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Bending the rules:  the transforming power of 
                             metaphor

                       Janet Braithwaite

S, a Japanese technical salesman for main-frame computers in a large Japanese company, had already spent a month in England studying English at a different school when I first met him.  He seemed to be deeply discouraged by what he called his lack of progress and his inability to communicate and in particular to express himself.  In fact he said that he felt that he knew less English a month after leaving Japan than he had when he was still there.  This was accompanied by physical symptoms of fear - tension in his neck and shoulders, pallor, swallowing as if his mouth was dry, a stiff and awkward stance sometimes, when standing, which gave the feeling he was on the point of running away, and when he was most nervous I noticed his breath smelled slightly.  During our first session his eyelids fluttered up and down at great speed for  much of the time.  All of this seemed quite incommensurate with  his actual ability level which seemed quite good to me.  He was able to pitch his flow of speech at a speed at whichhe was able to handle structures accurately and remain completely coherent.  He said he was now able to think in English, and certainly there was no sign of him translating from Japanese.  Both the mood of discouragement and the physical symptoms came and went during the first week, and the low mood was accompanied by extreme tiredness.

During our introductory session I noticed that his tension level was much higher when he was talking about his job, and his speech patterns were more frequently fractured and had a certain rigidity which was mirrored by physical stiffness in his body.  At the same time it was clear from what he was saying that he was most used to speaking English in the context of his job, and I was reasonably sure that he would have been asked to talk about his job before.  I had chosen it myself as an area which would be familiar to put him at ease.  At no point did he mention anything about his lack of English being a problem in his job, but he did say that “internal procedures” in his company were a considerable problem and that they held up his work, although he didn’t go into detail.  When I asked him if he’d been born in Tokyo, his reply that he was from Hokkaido, the northern island, and his description of his native town, Sapporo, and his time at university there were accompanied by a dramatic change in his body stance and manner of speaking.  His shoulders relaxed, the strain disappeared from his face and was replaced by a softer, more emotional expression, his voice became more supple and charged with feeling and his language flowed more easily.

It was thus clear within the first half hour of our conversation that his outward physicality responded immediately and intensely to changes in his mental and emotional states, and that in this sense he was deeply at one with himself.  Observing these changes was to be a crucial part of our work in that I knew immediately when a change in subject or even mention of a particular word excited him or became a focus of interest.  His moods were clearly readable.

It was equally clear to me at a surface level that his presenting problems and symptoms and his actual performance didn’t add up.  Here was a person who in spite of a good grasp of structure and being able to communicate accurately and coherently over a range of subjects was in despair at being unable to express himself.  Even taking into account  the likelihood of his being defensive because of making very high demands on himself and being afraid of appearing stupid, the intensity of his mood didn’t make sense on the surface.  At an intuitive level I felt, in a rather unformed way as yet, that his problems came partly out of some kind of block due to dependence on formulaic approaches to the language, and that we would need to go through some process of deconstruction to free it.  When I tried to discuss this directly with him in simple terms, there was an immediate marked increase in his tension and fear, and his resistance was physically palpable as well as expressed verbally, so that I at least knew that I was on the right track.  It was also obvious from his degree of resistance that we would have to work indirectly to effect this deconstruction in practice before we could work directly on the possible causes of the block.

It was also clear that he suffered from a lack of belief in his own abilities, so deep as to be almost a state of delusion.  This engendered fear which then reinforced his desire for safe formulaic usage which in turn limited his range of expression and created frustration and despair in a self-supporting vicious circle.  I felt that deconstruction would help to break through this circle, together with a massive input of energy to help to help him build up his belief in his ability to express himself.

To start this off I completely broke down what little structure the sessions had.  I work reactively anyway but I usually begin a day’s teaching with some prepared ideas of things to do which adapt freely to what comes up in the classroom.  From Wednesday of the first week I came into the classroom with nothing prepared at all, and either brought something up at random out of whatever I felt at the moment or waited for him to initiate something.  Emptying my mind of props felt risky and difficult, but I believe that in this kind of work one has to go through the same process together.  I also felt that if I asked him to do more difficult and unaccustomed things out of the blue he would fall into stretching himself beyond his limits without having time to think about it, and I looked constantly for complex subjects to talk about which engaged a high degree of interest and emotion on his part and which had a positive focus, so that  he was swept along by the emotional impetus and thus forgot his fear.  One of the things which happened spontaneously was that at some point in each session he described something to do with his life at length without comment or interruption, and I wrote down what he said verbatim.  When he came to an end I then pointed out obvious errors, which were relatively few, and then later the same day I typed out exactly what he’d said with the errors corrected and a second version, as little altered as possible, but with stylistic alternatives to make it read as native English.  This gave him daily material evidence of his actual ability in expressing himself and the relatively small extent to which it differed from what I would have said.  At the same time it gave me some measure of his flow and accuracy.

The work we did on Thursday and Friday of the first week proved to be a major breakthrough in terms of his resistance and fear.  He came in on Thursday morning apparently exhausted  and demoralised.  His face was pallid and he walked as if he was almost too tired to put one foot in front of another.  He said he was sleeping moderately well but it didn’t seem to make any difference.  We spent the first hour talking through how he felt.  By coffee time he seemed more relaxed and less disconsolate and he brightened further during coffee which we took together.  Afterwards I asked him to tell me about his childhood and he launched into a detailed and fluent description of any idyllic childhood with parents who spent a lot of time with him and encouraged his interest in science, and of how this interest was nourished by experiments he made using equipment bought by his mother from a scientific magazine. He also said that he hadn’t pursued his scientific studies beyond school level because he found the theoretical study of science from books and without experimentation extremely boring, although he remained keenly interested in scientific matters.  As usual the force of emotion behind his words freed his expression and enabled him to make use of latent vocabulary and an increasing range of structures. I suggested that as the work we were doing was very demanding, it was probably not very productive to then tire himself further by studying in the evening and that he would be better joining the group and relaxing.  By the end of the morning, though still tired, his mood had calmed and, according to my co-teacher who taught him in the afternoon in a group, he worked very well the rest of the day.  In the evening he joined the group at the pub.

On Friday morning he walked in with a brisk, bright step and more colour in his cheeks and announced that he felt better.  He then gave an unprepared presentation on his job and the structure of his company.  He was extremely nervous at first but quickly calmed down as he spoke, and he drew some good diagrams.  On the previous Wednesday in response to a prompt from me to tell me about something which he felt was an achievement, he had described a stressful and frustrating day at work when he’d rushed  about all day trying to pass through some information from one of the factories to a distributor outside Japan, which he’d finally managed to do.  There was a sense of tiredness and elation at the end of his description and he threw up his arms in excitement to show me how he behaved at the office when he’d managed to do something like this.  During this he’d mentioned the company’s “internal procedures” as a problem in his work but without going into detail.   In his talk on Friday he went into much greater detail  about these “internal procedures” which, designed for the domestic market and “ineffective and illogical” when applied to the export market, were a major obstruction to his work in the overseas sales department.  He talked about the “internal procedures” again on the following Monday, and they became an important theme running through our work.  

I had been moved and struck by his childhood interest in science and also reminded of the fact that I’d seen a notice about a science exhibition somewhere in the town.  I managed to find out about it and it was accepted that we should spend the rest of the morning visiting it.  I was taken aback to find it was mainly for children but he seemed thrilled by it, and we spent a pleasant hour or so trying out the gadgets, playing tunes on a set of tubes, watching demonstrations and listening to explanations.  It was invaluable as a source of interesting vocabulary and it prompted him to all kinds of comments and explanations, especially as he is well-read and very much more knowledgeable on scientific matters than I am.  I felt a surge of interest from him as I explained the word “catalyst” which he’d picked up from one of the demonstrators, and I pointed out that it had a metaphorical use as well.  This also became a theme.  We walked back on a wave of enthusiasm and a running commentary from him on how one of the gadgets demonstrated the principle of flight in aeroplanes.  The previous day he had talked about his childhood experiments as “embodying” the beginnings of his interest in science.  I felt that our experience of the exhibition “embodied” my comments made from time to time that week on the need to experiment with language in order to express oneself more freely.

I suffer from a massive block concerning the use of computers but I had decided that I had to get to grips with the problem.  That afternoon I had just finished typing up his 
morning talk on “internal procedures” when I must have accidentally pressed something and the computer appeared to swallow the second page.  As I had already mentioned my difficulties with computers to S as a parallel to his difficulties with expression and I knew he had just finished his afternoon class, I went into the classroom and asked him for a “consultation”.  He rapidly retrieved the page and printed it off so that I could present it to him.  We sat in the staffroom practically falling about laughing at the absurd coincidence of the computer “blocking” precisely on the page of the obstructive “internal procedures”.

During the weekend I felt a pressing need to get down on paper some kind of diagrammatic structural pattern of what was happening.  I usually feel this pressure to write when intuitive processes which are already active are about to become more conscious.  I thought around what I felt was involved in communication and expression and came up with a list of six aspects:-

1. 	idea - the intellectual aspect
2. 	emotion
3. 	the medium - language, gesture, intonation
4. 	sensitivity to the other person
5. 	style - the external pressure and the internal pressure
6. 	the given base - culture, personality, experience.

On the Monday morning he gave me a long and expressive letter on how it felt, as an intelligent and articulate person in his own language, to feel so limited and frustrated in  his powers of expression.  This was in response to a letter from me given to him on Friday.  I often start an exchange of letters with students.  Writing letters to someone you see every day always has the quality of surprise, and students who take advantage of it in a positive way always in my experience make highly effective use of it to increase their range.  We exchanged letters daily the second week.  The subject matter of his letter was complex and difficult and I was excited to see that the immense effort he had made to mediate his ideas had stretched his grasp of structure to the edge of  where it began to break down.  It was a letter on incoherence constructed on the very borderline where what is coherent in terms of structure begins to slip.  It was highly experimental.

I kept the letter to read until later.  Letters are personal and sometimes intimate communications and I never use them as exercises to be corrected, although I sometimes pick up words and structures and use them in my replies.  I showed him the diagrammatic patterns I’d written down the previous day, as we discussed them briefly with particular reference to the six aspects of communication and his relative skills in these areas.  Throughout our work together I was constantly  emphasising the wider aspects of communication in order to widen his focus of attention away from the purely linguistic and to embrace aspects, such as inter-personal sensitivity, where I suspected he felt much more confident of his abilities.  I asked him to feel free to comment.  He didn’t say very much at the time, but I could see that he was interested and would probably reflect on it.

The rest of the second week he took much more responsibility for the form of the sessions, frequently initiating proceedings or suggesting what he wanted to do without prompting. Instead of the fear and resistance he’d shown in the earlier part of the first week towards any attempt at expressing abstract ideas or moving towards greater complexity, he now asked for explanation of complex sentence structures which he’d noticed in my letters or boardwork and immediately started experimenting with their use.  At the end of Wednesday afternoon when I went into the classroom to give him some typed sheets, he enthusiastically showed me how he’d been using some structures we’d done that morning in his afternoon work.  He was actually almost boasting -  certainly in Japanese terms!  On Tuesday morning he came in excited by the warm-up exercise on family order in which he’d just taken part in, and immediately launched into a long description of the pressures of being an elder brother.  It ranged across a large slice of his personal life and he went on to relate this to various aspects of Japanese culture.  It was highly complex and eloquent.

He had told me in one of his letters that he was very interested in Japanese earthenware, and I had noticed that there were two commercial galleries both within a couple of minutes walk of the centre with exhibitions of very beautiful pottery.  I am also potty  about pots, and my experience as a young child going to school in the Potteries of spending school lunch hours clambering around on shraff tips looking for complete pieces among the broken rejects in some sense seemed to parallel his childhood experiments.  To reinforce the experience of “embodiment” which I felt had happened at the science exhibition and which seemed to me to be the crucial turning point in our work, I suggested we visit these galleries.  We spent half an hour or so
in the first on Tuesday morning.  Although very small it had an extraordinary range of fabulous pottery from pure classical shapes to all kinds of outbursts of imaginative creativity in shape, colour, texture and design.  He had never seen anything like it before, as Japanese pottery apparently remains classical in form, and he was dazzled by the variety.  We returned elated and excited and spent the rest of the morning going through vocabulary and discussing what we’d seen.  As he was not only appreciative of the visual aspects but also knowledgeable on techniques, our range was very wide, going through “material” words on constituent materials, form, shape and texture, through “medium” words on process and technique to abstract words on design, intention and artistic influence.  We talked for a while about the possible difference in concept between the English “have influence on” and the  Japanese which he felt was “give influence to”.  On Thursday morning we visited the other gallery which specialises in displaying work from two potteries and had examples of their production over a long period of time, so that it proved another rich source of discussion and vocabulary on historical aspects and ideas about design development and changing fashion.  The gallery owner, who was an expert in his field, spent a lot of time talking to us and went to a lot of trouble to explain things to him.  He encouraged us to pick pots up to get the tactile feel of their shape and texture.   The pottery was exquisite and quite different from the other gallery.

From time to time during the second week we discussed various sets of formulaic phrases which he brought up.  We found once or twice that what he had learnt in Japan was wrong or, much more frequently, correct but literary or no longer in current use (eg I had him do it”).  He seemed shocked by this and I explained that this was a problem of learning a language theoretically from books and that to keep abreast of current usage a teacher needed to spend frequent periods in the country concerned.  From listening to what he said it was clear that these formulaic phrases were deeply engraved on his memory as a result of constant repetition under pressure of exams and that possibly he was listening for them and then missing what was actually said because it was somewhat different.  We had worked on intonation on and off throughout the fortnight, but during the second week we worked more intensively on it and found that this helped him in understanding the middle part of sentences which he was having difficulty hearing because of elision and problems in distinguishing where words began and ended.  This detailed work on linguistic areas which I feel were at the root of his linguistic problems was possible during the second week because his increased confidence and range in expression meant that he was already less dependent  on formulaic patterns and less concerned with remembering them correctly and not making mistakes.  His confident enquiries and discoveries during the second week were in marked contrast to his fearful and defensive attitude of the first days.

Through my training in Classics I have a quite traditional and structural view of language in some ways, and sometimes I find it completely appropriate to teach in that way and it can be exciting and intellectually challenging.  However, I regularly find that 
some students present problems which are not disguised in nature and which need to be addressed in some other way if they are to learn effectively, and this can happen irrespective of level of attainment and it is equally true of group teaching where such problems can be highly disruptive.

In the case of S it rapidly became obvious, that - whether because of inappropriate teaching methods at an earlier stage, or stress over his work situation, or the effect of culture shock on a highly sensitive person - for whatever reason, he was in a state of near delusion as to his actual abilities and performance which had to be somehow transformed before he could effectively use what he knew.

The range and intensity of our work was possible because, in my experience, S is unusually deeply reactive on a number of levels.  When working with someone who has such range and depth of sensitive faculties and who is so at one within himself that all these faculties are rapidly interacting, I become aware of the interweaving of all kinds of sub-texts and metaphors.

In work of this kind I in some sense use myself as the material base as well as the interpreter, and metaphor mediates between these levels.  By that I mean that I have to be transforming at some level inwardly in sympathy - used strictly in the musical sense
 of “resonating at harmonically related frequencies” - to catalyse this process in my co-worker and to hold its tension.  This is not consciously sought but when I am working at this kind of intensity I know that I fall into this state of being and that extraordinary coincidences happen which seem to form a coherent whole.  This is why I instinctively decided to clear out my own mental props and dissolve my usual teaching patterns.

The underlying metaphor for our work of “bending the rules” linked with “experimentation” came up early in the fortnight as, observing S’s physical stiffness and listening to his fear of anything new, I felt that his yearning for structure had to be acknowledged while at the same time getting him to let go of the rigidity of formula and enabling him to get the feeling of bending, flexible use of structure in an experimental, risk-taking way.  I repeated the metaphor from time to time, usually accompanied by a gesture with my hands of bending a piece of metal.  I also tried to incorporate the metaphor in the form of the sessions - “bending the rules” in terms of 
abandoning my usual patterns of work and in terms of the ethos of the place where we were working. Doing this kind of work in the Executive Centre, especially as I have spent very little time teaching there, at times felt highly subversive.  This linked in with what S said about his own attitudes in terms of Japanese culture as being, not perhaps subversive, but certainly unconventional.  The culmination of the “bending the rules” metaphor was certainly all day with its heady combination of “playing truant”, moving the classroom out to the exhibition, experiments in practice and an exchange of roles, both in the exhibition in terms of his greater knowledge and even more so later in the computer “consultation”.  The metaphor of “experimentation” came powerfully to life through the exhibition which drew together S’s childhood memories and his early association of experimentation with the process of understanding and with lively and pleasurable interest as against the deadness of theory.

It was also at the exhibition that I first consciously remember using the word “metaphor” and explaining it with reference to “catalyst”, and I used it again in a letter about the exhibition when I was explaining that I found science difficult to understand
but that certain concepts were very exciting to me, partly because of their metaphorical application to other things, and I gave the word “catalyst” as an example because I remembered explaining it.  When it came up again on Tuesday after the pottery gallery visit, it was clear that he had been sufficiently interested to look it up.  We then talked about how much meaning is expressed in metaphor in English in ordinary speech and the wealth of words with both literal and metaphorical meaning, with reference to Shakespeare and the way in which metaphor makes the language more flexible and more concentrated.  I also reminded him of several metaphorical uses of words which
he’d made himself from time to time, naturally and without being aware of it, which I’d happened to remember.  On Wednesday and Thursday he pointed out several metaphors in complex material we were talking about.

The “bending the rules” metaphor was again reinforced by the gallery visits in terms of going out in class time and shifting the framework of the classroom, and certainly from his point of view in terms of the aesthetic shock of the break with traditional and classical forms “embodied” by the highly imaginative and experimental work we saw.  The metaphor was further extended in our ensuing discussion on form, process and technique specially  with regard to the process of glazing and its experimental and aleatory aspects.  He had been especially interested in some of the glazing techniques
we had seen in the first gallery.  We were thus able to use an experience of deep sensory enjoyment to spark off a session of intensive language work which also sprang out of the heart of the transforming metaphor at the same time as describing its process intellectually.  The abstract work of the classroom was thus grounded in matenai reality by a vividly visual and tactile experience which illuminated and “embodied” the underlying metaphor of our work in an exceptionally powerful way.

On this occasion I was extraordinarily lucky in happening on these three exhibitions in the immediate vicinity of the centre which picked up two of S’s most passionate interests.  However, whenever I work with somebody on different levels these extraordinary coincidences always seem to happen and they must arise out of a state of heightened awareness.  When one works very intensively the imagination manufactures its own material from whatever the surrounding reality offers.  These are not “my brilliant ideas” - they arose out of the interaction on a number of levels between two rather intense and passionate people.  Even though I’d noticed the existence of the science exhibition in passing, I would never have thought of going there if S had not described his childhood scientific experiments with such passion and it was he who first used the word “embody”.

It was also S who provided the other main underlying metaphor for our work - the “internal procedures” which seemed to “embody” whatever was obstructive and negative.  I don’t know whether S saw anything other than the purely literal in his frequent references to them particularly first week, but his laughter after the computer “blocked” precisely where my obstructive “internal procedures” collided with his and where the metaphor was in some sense “embodied” on the printed paper may suggest that he had some inkling of a metaphorical link.  Laughter often arises out of an understanding and acceptance of something unspoken at other levels than the intellect and its medium of language.  Certainly I would like to think that S’s taking over and literally taking into his own hands the “unblocking” of the “internal procedures” “stuck” in the computer was an empowering act for him at some level, but that is surmise on my part.  At any rate for me it was listening to his first mention of them
which sparked off my intuitive insight into his problems with formulaic language learning, and it was noticeable that he always became more tense and nervous when he talked about them.  I made no attempt to discuss this metaphor directly with him - the laughter somehow made it unnecessary - but I did talk about, in terms of explaining its meaning, that of the “vicious circle” which cropped up at some point in something we were discussing and which I felt was also relevant to his problems, and again I felt his surge of interest in this phrase.

Equally my intuitive formulation of a “lyrical methodology” was in response to what S said about himself - allied with fortunate random chance.  It became clear during the course of the first few days that he had a long history of valuing practice and experimentation above theory and self-teaching above imposed teaching.  He described at various times:-

1) 	During his law studies at university, acting in a series of “trial courts” which were dramatic presentations of trials in public with other students as the audience and which were his idea and organised by him to make his studies more real (he also said that this had helped him overcome his childhood shyness);  2)  rejecting the attempts of his piano teacher to impose regulating times and methods on his playing;  3)  his childhood scientific experiments and understanding;  4)  his decision not to study science at a higher level, even though it was what he found most interesting, because of the utter boredom of the teaching of pure theory.

In fact it was these things that made him feel that he was unconventional in Japanese terms.  It was thus very obvious how vital it was to spoirng out work together off these elements which were so important and basic to his life and on behalf of which he had in some sense chosen to put his life “at risk” in terms of Japanese expectations.  Being unconventional in Japan  is not the easy and comfortable thing it is here, especially in his kind of work situation.  I am sure that trusting his information about himself and acting on it was crucial to the work we did together.

When S gave a final presentation on the second Thursday he talked at length about 
“the strengths of Japan”, ranging widely across historical, cultural, social and economic aspects.  In spite of the complexity of the subject and his own estimation of it as “very difficult even for me” and the inclusion of many abstract ideas and words, he remained composed and confident. His flow of language was so much quicker and more even that it was nowhere near possible to take down what he said verbatim as I had the first week. I was only able to take rapid notes.  He was impressively accurate.

He was also much better integrated in the group during the second week and was often to be seen in conversation with other students.  One or two students in his afternoon
group felt sufficiently at ease with him to tease him gently about some aspects of Japanese technology, and he himself was beginning to get a good feel for making jokes.  During the first week and even the beginning of the second in the evenings at pubs and so on I was aware of him hovering nervously round the outside of informal conversational groups unable to make his way in among the loud Europeans and, because I feel it is demoralising for anyone to be left often in that position, I intervened discreetly to lever him in.   This was no longer necessary by the middle of the second week.  At the course dinner on Thursday night his voice, which earlier on scarcely rose above a whisper, was to be heard clearly impressing itself on the general babble.

S and I both worked flat out during this two weeks at the edge, “cutting” or otherwise, 
of our abilities, and we were both very tired by the end.  Turing around such a delusional state in two weeks requires a highly concentrated focus of energy, and working on so many levels at such intensity is demanding, exhilarating and thrilling.  Had I had more time, I would probably have reduced the intensity somewhat but otherwise I would have continued the same kind of work, possibly increasing the proportion of time spent on linguistic analysis, but certainly constantly reinforcing the metaphorical work on his inner state.  As it was, because of work arrangements, two weeks was all I had.

Suggestions for further reading

Bandler, R.  and J. Grinder. 1975.  The Structure of Magic I:
A Book about Language and Therapy.  Palo alto:  Science and Behaviour Books.1976. The Structure of Magic II:  A Book about Communication and Change.
Palo Alto:  Science and Behaviour Books.
Cassirer, E.  1953. Language and Myth. New York:  Dover Publications.
Holt, D.  1992.  The Psychology of Carl Jung:  Essays in Application and Deconstruction.  Lewiston, Queenston:  The Edwin Mellen Press.
Steiner, G.  1975.  After Babel:  Aspects of Language and Translation.  London: Oxford University Press.