Why are metaphors so powerful? A metaphor is what moves you. In Greek, metaphor means “to move, transfer, or transport.” If a metaphor moves you to tears, it’s called epiphora — a type of stylistic device where words are repeated at the end of successive clauses for emphasis. For example, the Apostle Paul said,
“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child.”
Or Shakespeare’s famous line from Richard II:
“The king is dead, long live the king.”
In Greek, epiphora means “to bring to.” Basically, to bring one to tears. But why to tears?
It turns out the term “epiphora” is used in ophthalmology as well. It refers to an eye condition where you can’t stop tears from flowing. What is even more surprising is that the first mention of this ophthalmological term dates back to 1475, and the first mention of epiphora as a stylistic device dates back to approximately the same time.
It makes me wonder what moved people to tears in the 15th century so much that they started using the same word for a figure of speech and an eye condition. But even if it’s just a coincidence, it’s a telling one. Shakespeare who would move people to tears with his epiphoras some 100 years later, could have known about this interesting conflation.
The Return of the King movie was a tear-jerker for me but one of the most “epiphoric” scenes was the battle of Pelennor Fields when Theoden cries out: “Death!” and the host of riders picks up his cry, “Death! Death! Death!” as they pour forth like a mighty tidal wave.
Epiphoras are like mighty final chords in a symphony that leave us speechless. Our world has been turned upside down. We are wounded, and through our eyes, the waters of life pour forth like a mighty tidal wave. However, it’s not a disease — it’s a necessary dis-ease. Epiphoras bring us to the point where we lose our ease for a moment or two and become open to a call from beyond the walls of the world.
Something beautiful breaks into our lives. We are speechless and thankful at the same time. Epiphoras throb in our minds like a resounding gong, reminding us of something we have long forgotten. We are carried, moved, transported until we realize there’s nothing more to say. We fall silent, just like after the opening of the seventh seal in Revelation 8,
“And there was silence in heaven for half an hour.”
