantics of metaphorical language. 9. Postscript: Good Metaphors and True Metaphors I have claimed, in the present article, that some metaphorical sentences are true. A metaphorical sentence, I said, is an existentially quantified intensional sentence. If its predicate is true of its subject anywhere, the sentence is true. "Juliet is the sun," e.g., is not true of Juliet in any world in which she is a woman (certainly, the sun is not a human being). But if it is true of her in some possible worlds, then this is a fact about Juliet in any world that she has such an essence, which makes it possible for her to be the sun in some possible worlds. In this way we are alerted to that unique essence, and thus gain a better picture of Juliet as we know her, i.e., as a woman. I added that a metaphor is not only true, but also good, if this new emerging picture (of Juliet, e.g.) is indeed novel, and unifies our experience, giving us a fresh insight into phenomena not heeded, or ill-understood, beforehand. Hence, that the metaphorical sentence be true is a necessary (but not a sufficient) condition for a metaphor to be good, and being a good metaphor is a sufficient (but not a necessary) condition for the metaphorical sentence, in which that metaphor occurs, being true. In this postscript, however, I would like to modify one detail in

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the above account: I no longer believe that it is sufficient for the truth of a metaphorical sentence that it be true in some, no matter which, possible world. This condition, I think, ought to be strengthened, thus making the connection between true and good metaphors even stronger. My reason is that to explicate "Juliet is the sun" as an assertion that, looking at Juliet, we find it possible that she is (somewhere else) the sun, is too weak to do full justice to this metaphor, which seems to have the effect, typical to metaphorical sentences, of implying that somehow Juliet is really (all appearances notwithstanding) the sun. To put it in reverse, it seems just not the case, that a mere attribution of any trivial property which Juliet does not actually have, but might have had, can qualify as a metaphor, albeit a very poor one. Such a sentence is not metaphorical at all. There is, I feel, something more to a metaphor, any metaphor, than that. Now what can this "more" be? Any feature, gift, or trait of character, which may bloom and be fully expressed in one kind of condition and circumstance, may be practically hidden, inoperative, wizened and undeveloped in other circumstances and possible situations. That is so even when the feature in question is deemed the essence of a given being. The actual world, we tend to think, has too much competition in it to allow any such essence to be freely exercised, fully develop, and come into its own. But we can imagine that for every essence there is some such possible world where it is completely itself, hindred by nothing. We need a special term for such a world where one's assumed essence would have reached its acme, so let us call that world one's home world. Thus, there is a sense in which a description of one in one's home world is more true and more profound than a description of one in the actual world. In a sense, to see one as one is in the actual world is to lose sight of one's true self, which has been contorted, thwarted and twisted by the vicissitudes of contingent reality. I would like to suggest that a metaphor is a presentation of one as one is in one's home world. A metaphor shows one as one would have been, had one's (assumed) essence been allowed to develop to its utmost capacity. Why, Juliet would have been the sun, Albion's coast would be sick, the hills would boom at night, and the woods would crash through darkness, if they only could (to mention but few of our previous examples). This, perhaps, is what Aristotle intended when he heralded poetry as truer than history: history describes things as they are here, while poetry, through metaphor, shows how they would have been if you only let them be, i.e., how they are at their own home worlds. One further complication, however, needs to be taken into account when we talk about the so-called "dead" metaphors. (I think it is an advantage of the present view that it gives a better fit to

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metaphors in poetry than to the "dead" metaphors, which are the almost exclusive diet of most treatises on the subject.) When I say that Jim is a pig, or that he is a fox, I do not imply that his essence is such, that his home world is a world in which he is a pig or a fox. Pigs and foxes are not at all as folk tales portray them; a pig is not a rude and insensitive animal, nor is a fox specially cunning or smart. To compute what Jim's essence is taken to be, what Jim really is, by imagining him (in his home world) as a pig, or a fox, is to misunderstand the (dead) metaphor. Thus here we need to introduce a minor, but important, variation in our semantics of metaphors, as follows: Usually, a metaphorical sentence of the form Fa is true if a is F at a's home world. But a sentence, Fa, using a "dead" metaphorical predicate is true if at a's home world a is F, but not as Fs are in the real world, but as Fs are in a belief-world of the assumed community (i.e., one of the worlds where the beliefs of the said community come all true). Finally, a good metaphor is, as before, a metaphor used in a true metaphorical sentence which gives us, in virtue of its being true, a better overall picture of reality.
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