I remember those "Partnership for a Drug Free America" commercials, about your brain on drugs. A powerful metaphor for me watching as a kid. That may be why I became a Waffle House cook in college, hmm...
But a recent article from the NY Times suggests that metaphors, fiction, and imagination are interpreted as real experiences for those who read them. Here is an except
The brain, it seems, does not make much of a distinction between reading about an experience and encountering it in real life; in each case, the same neurological regions are stimulated. Keith Oatley, an emeritus professor of cognitive psychology at the University of Toronto (and a published novelist), has proposed that reading produces a vivid simulation of reality, one that “runs on minds of readers just as computer simulations run on computers.” Fiction — with its redolent details, imaginative metaphors and attentive descriptions of people and their actions — offers an especially rich replica. Indeed, in one respect novels go beyond simulating reality to give readers an experience unavailable off the page: the opportunity to enter fully into other people’s thoughts and feelings.
This is helpful to show how we are shaped and learn through story. Metaphor also provides rich texture for our imagination and the shaping and forming us into different people after we have read a story. I have experienced the magical world of Harry Potter and faced evil, so now I can face evil in my own heart with the same bravery.
Several questions and connections rise to the front of my mind, What stories am I giving my sons? What stories made me who I am? Why are we so rationalistic in our communication of theology instead of imaginative? Can vast reading help us become more compassionate people? And quickly, this blog could get really really long.
My take away is a question too. A question that I must force upon myself is: Do I teach to encounter people with God's Story? I hope too. In fact, that is my prayer. I want sermons and sacraments to not be metaphors for something else, but the real thing, an encounter with Christ. Sort of like a college student who worked at Waffle House frying eggs as a high because the metaphor got into his bones.