Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok

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ARTICLES
Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok:

An Examination of the Use of Explanatory Devices in Neuroscience
Kathleen L. Slaney and Michael D. Maraun

Simon Fraser University
Abstract
The use of analogy and metaphor as descriptive and
explanatory devices in neuroscientific research was
examined. In particular, four analogies/metaphors com-
mon to research having to do with the brain and its func-
tion were illustrated. It is argued that the use of these
and other similar literary devices in neuroscientific
research sometimes leads to certain conceptual confu-
sions and, thus, fails to aid in clarifying the nature of
those phenomena they are intended to explain.
Scientific enterprise frequently involves the use of complex, difficult
to understand concepts and conceptual relations. Employing technical
and otherwise uncommon terms in published research can both limit
the reader’s ability to comprehend clearly what is being reported, as
well as disrupt the stylistic flow, which may further hinder the reader’s
understanding of the research findings. It is therefore not uncommon
for researchers to make use of literary devices such as analogy, meta-
phor, metonymy, and simile in attempts to enhance both the coherence
and presentation of their ideas. In fact, science has a rich history of
employing metaphor, analogy, and the like, with the aim of easing the
burden of describing or explaining complex phenomena. To name but
a few examples, the analogies drawn between flowing water and elec-
trical current, between pipes and wires, and between pressure and volt-
age within the hydraulic model have been instrumental in describing
certain of the properties of electricity; Bohr’s “planetary” model of the
hydrogen atom, although not completely correct, highlighted similari-
ties between the gravitational force of the solar system and the attrac-
tion between an atom’s positively charged nucleus and negatively
charged electrons; the “twisted ladder” analogy of a DNA strand has
been a useful tool for describing the structural relation between the
base unit chemical pair “rungs” and the sugar and phosphate “sides”.
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154 Journal of Theoretical and Philosophical Psy. Vol. 25, No. 2, 2005
There is no question that the use of analogy, metaphor, and the like,
can be extremely helpful in explaining, exemplifying, and clarifying
ideas that are difficult to understand when presented in technical lan-
guage. Indeed, many scholars are very clever in their use of such
devices, often making dry material not only more accessible, but also
much more interesting to the reader. However, things can tend to run
amok when the analogies and metaphors begin to take on a life of their
own. In such instances, the line between the metaphorical and the lit-
eral becomes blurred, and what begins as an explanatory aid often
becomes thought of, whether intended or not, as a technical concept.
Sometimes the chasm between the analogy and that to which it is
applied becomes so wide that it is difficult to determine what use it
could have been in clarifying the technical concept in the first place.
The problem here stems mainly from a misunderstanding of particular
concepts and of when it is appropriate to use one as a “stand in” for
another without serious conceptual distortions and/or confusions
resulting.
Neuroscience is a very broad scientific discipline dealing with the
extremely complex structure and function of the nervous system, a
field with close connections to other disciplines, most notably biologi-
cal psychology and cognitive science, which themselves rely heavily on
both the methodological practices and empirical findings of neuros-
cientific research. As we probe the brain and related structures of the
nervous system, an enormous and complex lexicon develops, one
whose terms are less and less likely to be accessible to any but the
handful of scientists working within a given area of research. The
potential for the misuse, or inappropriate use, of analogy and meta-
phor increases as the breadth and complexity of terminology specific to
a particular research program grows.
The present work will illustrate some common metaphors and analo-
gies used in scientific work from disciplines having to do with the study
of the brain and its role in a variety of behaviours. For pragmatic pur-
poses these works have been subsumed here under the all-inclusive
heading “neuroscience”. Let it be noted at the forefront that the aim
of the paper is by no means to indict the use of metaphorical devices in
the neuroscientific discourse. In fact, employment of such devices
may, in certain circumstances, not only be legitimate, but also of great
aid in clarifying difficult concepts and/or relations among concepts.
The intent here, however, is to illustrate cases in which the use of such
explanatory aids is not only of little help in explaining complex ideas,
but may, indeed, result in misleading conceptual confusions and inco-
herence which impede rather than promote our understanding of the
workings of the brain and the mind.
Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 155
COMMON ANALOGIES AND METAPHORS

Analogy is a process of reasoning by parallel cases. Through the use
of analogy one can often clarify the meaning of something, or the con-
nection between two or more things, via a more obvious, or more eas-
ily understood, model that resembles that which is being described in
terms of its logical structure. A metaphor is a figure of speech in which
a name or descriptive term is used to designate some object that is
different from, but analogous to, that to which it is properly applicable.
Metonymy is a figure of speech which consists in substituting for the
name of a thing the name of an attribute of it or of something closely
related to it, and simile is a figurative comparison of one thing to
another. As descriptive aids, both analogy and metaphor are used
extensively in scientific discourse. Research concerned with the func-
tion and structure of the nervous system is no exception here. In fact,
given the complexity and breadth of the subject matter of neuros-
cience, it has become commonplace for researchers to substitute tech-
nical language with metaphorical language. However, not all analogies
and metaphors share equal representation in research concerning the
brain and the mind, and many of the same literary devices show up
repeatedly in research of this sort. In the present work, four classes of
analogies and/or metaphors, which are common to research having to
do with the structure and/or function of the brain, are presented.
A Brief Note on the Mind Is Brain “Analogy”

Questions concerning the relationship between the brain and mind
have plagued philosophers, scientists, and lay-people for millennia.
The mind is brain “analogy” is actually not an analogy at all, but is,
rather, a belief stemming from the general dogma of materialism, a
philosophical doctrine which assumes that only matter exists, and that
all else (mind, spirit, etc.) can be ultimately reduced to matter (Lacy,
1976). Although there are numerous versions of the more general doc-
trine of materialism, on matters regarding the mind-body “problem”,
all materialists generally accept that there exists a physical brain.
However, they differ in their explanations of the mind and the nature
of its relationship, if any, to the brain. A full explication of the various
facets of materialism will not be attempted here; the point of raising
the issue is 1) to highlight that the endeavours of the neuroscientist
tend to rely heavily on materialist assumptions about the brain and the
mind, and that it is commonplace for scientists to attempt to reduce
mental phenomena to specific structures and/or functions of the brain,
and 2) that physiological correlates or preconditions of those mental
phenomena sometimes become conflated with the mental phenomena
themselves. As a result, the issue of mind/brain unity/duality is either
completely sidestepped, or is made opaque by the practice of treating
the brain and the mind as one entity, usually without explicitly admit-
ting so.
One might need to prod somewhat for specific examples in empirical
neuroscience in which “brain” and “mind” are used interchangeably
with no apparent assumption, on the part of the researcher, of change
in meaning. However, there exists a not uncommon practice of treat-
ing the brain and the being that is in possession of the brain as inter-
changeable; that is, the creature and its brain are often conceived as
one and the same entity. The question here is whether or not this is
merely an example of metonymy, or evidence of the existence of a
materialist thrust in neuroscientific research, in which that which is
considered to be “mind” is reduced to, or explained as a product of,
the physical brain.
Quite regardless of one’s philosophical position on the mind-body
problem, few, including neuroscientists, would have difficulty with
expressions such as: “I conjured the image up in my mind”; “The view
of the harbour passed before my mind’s eye”; “He’s currently not of
the mind to think your idea a good one”; “She’s totally out of her
mind”. Minds are generally considered by most to be possessed by
people (and, in some, perhaps misguided, cases, animals), and, so,
“thinking”, “imagining”, and other such cognition-related predicates
are done by creatures having brains, and not by the brains themselves.
But to be a materialist and to speak of minds without reference to
brains would create dissonance. Hence, a much subtler version of the
mind-brain interchange occurs, that of the creature-brain interchange.
For example, on the effect of “split-brain” preparations on monkey’s,
Sperry (1965) notes:
After it had been found that the split-brain monkey is
able to learn reverse discriminations concurrently with
the separated hemispheres..., the question arose as to
whether the two hemispheres could learn their reverse
tasks simultaneously. (p. 120; emphasis added)
Although this does not constitute a direct example of mind-brain
conflation, it is argued here that it is symptomatic of a material mon-
ism according to which queries about the mind can be adequately
approached via investigations of the brain. It is further argued that
such a perspective lies at the heart of many of the analogies and meta-
phors that are employed by neuroscientists in their aim to describe and
explain psychological phenomena.
There Are Maps in/on the Brain

Throughout the history of brain research, in order to characterize
what goes on in the active brains of living creatures, topological and
map analogies and metaphors have often been given special emphasis,
with the aim of promoting a better understanding of the structural and

functional properties of the brain. Although the now seemingly far-
fetched assumptions of phrenology have long been abandoned, in cur-
rent research, whose aim it is to characterize the brain and its functions
in terms of an explicit organizational framework, one frequently comes
across similar geographical metaphors in expressions such as: “neural
maps” (Whitaker, 1971); “cortical maps” and “naming sites” (Calvin &
Ojemann, 1994; emphasis added); “patterns of nerve cells”, “topologi-
cal code”, and “coded representations in the brain” (Young, 1987;
emphasis added); and “tonotopic” and “retinotopic” organization
(Rosenzweig et al., 1996; emphasis added). To impose structural
schema on complex phenomena is not, in itself, necessarily problem-
atic and it need not be misleading. Obviously, it would be impossible
to engage in explication of any kind without the aid of such organiza-
tional schemes. However, the specific relevance of the map analogy is
not altogether clear. Why is it that this particular analogy has realized
such prestige in neuroscientific research? What are the features of a
map that deem it a logical, or aesthetic, parallel to particular patterns
of neural activity?
A map, in the usual sense of the term, is a representation, or sym-
bolic description, of something; it can be scaled, distorted, incomplete,
and can even contain errors, in which case those who attempt to use it
would likely deem it a poor, or not very useful, representation. This
brings us to another important feature of maps: They are used by peo-
ple for one purpose or another, an example being to find one’s way in
unfamiliar territory. Then there is the act of “mapping”, in which ele-
ments from one domain can be transformed into another (codomain)
via some mathematical function. This, it would appear, may indeed be
a legitimate aim of the neuroscientist. It is reasonable to say, for
example, that the retina can be mapped onto the visual cortex
(Hacker, 1987). But this is merely to say that particular patterns of
stimulation of the rods and cones of the retina are predictive of corre-
sponding patterns of the firing of neurons in the visual cortex. It says
nothing of the existence of maps in, or on, the tissue of the brain. Fur-
thermore, given that maps are representations of things, even if it were
coherent to assume that the cortex is organized in such a way as to in
some sense “map” our perceptions, is this merely to say that activity
(i.e., neurons firing) in a particular area of the cerebral cortex is associ-
ated with certain perceptual phenomena? This would be a legitimate
use of the map metaphor by neuroscientists—as strictly a descriptive
aid for characterizing the physiological correlates of certain perceptual
phenomena. Certainly, map metaphors have been useful in describing
the association of particular sensory or motor functions with specific
regions of the cerebral cortex.
However, the neuroscientist does not restrict himself to this rather

limited use of the map metaphor. It is argued here that, in some cases,
the use of the map analogy is indicative of a particular theoretical per-
spective on the part of the researcher, namely, the representational the-
ory of mind. Proponents of this view adhere to the notion of mind/
brain unity, and assume that our perceptions of the external world are
in some way represented in our minds (brains), just as maps represent
the topological features of geographic regions. The general picture
sketched by this philosophical doctrine, the historical roots of which
stem back to the idealist notions of Descartes and Locke, is this: Infor-
mation about the external world is taken in by the sense organs, which
then transmit that information along neural pathways to specific areas
of the cerebral cortex, at which point the information is, in some way,
“imprinted” on the cortex, thereby constituting an internal representa-
tion of that which has been perceived. Then, by some unknown pro-
cess, the mind gains access to these internal representations, “telling”
the possessor of the mind/brain what has been perceived (cf. Sterelny,
1990).
David Marr’s computational theory of vision provides a good exam-
ple of such thinking. He states:
if we are capable of knowing what is where in the world,
our brains must somehow be capable of representing this
information . . . . The study of vision must therefore
include . . . an inquiry into the nature of the internal rep-
resentations by which we capture this information and
make it available as a basis for decisions about our
thoughts and actions. (1980, p. 3; emphasis added)
And then later:
the senses are for the most part concerned with telling
one what is there. Modern representational theories con-
ceive of the mind as having access to systems of internal
representations. (1980, p. 5; emphasis added)
J.P. Frisby, an experimental psychologist of vision, and an admirer of
Marr, adds that
there must be symbols inside our heads for the things we
see, symbols which themselves are unlike the things they
represent. Upon opening up a patient’s head for a brain
operation, the surgeon does not find there a miniature
stage-set of the world! All he finds is a pink blancmange-
like mass of brain cells. So it is an inescapable conclusion
that there must be a symbolic description in the brain of
the outside world, a description cast in symbols which
stand for the various aspects of the world of which sight
makes us aware. (cited in Hacker, 1991, p. 132; emphasis

added)
Such a position contains a number of confusions. First, the sense in
which the term “representation” is used is completely unclear. A rep-
resentation serves to portray, depict, designate, symbolize, exemplify,
or stand for something else. For example, a portrait of Henry V is
indeed a representation of the man. However, Henry V can neither be
a representation of himself nor of his portrait. In other words, that
being represented is logically antecedent to the representation. Hence,
to have something be a representation of itself lacks logical coherence,
not to mention pragmatic value. For something to be a representation,
the concept denoting it must have a rule-governed use; that is, there
must be a correct, and so also incorrect, way of using the concept. It
must have a grammar, or criteria within which its applications are
bounded, and it may only be used by symbol-employing creatures. It is
unintelligible to suggest that the brain is capable of representing any-
thing at all, let alone sensory stimuli, and that the mind has access to
such representations. Humans, not brains, can be said to be capable of
representing, and representations are created by language users.
Moreover, in what sense could a representation be “internal”? One
might possess a representation of something that is unknown to others,
or might imagine a representation of something, such as a map. Does
the map he or she imagines then qualify as an “internal representa-
tion”? But imagined representations are not internal to anything by
virtue of its being imagined, and it does not, at any rate, seem likely
that this is what Marr means when he speaks of “internal representa-
tion”. Instead, the “‘internality’ of the representations presumably sig-
nified that they are ‘in the brain’” (Hacker, 1991, p. 138). Clearly, the
“symbols inside our heads” to which Frisby refers are consistent with
the latter notion. However, as previously stated, it makes no sense to
consider neural activity as symbolic of anything, nor to treat the brain
as an entity capable of using symbols. And if Frisby is being metaphor-
ical, it is not at all apparent what the metaphor is, nor how it facilitates
a better understanding of vision, save making the somewhat trivial
point that the brain is involved in some way. How it is involved, how-
ever, is not made any clearer.
Secondly, from Marr’s words we can assume that it is the brain that
is capable of representing incoming information, and the mind that has
access to this “system of representation”. Even if we could say of the
brain that it represents stimulation of the sensory organs in particular
ways, what then happens to these representations, and what might be
the nature of the mind’s ability to extract them from the brain?
Answering these very questions is, according to Marr, the primary task
of the vision theorist. If one is using the term “representation” in its
ordinary sense, then obviously such questions lack intelligibility. How-
ever, one might argue that Marr’s use is a technical one, without any
reference to symbols and their uses (Hacker, 1991), in which case the
above criticisms might be misplaced. However, Marr claims that “a
representation. . .is not a foreign idea at all—we use representations all
the time”, and he finds it fascinating “that one can capture some aspect
of reality by making a description of it using a symbol” (1980, p. 21).
In the absence of an explicit technical definition of “representation”,
one can only assume from his claims that Marr uses the term in its
usual sense, however confusing his employment of it might be.
Finally, although it is comforting to note that Frisby would not
expect to find “a miniature stage-set of the world” inside the skull of a
patient undergoing brain surgery, it is anything but an inescapable con-
clusion that “there must be a symbolic description in the brain of the
outside world”. Frisby’s statement lacks a coherent logic, i.e., it does
not follow that because there is not a miniature replica of the world in
the head that there must, instead, exist a symbolic description there. In
fact, while the claim that “there is a miniature world inside the skull” is
a coherent, if incorrect, empirical proposition, the claim that “there
exists a symbolic description in the brain” has no sense, and so would
not be amenable to empirical verification (or falsification). Despite his
intentions, Frisby clarifies nothing with his words, and, once again,
brings us no closer to understanding vision.
The Brain Has a Will of Its Own
Wittgenstein said: “Only of a human being and what resembles

(behaves like) a human being can one say: it has sensations; it sees; is
blind; hears; is deaf; is conscious or unconscious” (cited in Kenny,
1984, p. 125). Yet, in neuroscientific research there are literally
thousands of examples in which predicates such as “organize”, “sort”,
“direct”, “categorize”, “integrate”, and even “intend”, “want”, “need”,
“dominate”, and “control” are applied to the brain. Some of these are
voluntary acts that humans engage in; others lack natural expression or
typical gesture (Ter Hark, 1990), but can be used when expressing
one’s state of mind, or inferring another’s from their behaviour. It is
unlikely that the typical researcher is suggesting that the brain is really
capable of intentional acts and the like. However, if the purpose of
using such literary devices is as explanatory aids, then one must inquire
as to the nature of these analogies or metaphors, since there is no obvi-
ous sense in which attributing psychological predicates to the brain
helps us better understand the mind. In what way could such predi-
cates be parallel to or representative of the structural or functional
properties of the brain? Unfortunately, in such cases the line between
what is meant to be literal and what is meant to be metaphorical
remains completely obscured.
A number of scholars have been pessimistic about any potential util-

ity the application of such devices could have for explaining non-
human phenomena (cf. Bennett & Hacker, 2003; Hacker, 1987; Kenny,
1984; Szasz, 1996). Kenny, considers what is commonly “defended as a
harmless pedagogical device” as the “reckless application of human-
being predicates to insufficiently human-like objects”, and has named
this practice the homunculus fallacy, “since its most naı̈ve form is tan-
tamount to the postulation of a little man within a man to explain
human experience and behaviour” (p. 125). Mereology is the logic of
part/whole relations and Bennett and Hacker (2003) have coined the
expression mereological fallacy to denote the mistake made by neuros-
cientists of “ascribing to the constituent parts of an animal attributes
that logically apply only to the whole animal” (p. 73). What follows is
Milner and Glickman’s (1965) introduction to Sperry’s aforementioned
article, “Cerebral Organization and Behaviour”, which constitutes a
paradigm example of the homunculus fallacy:
Sperry finds that each hemisphere of the brain is capable
of perceiving, learning, and controlling instrumental
responses independently of the other. In fact, the two
hemispheres can be trained, one at a time or even simulta-
neously, to solve different discrimination problems. Each
half of the brain can control the lower centers and the
motor system, but when two conflicting responses are
called for by the two hemispheres simultaneously, there is
no confusion; one or the other hemisphere becomes dom-
inant and prevents the output from the other hemisphere
from having any effect at all. Important information
about the mechanisms of attention can be derived from
experiments of this sort. (1965, p. 112; emphasis added)
If Milner and Glickman are employing metaphor here, there is no
clear evidence of what the metaphor is (for example, use of quotes or
italics to denote special use of a term); nor is it apparent exactly what
“important information” about the mechanisms of attention could be
derived from the use of such a metaphor, if one is, in fact, being used.
Rather than using an inappropriate or ill-fitting metaphor, Milner and
Glickman appear to be guilty of misusing language in the manner to
which Kenny refers. Humans are capable of perceiving, learning, con-
trolling, solving, dominating, and preventing. And although there
might be a limited sense in which we can apply such predicates to
monkeys, there is no sense in which we can do so to brains.
One might counter by raising the point that others have written in
this way about Sperry’s work, and that, perhaps, Sperry, himself, is
much more clear in the presentation of his ideas. However, this proves
not to be the case. Although generally the body of Sperry’s article
remains descriptive and technical with regard to terminology, the
introductory and concluding sections are riddled with confusing and

mistaken conceptualizations of the brain. For example, Sperry credits
the brain (or, more specifically, each of the two hemispheres of the
brain) with the ability to learn, communicate, control, and possess
memories. Furthermore, he claims that the corpus callosum has sev-
eral different functions, including “the laying down of duplicate
engrams in the contralateral hemisphere” and “[keeping] each hemi-
sphere up to date on what’s new in the other”, and can be “utilized by
the uneducated hemisphere to tap the engram systems of the trained
side” (1965, p. 119).
Sperry also speaks of the consequences of one hemisphere being
“trained to do one thing and the other trained to do the opposite, and
the animal given free choice to perform either or both” and asks the
question, “With two separate volitional systems inside the same skull,
each wanting its own way and each, by training, wanting the opposition
of the other, does each of these thinking entities try to decide for
itself?” (1965, p. 122). To suggest that a monkey can be trained makes
sense, but to claim that one can “train” a brain, let alone one hemi-
sphere at a time, does not, unless a wholly different sense of the word
“train” is being used, and if that is the case here, its meaning remains
obscure. Although we might infer from its behaviour that a monkey
“wants”, “thinks”, or “decides”, to ascribe such attributes to a brain
lacks any sense altogether. Sperry refers to the hemispheres of the
brain as “thinking entities”, capable of making decisions for them-
selves, and acting in ways consistent with their desires. This is a partic-
ularly striking example of the metaphor running amok, leaving behind
only conceptual confusion. Sperry also uses misleading terms such as
“volitional systems”. To what does he refer here? Is it some sort of
process by which one might exercise one’s will? Of what does such a
system consist? It is not clear. Hence, even if Sperry were using a
useful analogy (and he is not), it breaks down with the use of confus-
ing, and ill-defined terms.
The Brain Speaks to Itself in Its Own Language

Many areas of neuroscientific study rely on the use of analogy and
metaphor for describing the character of the nervous system, ranging
from its gross anatomical structure to the electrical excitation of neu-
rons and synaptic transmission. With regard to the latter, it is not
uncommon to see references to “neuronal communication”, “intercel-
lular transfer of information”, “neural code”, or “second messengers”.
In many cases, such metaphors are perfectly acceptable, and, if explicit,
can be very helpful in simplifying explanations of otherwise very com-
plex phenomena. Problems will arise however if the analogies and
metaphors become lost in the process, and we are left with the implica-
tion that the central nervous system has its very own “language” with
which different structures within it may communicate. The general

line of thinking in these cases is as follows: Thought involves language;
the brain is the “organ of thought”; the brain must, therefore, have, in
some sense, a language or grammar, the specific nature of which will
eventually be revealed by neuroscientists.
The synapse, the area composed of the presynaptic terminal, the
postsynaptic membrane, and the space between them, may be
described in simple terms as the junction at which two neurons meet,
and where chemicals, converted from electrical impulses, are released
from one neuron, cross the intercellular space and bind to receptors on
the membrane of other cell, at which point they are converted back
into electrical impulses. This is where the supposed neuronal “commu-
nication” takes place. Calvin and Ojemann (1994) claim that “What
crosses this border is information, in the form of chemicals” (p. 94;
emphasis added). What does it mean to say that “information” crosses
the synapse from one neuron to another? If the sense in which “infor-
mation” is being used is the information-theoretic sense (i.e., “bits”),
which has nothing to do with representing or semantics, then Calvin
and Ojemann’s description could legitimately be considered a technical
definition of “synapse”. However, they fail to make this explicit,
instead confusing matters further by employing a second analogy in
order to explain the first. What happens at the synapse is, according to
these theorists,
analogous to opening a bottle of perfume at one border
fence and letting the molecules waft across the no man’s
land (the synaptic cleft) to the other border fence (the
cell membrane). When reaching the other side, the per-
fume is “sniffed” by special receptor molecules embedded
in the cell membrane. (1994, p. 94-95)
Obviously perfume molecules cannot be said to “carry information”
from one person to another, or anywhere else for that matter. But is
the analogy a good one for describing how “information” crosses bor-
ders between neurons? If left strictly as a description of the intercellu-
lar transmission of electrical impulses, i.e., the conversion of electrical
potentials to chemicals and then back again, then we would contend
that it is a fair, and even eloquent, use of metaphor. However, it does
not clarify how “information” crosses the synaptic cleft, and does not
go very far in explaining how the information (in the usual sense of the
term) that we, humans, learn is related to the “information” which is
transferred from neuron to neuron.
Some theorists are more daring (and, thus, more confusing) in the
language of the brain metaphors they employ. J.Z. Young uses the
term “brain programs” to describe how arrangements of nerve cells
working together can provide sets of potentialities “that give us all our
power of sensing, of feeling or acting” (1987, p. 18). He goes on to
state that a brain program is “some sort of list of things to be done in

order to reach an aim” (p. 19). The means by which neurons are able
to “work together” is the brain’s “communication system”, which
Young has characterized as a coding system, involving “communication
by some sort of language preceded by the language of man” (p. 32),
which is specific to the brain, has its own grammar, of which the nerve
impulse is the simplest unit (Young, 1987). It is the job of the
neurophysiologist, according to Young, to reveal the nature of the neu-
ral impulse “code” and, thus, that of “brain programs”, and the entire
“coding system” in which these are embedded.
The confusions apparent in Young’s perspective are myriad. First,
Young provides us with the technical notion “brain program”, which
he defines as “previously organized sets of neurons and their connec-
tions, among which selection is made to produce mental and cerebral
states and actions. . .” (1987, p. 19). This immediately conjures up a
number of obvious questions: Who does the organizing, and previous
to what? Who does the selecting? What constitutes a cerebral state/
action, or a mental one? What Young appears to be suggesting is that
the “organization” of the brain is innately given, with the neural path-
ways associated with all types of human behaviour established prior to
birth. However, “organization”, if Young is employing the term in its
usual sense, is a human activity. Humans impose any such organiza-
tion on the brain, most frequently for the purpose of simplifying our
explanations and descriptions. There can be no organization of the
brain, or anything else, autonomous of human cognition. Young only
serves to make matters worse by employing the confusing analogy in
which he suggests that a brain program is “some form of list of things
to be done in order to reach an aim” (1987, p. 19). It is difficult to
imagine what “form” such a list might take. Clearly it is different from
the conventional employment of the term, such as a list of chores given
to a teenage boy by his mother. But how is it different? And, more
importantly, how is it the same, thereby making it a useful analogy? It
makes little sense to refer to “lists” within the brain, or to people fol-
lowing lists of “things to be done”, when those lists are presumed to be
somehow “in their brains”, rather than in their hand, or posted on the
refrigerator. Once again, if there is an analogy at play, the advantage it
provides in aiding our understanding of the workings of the brain
remains obscure.
A second, and perhaps more serious, confusion results from Young’s
conflation of “language” and “code”. The two terms are often used
interchangeably in research of this sort, and no less so with Young.
Although there are logical and semantic connections between the two
concepts, to consider them synonymous is to misunderstand their dis-
tinct meanings. Language, in the ordinary sense, is a rule-governed
activity, a practice, in which rules feature in the teaching and explain-
ing of the meanings of words and sentences, in the justification and

explanation of language usage, in the guiding of behaviour, and in con-
stituting criteria for the correct application of concepts (Hacker, 1988).
All languages must have a grammar, standards of correctness, or rules,
for the correct application of concepts. It is characteristic of rule-gov-
erned behaviour, and, thus of language use, that it be regular and
intended; hence, acting in accord with a rule alone does not constitute a
rule-governed activity (Hacker, 1988). One must also intend to engage
in such actions. And although language is a form of communication, to
communicate is not necessarily to use a language.
The use of codes is also a rule-governed activity, in which any type of
text may be enciphered, and the result deciphered by anyone who has
the key to the cipher. Decoding is the process of returning to the origi-
nal text, which is in a given language. According to Harris (1987), the
crucial difference between a language and a code is that the former has
a grammar, while the latter does not. Moreover, the latter presupposes
the former, in that languages can be encoded, as, for example, with
Morse code, but the only sense in which a code can be “put into” lan-
guage, is when it is being decoded back into the language which was
originally encoded.
By these definitions of “language” and “code”, humans are the only
creatures who can intelligibly be said to use or to have them. Of
course, one might employ technical definitions of these terms, but, for
the sake of clarity, must then provide such definitions. Young seems to
aim in this general direction when he defines a “code” as “the set of
physical changes that are used in various combinations to evoke spe-
cific responses by a receiving agent that is tuned to receive them”, but
manages to confuse things again when he claims that the “words of
speech” are an obvious example of such codes. It is unclear how words
can be considered to be “sets of physical changes”, or how they might
constitute a code. If the words of a given language are “codes”, then it
must be possible for them to be decoded back into the original text
from which they were encoded. Where might one begin the process of
“decoding” the English language? Such an attempt would doubtless
prove futile as no such original language exists. In Young’s work, “lan-
guage” becomes confused with “code”, and “coded messages” in the
brain with “transmissions”. It appears that he will bring neuroscience
no closer to cracking the “neural code” when, as Harris (1987) puts it,
there is, in fact, no code to crack. Attempts at gaining an understand-
ing of the “language of the brain” will be equally fruitless given that
there does not exist a coherent conception of such a language.
The Brain Has, Stores, and Contains Information

In their book, Metaphors We Live By (1980), George Lakoff and
Mark Johnson explore the fundamentally metaphorical nature of our
ordinary conceptual systems. They highlight a number of specific met-

aphors that are commonly used in everyday speech, most often without
our explicit awareness, and which provide clues about how certain fea-
tures of our conceptual system factor into how we make sense of the
world and our place in it. One of the metaphors they examine is the
container metaphor, which, as its name implies, is suggestive of a ten-
dency for people to conceive of physical entities as being enclosed (or
contained) within a larger, non-physical “structure”, and of non-physi-
cal entities as being enclosed within a physical structure. It is not unu-
sual to hear people make references to things being “in the world”, “in
the street”, or “in the way”. Nor are statements such as: “the mood in
the room”, or “the heightened energy in the stadium” uncommon.
Such instances of metaphorical speech are not problematic, and gener-
ally create little confusion for those who employ them.
Because the subject matter of neuroscience is, in very large part,
concerned with the brain, an organ encased within the skull, and iden-
tified in terms of its many subdivisions, references to things “in the
brain” are commonplace. In many such cases, these references are not
metaphorical at all, as they indicate where a given structure is located
within the anatomy of the organism. However, one also frequently
comes across instances in which the container metaphor is evidently in
play, as any literal reading would be nonsensical. However, it is often
not altogether clear as to whether the metaphor is intended, and what
purpose, if any, it is meant to serve. This can easily lead to confusions
and invalid conclusions about the phenomenon of interest. Such cases
seem to be particularly prevalent in the general area of cognitive
neuroscience, and particularly in research having to do with memory.
Of course, it is completely reasonable to speak of neurons and glia
cells; of frontal, temporal, parietal, and occipital lobes; and of fore-
brain, midbrain and hindbrain as being in the brain.1 Conversely, to
speak of memories, thoughts, intentions, desires, and the like as being
“in the brain”, goes beyond the bounds of reason, unless such refer-
ences are being used in a metaphorical sense, and then only if the met-
aphor is useful in describing or explaining that which it stands for.
The domain of memory research is large and, given the highly com-
plex and abstract character of the phenomenon under study, vulnera-
ble to gross confusions that may result from the use of terms that lack
both clarity and coherence. A few examples should serve to illustrate
this point.
1
With the caveat, some will insist, that it is recognized that the par-
ticular features of such divisions are arbitrary and dependent on the
particular organizational framework scientists have imposed on the
physical entity we call the brain, which is, itself, the product of an arbi-
trary subdivision.
J.Z. Young poses the question “What’s in a brain?” in the introduc-

tory section of his book, Philosophy and the Brain (1987). In answer to
his own question he writes:
In order to understand what is meant by the word “brain”
as it is used by neuroscientists, we must bear in mind that
this organ contains in some recorded form the basis of
one’s whole conscious life. It contains the record of all
our aims and ambitions and is essential for the experience
of all pleasures and pains, all loves and hates. (p. 8;
emphasis added)
Young is correct in stating that the brain is “essential” for all that we
experience. However, as a vital organ, it is not unique in this regard.
Without the brain, or the heart, lungs, liver, etc., we would surely die,
and experience of any kind would end. But is it really the case that
neuroscientists generally consider the brain to “contain records” of
one’s conscious life, and, if so, of what conceivable form could such
“records” take? Autobiographical records may contain a great deal of
information about one’s conscious life, but the brain no more contains
such information, much less in any recorded form, than it contains a set
of index cards with the chapter headings and contents of one’s planned
autobiography. And to complicate matters further, Young goes on to
suggest that it is the problem of the neurophysiologist to “discover the
units in which the memory record is written in the brain” (p. 18;
emphasis added). Obviously such a proposition invites confusion, but
no more than the suggestion that any “unit of writing” can be in the
brain, and that the neurophysiologist might be able to discover it.
Other researchers mask their confusions to some extent in what
appear to be weak attempts at technical definitions of memory. Calvin
and Ojemann (1994) assert that long-term memory is probably “fixed
in some structural change in neurons, such as synapse size” (p. 111).
Likewise, Martin (1998) suggests that “. . .meaning or semantic infor-
mation about a particular object is represented as a distributed net-
work of discrete cortical regions”, within which “features that define
an object are stored” in the brain (p. 69). As far as technical defini-
tions go, however, these are sufficiently lacking in coherence, or any
semblance of pragmatic value. It is argued here that what is an
attempt at a technical treatment of an ordinary concept is, instead, an
implicit demonstration of the container metaphor, albeit a misplaced
one. Memories are generally conceptualized as lacking in physical sub-
stance, and of falling within the domain of the mind, as opposed to as
substantively existing in the brain. Yet, memory researchers seem, for
the most part, to imply that there is physical evidence of memories
themselves in the brain, and are, thus, not being metaphorical. It is
entirely reasonable to conjecture that there exist particular physiologi-
cal preconditions for or correlates of memory. However, although one
can reasonably claim that there are predictable relationships between

memory and certain physical changes in neural tissue, memory itself
can be no more “fixed”, “stored”, or “represented” in either the struc-
ture of a neuron or a cortical region, than can feelings of love for
another be fixed, stored, or represented in the chambers of the heart.
If we find statements regarding the storing of desires, wishes, inten-
tions, and the like, within other physical structures meaningful only in
a non-literal sense, then why not so for memories and their relation-
ship to the brain?
Young admits that the sense in which one uses such expressions such
as “contain”, “information”, “instructions”, “code”, etc., in reference
to the brain requires “great care”; he claims that it is the “business of
the physiologist to justify such usages ” (1978, p. 9). However, Young
either fails to provide technical definitions, or slides readily to and fro
between technical and ordinary usage with neither acknowledgement,
nor justification, of which sense of a given term he is employing. It is,
therefore, impossible to tease apart these alternative meanings and,
instead of gaining further understanding of the brain, its structure and
function, and its involvement in memory, one is left only with unintel-
ligible statements about its “contents”.
CONCLUDING REMARKS: WHAT’S THE DANGER IN A LITTLE

HARMLESS METAPHOR?
To reiterate, analogies and metaphors have an integral function in
common speech and in many areas of scholarly discourse, and have
had a primary role in the growth and development of many scientific
theories. As Hacker (1987) points out, the hydrodynamic analogy was
very useful to the development of the theory of electricity, in that volt-
age can be rightfully considered analogous to pressure, amperage to
current, and electrical resistance to hydrodynamic resistance. How-
ever, to have failed to recognize that electricity and hydrodynamics are
not the same thing would not only have surely lead to disastrous conse-
quences, but would have hindered a proper theoretical understanding
of electricity.
Although the present work has focused on the somewhat “darker
side” of scientific custom, there has been no intention to suggest that
all research falling within the domain of neuroscience, and related
fields, is coloured by the sort of potentially misleading practices that
have been illustrated above. Quite to the contrary, much of the
research having to do with the structure and function of the nervous
system either remains technical in its descriptive terms, providing well
articulated, if complex, definitions for the concepts of interest, or
employs analogies and metaphors which are both explicit and useful.
It is quite acceptable to speak of an “orderly mapping of the visual
field” onto the visual cortex (Rozenzweig et.al, 1996, p. 343), as long as
it is recognized that this is a feature of the organizational framework

adopted by the researcher in his or her attempt to describe predictable
patterns of neural activity in response to perceived stimuli. In addi-
tion, if used for strictly descriptive purposes, such as to depict the rela-
tionship between particular sensory and/or motor functions with
specific regions of the brain, or to describe the intercellular transmis-
sion of electrical potentials, or to illustrate the existence of certain
physiological precursors to or correlates of various cognitive capabili-
ties, then the employment of metaphorical devices can be extremely
useful in disseminating complex ideas.
However, when the answers to both exciting and perplexing ques-
tions about the nervous system rest on the use of inappropriate analo-
gies and metaphors (i.e., cannot be explained outside of these literary
devices), those answers can lead only to further confusion and misun-
derstanding. At the most basic level, the researcher might provide
very poor descriptions of the structural and functional workings of the
nervous system, in which case the employment of the particular anal-
ogy has not only failed to serve its purpose, but may distort important
findings. For example, confounded in Sperry’s confusing talk of one of
the brain’s hemispheres exerting its will on the other hemisphere is the
very significant discovery that “severing the corpus callosum deprives
human beings of the capacity to exercise normally coordinated func-
tions . . . And that in turn is to be explained in terms of the disconnec-
tion of neural groups that are causally implicated in the exercise of
relevant capacities” (Bennett & Hacker, 2003, p. 393).
A perhaps even more serious consequence of misguided use of anal-
ogy and metaphor occurs when what is being explained or described
becomes wholly conflated with the metaphor used to explain or
describe it. Specifically, problems arise when brain and mind are con-
flated, when there is talk of internal representations of the outside
world inside the brain, when predicates usually reserved for humans
are attributed to the brain, and when the brain is ascribed with having
language-using abilities. In such cases, the implications go beyond lack
of clarity, and strike at the very heart of neuroscientific research
endeavours, in that the empirical testing of theoretical propositions
becomes completely compromised when the terms or expressions of
such hypotheses lack coherence.
For a hypothesis to be testable it must make sense, and in order for a
hypothesis to make sense, its constituent terms must make sense and
be used correctly (Bennett & Hacker, 2003). Marr claims that “The
study of vision must. . .include. . .an inquiry into the nature of the inter-
nal representations by which we capture. . .information” (1980, p. 3),
yet such an inquiry is not possible if the meaning of “internal represen-
tation” is ineffable. On Sperry’s work in which the two hemispheres of
the brain were “trained, one at a time or even simultaneously, to solve
different discrimination problems”, Milner and Glickman (1965) con-

clude that “Important information about the mechanisms of attention
can be derived from experiments of this sort” (p. 112); agreed, but
although that “important information” might support hypotheses per-
taining to humans’ capabilities of perceiving, learning, controlling, etc.,
it will not give any evidentiary weight to similar claims about the brain,
or its hemispheres. According to Young (1987), it is the task of the
neurophysiologist to discover the nature of neural code, brain pro-
grams, and the entire “coding system” in which they are embedded;
however, no such discoveries will be possible as long as the concepts
“neural code”, “brain program”, and “coding system” remain either
conceptually incoherent or (technically) undefined. Frisby (1979) asks
“When we see, what are the symbols inside our heads that stand for
things in the outside world?” (p. 8); but any investigation into the exis-
tence and nature “symbols” of the external world in our brains (or in
our minds for that matter) presupposes that it makes sense to have
symbols in neural tissue, or that, if a metaphor is at play, the relevant
hypotheses can be expressed in non-metaphorical language, such that
they are testable.
And so, despite the potential utility of analogy and metaphor for
simplifying complex ideas, and thus contributing to the development
and advancement of a theoretical position, it is essential that concep-
tual issues are sorted out prior to empirical investigations of the phe-
nomena of interest, as the latter are conceivable only to the extent that
the terms and expressions employed therein are intelligible. Empirical
discovery presupposes conceptual clarification, for if the concepts of
interest to the researcher lack sense, then there can be no empirical
investigation of the phenomena which are denoted by those concepts,
and a science cannot advance. As Bennett and Hacker (2003) put it so
succinctly:
Irrespective of the brilliance of the neuroscientists’ exper-
iments and the refinement of their techniques, if there is
conceptual confusion about their questions or conceptual
error in the descriptions of the results of their investiga-
tions, then they will not have understood what they set
out to understand. (p. 409)
And, hence, the potential for progress and development of particular
theoretical positions will not be realized.
References
Bennett, M.R. & Hacker, P.M.S. (2003). Philosophical foundations of

neuroscience. Oxford: Blackwell.
Calvin, W.H. & Ojemann, G.A. (1994). Conversations with Neil’s

brain: The neural nature of thought and language. Reading, Mass.:
Addison-Wesley.
Damasio, A.R. & Damasio, H. (1992, September). Brain and lan-
guage. Scientific America, 89-95.
Frisby, J.P. (1979). Seeing: Illusion, brain and mind. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Hacker, P.M.S. (1991). Seeing, representing and describing: An exam-
ination of David Marr’s theory of vision. In J. Hyman (Ed.),
Investigating psychology: Sciences of the mind after Wittgenstein
(pp. 119-154). London: Routledge.
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& Communication, 8(2), 159-172.
Hacker, P.M.S. (1987). Languages, minds and brains. In C. Blake-
more & S. Greenfield (Eds.), Mindwaves: Thoughts on intelli-
gence, identity and consciousness (pp. 487-505). Oxford: Basil
Blackwell.
Harris, R. (1987). The grammar in your head. In C. Blakemore & S.
Greenfield (Eds.), Mindwaves: Thoughts on intelligence, identity
and consciousness (pp. 507-516). Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Kenny, A. (1984). The legacy of Wittgenstein. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Lacy, A.R. (1976). A dictionary of philosophy. London: Routledge.
Lakoff, G. & Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors we live by. Chicago: Uni-
versity of Chicago Press.
Marr, D. (1980). Vision: A computational investigation into the human
representation and processing of visual information. San Fran-
cisco: W.H. Freeman.
Martin, A. (1998). Organization of semantic knowledge and the origin
of words in the brain. In N.G. Jablonski & L.C. Aiello (Eds.), The
origin and diversification of language (pp. 69-88). San Francisco:
California Academy of Sciences.
Milner, B. (1965). Memory disturbance after bilateral hippocampal
lesions. In P. Milner & S. Glickman (Eds.), Cognitive processes
and the brain (pp. 97-111). Princeton, N.J.: D. Van Nostrand Com-
pany, Inc.
Rosenzweig, M.R., Leiman, A.L., & Breedlove, S.M. (1996). Biologi-
cal psychology. Sunderland, Mass.: Sinauer Associates, Inc.
Sperry, R.W. (1965). Cerebral organization and behaviour. In P. Mil-
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(pp.112-137). Princeton, N.J.: D. Van Nostrand Company, Inc.
Sterelny, K. (1990). The representational theory of mind: An introduc-
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Author Note
The themes covered in this article were largely inspired by Dr. Peter
Hacker’s 1987 article “Languages, minds and brains” in Blakemore
and Greenfield’s Mindwaves: Thoughts on intelligence, identity and
consciousness. Correspondence concerning this article should be
addressed to: Kathleen Slaney, Department of Psychology, Simon Fra-
ser University, 888 University Drive, Burnaby, B.C., V5A 1S6; e-mail:
klslaney@sfu.ca.

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Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok:

Kathleen L. Slaney and Michael D. Maraun

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 155

COMMON ANALOGIES AND METAPHORS

A Brief Note on the Mind Is Brain “Analogy”

There Are Maps in/on the Brain

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 157

with the aim of promoting a better understanding of the structural and

However, the neuroscientist does not restrict himself to this rather

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 159

makes us aware. (cited in Hacker, 1991, p. 132; emphasis

The Brain Has a Will of Its Own

Wittgenstein said: “Only of a human being and what resembles

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 161

A number of scholars have been pessimistic about any potential util-

introductory and concluding sections are riddled with confusing and

The Brain Speaks to Itself in Its Own Language

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 163

which different structures within it may communicate. The general

state that a brain program is “some sort of list of things to be done in

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 165

ing of the meanings of words and sentences, in the justification and

The Brain Has, Stores, and Contains Information

ordinary conceptual systems. They highlight a number of specific met-

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 167

J.Z. Young poses the question “What’s in a brain?” in the introduc-

can reasonably claim that there are predictable relationships between

CONCLUDING REMARKS: WHAT’S THE DANGER IN A LITTLE

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 169

it is recognized that this is a feature of the organizational framework

different discrimination problems”, Milner and Glickman (1965) con-

Bennett, M.R. & Hacker, P.M.S. (2003). Philosophical foundations of

Analogy and Metaphor Running Amok 171

Calvin, W.H. & Ojemann, G.A. (1994). Conversations with Neil’s

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