Cognitive Poetics and the Dilemma of Writing

"Who are you?"

I should clarify that this is not an existential question thrown at your eyes to prod your soul. No. It is an earnest question that I feel I must always ask before I begin to write. I cannot see you and we most likely have never met, nor will we ever. I can take no pleasure in watching your eyebrows rise, or a dimple appear on your cheek as you deny me the smile that would otherwise be my full reward. And although you could, if sufficiently touched, respond by leaving me a comment in the text box below, the chances are that this is the first and only step on a longer journey of mutual acquaintance which we will never walk together...

So in reality, this is a question addressed to myself, and one which I badly need to answer if I am to write at all; for I have lately come to realise that the burning motivation I have to write, and the intense sense of purpose it brings to me, are themselves only the result of the delight I take in connecting with another mind. 

To wit, an anecdote...

Last nite I met old friend whom I had not seen in around 15 years. Naturally, it could have been an awkward evening of stunted conversation and disappointment as we both realised how little we now had in common. As it turned out, it was a delight, mostly because she remains a very good conversationalist: entertaining, attentive and empathic. 

In fact, so caught up were we in the simple, yet sadly rare pleasure of conversing, that much of the evening was spent alternately defining, praising and mourning the loss of this art. We spoke for example about a common gripe, which is when a conversation begins, but is very soon after interrupted or abandoned completely before you feel you have had a chance thoroughly to explore it. I must confess that when my mother and sister are together they excel in this sport, driving me crazy as a result. Certainly it is one of my pet-hates to have to skim pebble-like over the surface of an issue, able only to utter trite truisms; but beyond this, and here perhaps I can only speak for myself, there is also something downright depressing about being denied the possibility to make a more profound connection with another mind. It only takes a couple of thwarted attempts to build a deeper and more solid foundation to another mind for me to find myself reeling in, packing up and gazing out.

When I reflect upon the intense pleasure I feel in making these connections, I am reminded of a very interesting body of literary theory which I only stumbled across when I was preparing for the defence of my Ph.D. Most basically, Cognitive Poetics seeks to explain the literary with reference to the findings of Cognitive Psychology, which in itself is informed by evolutionary theory. Its starting point is a series of simple questions: Why do we read literature? Why are we interested in characters that don't exist? Why do we take pleasure in the intricate nuances of meaning generated by a proficient poet? The answer, cognitive theorists would have us believe, is that as a social and cooperative species, whose young require a long period of care, education and upbringing, it is of immense evolutionary advantage to humans to want to understand the minds of others. After all, if we are intrinsically motivated to empathise with other minds by a powerful sense of curiosity and pleasure, then as a species, we will stand a greater chance of collective success.

For a cognitive theorist, one of the main functions of literature is to stimulate our sense of empathy, to give us practice in perspective-taking, in imputing intentions to actions, and generally to impress upon us the rich complexity that is another mind. And all this we enjoy because it has suited evolution for millions of years that we be intrinsically rewarded for any actions which increase our ability to survive and thrive as a species.

As a relatively new paradigm, Cognitive Poetics is still finding its limits, and more traditional theorists have particular reason to resist its advance. Those of a Marxist, Post-structuralist or Psychoanalytical stripe resent its claims to draw upon the authority of 'science', a body of knowledge which they refuse to accept has a privileged status. Certainly, Cognitive Poetics does have its limits, and rather tends to efface the socio-political themes of literature. However, that said, I certainly feel that since the 90s, the humanities have suffered from a malaise brought on by the same tired old Marxist, Post-structuralist and Psychoanalytical readings of texts. In this intellectual climate, we need to embrace something radical and progressive in order to re-invigorate and re-validate our disciplines. Maybe it boils down to whether the approach of cognitive literary theorists appeals to your temperament, as William James would certainly have argued. In which case I can only speak for myself when I say that I cautiously embrace the discipline, for it chimes well with my own experience of communicating in speech and in writing.

In a sense then, a good conversationalist should be like a good author, as he or she would be defined by a cognitive theorist; that is not only an endlessly rich and diverse mind, but also an individual who constantly makes decisions at the level of discourse, lexis, sentence structure, intonation and timing to showcase this richness and diversity. Such qualities, when combined with the patience and attention required to display an authentic interest in the mind of one's interlocutor, can only serve to draw us in with curiosty and pleasure, for it is in our nature as a species to take an elemental delight in the the minds of others. 

But of course there is an essential difference between speech and writing, which brings me full circle to ponder once more my initial question. Who, indeed, are you? I cannot see you, I do not know you, and we will most likely never meet. So how can I be motivated to build a bridge to a mind which qua me does not exist?