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SEMANTICS Primes and Universals ANNA WIERZBECKA

Oxford

New York

iOlXFlOlRD U N I V E R S I T Y PRESS

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Acknowledgements

This book owes a great deal to my friend and colleague Cliff Goddard of the Universiky of New England, who read and ma& very detailed comments on the first draft of it. I; have revised all the chapters, same of them quite extensively, in response to Cliff's criticisms and suggestions. Over a number af years, CliU ;has been my principal partner in the search for semantic primes and semantic universals, and interminable tdephone Biscussions with him have k n an unfailing souce of insight and inte1lectud pleasure. 1arnn also very grateful to my old friend Andrzej Bogustawski of Warsaw TJmiversity, who three decades ago initiated the search for semantic primes, who has mntinued this search thoughout this period, and who, despite distance, has remained an invaluable interlocutor and colleague. I would like to thank the colleagues who read and mmemted on an earlier draft of the Introduction to this book and thus enabled me to improve it, in particular Sasha AikhenvaPd, Avery h h e w s , Jentcrnne Bmner, Bob Dixont, Mark h r i e , Ian Green, Jean Harkins, Randy Allen Harris, Helen WLoghlin, Andy Pawlley, and Jane Simpson. I am particularly grateful to my extremely able Research Assistant, Helen O'Loghlin, who went far beyond the call of duty in assisting me to prepare this book for publication, chasing references, tracking down iineansistcneies and errors, dis~ussingideas, and suggesting possible ways of improvement. Her help was indispensable. I would like, too, to thank the Australian Research Council for a grant for research assistanw, which made this possible. I would also like to thank Tim Curnow, who worked as my Research Assistant at an earlier stage of the preparation of the book {also under an ARC grant), and whose help was also invaluable. It is also a pleasure to express my heartfelt gratitude and appreciation to Ellalene Seymour, for her expert, patient, and good-humowlred typing and editing of the sruwessive drafts of this book. Finally, I would like to thank my students at the Australian Nationaie University, and in particular, the participants of my Seminar on Semantics, who have contributed both valuable data and ideas to the project. Some portions of this book first appeared, in different f o m , as articles in journals or as chapters in colllective volumes. I thank the publishers far permission to include revised and expanded versions of the following publications or parts thereoE

'Prototypes Save? On the Uses and Abuses of the Notion of 'Prototype' in Linguistics and Relaked Fields. In Savas L. Tsohactzidis (ed.). Meanings md P~o~obypes: Studies in Li~gwisfkCafegorizatiem.London: Routfdge & Kegan Pau1. 19910. 347-3167. Semantic Primitives and Semantic Fidds. In Adrienne Lekres and Eva F d e r Kittag (eds,). Frames" Fie[&, a d Contrwfs: New Essays EjJ Semantic and LexScaE Organization. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Esfbalum. 1992. 209-27. Semantic Complexity: Conwptual Primitives and the Principle of Substitutability. Theoretical ICimg~lis~ies, E 7 . 1991. 75-97, Semantic Uniwzrsals and Trlmitlve Thought? The Question ofthe Psychk Unity of Humankind. .?~u~aal ~JLi~~guEsfic A~nthropafogy.U1. 1994. 1-27, l667. Ostensive Definitions and Verbal Definitions: Innate Conceptual Primitives tand the Acquisition of Concepts, In Maciej Grochowski and Daniel Weiss (eds.]. Worth are Physieiamjor an AiEing Mhd Sagners Slavistische Sammlung, xvii. Munich: Otto Sagner. 1991.46740. Back tra Definitions: tagnition, Semantics, and Lexicography. Lexfcograph[ca.8. 1992. 14W4. (Published in 1994.1 What we the Uses of Theorebid Lexicography? Didbnaries. 14. 1992-3. 44-7%. Replies to Discussmts. DLfimwries. 14, 1992-93. 139-59. The Meaning of Conour Terms: Semantics, CnBture, and Cognition. Cognitive Lingwtstics. l$1. 1990. 99-P-nTO. Dictionaries versus Encyclopaedias: How to Draw the Line. In Philip Davis i(ed.1. DescrQative wd Thearetical Modes in the Alternative LinisguLrics. Philadelphia! Amsterdam: John B e n j d s . Forthcoming. What is a Life Form? Conceptual Issues in Ebhnolbiologg. Journal of Linguistic AmrhropoIagp. 21. 1992. 3-21). Semantic Rules Know no Exoeptions. Studies in htagttage. 15B. 1991. 37 1-98. The Semantics of Grammar: A Reply to Professor Palmer. Journal af Lingwhtics. 27/2. 1991. 495-8.

k Semantic Basis far Grammatical Typdogg. In Werner Abraham, Talmy Givon, aad Sandra Thompson (eds.). Discourse. G r a m n r and Typolagye Complementary Series of Studies in Language. Amsterdam: John Bemjamins. l79-209. Semamftics and Epistemology: The Meaning of 'Evidentials' in a Cross-linguistic Perspective. Language Sciences. 16,'I. 1994. 8 1-137.

I. GENERAL ISSUES 1. Language and Meanring 2. SemantL Primitives (or Primes) 3. Lexical Universals 4. Innate C o n a p t s and Language Acquisition 5. The Universal Syntax of Meaning 6. The iC\Baturrul Semantic Metalanguage m S M ) 7. Semantic Invariants 8. Metlhodologi@d Issues 9. Past, Present, and Future of NSM Semantic Theory

2. A Smrvey af Semantic Prirnitivlt?~ A. OLD PRPMITIVES 11. Introduction 2. Substantives: I, YOU, SOMEONE, SOMETHING, PEOPLE 3. Determiners: THIS, T H E SAME, OTHER 4. Quantifiers: ONE, W Q , MANY (MUCH)l, A L L 5 . Mental Predicates: THINK, KNOW, WANT, FEEL 6 . Speech: SAY 7, Actions and Events: D O and HAPPEN 8. Evaluators: G O O D and S A D 9. Descriptors: BIG and SMALL 10. T i m : WHEN, BEFORE, AFTER 11. Space: WHERE, UNDER, ABOVE 12. Partonomy a n d Taxonomy: BART (OF) and KIND (OF) 13, Metapredicates: NOT, CAN, VERY 84. Zntercllawsal Linkers: IF,BECAUSE, LIKE B. NEW PRPMJTWES

15. 16. 17. 18.

Introduction Determiners and Quantifiers: SOME and M O R E Mental Predicates: SEE and HEAR M~~~vememt, Exisllenoe, Life: MOVE, T H E R E IS, LIVE

19. Space: FAR and NEAR, SIDE, INSIDE, HERE 20. T h e : A LONG TIME, A SHORT TIME, NOW 21. Imagination and Possibility: IF . . . WOULD, CAN, MAYBE 22. WORD 23. General Discussion: Opposites and Converses 24. Conclusion

89 97 101 107 108 110

112 1112 P 113

3. Universal Grammar: The Syntax mf Udxersal Semantic Primitives 1. Introduction 2. Preliminary Discussion 3. Substantives: YOU, I; SOMEONE, PEOPLE; SOMETHING 4. Mental Predicates: THINK, KNOW, WANT, FEEL, SEE, HEAR 5. Sglm3Al: SAY 6. Actions, Events, and Movement: DO, HAFPEN, MOVE 7. Existence and Life: BE (THERE ISARE) and LIVE 8. Determiners and Qluanltifiers: THIS, THE SAME, OTHER; ONE, TWO, hiZAW (MUCH], SOME, ALL 9. Augmentor: MORE 10. Evaluators: GOOD and DAD I I. Descriptors: BIG and SMALL 12. Time: WHEN, AFTER, BEFORE, A LONG TIME, A SNORT TIME, NOW 13. Space: WHERE; FAR, NEAR; UNDER, ABOVE; SIDE; INSIDE; HERE 14. 1ntercUausa;mlLinkers: BECAUSE, IF, IF . . . WOULD 15. Clause Operators: NOT and MAYBE 116. Metapredicate CAN 11 7. Intensifier: VERY 18. Taxonomy, Partonomy: KIND OF, PART OF 14. Similarity: LIKE 20. General Discussion

133 137 139 140 141 1141 143 144

4. Prototypes amd Invmiiants P . Intwducticrn 3 2 . Abuses of "'Prototypes'9n Semantics: Some Illustraitions -b3. Uses of 'Tro~totypes"in Semantics: Some Illustrations 4. Conclusion

3148 148 149 160 167

5. Semrrwdc RimiitiExes and Semantic Fields 1. Introduction

P 14 119 120 122 3 24

126 129 130 131 131

2. Natural Kinds and Cultural Kinds 3. Speech Act Verbs 4. Emotion Concepts 5. Conclusion 6. Semantics and 'Trimi~vea?.ougStW 1. Introduction 2. The Universality of BECAUSE 3. The Universality of IF 4, The Universality of SOMEONE 5. The Universality of ALL 6 . The Universality of KNOW and THINK 7, General Discussian

7. Semantic CompIexty and the Wob IcDf Ostemsian in the Acquisitian of Cancepb 1. Introduction 2. Complex Concepts as Configurations of Simple Ones 3. Abstract Concepts: Words For Emotions 4. Relatively Simple Concrete Concepts: Body Parts and the Natural Environment 5. Temperature Terms and the Conoept of 'Fire' 6. Cultural and Naturall Kinds: 'Breadknd Water' 7. Plugging Concepts In 8. Conclusion

1l. LEXICAL SEMANTICS I. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Linguistic Meaning Definitions as a Tool far Cross-cuIturaQResearch The Conoept of a Semantic Invariant Determinacy of Meaning Problems of Polysemy Lexical Mearming and Illocutionary Rhetorical Devices Family Resemblances Dictionary Definitions Fodor on Definitions Clsnclusion

9. Semawtics and kxicogrspby P. Introduction 2. Scope versus Adequag and Truth

184

211 211 1 2112 2114 2118 22 1 225 232 233 235

3. Saying Something that is not True 4. Saying Something that is Superfluous 5. Confusing Meaning with Knowledge 6. Definition8 which are too Broad 7. Capturing the Invariant 8. Standing Firmly on the Cirollmd of Discreteness 9. Distinguishing Polysemy from Vagueness 10. Avoiding Circularity 11. Relying on Indefinables 12. Using Simple Language 13. Exploring New Models of Definition 14. Conclusion 8, introduclion 2, Mcaniny and Scientific Kncawllcdgc 3, Meaning and Coilour Charts 4. Meaning and Psychological Reality 5 . Colour Terms as Quotations 6. "Black" awd 'White'" 'Dark"' and "Lighlt" 7. Green, gwyrdd welsh), btuy (Hanunlliio) 8. Blue, rniebfaki (Polish), goSuboj and 8 h Q (Russian), aoi (Japanese), and f& flhsui) 9. ""Red" and "Yell~w" 10. Macro-white and Macro-Mack 11. Macro-red and Grue 12. Names of Mixed Coiours 13. caBrown" 84. Names of Specific (Locally Salient) Referents 15. Condusion: Chromatolrogy, Cognition, and Culture 11. The Semantics of Nalhrral Kinds 1. Iaatroduction 2, Abstract Comcepts and Concrete Concepts

3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Scientific Knowledge versus Everyday Knowledge An IPlwskration: Folk Mice versus Scientific Mice The Evidenoe for the Folk Concept General Discussion Concllusion

12. Semantics and Ethuobiloliagy 11. Introdunction 2. Ethnobiological AnaByds: Tools and Methods

355

Types of Linguistic Evidenm "Life F o m s Y 3 nEnglish Folk Zoology Are there Monogeneric ""LiEe Forms"? "Life Foms'7n English Folk Botany Polflypic Genera "'Ciestalts" a d "Distinctive Features'" "Hidden Namres" and ""Proper Names'" 101. Living Things and Artefacts: Similar or Radically Different? 11, Conrclwsion

358 360 361 365 366 367 370 374

aP. THE S E W l C S OF GR-R

377

3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

1113. Semntie Rules ie Grammar I . Introduction 2. Semantic Rules: The Past Practiw 3. 'Wual Nouns" and Absolute Predictiveness 4. Evidence for Different ConceptualFzaEions 5. The Mystery of Scaks 6 . Predictiveness and Different Languages 7. Different Cultures, Different Conceptualizatims 8. The Semantics of Gender 9. The Unconscious Character of Semantic Rules 10. Conclnasi~n 14. A Semantit Basis far Grannmattsl Deseriptiau and Typailagy: Tramsithity and Reflexives 1. Introduction 2. The Uniqueness d Grammatical and Semantic Systems 3. Typology and Semantics 4. Reflexive Constructions 5. Transitive Constructions 6. Concliwsiosr 15. CompEurimg Grammaticral Categories across Lmguag;es: The Semantics loif Elridemtialls 1. 111tr~du~tion 2. Kashaya 3. Quechua 4. Wlntu 5. Maricopa 6. Bulgarian and Maoedonian 7. Conclusion 8. A Summary of the FormuIae

402 404 4x017 409 420 425

I

General Issues

1

Introduction

1. Language andl Meaning Language is an instrument -- . - roranveying meaning. The structure of this reflects its function, and it ;an onlf be I;roperly understood in items of its fmctionr. To study language without reference to meaning is like studying road signs from the point of view of their physical properties (haw much they weigh, what kind off paint are tOiey painted with, and so on], or like studying the structure of the cye without any rcfercncc to seeing. Curiously, however, this is precisely h w many linguists study language. A scien~eof language in which meaning has at best a very marginal place is an anomaly and an aberration (which in itself will present an absorbing topic of study for the future historians of linguistics));and of course not all present-day linguists approach the study of language in that spirit. Yet in university curricula currently adopted in many linguistics departments throughout the world, "formal syntax" still occupies a far more central place than semantics (the study of meaning), and semantics is still often treated as marginal. Two twentieth-century American linguists have k e n particularly influential in shaping a '"nnguistics without meaning"Ae0nad BBoomfield and Noam Gluomsky B1oomfield (unlike his great contemporary and co-founder of American linguistics, Edward Sapir) was afraid of meaning, and was eager to relegate the study of meaning to other disciplines such as sociology or psychology. The reason he was afraid of it was that he wanted to estabiish linguistics as a science and that he thought that meaning couldn't be studied with the same rigour as linguistic sounds and Foms. BloomfieEd% bbeavioousism made him find all references to ideas, concepts, thoughts, or mind unscientific; "'mentalism" was used by him, and by mamy other influential linguists of his generation, as ;a dirty word.' As Randy Allen Harris, the author of The Lhg-uiCsrfcs Wars (1993: 27-81, put It: "Bllaomfreld" ideas defined the temper of the Binguisltic times: that it [linguistics] was a descriptive and *

a

,-

t-

.

I As a close oollabonatar of Sapir, Morris Saadesh (1941: 59), painted out, another eonfinned behaviourist, Twaddell, "criticized Sapir as a mentallist dealing with an 'urnknown and unknowable mind"".

taxonomic science, like zoology, geology, m d astronomy; that mental speculations werle tantamount to mysticism, an abndonmenr of science; that all the rebvant psyclluotogi~lquestions (learning, knowing, and using a Ianguage) would be answered by behaviorism; that meaning was outside the scope of scientific inquiry." It has often been said, in F3looirmfielld's defence, that it wasn't BloomfieOd himself but the "Bloomfieldians" or "post-Bloomfieldians" [and especially Chomsky" mentor Zeillig Harris) who sought to banish meaning from linguistics. For exampb, Matthew (1943: 8 114) points out that even "in one of his last general papers he [Bloomfield] continued to make dear that 'in language, f o m s cannot [be separated from meanings"' (1943; In Hockett 11970: 401). But it is not unreasonable to say that what the PostBloomlie1dians did was to take BEoodield's largely (though not consistently) anti-semantic stand to its logical ccmclusion. Matthews tries to explain why lBloodeldyssuccessors "came to believe that forms couId and should be described without reference to meaning'" and 'khy, in adoptiug a theory in which the separation af form and meaning was axiomatic, they were so sure they were continuing his work". He notes that the usual explanation given is '"hat however oentral meaning may have been and however important its investigation, BBoodeldys account of how it should be described effectively closed the door to scientific studyy' (1993: 115). Matthews seeks to distance himself from this conclusion but in my view it is inescapable. Bloomfield didn't '?ejectyheaning in the sense of avoiding any mention of it In Pinguistic description but he did want to exclude semantic considerations from linguistic analysis. For example, he ridiculed the idea that the grammatical catelgolly of number [singular wrsas plural) has a semantic basis and could be defined with reference to meaning: '"hod grammar defines the class of plural nouns by its meaning "ore than one' (person, place, or thing), but who could gather from this that o m is a plmal while whe& is a singular? Class-meanings, like a1 other meanings, ellude the linguist" power of definition." "933/1935: 26612 Bbofie11d himself denied that he had ever wanted to "undertake to study language without meaning, simply as meaningless sound" (letter to Fries; quoted in Hymes and Fought 1975: 1QO9); but the message of Longwage was none the less 11oud and clear: there was no room for semantics within tlne "linguistic science", at least not for the foreseeable future. We have definued the meaning oF a linguistic form as the situation inu which the speaker utters L and the response which it calls forth from the hearer. . . . The sitCuriously, Bloomfield didn? pay any attention to the Fact Ghat oafs is no1 a "plural" contrasting Gfih a singular (Uke, for example, dogs wntrasts with 6%) and that It dawsn'8 really belong to the same " f ~ m class" as dogs does. The "Som cllass"io which oats belongs, and its iruvariaol meaning, is discussed in Chapter 13. (See also Wierzbicka 1988.)

oations which prompt people to atter speech include every abject and happening in their universe. IN order to give a scientifically accurafe definition of meaning for every form of a language, we should have Lo have a scientificaily accurate knowledge of everythimg in the speakers' world. The actual extent af human knowledge is very small, compared to this. We can define the meaning of a speech-form accnrately when this meaning has to do with some matter of which 1 ~ possess e scientific knowledge. We can define the names of minerals, for example, in terms oE chemistry and mineralogy, as when we say that the ordinary meaning of the English word salt is csodium chloride CNaCl)', and we can define the names of plants or animals by means o l the technical t e m s of botany or zoology, but we have no precise way of defining words like lave or hate, which cancern situations that have not been aaocurately classified-andl these latter are in the great majority. . . . The statement of meaning is therefore the weak point in language study, and wi13 remain so until human knowledge advances very far beyond its present state. Pn practice, we d e h e the meaning of a linguistic. form, wherever we can, in t e m s of some other scienoe. Where this is impossible, we resort to makeshift device^.^ (BloomfieBd 193331935: 159-40)

Thus, for IBloonnfUeld meaning codd be referred to, but not studied, and given his "anti-mentalistic"', behaviouristic conception of rmeaninrg, it could scarmly have been otherwise. As Hymes and Fought (1975: BO1Q) put it, "'Boomfield included meaning in his conoeption of language structure but not in his short-term linguistic theory. . . . scepticism as to the practical pos;sibility of incorporating meaoring explicitly in linguistic analysis led to shifts . . . to reliance ern distributional patterning . . . among the Bloomfieldians." The ''cognitive revolution" of the late fifties and the sixties banished (or 3ZE% m eEe ghost 6T6ehiviourisii1, and made mind, ariid meanfig; 5 so % ~ e f i c n r bfn human scie-noes in general, and of linguistics in par6ci-i'&K:TQ icgaote one 02" the main actors of the 'tognithe revdu1ion"Jerome G n e r (1990: 8)l: 'That revollution was intended to bring k i n d ' back into & kh@-&an sciences after a long cold winter of objectivhsm."For Bruner, B "nimind"Vs dosely related to '%neaningW:"Now let me tell you first what I and my friends thought the revolution was about back there in the Bate 1950s. It was, we thought, an all-out effort to establish meaning as the mntral conoept of psychology-nd stimuli and responses, not overtly observable behavior, not biological d k s and their transformation, but meaning" (Ila. 2). But, in his own words, Bruner's is not '"he uswai account d progress marching ever forware I@. 1); for in his view, "that revolution has now been diverted into issues that are marginal to the impulse that brought it

l

Bloomfield's reference to "NaCl" as "the ardinary meaning of the English word sali3' highlights his failure to dislinguish scientific knowledge From "ordinary meaning"',aas da also Pvjs remarks on the names of plants. and animals.. For detailed discussion of these matters see Chapters 11 and 12. As for the meaning of emotion terms (such az b v a and hotel, see Chapter 5.

,

into being. Indeed, it has been technicalized in a manner that even undermines the original irnpulsel"(p. 11. What has becn lost sigE~tor is meaaing. Very early on, for example, emphasis began shifting from "meaning" to 'cinfomation," "om the cuvssrruclbn OF meaning to the processing raf information. These are profaundlly different mattcrs. The key factor in the shift was the introduation of computation as the ruling metaphor and of computability as a necessary criterion of a good theoretical modell. lnformation is indimerent with respect to meaning. (P.41 'Very soon, computing became the model of the mind, and in place of the concept d meaning there emerged the concept of cornpuhBaWlity, i@. 6) It was inevitable that with computation as the metaphor of the new cognitive science and with computability as the necessary if not sufficient criterion of a workable theory withim the new science, the old malaise about mentallism wadd =-emerge. @. 8) Brumer decries the ""cgnitive revolution" for abandoning meaning as its central cmcern and for "'opting far Ynfcvrmation processing' and computation instead" (1371; and he urges "'that psychology stop trying to be 'maning-free' in its system of explanation" (20). But if psychology has been betrayed by the "cognitive revolution", with its escape from meaning, what is one to say of linguistics, in which the promising early refeaences b "'mnd" (as in Chomsky's Language and Mind), have led to a premmpation with formalisms, and in which "meaning-freeJ' syntax has for decades usurped the place rightfully belonghg to the study of meaning? Oliver Sacks (1993: 48) smmarizes the c'hijacking'y of the "cognitive revolution" as follows: "Bauner describes how this oridnal impetus was subverted, and replaced by notions of computation, information processing, eltc., and by the computational (and Chomskyanr) notion that the syntax of a language could be separated from its semantics."Sacks strongly endorses Bruner's position, and comments: "From Boole, with his 'Laws of Thought' in the 1850s, to tlne pioneers of Artificial Intelligence at the present day, there has Zreen a persistent notion that one may have an intelligence or a language based on pure logic, without anything so messy as heaning9eing involved." Unfortunately, as noted by Sacks, this persistent notion was shared by the main spirifus mavens of the c'c~ga$Sive revolution" in Ilinguistics, Noarn Chomsky, whose influgncc on the filcld can hardly bc ovcrestimaled. is mentalist, anti-btoornfieldian stand, in his attitude to meanskr remained (and still remains) a Bloodeldian. Like : Bfo@mmfield,~""h .., . had a deep mdhodologicail aversion t'o meaning, and REWo*-rmPorccd onrey.Fthk key @lemmmay seem redudant in the lexicon of because it is intuitively relalied to the concept of SAW that one does, a word is something that one says. ween 'cword" and "deedYYs5nly partially valid: while word, or some words, one can also say something "in" e words or: in some other words. (In fact, this is what BI about: ways of saying the same thing in other words.) we can talk about speech [about "saying" things) c'word~";in some cases, however, w reference to e essential to the intended meaning, as the following (A) You said something bad about this person. @) You said some bad words to this person. ce A can refer to a criticism, whereas sentence B is more likely to to some swear-words. e notion of "swear-words"is a good example or the apparent indisnsability of the concept 'words': one cannot "swear'hithout saying what regarded in a given society as some ""bd woods" (for a hller discussion '%wearin$;",see Wierzbicka 1987~).

B 019 Other categories of speech which appear to involve crucially the notiom o l b a r d ' ~ L Y G nanlnes, ~ U J Cc~w~lt.io~g pcrforinakive verbs [ne.g. pramiJi~~), speech fommlae @.g. Goodbye), and magical formulae (see Goddard forthcoming a) . For example, a "name1?s a word (or words) generally used to identify someone or something; "coonting"invo1ves saying a word that means; 'orre', aner that a word that means 'two', then a word that means Yhree', and so on; magical speech involves saying certain words to cause certain things to happen, and so on. ([These are of coulrse not Full definitiwns, but only partial characterizations of tlne phenomena inr question.) "In the beginning was the word" (John 1: 1). Distant ias this sentme is from normal everyday life, Bible translators seem to find less difficulty in translating it into numerous languages of the world khan many much more prosaic and down-to-earth sentences (see e.g. Nida 1949. If the conmpts BEFORE, ALL, SOMETHING, OTHER, HAPPEN, THERE IS, MOW, SOMEONE, SAY, and WORD are aall universal human concepts, the relatively easy cross-translatability of this sentence would be easy to understand: BEFORE NOW BEFORE ALL THINGS HAFFENED THERE WAS A WORD (or: SOMEONE SAID PI WORD)

23. General Dis~ussion:Opposites and Converses The present system of senrantic primitives m y seem merconomical hso far as it includes some pairs of "opposites". Tw begin with, there is the pair of evaluators GOOD and BAD, the oldest and the best-established one. AIthough these two elements have, intuitively, something in comtnm, I have rejected ithe temptation to extract from them some semantic common core ('%aiue"), and to distinguish the two as a "positive" and a "negative" member of the pair. Rather, I have zussumd that concepts such as 'value', 'positive', and 'negative'aare more complex than the basic elements GOOD and BAD, and that although these two elements do form a coherent a i o l l system apart from all the other dements, none the less none of them a m be further d~composed. Un addition to GOOD and BAD, the present system of primitives includes now two (and possibly three) further pairs .sf "opposites": 816 and SMALL, and FAR and NEAR (and possibly also A LONG THME and A SHORT TIME). Aiming at a minimall system of primitives one must be tempted, of course, to reduce such elements further, extraclting for each pair a common core, and positing for a!! pairs two "poles": + POL and - POL (along the lines suggested by Bierwisch 1967). One cmld try, then, to reduce BIG and SMALL to ""size", EAR and NEAR to "dlstance'~and A

E to cEduration'y, with the addition of the two recurring Watuces "b ry)e" and "-POL". Following this line of analysis, we would be able to account, in cornprositional €ems, for the fact that within each pair the "+ me" m stand for both members of the pair: How big is it? -Very bidvery small. HOWfar is it? --Very fadvery near. How long? -A very jong timeja very short time. But attractive as such an analysis may seem, it has to be rejected-if we require that the basic units of semantic analysis are linked with "red (intejIiigible] words"rather than with analyticall fictions, which have no meaning unless and until they are defined in tems of intuitively intelligible real words. En real (natural) languages there are simply no such words as "+ pon."Qr "-POL"'. In real speech, therefore, we cannot paraphrase a sentence such as "This dog is big" with sometlning like "The size of this dog is

+ WL".

It might be suggested, of oourse, that the artificial words "+ ~u>z'bnd could be replaced with the "rea8'bords big and $maSI, along the foNowbg lines: "-POL"

far - big distanae near - small distance But this would be analogous to saying that big reallly means %ig shey,and lsmli, 'small size'. In fact, 'size' is not a simpler concept than 'big' or %mall" bunt a more complex one, a d so it is %beywhich has to be defined in t e m s of 'bighad 'small" not vice versa. Similarly, it is not 'far'which should be ddened in tems of Vdistancnce', or 'good" in tems of "value', but b e other way around. In natural language we simply cannot go beyond words such asfar and near, zus we cannot go beyond gaod and bad Replacing good and bad with "positive value" and "negative value" we would engage in pseudo-analysis, not in real semantic decampositim; and the same applies to attempts to replace big and small with "'size", orfir and near with! "distance"". In saying this, I am not denying the reallity of the structural relations within the area of "opposites", On the contrary, T would like to add one further observation highlighting the dose affinity between the two members of each pair, namelly that within each pair of "opposites" both members appear to have similar combinatorial possibilities. Since this is an obsewatiom concerning all the pairs of "opposites", it provides also a further argum n t for the reality of this group as a distinct subsystem within the whole system of primitives. In arguing that the relations between the "opposites" within each pair are

not compositional (that is, Ithat they cannot be accounted Tor in terms of further definitions), I argue that these "opposites" are more deeply ingrained in human cogmition than they would be if they were reducible to some other elements. It is well known that "opposites" play an important role in all known human languages (see e.g. Apresjan 1974, 1992; Cruse: 1986; John Lyons 1977; Lehret 11974). I am suggesting that this is mot a surface phenomenon but something that is rooted in the underlying system of primitives. What applies to "opposites"aaplpes d s o to some extent to converses: BEFORE and AFTER, and possibly to ABOVE and UNDER. The system of primitives would be more economical if each pair of converses were replaced with just one element, because from a logicall p i n t of view " A happened before B"" is equivalent to "I3 happened after A"",nd "A is above B" is equivalent to " B is under A". But a natural language has its own natural") logic, and in this "natural Iogicy'BEFORE and AFTER, or ABOVE and UNDER, are not multually equivalent. In both pairs, each dement is linked with one particular point of view, and in huumiaar comunication ai difference in point of view m y be as important as a diEerence between two predicates. For example, while both past tenses and future tenses situate events in time with reference ta the present moment, past tenses do so in terns of the concept BEFORE, whereas future tenses do so in terns of the concept AFTER: (A) It happened before now.

(IB) It will happen after now.

The set of proposed universal semantic primitives has expanded from 14 (in 1972) and 13 (in 1977) to 37 In 11993, and ~owidlramatidly-to 55. The question imposes itself: how many more primitives (or hypothetical p e tlives) are likely to emerge from future work? For once, 31 Feel that humble agnosticism is in order. I would Bike b recall, however, that when Bogustawski launched the search for semantic primitives in 1965, he mentioned the figure 100 ("airnost certainly less than a hundred", he said, as I recall). Although I still expect that the ultimate figure will be doser to 50 than to 100, f now acknowledge that (as argued by Goddard at the 1986 Adelaide Workshop), my original sets of 14 and P 3 were quite mrealistid1y small. As the set of primitives expands, and as their grammar takes shape, the Natural Semantic Metalanguage grows in flexibility and in expressive power. In principle, them, the expansion of the semantic system is a positive, not a negativ~e,development.

Looking at the expanded list of primitives and comparing it with the older one, one is bound to notice that Ithe new list is less austere nor only m ir its size but also in its composition, The new spatial elements, of which there are as many as five (ON PHIS] SIDE, INSIDE, HERE, FAR, and NEAR), bring the set of primitives down b earth (from its pwvious heights of abstraction). At the same time, the element THERE IS links the system more closely to reality, as do also the new "deictic" dements HERE and NOW. Tine pabed opposites FAR-NEAR, and A LONG TIME-A SHORT TIME, strengthen the element of subjectivity and add an anthropocentric, experiential perspective (as do the old primitives BIG and SMALL)l. SEE and HEAR bring colom and sounds to the system, and, if I may venture to say so, MOVE brings movement, and ALIVE brings life. MAYBE brings an dement of uncertainty, linked with a human, psychological perspective (quire different from the logical perspective of "gossible"'), and I F . . . WOULD brings, or rather restores, the element of h t a s y , which was once brought to the system by the ex-primitive "imagine''. W1 in all, then, the changes can be seen as being all for the better. It must be remembered, however, that--quite apart from the obvious requirements of Oo@mYsrazor-we are Iooking for the shared Eexical and grammatical core of all languages; and that given the tremendous diversity of languages as we know them, this shared core is bound to be small. It is imperative, therefore, to continue to subje~tevery proposed primitive, and every proposed ~ ~ a tframe, i ~to relentless 1 scrutiny, so that only those remain which are truly indispensable and truly universal.

3

Universal Grammar: The Syntax of Universal Semantic Primitives

Most gmmalllcal patterns In any language am language-specific, but there may also be some patterns which are universal. In fact, if cross-cultural undenltanding is possible at all, despite the colossal variation in language a common core of "human understanding" relystructures, there muslt ing not only on some s h a r d or matching lexical items but also on some shared or matching grammatical patterns in whi& shared lexical items can be used. Arguably, this m m o n core defines a set of "basic sentences" which can be said in my Smguage, and which can be matched across Innp a g e boundaries, and the grammar of these basic sentences consists in the possible distribution patterns of the "atomic elements" (that is, the lexical jirrdefinables]. To dixover those patterns we have to look at the lexical indefinable~themselves, to see what their possibilities of co-occurnenoe are. Therefore, in searching for universal g m m a t i d patterns, llse should not be looking for universals of farm, but rather far universals of comlsinablility. This chapter is a tentative and preliminary attempt to do just that. Trying to write a sketch grammar of the universai semantic primitives is a daunting task. First of all, such a grammar must make a large number of predictions conoerning all the languages of the world. These predictions camp be empirically tested, and it is high& likely, not to say inevitable, that upon further testing some of them will turn out to be inmrrect. Second, this grammar amounts to ai hypothesis about the innate grammar of human cognition, As a hypothesis about human cognition, the system developed here is not as readily testable as it is as a hypothesis about linguistic u~niversds.ExpIoration of limguistic evidence may prove t o be, at least for some time, the main avenue off access ta the grammar of human cognition. But no matter how dificullt it may be ltcl verify-or to falsifyThis chapter owes a great deal to Bong discussions with Cliff Gddard, who has ~ontribukd to it many important ideas. CBiYlFs cdtidsms and suggestions led to a substantid revision of the eadkr draR

the hypothesis about human cognition advanced here, the questions raised are disconoertingly heavyweight. Third, this grammar has, to be wen as the '9eaP grammar of PIASM, the hnguage of semantic description. It is proposed, therefore, as a set of constraints on NSM explicaiations and paraphrases. These constraints will not always be adhered to in practice, but they will always have to be kept in mind, so that any departures from the mles of combinatorial semantics outlined here will be allowed only as short-cuts and compromises Justified by practical considerations such as increased brevity or readability. It hardly needs to be added that the word "always" in the last paragraph is not meant to predude future changes in the proposed system. Despite the present attempt at coldlification, many areas of NSM grammar are still1 in a state of flux. The grammar proposed here is nleither complete nor "hal". It is put forward as a starting-point for testing and discussion.

2. Preliminary Discussion the survey of primitives and their combinatoriat possiloiler of general points should be made. rammar owitlined below assumes a radically expanded set of instead of 37 as in Geddard and Wierzbiicka 1994b). Since d some of the new primitives is still somewhat uncertain, so is, course, the status of their grammatical characteristics. Second, the meta-terminology of NSM grammar is still evolving. Terms such as "valency", "linkers", "swbj~ect",'~objeet", "cle~mplement"~and "aldjunct" are used in the present chapter on a somewhat provisional basis. Nopefily, however, for the present purposes their intended meaning will pter makes amp extensive use of a new theoretical concept: "valency of semantic prhitives"".or exampnlle, it is assumed that the predicate WOlD has two different valency options: it may combine with one "substmtive"(which may be called a "sulbje~t"),as in sentence A kIow, or with two c~sub~tantives'~ (a "subjectlYl and a "complement"), as in sentenoe

(A) This is good. [BE This is good for rne/yodthese people.

Strict adherence to the rules of NSM syntax, as sketched in this chapter, is not a l w p dlesisable, as bng as all the departures from the NSM mules can be regarded as convenient abb~eviations,that is, as long as we have a clear idea of how the '%nggraanmaticaB"car "semigrmatica1'" segments of the: exp!ications could be replaced with fully "grammatical" ones.

114 General fssrres

with the mental predicates THINK, KNOW, W A W , FEEL, SEE, and NEAR:

Some: predicates-for example DO: m d THPNK-my even opema three Lcsl~ts" for ccsubstantives"(a first slot for a "subject",a second, for a "camplement", and a third, for an "object")

I thinmnowiwanUf~Useehear. You t h i n M h o w / w a n ~ f e e l / s ~ e a r r

someone (11 did something (2) to someone (3) someone (I] thought something (2) about something (3)

s is not to say that there are no restrictions on these combinations. In dar, in some languages (e.g, in Japanese, see e.g. Inrowe 1979; or in , see Haimim 19951, only 1can freely co-omur with mental predicates eclarative sentences, whereas YOU normally combines with them only rions [and third person subjects require the presenoe of spcial "mi"markers, highlighting the limited character of our kno7FFledge of ther people's internal states). YOU and I can also universally owm in combination with the action predicate DO, in a role which may be conveniently labelIed as that of an "agent'" for example:

But although both DO and THINK can be said to open three slots, heir valency options are different: DO bas two vaalency options (A and B)l whereas THINK has three (A, B, and @): DO (A) someone did something (B) someone did something b someone THINK (A] someone thought something (B) someone thought something about something [C) someonre thought about something Fourth, it should be pointed out that the grammar sketched in this chapter allows for several types of complex sentences, and thus glees far beyond simple clauses offered as examples of NSM semrtenoes in earlier work (kt.$. irr my Liaguo MessSSSaiis (1980) or Semtmfics o j Grummar (1988)). A key rolle belongs in this respect to the primitives which function, or can function, as '7nterclausal linkers'? BECAUSE, IF, I F . . . WOULD, LIKE, WHEN, AFTER, and BEFORE. These linkers ]providea mechanism for combining Wo or even three clauses into one complex sentence. IFimaBly, the theoreticai concept of "ailolexy" (analogous to "ailomarphy") should 'Ix: mentioned here, too, h r allthough it is not a new concept in MSM theory, it is one which raises important questions for NSM grammar. For example, the account of the combiruatoriaP possibilities of the primitives SQMEQNE and SOIMETWlNG proposed here depends on t k assumptions that in English, person (in same of its uses] can be seen as an alkolex of SOMEONE, and thing (in some of its uses), as an allolex of SQMETHING.

3. Substaurtives: YOU,b; SOMEONE, PEOPLE; SOMETHING YOU and I have a wide range of wniversat syntactic roles. Perhaps the most important one among them is the role of "psyclkologicd subject". What I mean by this is )that YOU and I can universally owur in combination

YouA did something bad.

_

They can also owur in the rote of a 'cmover", in combination with the edicate MOVE: YoulrI moved.

, YOU and II a n combine with the predicates of description and ion, as in the foilowing sentences: You are a goodhad person. I am a badigood person.

U and I @an be used in the r d e of either of the arguments of a 'Yelain relationai sentences such as the following ones: You are llike this other person/me. I am like other peopleiyou. They can also co-owur with spatial (though not with temporal] predimte phrases: I am in this @am;you are in another place. I am under this thing; you are above this other person. I am here; you are here. I am far from you. Furthermore, YOU and I occur as "patients" in combination with the universal predicates HAPPEN and DO, for example: Something bad happened to meiyou. This person did something bad to me.

116 GeiteralI3mes In combination with SAY, they can also occur in the role of an eraddre~~ae": This person said something to meirgrou. Finally, YOU anldl I can be used in the role of a "psylclhoEogica1 object'"

in sentences swh as the following ones: 1thinlk about you. This person knows everything about y o d m .

31.2. SOMEONE and PEOPLE By and large, SOMEONE and PEOPLE have the same combinatariial prossibilities as YOU and I: This persodthese people think(s)Jknow(s)~want~s)iFeeIQs~,see(s>iElhmr(s) something. Someone did something (bad) to this persodthese people. Something bad happened lto this persodthese people. This persodthese people moved. I said something to this persodthese people. This person is a gooctll'bad person. These people are goodhad people. This person is (not] like other people. These people are (not) like other peo@e. This person is in another plaoe. Them people are in this place. I think about this persodthese people. None the less, there are some systematic difTerences beltwen YOU a on the one hand, and SOMEONE and PEOPLE on the the restrictions on combinability with mental predicates SOMEONE and PEOPLE, in contrast to YOU m d I, can co-o wide range of ""dteenniuners", for example: this persodthese people (*this I, "this you) the same person, the same people (*the same Ilyou) another person, other people ("another you.0) one person ("one 1, lone you) two persons, two people (*two I-s) many perlaons, rnmy people (*many I-Q d l (these) persons, all peoiple ("all I-s) The reason why YOU m d I, on the whole, don%combine with "datenn ers'bnll '~uaatifiers"whereas SOMEONE and PEOPLE do is af mu

E

clear, given the uniqueness of every "'I"' and every "thouu"(YOU-Sg), and the non-uniqueness of "persons"and "people~'.2 It should be wted h a t in many languages the basic word for SOMEONE doesn't readilly wmbine with 'Veteminers" either. For example, irr English ane doesn? tomalily speak of thb someone, one someone, or the s m e someone; and in Russian the phrase Pdot kto-to ("s someone') is even less aweptab8e than its English counterpart. Usually, however, SOMEONE has alPoUexes which can readily caimbine with determiners 4e.g. peaan in English); and of course words more complex than SOMEONE (but including SOMEONE in their meaning) are widely used in combination with determiners @.goSht man). Perhaps the main wason for the awkwardmess of expressians such as "this someone" lies in the fact that their meaning is usudallly encoded in a special portmanteau, that is, in the third person pronouns such as he m d JAB in English. The fact that most languages have such portmanteaus [sametimes with, and sometimes without, an added reference to gender]~ highlights the importance of the combination of THIS and SOMEONE in human discourse. Do both SOMEONE and PEOPLE combine with all the elements included here in the list of '"determiners" and ""qantiffiew7? I would suggest that while both these elements combine with THIS, THE SAME, OTHER, TWO, SOME, MANY, and ALL, perhaps only SOMEONE mbinew -with ONE (as in one person). In fact (as mentioned earlier), English itsellf provides a good example of the asymmetuy between PEOPLE (plural) and its non-existent singular equivalent (with the word person not hieing as strictly restricted to humans as the word people is]. (See Chaplter ?t

What I am suggesting, then, is that perhaps the semantic element FEOPLE doesn't really combine with the ""dtermjlnerkquantiffier"" ONE, or er, that it can onily combine with ONE in the '~artitilre""r "sdective"] ency option ONE OF? 'one people (in the relevant sense of people) one of these people Finally, whille YOU and I, as well as SOMEONE and PEOPLE, can be described as "good" or "'lbadY'(e.g."you are good"") only the latter pair can comlbine with these evaluators as attributes: someone goodsomeone bad (a good personfa bad person) good peopldbad people The range of quan~ltjerswith which YOU (that is, THOU')combines, mag be diEerent from that of 1. The matter requires further investigation.

3.3. SOMETHING SOMETHING (with am allolex ccthing'p)l has a wide, and, one might add, remarkably heterageneous, range of syntactic roles. There is a l a g overlap with the roles of SOMEONE, but not d l the roles of SOMEONE asc: equally applicable to SOMETHING, and some rdes of SOMETI-ILRrlG arc: not applicable to SOMEONE at all. Nomtallly, SOMETHING doesn't occur in the roles of a psy&aPogiic;ll sub:je.ct: ?This thing wants (*thinks) something.

But perhaps the most important, and unique, role of SOMETHING is that of a complement, clovering the range lof a "'psychological ~;lomplement",a "speech complementy',am "action connplemenrt'~and am "event complment":

I wanr%rncaw/&i&feePseekeari~omethiang~ JI said somethhg.

E did something. Something happened to me.

4. Mental Predicates: THINK, KNOW, WANT, FEEL, SEE,

HEAR ?This )thingdid something.

?I said this to this thing. but under certain circunrstanms it can appear [at least semi-felicitouslyjl in an these robs. ('%is applies, itu particular, ta animals and hmm mllwtives.)l In addition, SOMETHING [thing) can occur in the role of a "patient" or a cGmover'y: You did this ta this thing. Something happened to this thing. This thing mowed. It a n aho o m r as a ccsubjed''of evaluation, description, relation, or lwation: This thing is gaodfbad. This thing is bigsmall. This thing is like this other thing. This thing is udedabove all these other things. This thing is an the other side. This thing is fw (from this place]. Unlike YOU and I, but Like SOMEONE, SOMETHING can also be combined with an attribute: something goolcllibad (a goodhad thing) something bighimdl (a bidsmall thing) Furthemore, SOMETHING-like SOMEONE-can combine with a wide range of determiners (with the same d1Qlexicrestrictions as SOMEONE): this thing; another thing (someone else); the same thing; one thing two things; many things; few things; all things (everything]

Mental predicates (THINK, KNOW* WANT, FEEL, SEE, and HEAR) ombinle, first of all, with 'cpsycholagicd subjects" (I, YOU, SOMEONE, FEOPLE]: Uyou thinkjrptnowIwmtJfeek'se&ear somet thing)^. Someone thinksflnowdwantsIFeeBsJseesJlkears(something). People thinkflrnowiwan~feeliseeirhear~(sornething). Furthermore, they a11 take a "psychotlogical complernenliY~IISOMETHING, THIS), for example: You want something. This person knows this. These people feel something bad. I seehear something. The range of possible "complements" is no doubt different in each case. For THINK and KNOW* the complement slot is likely to be Mled by a whole proposition [e.g. "'I think that. . . X".', know that . . .") Far THINK, it can also be fiIled by direct discourse (e.g. ''I thought: gee? how strange!").. Far WANT, the most Iikely complement probably takes the form of an "quiclause" (e.g. "I wanted to goY3,and in any case, even if Ithe "com'plement" slot is dilled by a "substantive" (THIS or SOMETHING), this "substantive" has to stand for a proposition (since sentences such as "I want an apple'%ave to be interpreted as an abbreviated form of solnbnms about having or getting an object, "1 want to havelget an applen). SEE differs from the other mental predicates in its ability to take SOMEONE end PEOPLE in its "mmpleaent" slot, m d also to cembine with & place adjunct:

I saw someone. You saw many people. I sae someone in this place.

120 General Issues

3. Universal Grammar 12 1

(In Endish the verb hear, too, has these combinatorial possibilities, but this is unlikely to be universal.) Perhaps the least clear of all is the semantic syntax of FEEL. In many languages [including English), sentences with FEEL and cccomplements'N such as somethilgg or s ~ are B not fully aweptable. In English, sentences such as '" feel goad"",'E feel bad", and "'P Fecl like this" "sound of course better than "Heel something like this". The syntax and semantics of FEEL senhnces in other languages require careful investigation before m y firm hypatheses concerning the cambinatorial possibilities of FEEL can be wnfidently put forward. In addition to the '%complements", some mental predicates open a slat for what we might call a "psychological topic"; for example: "to tthlnuk about smething" and 'Yo know about something". These "psychobgid topicsY"an co-occur with the "psychological ccmmplements" "to think something about something", ""toknow something ahout somettuing"'. (It Is by no means clear, however, that in all languages the exponents of THINK and K;N.O'W have as many ;as throe dierent slots; the picture presented here is at this stage only a matter of conjecture.) In the explications of various emotion concepts, I have often used the phrase "to feel something (good or bad) towards someonre", which seems very useful in modelling similarities and diflerences between different m o tion terns (see e.g. Wierzbicka 1992ejl. One can doubt, however, whether FEEL really has such a valency. It is m r e probable that both FEEL and WANT have, universally, only two slots: "psychological subject" and "psychob@call complement" (e.g. want someitlking" ""I don't feel angthing'". Finally, it must be noted that all mental predicates have also a time slot vcat that time, I itlhough~knew~wante&f"elu'~awflneard . . ."),although the exact rmge of possibilities may be in each case different.

"

5. Speech: SAY The primitive SAT occupies, one might say, an intermediate place between mental predicates and the action preldlicate DO. In a sense, "saying something" can bue seen as a form of "doing something"', and so the "subjmt" of SAYING can be seen as an agent. Since, hawever, SAYING can allso 'i3e done in one" head, the '%ubject'kf SATING can also be seen irs a "psy-' chological subject", andogous to the "subjwt'kof THINK or WANT. Like DO, SAY has also an obligatory slot for a "comp1ement"":ne "says somethingyy,as one "does something"', (Mental predicates, too, have a slot for a "mmplmenX'", but not necessarily an oMigatorqr"me; see e.g. "I thought about pu"..) For example:

You said something. 1said this. This person said the same. If you say one word . . . There is also an obligatory time slot (tlrougl~not a place slat). Pn fact, SAYING,like DOING, requires a fairly specific location in time (whereas mental predicates can Rave a more indefinite time span). Importantly, SAY opens a slot for an addressee. I have often argued gagaimst, for example, Ross 19711or MclCawley 19731 that SAY doesn't necessarily presuppose an addressee [see e.g. Wierzbicka 19TQ, I980), and I by this. But while there is no obligatory addressee slat, there is ceran optional one. Thus, while the sentence ad Eiod said: let there be light! (Genesis 1: 33

not elliptical far 'mod said to someone: let there be light!'" the sentence angel said )to her: "Don't t afraid, Mary'' m n o t be anallysed into a "manotransitive SAY" and something else, along e angel said somethhg; the angel wanted Mary to hear this. it may be true that "saying something TO someone" hpPks wantperson to hear what we are saying, this doesn" differentiate the essee from lather people whom the speaker may also want to hem the age. For example, one can say: He said it to Mary, not to me, but I know that he wanted me to hear means that just as DO has two irreducible valency options [DO and TO), so has SAY [SAY and SAY TO). fact, I would suggest that SAY has one extra valency option (a third 1, realized in English in the frame of SAY ABOUT, as in the sentence

I want to say something about these people. f THINK and KNOW, realized ABOUT, KNOW ABOUT), the ould be called (for convenience) slot, the "locutionary topic'"51ot

AS I have proposed in Wienbicka (151764.

"patient" is an additional (optional) syntactic slot in the structure of D 0 sentences, Finally, I foreshadowed in Chapter 1 the possibility of yet another vsulency option for DO, namely, an "'instrumental optionYWOWITH ("someone did something with something'"), as in the folllowing sentences:

6. Actions, Ewnts, and Movement: DO, HAPPEN, MOVE 6.8. DO

Obviously, the action predicate [DO] opens, mniversalPy, an "agntY'slot:

This person did this with one hand. This person did this with somielthing of this kind (a knife, a hanunerr, a boomerang, erc.).

I/yodsomone/5?aople did (something). As the illustrative sentence above suggests, it opens also a slot for art "action mmplementyq:

At this stage, however, this valency option is proposed only very kntatively.

I did something (bad). You did this. I did the same.

6.2. HAPPEN

Clearly, there is also am (obligatory) time slot: k t t h t t h e , Vyou did this. as well as an (optional) place slot:

I did it in the same place. The difference between the time and place slots is that time is relevant to all DO sentenms, whereas place is relevant only to some of them. [Sentences with mental predicates do have a time slot, bat they don't have ptaoe slots at all.] What is perhaps less clear about the semantic syntax of DO is the presence of a ccpatient"slot. In earlier publications (see e.g. Wierzbicka 1981) I attempted to analyse sentences such as '"Thlis person did something [bad) to me" via "do" md 'chappen to", dong the following lines: This person did something bad to me. = this person did something @ad] because of this, something bad happened to me (at the same time) I have come to recognize, however, that (as argued in Boguslawski 19911 this kind of analysis is untenable, if only because "DO TOYhentencesvbw the situation as a single event, whereas a 'WO + HAPPEN TO" sentenoe views the situation as two causaily linked events.' H m n o t accept, however, Bogustawski" furher suggestion that DO md DO TO aw two different semantic primitives. Since the alleged two e1ernents IiEO and DO TO appear to be realized, universally, by means of the same lexical exponents, H think it is more justified to conclude that they represent a m diflerent valency options of the same primitive; and that This is a point that Nick Enffield rightly insisted vpon during a seminar discwssicm at the ANU, thus helping to clarify the difference between DO TO and DO + HAPPEN TO.

a

Taming to the element HAPPEN, we m d a similar valency structure except for the absence of an "agent" (and sw. "instawment") slot and far the cenbra1 position of the "patient" role. The ""patient slot'kf HAPPEN TO senbnces 6e.g. "something bad happened to me'" corresponds to the optional "patlent'hlot in DO senfences @.g. "'you did something bad to me"'). An obligatory "evmt compRement" (e.g. somethingkttnidthe same happened to me] corresponds to the 'kction complement" in H)Q sentences (e.g. "'I did $omethin@this/the'same"). The time slot is inherent in both DO and HAPPEN sentences [e.g. "at that rime, I did the same", "at that time, the sane happened to me"). Both DO md HAPPEN sentences have allso place slots [e.g. " I d i d it in this place", '*smething happened to me in this place"). But in HAPPEN sentences, a place slot can also be an alternative to the "patient'blot. In a ccpatientless"sentence such as Something bad h a p p e d in this place. phrase "'in tiis place" is an alternative to a "patient phrase" (e.g. 'Yo rather than an ;adjunct (as in "something happened to me in this "") This means that just as the element DO has two alternative pat,A and B:

I)),

(A) X did something (36) X did something to Y

element HAPPEN, too, has two alternative patterns (C and D):

6.3. WOVE

MOVE occurs as a predicate: in combination with all the substantives:

Ilyoulsomeonefsomct[hin~this moved. These two people moved. It is possible that MOVE can also occur, universally, in combination with place (WHERE):

Something is moving over there. Something moved here. Possibly, this additional dot ( h e WHERE slot) is avalhble ody in sentences with an "indehite'hubstantive, above all, with SOMETHING. En an earlier draft of this chapte~(distributed to the participants of the 1994 Canberra Symposium on the Universal Syntax of Meaning) 1 have suggested that MOVE can combine with "direction* (TOWARDS), as in the following sentence: The dog was running towards me. They were going south, She t m e d right. She was walking away from me. It is quite impossible to paraphrase such sentences in a way which would dissociate "direction" "om "mc~vement".In fact, the two notions ("movement" and "directioaa'" appear to be linked so dosely that I have even suggested that MOVE and MOVE TOWARDS should perhaps be considered as two valency options of the same Iconmpt (rather like DO and DO TO, ar SAY and SAY TO). But cross-linguistic evidence does not support this suggestion. In many languages (including Pdish) the verb ~omspoodingto the proposed primitive MOVE does not combine with directional elements like forvwrds, although more compllex verbs of movemermt (such as 'goymd 'comeli) do. Clearly, the matter requires further inlrestigatbm-as does also one fmther possible valenq option of MOVE, discussed at the Semandcs Symposium in Ga~~bcrra in 15515514: ""person X moved body-part Y"".

7. Existence and Life: BE (THERE ESjARE] and LIVE 7.1. BE ?"he predicate BE co-owurs with the "substantiwsY3SOMETPIING,

SOMEONE, and PEOlPLE, and with the "classifiers" KIND amd PART, usually in combination with same further determiners and frequently with

a ilmalionall phrase. It is doublfui whether, for example, the Cartesian "sum", 'I am', '1 exist' (in "'Cogito ergo sum'') couPd be satisfacroriJy ren&red, and make sense, in! all the languages of the wodd. Existential sentences which can be expected in all cultures include probably the ifolIowing kinds: There are three kinds af bat. There is no such thing (as this). There are many people 1Be that (of this kind). There are no trees in this place. There is a lot of water here. There is no water here. There is someone in the garden.

As mentilaanled in Chapter 2, sentences of this kind do not have to include any "existential verWyand they may convey their existential meaning iq different ways, but it can be expected that some lexico-grammatical means for conveying that meaning will always be avaiiabb. Sometimes, existence may seem dificult to distinguish Dom locatio~(to be SOMEWHERE), and aften BE and W E R E share their lexical expoents (see e.g. I. Lyons 1977, ii. 723a; Clark i19709: (44)There are two people in the garden. [B) (Where is everyone?) Two people are in the garden [and three in the house next door], ut the very fact that existence and location can co-occur (as in the sennce: "there is a lot of water here") %hawsthat they are not different pects of the same notion, and I would hypothesize that, despite overlaps, aU hnguages the two concepts ]in question can be overtly distinguished. It should be noted, however, that (despite the abundant litmature on the bject) the relationship between existence and location requires a great al of further study. 7.2. LIVE (ALIVE] VE is a wcry rcocfilt addition to the stet of primitives, and at this stage kitis known about its grammar. One could venture to say, however, that it a predicate, and that it opens a slot or slots for temporal adjuncts:

These people l i d for a long time. These two people Eved at the same time. This person was alive at that time. uPd appear that for the purposes of classification, LIVE cam also bz thout any adjuncts:

These things are living things (= Piwe?). On the other hand, co-occurrenm of LIVE with spatial adjuncts is p r o k bly not universal, alithough two separate types of sentences need to be distinguished here: those referring to temporary residence (e.g. '2 live in Canberra'" and those referring to permanent living conditions (e.g. "Fish live in water"). The nee of the expomnts of LIVE in the first of them types is mrtainly not universal; their use in the second type relqluires further investigation.

8. Determiners anid Quantifiers; THIS, THE SAME, OTHER; ONE, TWO, MANY (MUCH], SOME, ALL

At the m e time, THIS can owur in the r o b of a "'determiwer'Yia combination with other "substantiws": this thing, this person, these people, (in] this plaoe, [alt) this time, this kind, this part. Furthermore, THIS am comibinne with some of the other "determiners", notably with OTHER, ONE, TWO, and ALL: this other person, this one person, these two people, all these people. It can also combine with the element LIKE, forming with it a quasi-determiner ""le this", e.g. someone Pike this, something like this. ""Lke this" is is important semantic molecule, often realized as a single portmanteau morpheme like so [or such) in English. This molecule can combine with all the "opposites" in the semmtic system: so good, so bad; so big, so small; so far, so close; so long, such a short time.

8.1. THIS

8.2. THE SAME

THIS has a wide range of roles, because it has, so to speak, a double claws membership: it can function as both a "deteminer" and a c'substantive'y. (Sometimes two different f o m s have to be used in these two different roles, e.g, kore (substantive) and k o n ~(determiner) in Japanese, but as 1 have argued in Wiembicka (19911b), these two f o m s can be regarded as two allolexes of the same semantic primitive.) As a "substantive"",THIS can occur in the role of a "subject'bf evaluation, de~ription,relation, or lcmtion (that is, as an "evaluatum"', "descrlpturn", "relatarnn", or 'ciocatum"):

m e universal syntax of THE SAME is not clear at this stage. It appears, however, that it can, mniversallly, function as a "determiner" and can combine with the "substantivm" SOMETHING, SOMEONE, and PEOPLE (though not with YOU or I):

This is goo&bad. This is big~'smaP1. This is like this other thing. This is abavdunder this other thing. This is not in the s m e place. Like all the other "substantives", THIS can also oocur in the: '"atient" role: Something bad happened to this. Like one other "substantive", SOMETHING, it can also occur as a "cornpleanent'" with DO, HAPPEN, and SAY, and with at least four mental predicates (KNOW, WANT, SEE, and NEAR): I did thislthis happened to me. I said thidI b o w thidI want t h i d see this/I hear this. It can also occur in a "predicate nominal" role in relational sentences:

A1 these other things are under/abovnsde this. All these things are like this.

the m e person; the same peopb; *the same you; *the same I It can also combine with ""pace" and "time": at the same t h e ; in the same place and with the classifiers: the same part; the same kind It is also likely that THE SAME can, universally, play the role of a "cornplemenb"s and so function as a quasi-substantive, for example:

I did the sanrejEI said the same. I though~wante~feQ.tiE(?)knew the same. The same happened b me. Like THIS, it can also occur in the role of a "psychological topic": I thought about the same.

Last but not least, it should be said that presumably in all languages THE SAME e m be used not only anafiorically but also cataphorically, and that in the latter case it opens a syntactic slot for the second member of the equation: THE SAME AS. For example:

I ~d the sarne as you. This thing is of the sarne kind as this other thing.

130 General Issuers But I don" think that this analysis is valid. From a moral point of view, it may be imporaa~lltto distinguish something that is "good for a person" from "something good that has h a m e n d to a person'". For example, for many marall teachers it may be important to be able to say things such as:

Like the 'cdeteminers'WTHER and THE SAME, MORE may @haps) open a dot for a complement of its o m , for exampler more than two thhgs of the same kind Apparently, MORE can also combine with several determiners:

When something bad happens to you, it may be good for you. If good things always happen to a person it may be bad for that prson.

much more, one more, two more

A language which wouldn't be capable of expressing such ideas could be regarded as impaverished, and we can hypothesize that alh: ]languages are capable of expressing them.

Perhaps the central role ccattributes":

lof

ithe evaluators GOOD and BAD is that of

11. Descriptors: BIG and SMALL

someone goodhad (a goodjibad person) something goodhad (a goodjibad thing) g o o a a d people

The descriptors BEG and SMALL have, primarily, an "attributive" role: (a] bi@small thing (see Jso: something big)

(Whether or not, or to what extent, such an attributive use can be extended to times, places, parts, and kinds remains to be investigated.) It is not entirely dear whether GOOD and BAD can be used (in nonelliptical sentenoes) as predlicates, as in:

(a] bigismall person (see also: someone big) bigkmall people (a) biglsrnaS11 place (a) bi@srnalI part

You are good. This is good.

On the face of it, they cam also be used predicatively; far example: These people are bi@small.

or whether such sentences shodd be regarded as non-elliptical versions of sentences with attributive p h ~ a s e s : ~

As in the case of GOOD and BAD, however, it is not dear whether such a "predicative'bse shodd not be regarded as a csypto-attributive use:

You are a good person. This k a good thhg. It appears, however, that at least in some contexts GOOD and BAD c a ~ be used predicatively; in paticular, that they can be so used with respct to 'kieElausal subjects":

1f someone does something like this, this is ba&good. Perhaps the most interesting question which arises in connection with the evaluators is that conwrning the relation batween GOOD and GOOD FOR or between: BAD and BAD FOR. My suggestion is that GOOD and G W D FOR repesent two different valency options of the same primitive Ojust like DO and DO TO or SAY and SAY'TO do). Admittedly, one could try to reduce GOOD FOR to G W D along the Falllowing lines: This was good For m. = bwatase of this, something good happened to me

* This mattes was 'brou~htto my attention by Nick Enfield (gewond communication).

These people are b i ~ s m d pheopje. l .

Sentences such as: This is bi@small. may or may not be universallly available, but even if they were, a case could perhaps be made for regarding them as dlipticd, since the very notions of BIG and SMALL imply a reference to s o w standard of cornparisom.

12. Time: WHEN, AFTER, BEFORE, A LONG TIME, A SHORT TIME, NOW WHEN [or AT A TIME) can be used, above all, as a 'kclause adjunct"". It is obligatory in DO, HAPPEN, and MOVE sentences, and possibly m i n SAY sentences:

At that time, you did something. At the same time, something happened to me. At s o w other time, this thing moved. At that time, E said something to this person. To same extent, temporal adjuncts can no doubt also combine with mental predicates: At that time, I thought that he was a good person. At that time, I wanted to do it. At that time, I felt something bad. At h a t time, II didn't know ananything about i t At that time, I sawheard something. But the exact nature, and cxtcnt, of lhcse co-accurrcnccr;.lrcqunircs further iinvestigationr. In many languages, the exponent of WHEN can also be used in a biclausal construction, in which it Ewnctlons as an interclausal linker (cf. When E did these things, I felt something bad. It can be argued, bowever (as suggested by Goddard, personal c o m r r l cation), that when used as an interclausal linker, the English word whm, and its counterparts in other Ira~nguages,stand not just for the primitive WHEN 0.e. AT A TIME] but for a semantic molecule combining WHEN

and THIS: At some time before now, I did these things. At this time, I feet something bad. The element NOW cannot serve as an interclausal linker, and it cannot take "deetdners" (compare, for example, at ski$ time versus *this now, and a8 the same time versus *"the same now), but otherwise the syntax of NOW appears to be similar to the s p t a of WHEN: NQW can combine with the mental predicates, with DO, HAPPEN, MOVE, and LIVE, with spatial predicates, and so on. For example:

P now thinWknowiwanltSfeeYseer'hearisay. . . This penon is moving naw. These people live now. The elements BEFORE and AFTER can perhaps be regarded as spwial modifiers (determiners) of time adjuncts, cormparable to the universal determher THE SAME at the same time; before ebis time; after this time

In past and future tenses, the elements BEFORE and AFTER are COWBined semantically witrith the element NOW ("before now', '"after now'). But if the basic temporal element WHEN [AT A TIME) operates, primarily, as a clause adjunct, the two time "modifiers" BEFORE and AFTER, which serve to establish the temporall sequence of two events, are often used as dause linkers (because the two events in question may well be referred to in different clauses). For example: You were born before P was born. I was born after you were born. Something bad happened after you did this. This happened before H saw you. Cross-iinguistic;allyl however, the most common use of thc ellcrncwt ER is probably in a narrative, where phrases meaning Wter tRisTCand ') arc used to introduce a i~ewevent. It is likely that BEFHOIRE, too, is primarily in comlsinaitiorn with THIS ybefsre this"") It is important to however, that in phrases such as "after this'' and '"before this"' *'thisy' o refer to the content of an entire clause. urning now to the two dumdonal concepts A LONG TIME and A TIME, un;e will note that they combine, first of alll, with the pred0,HAPPEN, MOVE, and LIVE, and also with all the menta! I was doing it for a long tirne. It happened a long time ago. I felt something bad for a short time. He lived for a long time.

13. Space: WHERE; EAR, NEAR; UNDER, ABOVE; SIDE; INSIDE; HERE 3.1. WHERE and HERE

WHEN, WHERE (IN A PLACE), too, can be a clause adjunct, but ange of predicates with which it GO-OGCUPS is of course difterent: esseny, it w-occurs only with HAPPEN and DO (and possibly MOVE and l a happened in this place. I did it in another place. Something moved in this place.

s with mental predicates do not have a place slot, exapt perhaps

. Sentences such as:

71 thoughtknewiwantd it in another place.

if aoceptabfe at d l , must be regarded as elliptical. As b r as FEEL is concerned, the situation is unclear. The relation between SEE and WHERE (IN Jar. PLACE), too, is at this stage far from clear. Can sentences such as I see something over there. be reduced to a combination of sentences about seeing and senltences about existence and location, along the lines of I see something this something is over there (there is something over there)? It could be argued that they cannot. For example, sun oasis that I can see in, the distanoe may be simply a mirage (and so may not be there at all, in the phce where I see it), and an apparition which someone can see in a place may not be really there. (Recall Berkeley's CLJ13) point that the sentence "1 see a silver speckin the sky" doesn" imply that "there is" a silver s p k in the sky.) Unlike WHEN phrases, however, WHERE phrases can also be predicates in their own right [as BE IN A PLACE or BE SOMEWHERE). For example: This thing is in this place. I know where it is. I was somewhere else. As predicates, WHERE phrases can be ~ombinedwith ail the Ccsu'bstaa-

tilres" (YOU, I, SOMEONE, SOMETHING, PEOPLE, and THIS]. Finally, the syntax of HERE appears to be similar to that of WHERE, as the syntax of NOW is similar to the syntax of WHEN. Natiplrarllly, HERE (like NOW) does not combine with "determiners" (in another place versus *amother here). In contrast to the relatianship between NOW and WHEN, however, the two spatial primitives can sometimes co-occur, as in the phrase ""smewhere here". Like WHERE, HERE can allso be used priedicativeiy, as BE HERE. For example: I am here. 13.2. FAR and NEAR At first sight, the concept of "distance'~clhowfar?") appears to be parallel to the temporall concept of "duration" ('for how long?'), In fact, it codd even be argped that the twa represent two different faces of ltk same can-

cept: 'Wistance in space" and "distanoe in time"" I would reject such an argument, however, because the notion of "distance" is, in my view, inherently spatial, and phrases such as "distance in time" ';are metaphorical. Furithemore, while it could be mgued that the idea of "'boundaries'" w i f e s t e d in synrirctic frames such as 'Tram-to" is relevant to both 'WsItanwy3and 'cdurationy', [PI) I did it for a long t h e (from 9 to 5).

CIE) It is very far (from this plaae to this other place). it should be pointed out that the 'Tram-toYVrame plays a different role in, wch mse. In fact, the notion of EAR is inseparable from that of c'from-toyQ; but the notion of A LONG TIME does make sense even without any explicit or implicit reference to "boundaries"":

I did it for a long time (never mind from when to when]. It is far away (?never mind from where to where).

E submit, then, that the idea of "distance" ((EAR and NEAR) makes sense only with reference to two sped& places, whereas the idea of "duration" [A LONGE'SHOWT TIME) does not have to refer to two specific times. Conselquently,the "from-to" syntactic frame (or an alternative frame discussed below) is obligatory in (non-elliptical) sentenoes about distance, but ornly optional in (non-elliptical] sentenoes about duration. The alternative frame mentioned above takes in English the form of the prepositionfiom, without an anocompamrying $0;for example: This thing is too far from me-H can" teach it. You me too far from mie-come closer. hat I I[ suggesting, in effect, is that while the predicate FAR always quires two referenoe-points, these refereme-points don't have to be aces, but can d s o be people or things:

(A] (10 is far from place A to place B. ( 0 ) Thindperson A is far from thindperson B.

or example, I suggest that when we say af an object that it is long, what mean is that (what is ~anoeptualizedas] the first part of this objcxt is From (what is comnceptualized as) its Bast part. In other words, I suggest t perhaps we conceptualize length in terns of a distance between things a&) rather than between piams. 3.3. UNDER and ABOVE Turning now to UNDER and ABOVE phrases we will note that at first sight they may seem to be similar in their functioning to the temporal

3. CPFFa'xpessal G r a m a s 113 7 modifiers BEFORE and AFTER. If the latter we to be interpreted as modi h r s of the temporal notion AT A TIME the former can be sets as modifiers of the spatial nation IN A PLACE WHERE):

Ebr some ccdeterminer'L,for example, "this'" whereas Y stands for some "substantive"-prototy~,ically# a person).

ThL thing is wnderPabova this oll~crthing. = this thing is in the place undedabove this other thing

This interpretation, however, is not without some problems. To begin with, if we want ta say that, for example, The sky is above everything. do we mean that the sky is in a phm above everything? Or if we want to say that The head is above all the other parts of a person's body. do we m a n that the head is in a gi8zloe [which is] above the places where all the other parts of a person" baddy are? An interpretation abng these lines seems counter-intuitive. It may be more j,ustified, therefore, to regard UNDER and ABOVE as relational, rather than strictly locational, notions, This approach would also sdve another probllem, namely that of the metaphorical ;appLatiorz of the concept ABOVE (if not UNDER) to peopie (with reference to their status, podtion, power, and so on). Ht is quirte likely that the metaphorical use of the notion AB07JE with referenm b people is universal and that, for example, the idea that God is "above all people" can be rendered, and be wndewtoad, in a4 languages [sele Wierzbicka forthcming b). But this meltaphar would make little sense if it were to k interpreted in terms of places. It is true that "heaven" (166od"s place) is, metnphoricalllg speaking, a place which is "aboveY'theearlth @eaple's slam). But the metaphor of "heaven" is distinct from the metaphor of "father'" and the Uatlter has dearly to do with the relatio~between Gad and people, and not Ibetwtxn two plaoes.

The concept of JMSIDE may seem to be related to thalt of SIDE CuON WHAT SIDE), but H believe that the links between the two are not comitional: a sentence such as "A is inside iB'3oes not mean that '2is on inner side of B'" h a u s e SIDE (ON nHIS) SIDE) implies an adjacent oeation, and the notions of 'insideknd "djacencybre not mutually comThe syntax of the two concepts CON WHAT SIDE and INSIDE) is not identical either, since one of them opens three slots, and the other, two: A is on side Xof B* A is inside B. s not clear at this stage how many predicates can combine with INSIDE. ly, WHERE (be SOMEWHERE] an-so much so that we might be to view HNSDB as a spiaE case of "being somewhad"' But things "happen" ininside something (a house, a cave, a womb), and so we ouPd allow, perhaps, that WSIDE can combine directly with HAPPEN.

14. Interclausal Linkers: BECAUSE, IF, IF

. . . WOULD

terclausal Ilinken constitute a powerful device for building complex antic structures out of simple propositions. One such linker, W E N , already k e n introduced in Section 12, on time. But the primary funcof WHEN is, arguably, that af a temporal adjunct. By mntrast, the e elements discussed in the present section are primarily, or even ex&iwly, interclausal linkers.

13.4. SIDE @INWHAT SIDE)

The concept of SIDB is used to indicate location (WHERE) of people, things, and even places: This person (thing] is on this side now; before, it was on the other side. In addition to the pewqn, thing, or place whose location is being descrilxd, SIDE requires also a point of reference. Often, this poimt of reference need not be mentioned explicitiy, being provided by the person of the speaker3 (PP the person spoken of. The most important point about the grammar of SIDE is that it is not a "substantive", and that its full frame is "on side X of l'"(where X stands,

BECAUSE ECAUSE @an function either as an interclausal linker or as a dause unet. Arguably, its primary rale is that of a linker, as in the folbwing tenoe: The dog died because the man hit it con the head (not because of something else). s a clause adjunct, BECAUSE commonly occurs in phrases such as of this'" in dauses whicch present an event on. a state of affairs as from that described in the preceding sentence; for example:

3. Utriversal (C;F;CSJMII~EJT 139

The man hit the dog on the head; because of this, the dog died. Frorrv a logic01 point or vicw, onc would expect that BECAUSE always links events, and therefore that it has to connect a clause with another clause or with a clause substitute (a "substantive"-THIS or perhaps SOMETHING-referring to the content of another clause). In natural langwg, however, the role of BECAUSE does not seem to be similarly restricted, and phrases such as "because of me" or "because of you" may in fact be uniwersalfy available. If they are, then there is perhaps no need to regard them as elliptical or polysemous. (See Jackendoff 1983: 176-81.

IF is another iterc8ausd linker. Pm contrast to BECAUSE, however, it can only combine with a clause (as a part of a complex sentence); it cannot combine with a substantive THIS or SOMETHING substituting for a clause: If you do this, people will say something bad about you. *If something, people will say something bad about you. The phrase "if not" may seem to provide a munter-example to this claim, but it is probably not universal. {It cannot be universal if it is true tbait in some languages negation is realized only as a verbal suffix; and R. M.W Dixon @ e r s o d communication) informs me that this is the w e in the Amazonian language Jarawara,) In English (and in m n y other languages) the IF-clause can follow the ather ("main") clause of an IF-sentence, but this option doesm" t e r n to be univelvalIy available. [For example, according to Tien (1994) it is not available in Chinese.)

. .WOULD The primitive PF . . . WOULD, too, is primarily an inlterclausal linker: 14.3. I F .

If you had been hese, sir, my brother would mot have died. (The New Englkh Bib[@,John 11: 2131

He said it as if he didn" know anything. We can hypothesize that in the unmarked order ofclauses connected by IF, the IPc8ause comes first; but the IF . . . WOULD-clauses can come second, notably when they occur in conjunction with LIKBAS. (See Section 211 in Chapter 2.) W y is it that a sentence combining the elements WANT md NOT can be interpreted in two different ways? Far examplie, why can the sentence "I don't want to go" be interpreted not only as denying that "I want to go" but also as affirming that "']I want not to go"? And is this phenmenon universal? The matter requires further investigation. Other than raising this question, however, I wilI not dismss the semantic syntax of negation amy further in the present context. (For a wealth of relevant observations and ideas, see in particular Jesprsen 1917 and Horn 1989.)

15. Qause Operators: MOT and MAYBE 15.1. Negaltion: NOT

egation is, universally, a "clause operator"'. Remarkably, it seems to be otally unrestricted: apparently any clause, of any kind, in any language# am be negated. AS mentioned earlier, one difficult problem which arises in ction with negation is its relationship with "'wanting'" The matter es further investigation.

15.2. Possibility: MAYBE sibility is commonly realized by means of a particle ear sentence adverb, h can allso be regarded as a "clause operator": Maybe it will1 rain tomorrow. Maybe this person did something bad. 3, the same meaning can be realized by means of an auxverb, or by means of a bound grammatical morpheme, but its sernanntax seems to be always the same (a "clause operator"). ere don't seem to be any restrictions on the combinabillity of MAYBE different types of predicates. It combines with action, event, and

Pf I w r e you E wouldn't do it. In many languages it can also introduce a wish c1ause (e.g. "if only I were there . . ."')I, but these can probably be regarded as elliptical, and, in any case, they are not universaI (far example, they are not available in the Austronesian ianguage Mangaaba-Mbula; see Bugenhagen forthcoming]. Unlike IF, PF . . . WOULD can also be used as part of a complex interclausal linker "as iB*"that is, I F . . . WOULD plus LIKE]. For example:

Maybe you will do it. Maybe it happened. Maybe someone else said it. with mental predicates:

Maybe this person thimnkcsSknowsJwant~1/fee1dseesShea~s tbe same.

1411 Geflcral13.rwes

and also with predicates of description, evaluation, relation, and Eomtiomt

Maybe this is gaodlbad. Maybe this thing was a biglsnrall thing. Maybe this thing was like time other things. Maybe all these people were in the same plam at this time. In this respect-its unconstrained combinabllity-MAYBE is like negation; for this reason, it may indeed be better to view it as a ""cause operator'9ather than; a "'dause adjunct". None tEre lea, MAYBE is not quite as unconstrained as negation. In "surface syntaxy' it doesn't combine with the imperative: *Maybe don't do it! and in the "semantic syntax'9t doesn? combine with "mental predicates" In first parson (present tense) sentences, except in jocular or playful usage: ?Maybe I don't want to do it. ?Maybe I think about something else. ?Maybe I feel something bad. Tlre reason is that MAYBE implies tbat I don't h o w sornlet21ing, and nord l y lone is expected to know one's own current mental states.

16. Meitapredicate CAM The mnnapredicate CAN mmbines, first of all, with the action predicate DO, and perhaps, groltotypically, with "'I" as an agent. Sentences such as:

It is not clear at this stage whether there are predicates which cannot combinre with CAN at all.

17. Intensifier: VERY The intensifier VERY combines, first of all, with the evaluators GOOD and B A D and the descriptor BIG: very goodivery badsvery big Presumably, it also combines, universally, with the "'"determiners" Elrl'OJCWAW*and also with the "distance primitive5TAR,and with the durartional primitive A LONG TIME: ve;ryr mucMvery manylvery faria very long time Curiously, preliminary cross-linguistic bsting suggests that VERY does not always combine as readily ;and as freely with the, so tca speak, "small" primitives SMALL, NEAR, and A SHORT TIME as it does with their opposites. Bath the scope and the nature of these restrictions need to be investigated. In many languages, W R Y (or some allonex such as very much in English] combines also with the mental predicate WANT:

I want it very much

I cm't t o Id1 c a m do it. I can't do it n w / I could do it before.

reflect w r experience of our own limitations, and also, of our freedom (within certain limits). Next to action, movement is perhaps another prototypical area within which CAN, and CANNBIT, is most salient: I can" move. But-phaps by extension fmm these experiential prototypes-other bicates, and other "substantives", too, can combine with CAN:

This thing cam move. When something bad happens to a person, it a n be good for this person. I know: something bad mn happen to me.

prd-

Yodsarneone/people can do it. Hi'yod'khisperson can say the same. I can" think about it for a long time. But CAN can also occur in sentences with non-peaonail ""sbjats'" for example:

It is daubtfd, however, whether this is universal, if only bemuue in some languages [e.g. in Kayardild, see N. Evans 1994; also Harkins 1994) 'WANT is realized as a suffix, not as a full verib or adjective. In most languages there are of course onher "intensifiers'" such as ar all, redy, rear',proper, and trw in English, and their combinatorial possibilities may go far beyond those Ested here far VERY, brat the meaning of these 'ciintens&ers" may be different from the meaning of VERY.

18. Taxonomy, Partonomy: KIND OF, PART OF The notion KIND co-occurs, as a rule, with a ccdeteminer'y: this kind; mother kind; the same kind one kind; two kinds; many kinds; all kinds

In English, and in many other languages, one can also use KIND in sentences without a determiner, for example: An oak is a kind of tree. but this usage doesn" seem to be universal (see e.g. Dmie at al. 1994; or N. Evans 1994). On the other hand, evidenlw suggests (see Goddad and Wierzitpicka 1994b) that in all languages one can say things such as the following: There are two kinds of bat. This is not the same fish, but it is the same kind d fish. Presumably, it is also possible to say, in m y language, the structural equivalent of the sentence This fish [bird, tree, eltc.1 is of the same kind as this other fish (bid, tree, etc.1. (Of course the concepts of 'fish", "irdl", or Yree' as such are far from miversal. See e.g. C . Brown 1977, 1979.) The notion of PART is at present more problematic than most of the other oms, and little is known at this stage about its syntax. On the basis of the data available, one wodd expect to find PART, universally, in metalingulistic sentences such as the foilowing ones: A blade is a past of a knife. A stump is a part of a tree. A foot is a part of someone" leg. I w u l d also expect that. the concept of PART can be found, uniwrsally, in sentences of the following kind:

An axe has a handle and a blade. A knife has two parts: a handle and a blde. A Bower has many parts which look alike. Needless to say, I am not suggesting that all languages have a verb corresponding to the English verb have. Rather, I am suggesting that the English word hve, when combined with a noun including in its meaning the concept of PART (such as blnde, handle, stump, or foot), can perhaps be viewed as an allolex of the ""eistentid" predicate THERE ISIARE. The fact that in many languages this is precisely how the 'c"prt-~hole"relation is expressed seems to support this idea:

PL knife has two parts. = '% knife, there are two parts (in iuto it]''

I arm suggesting, then, that the concept of PART can combine, universally,

with the concept of THERE I[XiARE; and also with ccdeteminers'a(e.g. TWO, MANY, SOME]: The elephant has a lomg nose. = when people want to say sometlying about things of this kind [ELEIPIIAJkITS] they can say something like ttnis: this part lJ+JOSEIis long 19. Similarity: LIKE The combinatotial possibilities of LIKE are probably quite varied. To begin with, it can act as a predicative ""nnker",linkinng two "substantives": You are like me. I am not like other people.

It can also act as an "attributive linker" of substantives: someone like me; something like this; people like you But Were are restrictions here: like you; *you like someone else *someone like someone ellse; *people like someone else

*Ijne

In some languages, combimatjons d this kind are realized in the f o m of obligatory or almost ohligaltory portmanteaus. For example, in Polish they would normally be rendered as follows: ktok taki jab: ja someone such as I cot5 takiego something such-GEW. ludzie tacy jakc ty people such as you But difirences of this kind can be regarded as superficial. As an 'kttributive linkery'L1LIKEcan also apply to time and place: at a time like this; in a place like this Pn attributive phrases, then, the "head" [the compared member] can be one of the following ('5ndehite") set: SOMEONE, SOMETHING, PEOiPLE, TIME, PLACE; whereas the point of referenae appears )to be restricted to the fol10wing (''definite'? %set: THIS, ME, YOU, THIS PERSON,THESE PEOPLE.

144 General Iswas

But LIKE phrases can allso function as "clause adjuncts", at least in combination with the predicates DO, HAPPEN, and SAY: It happened Pike this: . . I did it like this: . . . He said it like this: . . .

.

It appears that as a dause adjunct, and also as a time and place linker, LIKE is restricted to a combination with THIS. It seems likely &at LIKE can also function, universalllg, as an interclausal linker, as h the following sentences: Forgive us as (like) we forgive other people. You want to do good things for me, as (like] we want to do goad things for our children.

20, &nerd Discussion As c m be seen from the above survey, the syntax of the natural semantic metalanguage can be characterized as andogous in some respects to, but much simpler than, the syntax of natural languages. The basic unit of the WSM syntax is a "clause", which is constituted by a "ssulbstantive" and "a predicate"', and some additional elements determined by the nature of the predicate. In addition to this major type of clause (to be discussed betow) here is dso one minor type, which can be regarded as an analogue of ccsubj~Eess sentences" of the traditional grammar, and which includes 'kxisbntial sentencesn~entredion the predicate THERE ESI'PLRE [e.g. '"here are many kinds of birds"; '?!here is p9ienty of water here"). The set of "sunbstantives" hcPudes the elements I, YOU, THIS, SOMEONE, SOMETHING, and PEOPLE. Some of these (the last three) can be combined into a wnit with "determiners" (THIS, THE SAME, OTHER, ONE, TWO, SOME, MUCHlMANY, LETTLWFBW, and PILL] and "attributes" (G00131, BAD,BlG, md SMALL]. The list of possible predicates includes the following elements:

[mental predicates]: THINK, W A m , KNOW, FEEL, SEE, HEAR [speech] SAY [action and e~emrsjDO, HAPPEN, MOVE [existence and life] BE, LIVE [relation] LIKE; be] a PART of in a QLACR [ k ] UNDER, [kl ABOVE; [Ruej ON [this] [spam] SIDE; [be] INSIDE; [he] FEAR; be] NEAR; [be] HERE [evaluation] [be] GQQD, BAD

[w

[description] [be] BIG, SMALL Same d these predicates can combine into a unit with the "'metapedicate" CAN. Different predicates take different types of "'ciomplements" and "abjects" [as discussed under individual! predicates). In addition to predicate complements, some types of clauses (depending on the nature of the predicate) @doeaQsoclause adjuncts: temporal, spatial, and causal (e.g. at this timeJim this plaodbecause of this). A11 types of clauses cam combine with the two universal "cPause operators": negation and possibility (MAYBE). These two operators can cooaur, with NOT being within the scope of MAYBE (but not the other way rounrd): Maybe they didn" do it. "They didn't maybe do it. Clauses can be combined into comp3iex sentences by means of 'c1"8ikem'*: IF, IF . . . WOULD, BECAUSE, AFTER, BEFORE, WHEN, and LIKE. A clause can be turned into an adjiunct to another dause and thus 'Yncorporated" inin tot if It is replaced (imp discourse) with the ""sbstfilmliiveY"THIS (accompanied by the clause Pinker): after thishfore thishemuse of thisflike this. The only clause linkers which don't aHow "cdause incorporation" and which are, universally, strictly inbrclausal, are IF and IF . . . WOULD. En addition to )the use of linkers (IF, IF . . . WOULD, BECAUSE, AFTER, BEFORE, LIKE) clauses can also be combined by 'hesting" (to use Weinreich's (1963) term), in the sense that they can be used as complements of certain predicates. Thus, the predicates SAY and THINK can take, universally, c'q~otative'~complements; for example: You said: I didn't do it. I thought: this will never happen to me. The predicates KNOW and WANT, to^, can take '>ropositionaU compllennents"";~ example: I know: people sag something b d about me. PeopEe know: you didn" do it. I want you to do it (= I want: you do it]. T wmt to know it (= I want: I know it).

One element (THIS) has, universally, a double status and can fumction either as a "substantive" or as a "determiner". The evaluators and descriptors (GOOD and BAD, BIG and SMALL] can fiunction, universally, as "attributes" (to the 'csubstantives" SOMETHING, SOMEONE, and PEOPLE] as well as predicates.

146 Geflmal Issues

As can be gleaned from the above discussion, NSM has a rudimentary parts-oCspeech system. Elements which cam occur only as predicates (THINK, KNOW, SAT, WANT; SEE, HEAR, DO, HAPPEN, MOVE] ~ h a nbe regarded as analogues of verbs; and those which can be used either as predicates or as attributes (CXIOD, BAD; BIG, SMALL) can be regarded as analogues d adjectives. Elements which a n function as "subjwts" and which can rake attributes (SOMEONE, PEOPLE, SOMETHING] can be seen as analogues of nouns, and tihose which can function as '%ubjecitsMwithout behg able to Lake attributes (I, YOU, THIS) can be seen as malogues of pronouns. The elements which can combine with "substantives" but which cannot owur predicatively {THIS, OTHER, ONE, TWO, SOME; THE SAME) can be regarded as an analope of determiners, and those which can only owur in conjunction with substantives (PART and KIND) can be seen as aun analogue of classifiers. Elements which can link clauses (BECAUSE, IF, IF . . . WOULD, LIKE, AFTER, BEFORE) can be regarded as analogues af conjunctions, and those which can turn a substantive into a predicative phrase (UNDER, ABOVE, ON (ONE) SIDE OF) can be seen as an analogue of prepositions. The universal intensifier VERY, which combines with the attributes GOOD, BAD, BIG, and SMALL, with the "determiner" MUCWMAW and with the spatial and temporal predicates FAR and NEAR, A LONG TIME and A SHQWT TIME, can be seen as an analogue of one type of adverb, whereas temporal and spatial clause adjuncts [WHEN, WHERE, A LONGBHORT TIME] can be regarded as an analogue of another type of adverb. Finally, the "clause operators" negation (NOT) and possibility (MAYBE) can be regarded as an analogue of sentence particles. In addition, NSM has powerful iconic and indexical maehaniisms, extending its grammar far beyond the boundaries determined by the combhability rules sketched above. Consider, for example, a typical NSM explication such as the following one (see Chapter 5): I feel sad. = (a) sometimes a person thinks s o m e t b g Ilie this: (b) sometl~ingbad happened [c) if H didmy know that it happened I would say: P don't want it to happen Qd) I don't say this now Ife) because H know: I can't do anything (fl because of this, this person feels something bad xCgS I fael samething like this

In a sense, the whole fornula could be seen as one complex unit [an malogue of a '"entenm"") This "sentence" indudes as marry as seven clauses, which jointly form an integrated whole. But the grammar off this whole goes beyond the links established by the linkers BECAUSE and IF, and by the complement structure of the verbs T H I M and WANT. One important linker bindisng the clauses of this sentence imto a whole is the element THIS, referring either anapholricalily [lines ( c ) ~{el, {A>or cata p h o r i d y {line [EF)]to whole darmses. In the written form of NSM, there are also other devices which play an important auxiliary role. These include special spacing and indentation. The fact tbat a part of an explication is placed in a separate line: indicates that this part f m s a distinct semantic component, and a g o u p of such components identically indented under a component including the dement THIS (e.g. (b),{3,(4'and (e) in the explication above) form a larger unit. In om1 speech, NSM formulae would no doubt be often difficult to fob law, but in principle a system of pauses a d some rudimentary intonational contrasts could perhaps achieve the same effect. As mentioned earlier, since NSM is intended to be a model of the innate and universal ditag~ametatok, the NSM grammar sketched here mn be seen s a hypothesis a b u t the ccgraanmaaof human cognitionM".ut there is no reason why one could not mmain sceptical about the status of NSM (both in its lexicon and in its grammar) as a model d the language of human cognitian and yet recognize its value as an eiffective universal system of semantic-and cultural-notation, And, to repeat: the sketch grammar of NSM proposed here is highly tentative and is oflered o d y as a necessary starting-point for testing and

4

Prototypes and Invariants

2. Abuses of ""Prototypes" in Semantics: Solme Illustrations 2.1. The Meaning of Boat Discussing the meaning of the English word boat, Verschueren (1985: 4831 says:

The role that the concept af pratetype has played in contemporary seman. tics is analogous to that which the mnlcnept of Gricem maxims has played in generative grammar. A well-placed witness, James McCawley (1981: 2151, identified this role with the excellent slogan "Grice savesm".n grammar, if them was a conflict beiween gosdilnlaled rules and mhc aetwdl usage, it was assumed that "Grl.c&kowld rescue the grammarian: the usage could be accaunted far in k m s of Gricean maxims. (See Bach and Warmish 1982; for a critical discussion, see G . Green 11983;Wierzblcka 114191a.) Similarly in semantics. Just as the failure of gramanalticaN rules to work has often been presented as evidence of progress in linguistics (because It onty illustrates the importance of G r i m maxims), the failure of semantic. formulae t o work has often been presented as evidenloe d grogess in semantics. Semantic f o m d a e should not "works'; t o expect them to work means not to understand blire role of 'cprototypes" in langwage and oognition. Freqnendy, appeals t o prototypes have been combined witb a claim that t h r e are two approaches t o h u m categorization: the "classid" approach (linked with Plristotle) and the "prototype" approach Oinked, in partiadzas with Rasch and Witbgenstein). When these two approaches were contrasted, it was usually argued that the "classid approach" was wrong and the "prototype approach" was right. In this chapter I argue that the idea of contrasting these two approaches in this way has proved unhelpful im semantic investigations, and that what is needed is a synthesis of the two traditions, not a choice of one over the other. There is a place for prototypes in semantic anagysis, but there is also a place for imvariants: one does not exclude the other. kmorditngly, in what folllows, I will discuss two sets of examples. The first set d l illustrate the t m d e n q t o abuse the concept of poliotype (the "pratoiliypes save" attitude); the secand set of examples will illlustrate the usefuhess of this concept when it is used as a spedfic analytical tool and not as a universal thought-saving device.

In trying to determine the meaning of the word BOAT, one could come up with a definition such as. a 'man-made object that can the u s 4 far taaveBPing en waier'. A defender of the checklist approach, coming across a boat with a hole in it and deciding that heishe stiilll wants to call it a BOAT (though it camot be used For travelling on wabr mymore), would have to revise hisfher definition: 'a man-made object that can normally be used ;far travelling on water, but in which there can aPso be a hole'. Further, h&he would have to determine how big the h d e can be before the object i m question is not a BOAT anymore, ibut simply a WRECK.The impracticality of the checklist appl-oach is sucUn that nuol even iils praponents would want to be guilty of the absurditties mentioned. A defender of the alternative theory could simply stick to hisher definition and describe a boat with a hole in terns of deviations from the prototypical boat. But instead of appealing t o prototypes, cauldn't we simply rephrase the fornula just a little? Coddn'li we say, in the first place, that boats are a ind of thing ma& for 'travelling on water'rather than able ro, "travd on "? TIt is quite true that a boat with a very big hole can? "travel on but why phrase the definition in terns of abiifty rather than dfunaioy3 anyway?

"

2.2. The Meaning of Bk~~chelFor ExLaUing ' e f ~ i n e ~ sand ' ' "protatypes"in writes:

language, Lakcoff (1986: 43-4)

iness may also arim from non-graded concepts-comceplis defined by models at ;have no scales ltruilt into them. Fillmore (19821 gives as an example the timered u s e d backelor. He ohwies that bachelor is defined relative to an ide-

model of the world, one in which there is a sclcial institution of marmilap,

p is monogamous, and between people of opposite sexes. .

..

idealized rnadel fits the classical theory of categories. Wilthim the madel, r is a very cllearly defined &riskatelian category. But this idealived cognitive odel, os ICM, does not fit the world as we know it very well. When this mlotlel h placed within the context of the rest of our knowledge, fuzziness arises-not because 01 what is in the model but because of dliscrepancies between the background assumptions of the modd and the rmt d o u r knowledge. Here are some cases where the background conditions fail, amd as a result it is difficult to give clear, unequivIs Tgrzan 'a bachelor? ]Is the P o p a bachelor? .

..

1 510 General Issues The answers to such questions are not clearcut, and the reason is that the idedheed model with resplect to which bachelor is defined may not fit well with the rest i the of our knowledge. The sourwe d fuzziness here is not within the model, but m hteractiom of the model with olther models characterizing other aspects oF ow knowledge. Fuzziness of the above sort leads to prototype leEects--~asesof better and worse examples 0F hchelolrs. Thus the perennial bacfrebr turns up again in a new role. Thirty years ago, the most fashionable semantic theory of the time-Katz and Fodorys C1963) "new semantic theoryyy-made its triumphant entry into linguisti~ perched prewriousEy on this same example; today, the theory of prototypes finds the bachelor example equally serviceable. But if the fornula '%achelor-an unmarried (adult) male personYVoesnn?work, couldn" we perhaps revise it slightly, to make it work-muldnY we, to wit, replace It with Lhe following definition: "bachelor-a man who has never married thought of as a man who cam m r y if he wants to"? (Mone precisely: "people think of Ithis man like this: this man can marry someone if he wants to'".) What cases such as this make char Is that discussions off 'necessary andl sufficienlt features' typically kcus on physical features and ignore mental ones. Yet natural language concepts often constitute amalgams of both kinds of component. Far 'bachebr" k i n g thought of as someone who can marry is as necessary as being male and having never married.

2.3. The Meaning of Congratsr/ale According to Yerschueren (1985: 4731, "a typical congratulation is an expression of the speaker's being pleased about the hearer's sulocess in doing or obtaining something important. The first a s p c t [in.!the speaker's pleasure] of this prototypical meaning is compllete~yabsent Bkom many formal acts of congratulating. The second asped [i.e. the hearer's suaessj is beimg tampered with in the fallowing huedline from the InternatiomaI Herd4 Tribwe: 'Begin congratulates Sadat on their Nobel prize].""" But in fact, it is not true that the expression of pleasure 'is completely absent from many formal acts of congratulating'. Apparently, the expression of pleasure (is. saying that one is pleased) is being confused here with the experience of pleasure {is, with be@ pleased). Of course in many acts of congratulating, the experience of pleasure is absent; but if one doesn't say (or otherwise cmvey) that one is pleased, there is no act of congmtuIating. Smely, an expression of pkasrnre is part of the invariant of the coocept 'congratulate', not just part of its prototype? 2.4. The Meaning af B i d In a number of publications, George kakoff has accused other linguists of dealing in various 'convenient fictions', and castigated h e m for failing to

cognize that semantic caltegariies are TuzzyY-a point which in his view s been established in Eleanor Reschys work. For example, he wrote koff 8973: 458-9): r Rosch Heider [I9731 took up the question of whether people perceive catembership as e clear-cut issue or a matter of degree. For exampje, do p o embers of a given species as being simply birds or non-birds, as do r them birds to a oertain degree? Heider" results mnsistenlily showed asked subjects to rank birds as La tlrc dcgrcc 06 their bidimess, that egree Lo which they matched the ideal of a bird. If category membership ly a yes-or-no matter, one would have expected the sutrjects either to balk or to produoe random results. Instead, a fairly well-defined hierarchy of

1 Birdiness hierarchy robins eagies chickens, ducks, geese penguins, pehans bats bins are typical oF birds. Eag,les, being predators, are less typical. Chickens, ucks, and geese somewhat less still. Bats hardly at all. And cows not at all.

It is hard to see, however, how this reasoning can he reconciled with speaken' ihm intuition that whereas a bat is definitely nor a bird at ostrich is a bird-a 'Tunny" bird, an atypical bird, but a bird. This ld seem to support a concUusion opposite to LAaff's: bats, which have s and no beaks and don't lay eggs, are disqualified, because feath,and eggs are thought of as necessary (rather than merely protocomponents of the concept "bird" [see Wierzbicka 1985: 1180;for er discussion of 'bird' see Section 3.5. course, if informants are specifically instructed to rank a set of given cmes terns on a "sale of birdiness", and if the set hey are given indudes th bats and caws, one lcan understand why they might dedde to place ove cows, but does this really establish that bats are thought of as any degree of "birdiness", and that it is impssibie to draw a line een words for birds and words for things other than birds?

speak d the conmpt %bird" mean the cencepl enwaled in the English word bird. may OF course have no word for 'hkd', having Lexically w a d e d slightly difexample, the closeat counteupact of bird in the Australian La~guavge lude bats, as well as grasshoppers [Heath 1 9 7 8 ~ 41). : The closest equivtrdian language Warlpiri excludes baits, but it also excludes emus (Hale prototype may well be the same in all these languages, but the boundkly. An adeguafle semantic analysis should reflect this.

152 General Issues

4. ;Prototypes an$Im~"arimts 153 bers'(some add numbers being rated by thers, e.g. 3 behg rated as odder than 501;

2.5. The Meaning of Lie Amording to Coleman and Kay (C19&1), whether or not an u is a matter or degaec, and tlicrc is oro set of necessary and sufficient panents characterizing the concept 'lie', This conclusion, which h 3 been accepted and endorsed in wunllless linguistic articles and b based partly on so-mlled saciai lies and white lies and galrtly on deoeption by evasion. For example, ilvrzinrcere utterances such as " lovely dress!" or 'Wow nice to see you!" or "Drop in any time!" are to be partial lies, rather than either lies or non-lies. Sirnil surances given to terminally ill patients are regarded as p than either hes or non-lies. Findly, answers which are literally true b which are intended to mislleed or deceive khe addressee Qe.g going?" """1Jlle'reout of papsika""gre dso mtegoriued as partial lies. It is very interesting to see that many informants are pr c'sociaQ liesm,""chmitabb IiesW,andevasions as "partial lies'" Howver, semanticists are not obliged to take inform ants"^ faoe value. Coleman and Kay's methodology-hke Roslch"s--te durn results expected and desired by the researchers. Since the were given a seven-paint s a l e from 1 C'very sure not-lie"') to lie"), they acted as expected and arranged dl the instances offered somewhere along the scale. In any mse, Coleman and Kay" aim intend to challenge the very notion of the discrete semantic featwe" hmdly be said to h u e been ahieved. The word lie can be given a pe vdid definition in terms of '"discrete semantic features" [see W i e r ~ 1985: 341-2):

X lied to F,= X said something to P X knew it was not true2 X said it because X wanted Y to think it was true [people would say: iff someomre does this, it is bad]

@Ifcwrse there are similarities between lies a d insincere or evasi ances, as there are similarities between birds and bats, and i aware of that. But this does not demonstrate that the notion of h e disc semantic feature is not valid (see Tsobatzidls 1990; Je The fac~tthat infomantskrreponses are often graded is int Amstrong, Gleitman, and Gleitman (1983: 284) put it, it fact about something other than the structure of conceptsn-parti t graded responses are also triggesod by view of the f a ~ that 2 The conmpt of "rue' is neither simple nor universal, but it is simple the present purposes, it doesn't need to ble decompsed further.

strong et d 1983). er (1987: 62) goes even further than tion of "prototypical reductian", and claims simply a false statement". She realizes, of course, that the use be fully predicted from this simple definition, but, she claims now from bitter experience how readily the compbxities of meanthe redoctianist formal malysis"(91987: 63Flthat is, how dificult ich would make the right predictions. atotype theory can save us from the trouble ing to do so. ]In the case of fie, it is enough as a "'Tase sr;rtenreniln"he lack of fit between the definition and then be explained in terns of our cultural models of wllevant however, when one realizes that a Jan-

, words designating "false statements", and d differently. For example, Russian Eras two words car-

r guide-lines concerning heir use should be Btural model", how will they know how to e the uses of ~ r a ~ h n/gar" d On the other hand, carefully hitions e m guide ithe students in their use, and in their interortant indeed, but they are not "another imporCultural models are reflected in the encoded in the meaning of vrat3s someloaded in the meaning of lgat'; and both of these eL are somewhat different from that encoded in the meaning of It be dificdt to articuiab these meanings adequately (that is, in a way ch wodd ensure f d predictive power), but it is not impossible ta do so. edictive definitions of speech act verbs see

ange (1982: 1551 ddeees vrm'a (a noun carrespondling to rrorl) as "creative 19011g to m&e the liar appear interesting and important", and he calis it "a particular

4. Prsrrofypes ond f ~ v a r i a n f ~155

154 General J.T,PE~~X

2.6. The Meaning of Mother According lo George Eakoff (1986: 371, tlne concept of holber'cannot liYe given an invariant definition, because it is an "expediential cluster" and because no definition "will cover the full range of cases". The range of cases conling under this concept is, according to Lakoff* very wide, and cannot be reduced to any common core (such as, for instance, '% woman who hag given birth to a child"") because the word mother refers not only to "'biological mothers" but also to adoptive mothers, "donor mothersY'(wPnoprovide eggs but nolt wombs), "surrogate mothers" (who provide wombs but not eggs), and so on. LakofFs argument is so idiosyncratic that if one is not to be swspected of misrepresenting it, it is best to quote it verbatim: This phenomenon is beyond the scope of the dassical theory. The concept mother is not cbarly defined, once and for all, in terms of common nlecessary and sufficiemt ocmdiriions. There need be no necessary and sufficient conditions for motherhood shared by normal biological mothers, donor mothers (who domabe an egg), surrogate mothers (who bear the child, but may not have donated t mothers, unwed mothers who give their children up for doption, T h y are nil mothers by virtue oh their relation to the ideal lcas models converge. That ideal case is one of the many kinds of cas prototype efrects. (Lakorff 1986: 39; see also Lslkoff 1987: 831 From a semamtic point d view, however, Lakcoff's claims carry little eonviction. The cmcial p i n t which W o f f overlooks is that foster mothers adoptive mothers, ""genletic mothersy'%'""surrogate mothers", and so not "mothers" on a par with 'biological mothers' (see Bogusiawski Without a modifier, the ward mother ('X is Ys mother" refers cle birth-givers, not to the donors of eggs, providers of wombs, caretakers, fathers' spouses. Lakoff points out that the expression real miorher may refer to a taker as well as to a birth-giver ("She raised me and I called her mo but she is not my real mmher'" "She gave birth to me, but she was a real mother to me"), but he overlooks the syntactic-and hen semantic-differenw between my real mother [either birth-giver or taker) and a real mother to ma (careltaker only). Furthermore, he overl the h c t that the test with real is nat semantically reliable. For example tences such 8s "he is a real m a n y h r"she is a real woman" may refer t speaker's views or prejudices about mcn and worncn which havc no bml in the semantics of the words man and woman. He doesn't appreciat implications of the fact that the expression biological molder would be only in a contrastive context, and that normally (without a contrastive co text] one would not say '%he is his biological mother"', whereas expressia such as foster mother, adoprive ~norker, or S U T ~ O ~ Bmother ~P are nr restricted to contrastive contexts.

*@

T e treat "biological mothers" as being on a par with "surrogate mothers" or 'Toster rnothersvVs a little like saying that ~lzcrcare two kinds of hones: ibiological horses and rocking-horses [or that there are two diverging "models of horsehood": a biological model and an artefact model); and that we cannot define home as 'a kind of animal . . .' because a rackinghorse is not a kind af animal at all. I arm not saying that the meaning of the word mother can be wholly reduced to that of 'birth-giver" arguably, a social and psychological camponent is also present:

X is Y's mother. = (a) at one time, before mow, X was very small (b) at that time, P was inside X (c) at that time, IT was like a part of X (4 because of this, people can think something like this about X: "Xwants to do good things for Y X doesn't want bad things to happen to I"" he social and psychological component (4 has to be formulated in of expectations (thoughts], not in terms of actual events; by contrast, iologiwi components (a), (b),and (c) have to be formulated as actual Wierzbicka 1980: 46-91), 2.7. The Meaning of Furnitto-e a paper entitlieid ''Cognitive Representations of Semantic Categoriesy', h ( 1 9 7 5 ~193) : wrote: we hear a category word in a natural language such as furniture or bird and stand its meaning, what sort ohcognitive repreentabion do we generate?A list tures ne:essary a d sufficient for rn item to belong to the category? k cone Image which represents the category? A list of category members? An ability se the category term with no attendant mental representation at all? Or some r, less easily specified, form of representation? This passage contains an implicit assumption that bird and furniture are e same sort of '"ategory words". Following Rosch, many psychologists d, m r e surprisingly, linguists, adopted this assumption as self-evidently rrect. There are, however, clear grammatical indications (as well as antic evidence] to show that LImc Lwo words embody cornplelely dilrerof concept. Bird is a taxonomic concept, standing for a ppartiwof creature'. But furniture is not a taxonomic concept at all: it is we concept (see Wierzbicka 1984, 1985, 1988; Zubin and Kltipcke which stands Bbr a heterogeneous collection el" things of difierent One can't talk of '"three furnitures" as one can of "three birds'" and an" imagine or draw an unspecified piece. ol" furniture, as one can

156 General h u e s draw an unspecified bird. For birds, one crnn draw a line between birds and no[-birds (bats being clearly In the latter cahegary)~,Forfurallure, one cannot draw a line between kinds of things which are induded in this supercategory and things which are mot-because by virtue of its meaning, the word jtdrraiture doesn't aim at identifying any particular kind of thing. People may argue whether or not a radio is "fumiturey"(see Abelson 1981: 7251, but not whether or not a pelican is a bird (see Amstrong et al. 11983: 268). The concept 'furniture' may indeed be said to be "fuzzyyy---like those encoded in all the other collective nouns designating heterogeneous collleoltions of things (kitchenware, crockery, ckthing, and so on]. But it is hard to see how the study of such collective nouns (mistaken for words of the same kind as clluntables such as bir4 may constitute anytlnmg like "a refutation of the psychological reality of an Aristotelian view of categories" in general (posch 1975a: 225). Bolinger (1992) has argued that both furniture and bird require 'Teatme analysis" as well as '"rototypes", and 1agree with this. None the less, widence suggests that they are fundamentally different in some respects, because a bird is, semantkally, "a kind of cmature"+whiereas furniture is concegtualizled as "things af different kinds", not as "a kind of thingyy.The fact that bird is a "count noun" (e.g. three bk&) whereas furniture is a "mass noun" (e,gm*fhreefurnitures) is not accidental, but reflects and provides evidence for this difference in the conceptualization. (For further discussion, see Wierzbicka 1992EP)i." 2.8. The Meaning of Toy According to George Lakoff (1973) (who bases his claims on Rosch's investigations), baa and doll are among the ''central members" of thc category Bolinger says that f i ~ l r u r eis, in some respts, Uke sguoslh, and that one can say, Bbr example, ''a crookneck Is a kind of squash". He also pints out that bird should be cornpad not with fwmiture but with 0 piece off~rntrwe. But note Ithe following contr;lds: a sparrow is a kind of bird 3 crookneck is a kind of sqn~asla * a chair is a kilndl of fucailvlre * a clnair is a kind of piece of furniture Contrasts of this kind suggest that the conceptual structures involved are dimerent. These dl& Ferences are quite systemtic: a rose is a kind oS flower an oak is a kind of tree * a shirt is a kind OF clothing * a fork is a kind ofcutBey a shirt is a God of p i w of clothing * a Fork is a End of piece of cutieuy What applies tojuraifure, then, applies to a31 nouns which s t a d for heterogeneous collectiorr of fihings ((clfasl~fng, cutlery, Ritchenwore, and so on). What applies to bird applies to all n o m which stand For par[icular kinds or things, or cvealures I(rrce,jowcr,$sh, and so on). +

C

4. ProroIypes and Jn wrfmiry; 157

"toy', just as rob& and sparrow are among the ""r;ntraP rnembers'bf the category bird. Swhg and skates are among the "'peripheral members" of the category 'toy', just as chickera and duck are among the "peripheral members'bf the category bird. Consequently, j~useas one cannot say whether chickens a d ducks (and bats) are birds or not-birds, one cannot say whether swings aad skates are toys or not-toys. All one can say is that they are toys to a certain degree (Pess than balls or dolls). But the analogy between bird and 60y is just as spurious as that between bird andfurniture. W i l e bird is a taxonomic concept which stands for a particular kind of thing, toy is no more a taxonomic concept thanfirnfture is. It is a purely ffmbionall concept, which stands for things of any kind made for children to play with, One cannot draw an unspeciiied toy, just ae one cannot draw an unspecified piece of furniture. The category 'toy3s "it~zzy'~-beeause, by virtue of its semantic structure (entirely different fmm the semantic structure of 'bird" it does not aim at idenltifying any parliculm kind of thing. Words such as sparrow, chicken, and oxtrick can be shown to contain in their meaning the component 'bird' (see Wierzbilicka 11985), and it is quite legitimate to start their definitions with the phrase a kind of bCd But words such as ball or doll do not contain in their meaning the component 'toy".They may be seen as "central mernbers'bf the category Yay', but this is quite irrellevant from the point of view of their s m m t i c structure. It would be completely unjustified to open the definitions of the words bajl a d doll with the phrase a kind of toy. There are many halls used in various sports (rugby, sower, cricket, etc.) which are not thought of as 'toys' at all; and there are dolls (e.g. china dolls kept on the mantelpiece) which are not thought of as toys. Whatever we discover about the sitructurre of purely functional concepts such as %oy'(or 'vehicle', or 'weapony,or 'tooly),it cannot be transferred to taxonomic supercategories such as 'birdy, Yower', or "tree" The semantic relation between sparrow and bird is entirely different from! that between baU and toy. (See Wierzbicka 1984, 1985.)

2.9. The Meaning of Game cept of ' g m e 3 a s no doubt been the most influential example of ed "fuzziness" of human concepts which has been offered in the litIt was brought up by Ludwig Wittgenstein, in a famous passage of Philosophic b~esligatbns.Wittgenstein didn't appeal to the concept f prototype, but he appealed to-and indeed inti-occllumd-the related otion of "family resemblance" between concepts. The underlying assumpon was the same: conoepts cannot be given clear definitions in items of te semantic components; it is impossible to capture the semantic ant of a concept such as, for example, 'game'-because all that

different instanoes share is a vague "family resemblmce", not a specifiable set off features. Wittgenstein" idea of "hmi8y resernblanm'%as played a cobssal role in the development of ""gototype semantics", and the popularity of this school!of thought is no doubt due substantially to his intellectual charisma. In my view, Wittgenstein's writings mntain some of the deepest and the most insightful observations on semantic matters to Ise found anywhere. But despite my gratitude to Wittgenstein I thinkc the time has come to meexamine his doctrine of ''family resemblances", which has acquired the status of unchallengeable dogma in much of the current literature on meaning (see e.g. Jackendog 11983; Baker and Hacker 1980; Lakoff 11987). Wittgenstein (1953: 3 1-2) wrote: Consider for example the proceedings that we call 'games'. I mean board-;games, card-games, Olympic games, and so on. What is common to them all? Don%say: 'There must be something common, or they would not be called "games" '-but look und see whether there is anything common to all. For if you look at them yaw will not see something that is common, to at!, but similarities, relationships, and a whole series of them at that. To repeat: don" think, but look! Look for example at board-games, with their multifarious relationships. Now pass to card-games; hene you find many correspondences with the h s t group, but many common features drop out, and others appear. When we pass next to ball-games, m u ~ hthat is common is retained, but much is lost. Are they all 'amusing'? Compare chess with noughts and crosses. Or is there always winning and losing, or competition between players? Think of patience. In ball games there is winnlnug and lasing; lbur when a child throws his lball at the wall and catches it again, this Feature has disappeared. Look at the parts played by skill and luck; and at the difference Between skill in chess and skill in tennis. Think now of games like ring-a-ring-a-roses; here is &le element of amusement, h t haw many other characteristic features have disap peared! And we can go through the many, many other groups of games in the saw way; can see how similarities crop up and disappear. And the result of this examination is: we see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall1 similarities, sometimes shilarities of detail. I can think of no thetter expressionu to clraractcsiac these similarities than 'EmiUg resemblances'; for the various resemblawces between members of a family: build, features, colowrr of eyes, gait, temperament, etc. eb. overflap awd criss-cross in the same way. And I shall say: 'games' Form a family. Passages like these have a hypnotic force, and it is not surprising that they have exercised a great influenm on coontless philosophers, psycholagists, and linguists. But are Wittgenstein" claims really true? Is It indeed1 impossible to say what all games have in common, i.e. impossible to capture the invariant of the ooncept kame'? The only valid ifom of challenge in a case like this is to try to do the '7rnpossibIe", to try to define the concept of 'game" 1 would suggest that

the fdlowing components are essential to this concept: (I) human action (animals can play, but they don" play games); (2) duration (a game can't be momentary); (33 aim: pleasure; (4) 'csuspension of reaIityy"the participants imagine that they are in a world apart from the real world); (5) welldefined goals (the participants know what they are trying to achieve); 46) well-defined rules (the participants know what they can do and what they cannot do); (7) the Gourse of events is unpredictable (nobody can know what exactly is going to happen). Accordingly, It propose the fallowing definition: @] mmy kinds of things that people do

(b) for some time (el "for pleasure" (is. because they want to feel somathing good) (dl when people do these things' one cam say these things about these people: (.$ they want some things to happen ( f j ~ if they were not doing these things, they woddn" want these things to happen QgE they don" know what will happen [A) they know what they can do (9 they know what &ey cannot do Component (a] indicates that "games'he human activities and that there are many kinds of them, [B) that "games'be not instantaneous but have duration, (c) that "games" are undertaken for pleasure, (dl that "gamesyLhave oertain constant characteristics: (e) games have some goals, these goals have no meaning or value outside the game, (g)i the course of a game is unpredietable, (h) and (Ep games require certain rules, and the participants know what these rules are. I believe that this definition5 applies satisfactorily to board-games, cardgames, ball-games, and countless other kinds off activity called "games'" It does not apply to a situation when a child idly throws his ball at the wall and catches it again, but in English this activity would not be called a game. En Geman the word Spiel has a wider range of use, corresponding soughlly to the English playing. But this very fact contradicts Wittgenstein's (1953: 33) claim that ""we do not know the boundaries because none have been drawn". Boundaries do exist, and they have been drawn differently in difThe definition of games propo~edhere is not meant to cover cases ~Fmetaphoricalextension, ironic or lnumorous use, and the like, as, for example, in the case OF the phrase "the games people play'" or in the case of' "games" played by mathematicians, generative grammarians, or other scholars who enjoy solving dificwlt problems for their own sake. Here as elsewhere in semantics, playrul extensions have to be distinguished from the ba& meaning [which explains bo& the '%normal" use of the word and any extensions from that use].

ferent languages, and native speakers subconsciously know them and respect them. One feature which separates the concept of 'game'lexically encoded in English from the concept of 'SpielYexically encoded in Gemam is the idea of rules: of knowing; beforehand what one can do and what one cannot do. Another dimerence has to do with the idea of a well-dehed god, which may or may not be attained. If features like these are not identified and clearly stated, cross-linguistic lexical research cannot succeed. It is not snnrprisinag, therefore, that advocates of the theory of "family resemblancesYhswal!ydo not emgage in such research.

3. Uses of ""fototypes"

iin

Semantics: Some IUzustratians

So far, the discussion has k e n focused primarny on what I see as the abuses and misuses of the notion of ""prototype"'. 1t is time to turn lo the more positive aspects of the idea of "prrototype". "Prototypes" can" save us, but thley mn help if they are treated with caution m d with care, and, above all, if they are combinled with verbal definitions, instead of being treated as an excuse for mot ever defining anything. Lexicographic practice suggests tbat the notion of ""gototype" can Be utilized in a number d diGerent ways. Below, 1 will il;lustrate this with a bird's-eye survey of a number of different examples.

3.1. The Meaning of Coiolur Terms As I have argued in Wierzlbicka (1980, 11985), the meaning of words such as green or blue can be dafined along the &bllowituglines: green - colour thought of as the colour of grass blue - colour thought of as the colrour of the sky Since this analysis was first proposed, a number of critics have questioned the use of the phrase thaughr of a3 in these definitions, and one critic (Goddard L989a3 has proposed the addition aT tlla concept 'likc'to my proposed list of universal m a n t i c primitives. 'Faking this into a m u n t , one could rephrase the explications of colo~rit e m s roughly speaking along the following lines:

X is green Xis blue

- the colour of Xis like the lciolour of grass - the colour of X is like the colour of the sky

Whib simple formulae of this kind do not s ~ fully m satisfactory either (see Chapter LO), there is a wide range of evidenoe to suggest that, in principle, the use of "prototypes" such as grass or sky in the explications of oolour tems is well jusltified.

Jackendo@ 41983: 11 131, among others, has tried to use colour terns as evidence that natural language concepts cannot be exhaustively defined into primitives. He w o k : "onoe the marker cobr Is removed from the reading of V d ' , what is left to decmpose further? How can one make sense of redness minus coloration?" I hope that the f o m d a e adduced above provide an answer to these questions (for fuller discussion, see also Chapter 10). 3.2. The Meaning of Words for Emotions Inr a sense, one cannot convey to a blind penon what the word red stands for (see Locke 11981: 38); or to someone who has never experienced envy what the word enivy stands for. None the less, it is possible to define envy in terns of a prototypical situation, along the following lines (see Wierzbicka 1972, 1980, 19866):

X feels envy. = sometimes a person thinks something like his: something good happened to this other person it didn" happen to me 1want things like this to happen to me because of this, this person feelis something bad X feels something Eke this Definitions of this kind demonstrate, I think, the spruriolwsness of the dilemma of whether emotions are better thought of as prototypes or as kelasically definable"(see Ortony, Clore, and Foss 1987: 344). It has often been argued h a t emotion concepts cannot be defined because nobody has managed to define them. But, as pointed out by Ortony ef ~l.,"theobservation that philosophers and psychologists have so far failed to specify adequate definitions of emodon(s) does not establish that the goal is impossible"". Whether or not definitions of the kind proposed abave for emy constitute a "classicall" account is a matter for discussion. They do establish, however, that emotions are definable; and that they are definable in tems of a prototypical situation, and a prototypical reaction to it. Without definitions of this kind, it would be impossible to account for the relationships between concepts such as knvy" ,ealousy', 'hatred', 'contempt', "pity', 'admiration', and so on. It would also be impossible to compare, and to interpret, emotion concepts cross-linguistically [see Wierzbicka 19864. If the study of emotion concepts encoded in different languages is ever to get off the ground, it is crucial to understand that there is no conflict between prototypes and definitions. (For further discussion, see Chapter 5, section 4.)

-

3.3. The Meaning of Cupl According to Hersch and C a r m w a (1976: 2741, " h b o v (31973) has shorn that attempts to give well-defined characterizations in terns of traditional componentid analysis of the semmlti@stmchre of a common concept such as 'cup' are inadequate." "SXniGtly spaking, however, h b o v has only shown that definitions of nrp ogered by conventional dictionaries, such as Webster's Third, are inadequate. This is hardly surprising, but does it maUy lestabkh that no "well-dehed chharrasferizationu; . . of a m m o n concept such as "up' " arc. possible? Questions of this kind are best answered by simply doing what allegedly cannot be done. For b p y land for a host of relabd concepts, I believe I have done it in Wiembicka C1985). The dedinitions provided in that work distinguish betwoen characteristic components which are not part of the invarimt and components which are absolutely necessary.

.

For example, a Chinese cup, smaEl, thin, dainlt)r,haindbless and saue;erbss,can stall be recognized as a cup--as long as it is clearly adequate for drinking hot tea from, in a formal setlling (at a table), being able to raise it to the mouth with one hand. This means that while a saucer and a handle am definitely included in the prototype of a cup @n 5dm8"cup mawr havc a kdndlc, and a saumli) they are not imclurlled in what might be called the essential part of the concept, On the other Etaid, the components 'made to drink hot liquids hamhand 'small enough far people to be able to raise them easily to the mouth with one hand' have to be included im it. (Wierzbickil 1985: 59) In that sense, these definitions cannot be criticized ""for treating all components as contributing equally to the definition of a term" (Hersch and Caramazza 1976: 274). At the same time, they do contradict the assertion that "no subset of these components Gzan conclusively be said to be awessary and sufficient to define a term" "bid.); and they demonstrate that the opposite is true. 3.4. The Meaning of Uncle

According to Chomsky ((11972:$51, it is obvious that expressions such as the folllowing (Chomsky's numbers] ' b u s t have the same semantic representation''. (33) b b ' s uncle (34) the person who is the brother of John's mother or father or the Bpuslbaplld of

the sister of John's mother or father (35) the person who is fie son of one of John's grandparents crs Uhe husband of a daughter of one of John's grandparents, but is not his father In my view, the meaning [and the resemanticrepresentation'" of expression 35; is vastly different from that of 34. What is more relevant in the present

context is that 34 is not semantically equivalent to 33 either, and that it would be wrong to regard 34 as m explication of 33. Expression 34 treats the mother's or father" brother in the same way as ar, mother's or father's sister's husband, and therefore it distorts the meaning of 33. If a mother's (or a mother" mother") sister's husband is categorized as 'uncle' at a11 it Is done by analogy with the focal, prototypical uncle. A definition which would exclude marginal uncles completely (such as "X's uncle = a brother d X's mother or father"")ould be empirically inadequate, but a disjunction which makes no difference between focal and marginal members is also inadequate. In my view, a satisfactory: definition should account for both, the invariant and the prototype. For wncle, the invaiant consists in a certain type of human relationship; and the quality of this relationship is conveyed by the reference to the prototype. I propose (roughly) the following: X i s Y's uncle. = if someone were a brother of my mother or father I codd say about this person: "this is my uncle" P can think about X like I could think about this p e r s ~ n This definililon leaves the denotational range of mcle vague, as I think it should, pointing at the same time ctearly to the prototype, as I also think it should. (See Wierzbicka 19%: 348-9.)

3.5. The Meaning of Bird As I have argued earlier, bats, pace Rowh and EakoK' aan no more birds than cows are, but ostriches and emus-which do not fly-are birds. Does this mean that Wying is not am essential part of the concept %bird"? In my view, flying & an essential part of this c o m q t , and the h l l definition of bird, which P have proposed in Wierzbicka (1985: 1801, does mention flying (or the ability to move in the air), alongside components referring to feathers, beaks, eggs, and nests. But the definition of bCd (like ail the other definiticms of 'natural kinds') is phrased in such a way that it doesn"t ;imply that a11 the essential features of the concept 'birdy are realized in all creatures categorized as birds. The definition opens with the folllowing frame:

imagining creatures of this kind people would say these things about them

...

Since the c o n q t 'imagine' is no longer included in the set of primitives, and since in the present version of the NSM grammar 'wodd' requires a complex sentence ("if . . wouPdY),I would now rephase this apening f r m e as follows:

.

peopb &ink things like this about creatures of this kind

4. Protofype$ and Invarianls

B 64 General Jxsues Accorclingly, properties such as flying, feathers, and so on are presented as essential parts of the prototype, not as necessary features of every bird. In addition, however, h e full explication of bird includes the following proviso: 'some creatures of this kind cannot move in the air, but when people want lto say something about creatures of this kind they say something like this; "they can move in tihe airv'." What applies to birds applies also, murcrri$ mulandis, to frsrit (and of course to countless other concepts]. Thus, Geeraerts (1993) questions so~lne components of my (Wierzbicka 1985) definition of fruit on the grounds that they don't apply to all fruit, even though the definition itself presents these features as part of the prototype, not a necessary kaltwre of aU denotata. This applies, in particular, to the component "wanting to imagine such things, peopb would imagine them as gowing on trees', Geraertsplsdts out, quite rightly, that raspberries are fruiri and yet they don't grow on trees. In my view, however, this indisputable fact doles not disprove the existenoe of a conceptual link bellween Trwil' and Yrees"ust as the fact that ostriches don't fly does not disprove the existence of ar conceptud link bclwccor %in?dshnd 'flying". Gccraerts (1992%:266) obscrves thar "wc probably wouYd not claim that other people Lend to think of raspbcrries as growing on trees". But neither would we claim thar other people think of ostriches as flying. From the fact that people think of ostriches as birds, m d of birds as flying, it doesn't follow that they think of ostriches as flying. 11 has Lo be stressed, however, that llhc two cases (birds aandfiwis) are not exactly parallel, bemuse bird is a taxonomic category ('a kind of creature'), wbereas Jmir-, !ike f~rniE[cdre,is a collective heterogeneous one Cdifferent kinds of things'). The heterogeneity of the conceptual categoryfr~ruifmakes typical (but not necessary) features offrwib such as 'growing on ereesbnavch less salient than typical (but not necessary) features of B i d such as 'flying'. 3.6. The Meaning of ,fernaft?,Cflibb~ge,and Apples

It has often been claimed that the names of biological species and other "natural kinds" cannot be fully defined. [See Putnam 1975; Kripke 1872. For an excellent discussion, see Duprk 1981.) In Wierzbicka (1972, 19&101]1B advocated Ithis theory myself. Since t h , however, 1have found-through extensive lexicographic research-that this is a fallacy, and that figem or lemons are no more indefinable than other concrete concepts (such as cup3 or mugs] or than abstract conoepts (such as freedom, love, or prerni8e)"see Chapter 55. For a definihon of hve, see Wierxbicka, (1986bS; offreedom (fortlwoming 9; oF promb /1987a]. For defioltims of cay, mug, and many other similar concepts, see: Wienbicka (1915).

165

Hut to define either natural kind3 or cultural khds, we do need the concept of prototype. For example, for cups we have to predict both the fact that a prototypical cup has a handle and the h c t that some cups (e.g. Chinese teacups and Turkish couee-cups) don't have handles. Similarly, in the case of tomabes we have to account both for the k t that prototypical tomatoes are red and for the fact t b t there are also yeBPow tamatws, which are also called tomatoes, or at least ye!low Eomolees. For cabbage, we have to predict both the fact that mbbage without modifier is greenish (except in elliptical sentences) and the fact that there is also the so-called red cabbage. For a p p h , we have to predict the fact that they can be red, green, or ye!lion; but also the fact that wanting to imagine (or paint) 'good apples', people are m r e likely to imagine thlem red than either yeillow or green. To account for facts of this kind, it is justified, I think, to have recourse to analytical etcvices similar Lo that which has lbecrr used te account for flightless birds. For example, in tlzc dcfirrition of mbbagc P t l a ~ cincluded the hllowing components: the Peaflike parts are greenish or whitish-greenish in some things of this kind the Ieadlike parts are reddish wanting to imagine things of this kind people would imagine them as greenish In the gresenlt version of NSM, I would rephrase the last component as follows: when people want to say what things of this kind look like they say they are greenish

3,7, The Meaning of O;"lhb Alongside bachelor, the verb cd&nb has played an important role in semantic theory as a key example of a word which-aUegedly-+annot be defined in terns of auty newessary m d sufficient components and which can only be analysed in terms of a prototype. For example, Vesschueren (1985: 46) wrote: To show that a similar analysis is feasible for verbs, 1 adopt an example given by Fillmore (1978); the verb TO CLIMB typically describes an mcendhg motion in a cfamberi.,g fashion. ]I quote: 'A monkey climbing up a flagpole satisfies both of

these conditions. The monkey climbing down the flagpale satisfies the clambering Icomponent only, but is nevesthelless engagled in an action thar carnu be properly called cilimbing. A snail1 climbing up the flagpole satisfies the asclending condition and cam stiPll be said to be climbing. But the snail is not privileged to c h b down the flagpole, since that activity would involve neither clambering nor ascending.'

However, this analysis fails to explain why a sentence such as "the monkey dimbed the flagpole" cannot be interpreted as meaning that the monkey climbed dawn the flagpole. If the direction upward was part of the prototype but not part of the invariant, how could we be so sure that the monkey who "climbed the flagpole" was climbing upwards? Difficulties of this kind have prompted Jackendoff (1985') to devote Lo the verb cEimlG a whole study, and to use it as evidenoe for his o m version of groltotype semantics, developed in Jackendoff (1983). In essence, however, .Ia&endoWs analysis is not very different from EiPlmore's: he, tcmcr, posits for climb components such a3 ~ p w a r dand ' 'clambering fashion', and he, too, claims that either of these components can be "suppressed" though they cannot both be suppressed at the same time. For example, in the sentence "the train climbed the mouniain'Ythe 'clambering manner' eompcmnent is suppressed, and the component 'upwards9s present, whereas in the sentence "'Bill climbed down the ladder" it is the other way round. The semantic formulae proposed for these sentences are as follows (Jackendoff 1985: 288-9): The Lrairm dimbed the mountain. = TO TOP OF WOPINTAILN], [place ON [ ~ h i nMOUNTAIN ~ 1 GO {TRAIN, Event

mlh

UJ?W&RD

Bill climbed down the ladder. = GO [BILE, DOWN THE LADDER]) Event 1[~annea@LAMBERING1

But this analysis is unsatisfactory, too, because it fails to predict, far example, that if a train w n t quickly up a hill it couldn't be described as cciimbi~g'.There is a difference in meaning between the two variants in the following paiw of sentences:

(I) The train climbed the mountain. (2) The train shot up the mountain. (3) The temperature climbed to 102 degrees. (4) The temperature shot to 102 degrees. Despite his rich anend of descriptive devices, including multiple brackeb and '"referential featwes"",ackendoffs analysis camat account far facts of this kind. In my view, what is really needed to account for such facts is a more careful, and more imaginative, phrasing of the necessary and suf& cient components of the concept Uimrir". I would propose the following (GF. Taylor 1989: 108): X climbed . . .= X moved like people move iin places where they have to use their a m and legs to rnove upwards

d a Eitltle more precisely:

X climbed . . .= sometimes in some places if people want to rnove upwards they have to move both their Pegs and their a m s X moved like people move at those times in such pjaoes temperature, the similarity in question can hardly be interpreted as rring to anything other than slowness. For trains, it can be interpreted referring to slowness and apparent difficulty. For people, too, it can be p t e d as referring to slowness and apparent dificulty; but it can also r to a quick and apparently enartless movement upwards in pilaces ere normally people wcruld have Lo use their arms and Begs to move srds at ail [see "Watching him climb the cliff quickly and effortlessly P filled with pride and admiration"'). bus, a proltoltype is indeed relevant to the concept %limbJ.But this prois not '%suppressed" in less typical uses of the verb. It is part of the tic invariant' itself,

4. Conclusion ere was a time when almost any problem in linguistic analysis could be appealing to the distinction between "competen~e"and "per(For discussion, see e.g. R.A. Harris 1993.) These days, this olution to linguistic problems is, usually viewed with! suspicion. sire to find simple solutions to a range of linguistic problem has d. "'Grice saves" m d a facile resort to prototypes are two characosner (1986: 5B) wrote: "As impressed as I am with the insights ned from Wosch's work, It is rather hard fbr me ta get very excited t the great Aristotle versus Rosch debate." R~~osch's work indeed cons interesting insights, but it would be difficult to maintain that they e contributed a great deal to semantic description. Sn too many cases, ideas have been treated as an excuse for intellectual Iminess and , In my view, the nolion of prototype has to prove its usefulness rnantic description, not through semantic theorizing (see 11985). But if it is treated as a magical key to open all doors rt, the chances are that it will cause more h a m than goad. encoded in natural language are, In a sense, vague (see Black The chaIleng consists in portraying the vagueness inherent in natnglnage with precision. I agree entirely with Hemch and Caramma . 272) when they say that "'natural language concepts are inherently

they go on to say that vague". ~ u I tcannot agree with them meaning of a tern could be spwified as a f u z z ~set ofmew% cQImPon Natural langmge concepts are characterized by referential kkternin the sense that while "there are t11inrgs of which the desc~ption" clearly true and things of which the dcscriplion 'bee' is clearly fa1 there: are a host of borderline cases" ((Pwnam 8975: 1331. This mean, however, that the meaning of the word free @anonly be a fuzzy set of meaning components. 1 have tried to ckm~nstratet by providing precise, main-fuzzy definitions of tree, and c~uinera concepts in Wiealbickra (1985). 1 hiwe allso attempted to showsth "fmxiest" caconcepts of ;all-"hed@~" W C as ~ ll$?$?r~~imPrrnQfe!y~ QrQ least, or ra&+-can be given precise, non-fuzzy definitions, discrete components (see Wierzbickm of fully IF people argue whelther or not a radio is "fu~-nitur amount for this by saying that r @ &possesses ~ the meanin c f ~ t u r e " o a certain degree, less than table or desk- There Oinpisticl reasons for not including the feature 'furnitwe' i of either radio or tiable at all, as them are sufficient masons ing features such as %kitchenware" 'tableware', of 'cracker ing of ctp. It is not a matter of degree whether concepts o&, or rase contain in their meaning components such as ' 'flower'; they simply do contain them. Nor is it a matter 0 concepts such as table, radio, re$igerllf0r9 Or CUP contain components such as 'furniture', 'kitchenware', 'tool', 'devise', or ' h ~ l e menty;hey simply don't. (For justification of this claim, andl for detailed semantic analyses, see Wierzbicka 1985.1 vagueness may reside In the semantic WmPQn C o q o n e n t s such as 'like the colow of gars' (in "reen? are ~n~~ "JWW this vagueness is mirrored inr the referential indeteAnai@~ of the cQF responding words. Components such as [r~u&ly slpeaki a man who can rnamykre perhaps not v a ~ but e are su tiye; they refer not to the "reality out thete", but to th conceptualizing reality. But neither vagueness nor ~omlponentsshould be iconfused with any " ~ e s e n c eto the Aristotelian notion of necessary and sufficient Ife &orubiein semantic analysis; it is the tacit bahaviowrist as~umptlon necessary andl sufficient features should c~rrlespondit tivelly ascertainable aspects of external rediltr. Many psychologists and philosophers Qve embraced the PrototYPe aP?r'on the assnu;nption that most concepts have resisted all dtemPQ define them and that "enon~~ous efforts have gone ink a featural substrate" (Amstrong et ial. 1983: 29 sion. 1n fact, rea;itlfive]ylittle effort by profi?ssional

$0 iKah and Eodor (31963) and llatz (1972). But, with all! due hese writers, they are, essentially, semantic theorists, not practi-

83: 268) point out, 'We only good answer [to the doubt the validity of the dcfinitioruaPview?'] is is difficult KO work out En the reglllired detaii. ding the supposed simplest categories (the feaemanticists have tried a0 do that? It is true: that hers and psychologists, but also '"enerations g eb a/. 1983: 301) have hiled to pro&ce suems of everqrday concepts. But lexicography has sis. Theoretical semanttics has flourished in am ework (see Wierzbicka 1985). Given this , it is the Bexicographers"achievements, markable (see Chapters 8 and 9). gun (see e.g. Mel'Eub and iolkovskij ; kpresjan 1991). The s ~ m e s sof this ity to absorb and to develop insights ical inquiry into fie role of protohowever, it will also depend on the fy, the basic stock of human conson and Smith l9$J: 55; also itive conceptual repertoire cananof 9810: 52) is being validated in the based on clear and rigorous thepeg cannot relieve us from the work. Prototypes cannot '"aye n the other hand, they can cerUs mnstruct the best, the most revealing, definitions, a b e d once~tualbatiompd reality refiected and embodied in Banguage.

5

semantic Primitives and Semantic Filelds

I. Introductiiora It has oken k e n said that the meaning of a word "dependsg~nthe mean

I do not believe that this is the case: shoe the meaning of a meanings of any "'neighbouring" w r d s in the lexicon. The meanin ferent words can overlap (as abc overlaps with bc4, but both the has been identified. Furthemore, what applies to semantic synchrony applies also to

if we are able to describe both the original meaning (arbc) and the s qwenlt meaning (4x4.To do this, we must be able to analyse each mea

this, we @an compare them again, this Ithe more precisely, be identify the elements that are &Efferent. Proceeding in this way, w discover remarkable symmetries and regularities in the semanti

least some of hese groupings are non-arbitrary, is intuitively even irresistible. But if we cowldn7 decompose meanings inlto co

#

we couldn't really investigate this possibility in a systematic and methodical way. If we do? h m v e r , have a list of hypothetical indefinables, and if learn how to discover configurations of indefinables encapsulated in vidua! words, we can reveal the hidden structure of these words and turd relations linking diffe~entwords , if we establish that the meaning of one word is abc, other, bcd, and of a third, bcf, we will know that their common Gore nsrbitrary semantic fields, and we can . Thus, semantic primitives offer us a tool for invessemantic groupings or fields. In particular, they can itrary semantic groupings from arbistinguish discrete, self-contained groupings from follows, E illustrate the preceding tends with a number of examning to different areas of the lexicon. Before doing so, however, notion of "mnfiguration",which was just illustrated (perly] with combinations of letters such as abc or cornpiex structures, built not directly from ty, or 'this', but ehom stru~ctured 'this is good' or 'you did someonents of this kind are ordered, and because h e y often e temporal element 'after', or the causal component 'because', of such companemts can often be regarded as "scripts" or ""smn 19811; Schank and Plbelson 1977). This applies, for to words designating emotions or to words designating speech point later.) "Concrete" nouns (is. names of natural 1 usually exhibit a more static semantic structure, but, usually invoived, and these comfeatures of the referents, but also es"-such as habitat, behaviour or typical interaction people in the case of animals, or the typical situatim of use in the case tefacts (see Fillmore 19756, 1977). Here too, the components have to ee Wierzbicka 1985). The general assumptions stated w illustrated with three sections devoted to specific atural kinds'bnd "cultural kinds", n concepts. Since the first "to domains red in considerable detail elsewhere (see Wierzbicka he present discussion of these domains will be brief, and the section on emotions wiH be disproportion-

5. Semantic Primi1ives, Semantic Fields 173

2. Natural Kinds and Cultural Kinds Names of animals (in the everyday sense of the word, not in the scientik sense), of birds, fishes, Rowers, or trees embody, 1believe, taxonomic concepts, that is, concepts based on the idea of 'kind". It is reasonable, therefore, that they are usually rdernd to as "natural kind" words. For example, dog or lion can be defined as "a kind of animal"--plus, in each case, a long sequence of components, specifying the habitat, appearan* hehauiour. relation to people, and so on (for illusbations, s a Wierzbicka 1985; see &so Chapters 11 and 12). Words such as dog, lion, tiger, squirrel, and so on can be said to form a they all have definitiom well-defined, discrete semantic field beheaded, so to speak, by the s m e component, 'a kind of animal'. Similarly, words such as swnllos, eagle, penguin, or e m can be said to form a welldefined, discrete semantic field became they all have definilions headed by the same component, 'a Lind of bird'; and words such as ook,willow, b i d , or p?lm can alro be said to form a well-dehned, discrete semantic field because they all have definitions headed by the svne mmponent, 'a kind of tree'. Furthermore, Lhe conceptual supercategories on which the names of "natural kinds" are based have also a taxonomic character. For example, animal, bird, or @h can all be justifiably defined as "a kind of creature" (plus of course a number of additional components), whereas tree orpower can be justifiably defined as, mughly, "a kind of thing growing out of the groun8' (plus, again, a number of additional components). On the 0 t h hand, it i an illusion to think that words such as doll, b& nicycie, rattle, swing, and teddy bear can be similariy defined in terms of one non-arbitrary supercategory such as toy. As 1have uied to show in my Le*icogmplry and Conceptual Analysis (Wierzbicka 1985), words such as toy, vehicle, container, or weapon embody functional concepts, not taxo nomic concepts; and they are not related to c'cuItumlkind" words (such as rricycle, battje, ctq. or kni/e) in the same way in which taxonomic supercategories (animal, bird, fish, flower, or tree) are related lo their subordinates (such as dog, camnary, fruit, rose, or oak). For example, toy doesn't stand for any particular, describable, and recognizable kind of thing; rather, i l svands for things of uny kirtd made by people for children to play with. Therefore "toys", "weapons", and so on are not taxonomic supercalegories, in the sense that "animaUs", "birds", or " t m " are, Consequently, one cannot speak of "semantic Gelds" of "toys", "vehicles", or "weapons" in the same sense in which one cao speak of semantic fields of "aoimals", "birds", "treesy', and so on. If one wishes to, one can of course group words such as doll, ball, bi-

cycle, and mrtie together, and for certain purposes this may be useful Ifbr example, as a list of various kinds of objects that can be bought in a toy department of a department store). But a grouping of this kind would not have a semantic basis. This is not to imply that words such as doll, bag, tricycle, and so l e ~ nare not all "headed"(in their semantic structure) by the same semantic wmponent. They are. But the component in question is not "a kind of toy1'; uaitlker, it is a much more general one, subsuming a vast number of names of human artefacts: roughly "a kind of thing made by people'" There is no reason, of course, why one should not speak of all the words headed by this component as forming one discrete, non-arbitrary semantic field. But it is is not hierarchicallly structured: it is not divided, caking, into "toys", ccvehicles"/'weapons'~ and so on, ausle these are functional categories, not taxonomic ones. Of course if want to, we can classify cultural kinds into toys, weapons, instruments, henware, and so on, but this classification would be arbitrary from the nit of view of semantic strruetum. From the point of view of folk wteization reflected in the semantic structure, cups are not "a kind d cles are not "a kind of vehicley',balls are inot 'k kind of toy'" and knives are not "a kind of weapon". I suggest, therefore, that names of cultural kinds do not form nonarbitrary, discrete fields, whereas names of natural kinds do. In my view, it wdd be misleading to speak, for example, of "the field of containers'' (see khrer 1974) as if there were a non-arbitrary, self-eontarined field of"names of containers". QOf course, words such as cup, mug, botth, jar, jrrg,bucket, and barrel are nnutmally closely related, and in fact their full explications reveal a degree of symmetry even grater than one might have expected (see the explications of these words in Wierzbicka 1385). But bucket is also felt to be rePatad to bowl or tub, bottle is related to carafe, carafe is related to to pan, and so on; and tubs, vases, and pans wodd not described as 'kontdners'" As argued in Chapter 4, birds do similarly into bab, ffishes into animals (in Ithe everyday sense , or flowcrs inlo trees (for example, magnolias are thought of ereas roses are thonght of as a kind of flower; emus thought of as a kind of bird, whereas bats are not; and so on). Thus, mantically, pcra and pans, buckers or bowl$ are not "a kind of container", ''a kind of birdM,androses, "a kind of BBower"'. of words and meanings cannot be established by e questions, or giving them simple sorting tasks. It stawished by methodical semantic analysis. En the absence of is, different schemes of "semantic'bnd "conceptual" catecent literature, particularly in psychological Piterect the pre-theoretical ideas of the researchers rather than

5;.

results of valid, well-conceived empirical investigations. (For further discussion, see Chapters 18 and 12.) To illustrate: parrot a kind of bird if people wanted to say many things about them, h e y could say these things: . . . SpdTrrQW a kind of bird if people wanted to say many things about them, they could say these things: . . . bird a kind of creature if people wanted to say many things about them, they codd say these things: . . . bucket a kind of thing if people wanted to say many things about them, they could say these thing: . . . barrel a kind of thing if people wanted to say many things about them, they could say these things: . . .

3. Speech Act Verbs In English, and in other European languages, there are hundreds af wrbs that can be said to form, together, one coherent, self-contained field; these are verbs referring to "'different things that one can do with wordsn",hat is, to different types of speech acts. 1 have invesltigated some 250 such words in my Engllish Speech Act Verbs: A Semantic Dicfionary (Wierzbicka 1987a), and I have found a very high degree of patterning. What gives ccrherence to the field of ''speech act verbs" is the presence of some well-defined semantic components. These components underlie whet is usually called the "ilpQocutionaryforoe" (see Austin 1962a; Searle 1976) of the speech act described by a given speech act verb. This illmutionary form comprises components that spell out the speaker" inten. tlons, assumptions, or emotions, expressed in speech. For example, the verbs ask and order describe an attitude that lnciluldes the falllowing cornponant: (1 say:) I want you to do it

S e m t i c Primitives. Semantic Fie!&

175

In addition, order indndes the component:

(I think:) you have to do it because of this whereas ask contains the opposite assumption: [I think:) you don" have to do it because of this

Forbfd is in some ways symmetricdl with respect to order, and it includes the component:

[I say:) I don't want you to do it as well as a similarly confident assumption: (3 think:) you cam? t o it because of this

Compiain includes the components:

(I say:) something bad is happening to me I fw1 sometlning bad because of this ReproaLTSI, rebke, scold, and reprf~laa~d include the component: (I say:) you did something bad Thank and apologize include, respectively, the components: @ say:) yyo did something good for me

@ say:) I did something bad to you so on. It is not my purpose to provide here exhaustive explications of speech act verbs. (The interested reader can find such explications in W~erzbicka1987a.) Rather, I am trying to show here how the "field'hf speech act verbs can be delimited in a non-arbitrary way. The class of verbs that I am talking about does not coincide with the class of '"IPemrmafive'v verbs. h r example, whereas ask, order, firbid, oor apobgsie can all be used performatively, reproach, ~hreaben,and boast cannot:

I asWorderIforbid you to do it. I apologize for what I have done. *I reproach you shouldn't have done it. *I threaten you I will do something bad to you if you do it. *I boast I am the best. one the less, all these verbs exhibit the same kind of semantic structure. They aittrribute to the speaker a certain attitude that can be portrayed in terns of first-person illoc-utionary components such as

10say:) you did something bad [repriman4 (I say:) I will do something bad to you [threar] (I say:) I am good (other people are not like me) [bocrst]

176 Geneml Issues

I believe that components of this kind, all framed, explicitly or implicitly, by "I say:" do allow US Lo identify a dass of words in a non-arbitrary way; and that this class does constitute a "real", relatively self-contained part d the English lexicon. It is particularly interesting to note tlut the phrasing of components of this kind can be supported not only with semantic h t also with syntactic evidenlc3e, as different speech act verbs that share certain semantic compcanents (or oambmations of components) om be shown also to share certain syntactic frames or combinations of frames. (See Lehnr 1988; Pinker 1989.) Consider, for exmple, the component

I want you to do this and all of which can occur in the syntactic frame Some of these wrbs, however, have an additional frame: X V-ed Y for Z (6.g. X askedhegged Y for Z)

which the others don't have

you did something badr'good

* X ordeaedEcommandecllurged Y for Z

which is associated with tbe folbwhiarg frame:

X V-ed Y for doing Z. For example, the following verbs share this mmpouent and this frame: mproach, rebuke, reprove, repimmd, admonish, scold. Utterances such as

X reproacb&reb&edJreprimandedlscoIda&thanked

order, commaaf isssrarcr, urge, ask, and beg, all of which can be said to imply the semantic component

Y for Z

imply that X said to Y something that included the semantic cornponeat "you did something bad (good)" (cf, * X rebukedmproache&scolded Y , 9. The frame "X V-ed Y for Z"" is also uscd with verbs such as criticize or praise, which describe acts that can be performed, so to speak, behind the back of the target person: one cannot reprimand or rebuke people behind their backs, but one can criticize nor prate them to a third person. However, the two groups of verbs can be distinguished in terms of another syntactic frame: "X V-ed P% 2':

X criticlm&praisd P for Z X criticidpraised Y % Z *X rebuke&reprimamded F s Z Thus, speech act verbs that imply the component person P did something baagood allow both of the syntactic frames in question: (1) X V-ed Y h r doing Z (2) X V-ed P's Z

whereas speech act verbs that imply the component you did samething bad allow only the first of these two frames. As a second example, compare the syntactic possibilities of verbs such as

This additional syntactic frame links ask: (for) and beg [for) with verbs such as piead (for], appiy (f06,or wish (for]--alll verbs ahat imply tbat the speaker cannot expect to have control over the outcome, that is to say, verbs that attribute to the speaker the intention to convey [among others) the fallowing combination off components:

I say: I want you to do Z I don't think you lyliJ1 do it because of this he other hand, verbs such as order, commafid,or urge, which take the e 'A? X-led Y to do Z ' 3 u t not "X X-ed Yfor Z", imply, as mentioned r, a more confident attitude on the part of the speaker: 1 say: I want you to do Z

I think you wiE1 do it because of this The interested reader is likely to raise at this point some objections pointg to apparent aspmetries and idiosyncrasies. For example, why can't andI which should be similar to ordm and commandsoeciur in the frame d P to do Z"? ?r why can plead and appily occur with FOR (like ask but (unlike mk or beg) cannot occur in the frame "X F-ed F to do W demanded Y to do Z X allow&forbade Y to do Z " X pleaded for Z X applied for Z *X pleaded Y to do Z *X pleaded f" for Z *Xapplied Y to do Z *Xapplied Y for Z

5. Semantic Prjmifives, Semantic FieE&

At first sight, diflerenms of this kind may seem idiosyncratic and semantically arbitrary. But if one studies them more closely, one discovers that far from k i n g arbitrary, they, too, point to very red semantic differences and ~ t h confirm s the reliakdity of syntactic clues in semantic analysis. For iexample, onepIea& WITH a person, as one argues or remons WITH a person, bec;ausep!ed, like argue or reman, involves an exchange of agurnents rather than a direct appeal to the addressee's will. One demaurh SOMBTHING, not SOMEONE, because what the person wiho demands something wants is, above all, a certain outcome (which may be brought about by somebody's actiom], not a specific action by a particular addressee. Far the same reason, one appiies for SOMETHING, and one doesn't apply SOMEONE, because what the applyixsg person wants is, above d l , a particular outcome, not a specific action of a particular addressee. At the same time, the attitude of a person who appiex for something is less cclnfident than that of a person who demsmrrd something; and this is why one appiies FOR something, as one hopes or mks FOR something, whereas one demands SOMETHING, not FOR SOMETHING (for evidence and justification, see Wierzbicka 1987a)i. Certainly, this method of verification cannot be applied to aIB areas of the lexicon, (Generally speaking, it is more applicable to verbs than to nouns.) Tt can, however, be reliably applied to speech act verbs; and for this reason alone, speah act verbs consdkwte a parlirclularly fruitful domain for semantic experimentation. In particular, they offer a golden opportunity Ita investigate the structure of a large and highly patterned "semantic field"; and to explore, on an empirical basis, the very notion of a "semantic field1*.

Emotion concept8 encoded in the English lexicon constitute a coherent and reasonably self-contained (though not shauply delimited) cognitive domain, with a characteristic and specifiaibEe type of semantic structure. All the words belonging to this domain can be d e h e d in Items of cognitive s t m awes b a t are typically associated with the emotions in question. In this swtlon, I will try to substantiate this claim by andysing a reasonably Barge group of emotion concepts, drawn from two separate areas: roughly speaking, emotions linked with-"events contrary to expectations", and emotions linked with '"misfortunes". ((For a discussion of a third group of emotion concepts, including 'terrified', 'petrified" and 'horrified" see Chapter 7.) The first group includes fwbratiofz, relie& dkapp~hsrnend~ surprise, and amazement: Frustration I[e.g. X feels frustrated) X feels something

sometimes a person thinks something Pike this: B want to do something I can do it after this, this person thinks something like this: I can't do it this pason f ~ l something s bad because of this X feels like this Refief &.g. X feds relieved) X feels something sometimes a penon thinks something like this: something bad will happen I don" want this after this, this person thinks something like this: I know now: this bad thing will not happen because of this, this person feels something good X feels something like this Qimppimtment X feels something sometimes a person thinks something like this: something good will happen I want this after this, this person thinks something like this: P h o w now: this good thing will not happen because of this, this person feels something bad X feels something like this Surprhe X feels something sometimes a person thinks something like this: something is happening now I didn't think before now: this will happen I want to know more about it because of this, this person feels something X feels something like this Amazement

X feels someithjlng mmetimes a person thinks samething like this: something is happening now I didn't know before now: this can happen I want to know more about it became of this, this person feek something X feells something like this

174

180 General I s m

As these exmples show, the d~efinitionof an emotion concept takes the form of a prototypical scenario describing not so much an external situation as a highly abstract cognitive structure: roughly, to feel a certain ennotion means to Feel like a person does who has cerltain (specifiable) thou&& charancteristic of that particular situation (and to undergo some internal proass because of this]. TypicaIly, though not necessarily, these thoughts involve referenas to 'doing' or 'happening', to something " o d ' or 'bad", and to 'wanting' or b o t wanting'. (See e.g. Wierzbicka 1990c, 199&, 1994c.)

Thew examples show also how by analysing individual concepts we can $sicrfacto show Plow they are mutually related. Thus the definitions of relief and disappointmeat (differing only in the choice of "oodkr 'bad" are symmetrical and in a way support one another. Similarly, the definitions o f s ~ r prise and amazement are almost Identical, and differing only in one point Vwillr versus 4cangJ;and hese two, loo, support one anollner. On the other hand, fimmrsmriicrxj does not have a symmetrical counterpart; and yet its meaning, too, cam be established with precision and clarity. On lthe whole, the rclations between emotion concjcpts can be quite diverse (as the examplas given above and those which I;ollow illlustrake); at the same time, a large nubier of such concepts can be shown to follow the same overall semantic pattern. Turninn- now to the socond group, we will note that in English, as in many other languages, many emotion terms refer to 'bad things' happening to people. They include (among others) sad, unhappy, distressed, upset, and depressed, which E will now define one by one, using the format illustrated above. Snd (e.g. X feels ad) X feels something sometimes a person thinks something like this: something bad happened if I didn? know that it happened I would say: I don't want it to happen I don't say this now because I know: I. can't do anything because of this, this person feels something bad X fmls something like this In a prototypical scenario, the "bad event'Vs in the past G"something happened"; for example, somebody died). Unhappy (e.g. X feels unhappy) X foeis something sometimes a person thinks something like this:

5. Seemanric Primitives:, Semntic Fields 18 1

someltking bad happened to me I don't want this if I could, 1 would want to do something because of this b e a u s of this, this person feels something h d X feds something like this The maim difference between unhappy and sa$ consists in the personal character of the f o m r : if my neighboor's close friend dies I maq, be sad but not unhappy, bur if my own dose friend dies I may well feel unhappy. Furthermore, unhappy suggests rr less resigned frame of mind than sad. For example, if one says "'H am unhappy about it" o m may wli intend to try to "'do something about it", but one daesn" say "I am sad about it"". This differenoe is accounted for by the unaccepting component '1 don't want this', and by the absence of the resigned component 'I can't do anythingyin the explication of ut~happy. The combination of a past event ('something bad HAPPENED') with a current rejection ('I don't want this1)may seem illogical, but in natural language "ilillogicalities" oof this kind are very common. (One characteristic example was provided by the sign "119410 Annexation NO!", displayed by Lithuanian demonstrators in Villnius in January 1990.1 Distressed X feels something sometimes a person thinks something like this: something bad is happening to me now I don" want this because of this, I want to do something I don't know what I can do I want someone to do something because of this, this person feels something X feels something like this The common phrase distress signah, used with reference to ships, points in Ule same dirstion. The ship's crew may well wish to signal a message dong the following lines: 'something bad is happening to us" 'we don't want his', "because of this, we want to do something', '"we don't tknw what we can do', 'we want someone (else) to do something'. But there would be no point in any ship sending out "signals of sadness'" or, fear that mtter, "signals of unrhappiness"". T b word now in the explication of distressed proposed above may seem redundant, given the present tense of the verb in 'something bad is happening to me" none the less it may be justified, as it helps to aoxoua~tfor the short span of distress. Joy, too, has a present orientation Csomeltking p o d is happening'), and so does worry ('something is happening')^, but Uley

5. Semantic Primitives, Semantic Fields

182 General Lsues ban both refer to the '"resent time"in a broad sense; by contrast, distress always refers to the '"'resent time" in a more narrow, more specific sense. For example, if I know that somebody that I Ilwe '3s coming" next month, this may fill me wilth joy for many days; and if I worry about my child's poor progress at school, I may be tlninking about months rather than days or hours- But distress swms to involve an immediate reaction to what is happening now (""lday" rather than "in the present period").

Upel

X feels something sometimes a person thinks something like this: something bad happened to me now if P couild, E would want to do something baause of this 1 don't know if I can do anything 1 can" think now k a u s e of this, thls person feels something bad X feds something Iike this A person is ~gse6by something that has happened to him 'before now', not by something that is happening to him 'now'. But the event in question is very recent; so much so h a t the experiencer ham%had the time to regain, his balance (as he is expected to do shortly]. The combination of the past knse with the word now in the explication Is meant to capture both the pastness of the event and its immediate character (see the same combination in the sentence "lt happened to me just now"]. At the moment, the experienmr is off 'balance and cannot think as uswl. His attitude is not passive, or resigned, as in sadness ('I can't do anything'); rather, he is mnfwed and temporarily cannot cope ['I dooin't know if I can do anything'). But unlike a person who is d&fresse$, someone who is upset is not crying for help or otherwise drawing attention to himself. The semantic structure of most emotion concepts, then, can be represented as follows: X feels something soanetimes a person thinks something like this:

. . . . because of this, this person feds something X feels something lih this This structure can be said to define a large and coherent semantic field. The size of this field difkrs from language to language, but most, if not all, laawages do appear to have a reasonably self-contained "held" of this k i d .

183

5. Ciclnclusion we want to establish what the meaning of a word is, and if we want to monstrate the validity of our analysis, comparisons with other words are lly necessary. But the rnemings of individual words do not have to be ndent on "whatever other lexical items may be available in the inveruand, ultimately, a definition, too, has to stand on its o m . A definiexpresses a hypothesis about the meaning of a particular word, and it d if it accounts correctly for the range of use of this particular m r d . undaries of this range may be "fuzzy'" but even this fuzxiness.can Id be predicted by a well-phrased and well-researched definition. s can be rilgorowslly described and compared if they are recognized they are: unique and culture-specific cornfigurations of universal nhc primitives. When the cofigmations of primitives conceptualized ividual words are revealed, the relations between different words also 1 themselves. 1 think, therefore, that the semaartic primitives approach mantic analysis also offers a necessary firm ground for the study of

"

6. Semantics and "Primitive Thought " "5

6

Semantics and "Primitive Thought"

"t'lllc fuauctlonls of Plie humon ~nind arc coonmorn lo lllrc wvlioBc 06

a1 question addressed in Hallpike's banned on a priori ideological ds: Are there essential qualitative d i k e a c e s in the cognition of difpseopbs? The view that there are such differences is not fashionable days, and Hallpike deserves some credit for the courage he shows in ing it, as do its other rmenl proponents [see e.g, Hain 1992; Bain and

humanity. QFrannz Boas 1938~:135)

I. Intrloductiic~n The question of universal semantic primitives is closely linked with t the "psychic unity of mankind"(CBoas 1938~).Just over two decades leading American psychologist, George Miller, wrote: Every culture has its myths. One of our most persistent is that nonliterate people i less developed countries possess something we like to call a "prkmitlve mentality" that is both differemkt From and inferior to our owm. . . . No one would ca ithat tiifferenoes exist. Any denial would be tantamount to saying that expriemce that result from Bvimg, in widely dfiermt cultures and tmh no important psychological consequences. Rather, the argument conmnms nature of those differences, and their soums. (1971a, p. vii]

In linguistics and anthropollogy such t e r n as '"riwnitive th discredited ralther more than two decades ago (although ow still creep into print-witness the title of Hallpike's (19791 Eoumdatioms of Primitive TAowght, described in a serious recent (kPan 1989: 3) as "monumental"). But the precise nature of ferenlcies beltween diflerent societies-in particular, Western s non-Western tribal societies-aemains an open question (see Discussions of this question have d r a y s relied to a consi on language. Rightly so, since language is "'e best thoughtY'(ILeitbnix1765S11918U : 334) and evidence from 1 determining the fundamental thought patterns of d but evidence from language can be misinterpreted, and field-workers require serious semantic analysis before they ca a source of information about mnceptud systems. Discussing the alleged absemce of abstract thinking in societies, Ndlpike writes: "It is . . . necessary to do some prel semantic ground-work before we can usediPlly discuss the extent to primitive thought is or is not abstract" "979: 171).

stabrlish whether a word has one or more meanings. In my diswill focus on several crucial1 concepts which have been alleged to ng in this or that language (notably, 'if ', 'Llwecause', %sameowe', '"all', and 'think'));I will1 start, however, with an exampk from a language usually identsed with '"primitive thought". eakers have n0 concept of that both the English ref and girl are translated into French as pile. Would such a pted? Presumably not. Rather, it would be pointed out that

such as ie garcon el awghter'), and Se jib the girnl). One could , 'daughter', have diffewnt grammatical tte can only mem 'little girl', ,not 'little iEerent syntactic frames (e.8. b$Ek de

ddl. (For further disclnssion of pdy-

18B Ge1;aerall8.~ues

2. The Universality olif BECAUSE In English, the idea of causality is expressed in an ahsolute1 way in the simple everyday word becaruse. Un many other l ever, there is no word which means %mausehnd nothing ellse. ample, In Italian the basic word for 'because"as well as perch&-a word which literally means Tor what" In French, the wor 'w$y"s pourg~oi(again, nitewIly Tor what'), and the ' k a u s e ' i s pasce que [literally 'through this that"* Presmably nobody would claim, however, that speakers of French o Italian don" have, or cannot express, the conoepl; of 'be languages have other words which e parfly became unambiguously [e.g. the nouns Ecr muse, 'ause', in F Italian), and partly because nobody has any doubts t garm que or perch&do mew 'because" despite their far~llalanalrsab inlo morphemes with other meanings. m e n it comes to 'exotic' languages (such as Austral guages], hawever, doubts conoerning the availability of have sometimes been expressed. As Goddard (11991a)ip commonplace of an oEder generation of ethnogra sometimes encountered, e.g. Sayers and Bain (898 guages a b u t the expression of causality, or even indifferent to it.'' Along similar lines (though more cautiously than Sa (19816) armed in his paper entitbd ""On the Unimportanlca: Kayardild" that the Australian language Kayardild has no st exponent of 'because" and that expression, of ~ausalityis co languaage with a purely temporal notion of sequenm. the concepts 'because' and 'after'are rendered in Kayardil the same "consequential suffhY%gasrba, how can we know that the s ers of this language distinguish lthe two concepts in question? IS it pa to establish that ngarrba is polysemous ( (1) after, r(21) because), rather having only one meaning, with different interpretations being due to ferent context? The most iranportant thing to do in a case like this is to formu hypotheses and to test them. One hypothesis is that the word always means "fter', with any causal overtones Ireing conk text. On this hypothesis, any senltencje with the word in, m k e sense on the 'after' interpretation. If we b d , however, that contexts the "fier'interpretation doesn't make sense whereas a ' interpretation does, then we have to postulate polysemy.

6. S"enaanlit,-8arfd "'PrBnifive Thought

"I

187

English the word md is often linked with a causal interion, but we don't have to posit a separate, causal meaning lPDs and to s ~ s of c all atad sentences. For inslance, in tfve sente~cje He fell down and cried. ;a causal

interpretation is implied but it is not absolutely neoessary, and the sentence makes sense even if we assume that alrd means here co-occurrence After her husband died, she fell ill. is (contextually) implied, but ithere no need to usal waning for the word afler (because a sequential tion still makes sense). other hand, in the Australian language Yankunytjatjara the i(-ng~~il~], which can Ire interpreted in different contexts as 'from', rYy Or "because" can be used in sentences in which a temporal (sequeni n t e v e t a t i ~ nwodd make no sense (Goddard 1994l~).For example: -Why are you crying? -I have a toothache. That-ABLI am crying.

'

sequen~alH("dterY] interpretation wound not allow us to make sense of sentenms, and, as Goddard argues, a separate 'because"e;aning has postulated. [See Goddard P9911a.) usively, Goddard (1991~)devised a test in the form of n: How, if at all, can one say in that language things "swe, 'I happened after X, but not because of p? For test shows conciusively that -ngu~u,which 1s fdly and clause, does indeed have a separate meaning fie meaning "after' can also be expressed by the m~nosemous pie of the polysemy of an ablative suffix in an

You should go visit your mother [because] she is very sick. e Amrnte counilepart of this scsltence the morptrerne glossed here as can in other contexts m a n 'from' or 'after', but in this context the rpretation is causal. The speaker is clearly urging the son to is mother at the time of her illness, not after ilt or away from it. If we kers themselves sentences of ]thiskind do make sense de that the morpheme in question is polysemous between 'because' (as argued in Harkins and Wilkins 1994).

6. SernanSia md "Prilxsifive Thought" 189 It is important to add that different meanings of a polysemous word or morpheme are often associated with distinct syntactic frames, and that differences of this kind can provide crucial evidence for the polysemy of lexia 1 items. For example, in the Australian language Ngaanyaltjarra the s u f i -tjanu can mean dther %ecause' or kfter' (Amee Glass, personal c o m u nication; see also Glass and Hackett 1470). When one asks, however,

the sentence m m a only 'Why did he pun away?, not 'WWh did he imn away?' On the other hand, -0amrr m mean Wter' when it is used in an answer to a question about time: Wmpjawara Lukurrarnu? when run-PAST When did he run away?' Tur&utjana. corroboree-TJANU 'After the corroboree.' What applies to Yankunytjatj~ara,Arrernte, and Ngaanyatjarra applies also to Kayardild; and it is interesting to note that in a more recent paper on Kayardild, Evans (19941 also reached the view that the so-callled "consequential" suffix -ngarrba is polysemous between 'after' arrd %ecauseY. A word (or molrfieme'j which can bt: glossed as either %ecausekr 'after" cannot have some unitary meaning "more abstract than either 'becauseh~ 'after' ": there is no identifiable meaning mom abstract than 'kalnse' aslid 'after' and contained in them both. If someone claimed that there was some such meaning but that we had no word for it and couldn't articulate it, therr I would say with Wittgenstein that what one can't say one should be dlent about. Semantic hypotheses based on "ghost meanings'' which cannot be articulated are not falsifiable and therefore have no glace in semantic analysis. It would be wrong, therefore, to think that by allowing polysemy we are rendering our hypotheses immune to empirical disconfirmation. Polysemy hais to be established; it can never be posited without justification. For example, as pointed out earlier, the hypothesis that the English word rlllfier is poIysemous between a "sequential" sense and a "causal" ssen is disctmfirmed by the fact that, in any context, after can be shown to 'be compatibb with a sequential interpretation.

3. The Universality of IF According: to Bain (1992: 871, 'The hypothetical conditional sentenoe is not found in Bitjlantjatjara. In Pitjantjatjara one cannot put forward a pure1y hypothetical condition, something that is merely possible, or a supposition. In practiuce, when Westerners attempt to do so, the Aboriginal person receives the idea as a fact." The claim is disturbing. Is it true that in some Australian languages "one cannot put forward a purely hypothetical condition, a supposition"? To plat forward a supposition one needs a word for 'if" Bain says that in Pitjantjatjajal-athe concept 'ifVoes have a lexical exponent, but that, none the less, when a Westerner wishes to advance a mere hypothesis "hidher listeners treat the statement as fact. Accordingly, what is intended as, for instance, 'if you were to get the money . . .' is received as either "hen you get the money . . . h r "dsince you are getting the money . . .""1992: 90). Et is easy to believe that sentences such as "if you (I) were to . . ." may lead to miscommunication in enmunters between white people and Aborigines in Australia, but it doesn't follow from this that a purely hypothetical supposition cannot be expressed in Pitjantjatjara or any other Aboriginal language; or that one cannot forestall misunderstandings in this area when addressing Aboriginal persons in English. All one needs to do is to state explicitly [whether in English or in Pitj~amtjaitjara)that one is not asserting the condition: 1 don? know whether X will happen X it happens, then Y

a language doesn't have a word [or morpheme) for 'if', as it n alleged to be the case in some Australian languages? What if does not distinguish between 'ifhand "hen', or ' i f ' a n d t hcrc as elscwhcre allegations oF this kind oftcnr stem from dare to recognize lexical polysemy. As h4cConvel1 notes:"Yack of a fordistinction betwesa $and when in Aboriginal languages, in contrast to nglish, is supposedly linked to absence of hypothetical conditional n Aboriginal discourse" (199 1: 15). Rejecting such claims vePl argues that Aboriginal languages do haw lexical and gramrces to mark conditionanity, and he points out that even if the and 'whenkre identical, they may appear in diflerent frames.

McConvell doesn't draw a distinction between conditional (IF) and counter-factual

[IF.. . WOULD) sentences, and it is no@always clicar which typc I P ~has in mind when he talks of "hypothetical conditional statements"'.

6. Semantics and *'Primitive Thoughf " 191 For example, "In the Ngarinmn language the concept of q i s distinguished from daen by the use of the doubt sufix ngu following the subordinate clause marker nyamss and the pronoun clitic complex" (16). McConvell points out that devices of this kind are frequently utilized in certain genres of spontaneous discourse, and that older people without Western education frequently describe "imaginary and hypothetical smnarios, including mdtiple chaining3 and embeddings of hypothetical statements within otber hypothetical statements" (15). The polysemy of the primary exponent of the concept 7iF can be illustrated with data from the Australian language Arrernrte (Markins and Wilkins 1994: 298). En a simple clause, the word peke means 'perhaps', but if a dependent clause is present then it means 'if'. Inpenthe peke kwatye umte-me. tomorrow may& water fall-NPP 'Et could rain tomorrow.' ['Perhaps it will rain tomomow.'] Kwatye peke urnte-me ayenge petye-tyekenhe. water maybe f a l l - ~ e ~1 ~ ~ come-VERB : s MEG "If it rains 1 won't come.'

{If the dependent clause is affirmative rather than negative as above then the verb carries a special "subsequent" marker-tyershenge.) En another Australian language, Yankunytjatjara (Goddard BW4b], the same word tjfmgng, shows an even more complex pattern of polysemy: when it is used in a simple clause, or by itself (as an exclamation}, it means 'maybe" bult In a subordinate sentence it has either a conditional or a counter-factual meaning, depending on the altpsenoe or presence of an ''iissealis" inflexion on the verb of the main clause (see Chapter 2): (I} Tjitugum. Maybe! (2) Ka nywntirmtjinguxu kjuklarpa irititjatjara and you if story long.ago:~ssw:HAVING nyakwla kulinitjikiltja rnukuringkula,nyiri S ~ : S E R I A L think:a~T~ntT want:saRrar, paper pala palunya nyawa. that Z]BF:ACC s e e : n ~ ~ 'So if you want to read Old Testment stories, look at that book." (3) Tjingu~ungayulu waringka, puQkapalyanma. if 1 co1d:~oc big make:^^ 'If I was jin cold (weather], I'd make a bigger (amount).' ('The speaker was explaining that shle had not made a very large amount of spinifex gum because the weather was too hot to do thk easily" (Goddard 19946: 248.)

Data of this kind provide strong evidence for the presence of a tinpistieally encoded concept of IF (even if this encoding involves a polEysemous illustration of this point, consider some data from Geman, it has also been sometimes asserted (incorrectly) that it doesn't he conoepts of IF and WHEN. d all, German does have some quite unequivocal exponents of W E N , warm (used in questions and in relative clauses) and ab (used in past tense temporal clauses), which can never be used in the sense or IF; so clearly, C a m a n dms distinguish WHEN from IF. Ear example: Wann warst du dart? W e n were you th~ere? Plls du dort wmt, war ich him. M e n you were there, 1was here. Second, German does have a word for IF, namely wenn, and although in subordinate sentences referring to future events wenn can stand for either IF or WHEN, this doesn" mean that it is somehow vague and always covers both senses at the same time. It is more justified to conclude that in future tense sentences wenn is lysemous, and means either IF or WHEN. For example (from Die B&cl hew figm iCeeul$ch),

. . . aler Mens~heasohnw i d kommen, wenn ihr es nicht emartet.

(Matt. 24:

41.

'The Son of Man will mnae when [not "whewllP'1 you do not expect itY. Wenn ihr nur Vcrtteuen hiabt, werdet ihs alPe6 kkommen, wotum ihr Gott bib tet.

'if [not "iflwhen'" you have faith, you will receive all that you ask C d for."

The fact that in certain grammaticai frames (e.g. in the frame wenn n k h f

"if not" or in combinations with the past tense) weptn can only mean ""if"', nd nat either "if" or "when", supports the view that it is polysemous, not ape. This conclusion is also supported By the fact that if one wants to contrast the two concepts I F md WHEN (e.g. "when, you come-if you came . . ."I, this is possible, too: Wenn du komst-WENN du kommst-wirst du es sehen. WWn you come-if you come-you will see itY. Whalt all these facts show is that Geman does distinguish, iexically, ktween the concepts IF and WHEN, even though in one type of sentence (compl~allexsentences referring to the future) the exponents of these concepts overllap.

192 General P m e s

4. The Universality of SOMEONE In her recent book similar in its general orientation to Hallpike's, Bain (19912) develops the thesis that Australian Aborigines use only "first degree: abstraction and concrete logid', whereas Westerners use "second degree abstraction and formal logic"". In support of this thesis, Bain argues (9431 that, for examp1e1 in Piitjantjatjara "there are no terns for the indefinite pronouns such as *someone', 'anyone', 'whoever' and that to refer )to an unspecified person the speaker would have to use the word ku$q~a,'other', According to Bain, "linguistic features of this kind are antithetical to the formulation d purely pneral sktements1'@bid.). Couldn't one argue, however, ttnnt in Pitjantjatj~arathe word kugupa is in fact polysemus and has two distinct meanings, 'other' and 'someone3? Bain rejeds this possibility. Cementing on the sentence I'

Kugupa ngurakutm anu. another camp to went 'Another @erson) went to camp.'P/"Someonewent to camp." she writes: With the last of these translations there is a mom from the adjective 'another' 10 the more abstract pronoun 'solmeonue'. That shift is ameptakrle in English but its appropriateness must be questioned Tor Pitjanltjatjara. While to some extent the translation used may be ;a matter ol pmonal preference, if wa are la stay as dose as possible to the Aboriginal thought, then the link with the real should be retained. (1992:94) But semantic analysis is not a matter of personal preference, and the hypothesis that kugwpa is poUysernous can be tested. The simplest thing to do would be to conj~weup a situation where 'other'would not make sense but %omeomebwodd, and to check if the word k3stjapa could still be used. The fact that one can use Jcus;Ewpa in such situations (Cliff Goddard, personal comrnrnntcaaion) shows that this word cannot always mean 'othery. On the o h e r hand, one cam make sense of a11 uses of kwtjupa in t e r n of two hypothetical meanings: btheryand 'someone'. For example, if one mn say, using kwfjwpa, '7 saw someone Qkucjiupa] there, it was the s a m person"l then it is clear that kntjupa cannoit mean 6another'in this context (?'I saw another pewon there, it was the same person'). In addition to semantic tests of this kind, one can allso examine the enviro m e n t s in which the two senses occur and see if there are any dierenms between them. For example, Harkins and Wllkins (19134) show that in a related Australian lampage, Arremtey the word arxpenhe can also be used in the same two senses cother'and 'someone'), depending on whether or not a speciifc antecedent is present. The same applies to kuGupa (Cliff

Goddard, personal comunimtion]: if a specific antecedent is present (e.g. this man went k s t ; \then another [ku$wpa)r went), then it cleuly means 'other" but in the absenae of a specific antecedent it can only mean 'someone'.

5. The Universality of ALL Hallpike [19?9> argues that what kne calls "primitive socjletiesl%ave no concept of Wl', adducing linguistic evidence from several languages. The i w l i cations of this d& are so serious that they deserve to be examined ira some detail. Me writes: Y30;me~d'all' are thus fundamental notions of logic and bask to propositions of inclusion which relate parts to wholes. "All' denotes the hotaJity of a set A, while 'some' denotes 'A - xi{where x is greater than 0). Im primitive usage, however, it is possible that while words are used that ethnographers translate as 'some'and 'atuPY", "a111' does nab denote "all possible members of set A" but $14 those Irm awr axprienoeks simply %I lot'. In so far as primitive thought is not usluarlly concerned with working out the theoretidy ma?&uum number d items im a set, it will tend to use 'akl' in the sense of 'very many" while if dl possible members of a set ahe physicdy presemt, the primitive may indeed say Will", but in the seause of 'full' or 'compIete', which is derived from a spatial canception, as of ar container that has been Elled up. Dr Neil Warren, for example, tells me (private colmmunication) that the Kamano of the New Guinea Highlands use thein w r d for 'mamy' to do duty for what we would translate as "a'. In the same way, amang the Taude I laund that the word that I was inridally indined to translate as 'all', k~parfmrs,was more a ~ u r a t d yrenKuparitri is the word For 'two' or 'pair', -oi king the dual suffix, dered as "my'". md -ma is one of tihe plural suffixes;thus kuparhrs seems to have the literal meming of "airsp, i.e. 'many', and is certainly sol used in conversation. It should also be not4 that kupcrrima is not a;n adjective, but a noun, and refers to a state of affairs, 'multipPicity', rather than being a property ofa dass. (HaIlpike 1979: 181-2)

I believe Hallpike% cconclusions are fundamentally wrong. It is true that In many languages ithe word glossed by ethnographers as 'all' is in fact a nominal rather than a determiner (that is, grammatically more Pike the expression the bs in EngPish than the determiner every), and that sentences including a word whose basic meaning is kmanykan sometimes better be Wanslatad with the English word a0 than m m y . But does this mean that these languages make no clear distinction between the concepts 'ail' and 'manyy? I think not. To begin with, HalPpikds remarks on the Tauade data are far from convincing. JRf the stem kupari combined with the dual suffk is the m r d for Ywo'or "air" then by itself it is much more likely to mean 'all' than hamy' (cf. French tous lex deux, Pit. "an the two", that is, "0th'). A stem meaning 'manykould hardly be combined with a dual suffix, sinoe the language clearly has a contrast

194 General .&sues between a plural q"manyq)and a dud ('two"; the combination 'manyy+ 'two'would be incoherent, whereas the combination of %a1and "WOYQ~ a pair has parallelis in many other languages. Furthemore, though E haven't been able to check Ha1lpike's assertions about Tauade (or about Karnano), his remarb on h e apparent canflation of the concepts 'all" and hany'also apply, for example, to Australian lam guages, with respect to which they have been studied in reliable linguistic literature. (The index of Hallpike's book shows clearly that next to the peoples of New Guinea it is Australian Aborigines who epitomize For him the notion of a ""primitiw society".)~~ For example, Bittner and Hale's (1995) amalysis of the Australian language Warlpiri shows h a t in this language, too, there is a word, also a nominal @mu), which is sometimes best translated into English as 'many' and sometimes as "11" and Harkins (1991) shows that the same applies b another Australian language, Luriqa, But this does not mean that Warlpiri a d Luritja do not have a concept of 'all'distinct from the concept of 'manyy. First, while the Warlpiri word panu can be translated into English as either 'alt'or 'many"i/depending on context), there is another word, jiatdumarsarai, which can never be translated as 'many', but only as %H' (or "1 of them" see blow]. Se~osld,as Eittner and Hale" smlysis shows, pamu can be translated as "In" only in those contexts which imply definiteness, that is, where it can be interpreted as 'the many', "the lot', 'the group (composed of many]" by implication "he whole groupy. In a case like this, the word which means, essentially, b a n f may appear to mean 'all'. From this, it is only one step to the conclusion that the Warlpiri people do not distinguish 'manyYrorn 'all". But such a conduiort would be fallacious. Equally well one could argue that English speakers do nat distinguish the two notions in question because a lFor means 'many', whereas she jot means (roughly) 'all', The fact that Warlpiri has a separate word for 'alll', jiatmkumarsarni, just as English does CaIEp, shows illhat in fact the two concepts in question are distinguished, despite differen= in use linked with other differenoes between the two languages, such as the presence versus the absence of articles. These points can be illustrated with the following data (Bittner and Hale 1995, their mnumbers, and their Austualian Aborigines (along with Papiuans) have often k n used in the literallnnre as an example olc$rhnitive mentality"-by Uy-Bmhl, by Hallpike, and by many others. The title of W&ek (1872) paper, "The Mental Characteristics of Primitive Nan as 1ExempliEed by the Australian Aborigines", is very characteristic in this respect. For discussionu, see Chase and yon Stumer (1973). Bittner and Hale use &e following abbreviations irn their interlinear glosses: PIBSPlbsalutive, Lac--locative, H,2,3,-kt, Znd, 3rd person, p-plural, s--singular, INF-imfini. tius, PRClX-pronimate, PRF-perCectiw, PRS-pueserat, P S T p a s t , NPST--~~onn-past. Ward internal morpheme boundaries are indicated by '-', clitic boundaries by k'.

6. Semantics and 'Frimilrs've Thought " 195

1. Punu means 'many': (117) (Q.) Nyajangu-O-0-ngku

karli

gu-ngu nyuntu-ku?

NhlkJ!%3?1EU-~~~&-2s boomerang give-rs.r you-Dst 'HOW MANY boomeramgs did he give you?'

(A,) Paau a-Qc-ju yu-ngu karli. PANU PRF-3%1s pjve-~s~ boomlerang We gave me MANY boomerangs.'

2. Jinlakumarrarni means "11': (10) Yuml-jarri ka-lu jhtakumaraarni=1ki ripe-lbecome-t?.~~s~ PRS-3palll=then Then they get rip, all (parts) of them.' (1 11) Slntakumrm~-jiki-jaIaka-llu wapa kankarlu-mipa dl-A=oFcourse PRS-3p~ O ~ Y ~ - N Pabove-only ST paarrpardi-mj~a-rlapinkirrpa-kurlu-lrZI fly-INF-anox father-ones.with-A 'AH of them of course live ody up in the air flying [the feathered ones]." 3. Panu can be used in the sense of 'the many', 'the lot', "he groupy,and, by implication, bsl1"Ci.e. 'the whole group'): (193 Panu ka-ma-jana nya-nyi. many PRS- 1s-3p see-NPST ti] T see a laage group (af them).' (ii) '1 see the large goup [of them)^.' (iii) 'I see hem, who are a large group.' (3.51 Yapa ka-1n nyina panu nyampu-rla ngurrj~u? person-ABSPRS-3pbe-WSTmany this-am well 'Are all the many people here wePI?" This is not to say that the Warlpiri wordj;inr[j~kurnarrarmi has exacltly the m e range of use as the English word "1' (a point to which I[ will return later), but it does mean that Wadpiri distinguishes between the concepts 'arll\ad hmanys,and has separate lexical exponents for each of them. Furthemme, although Bittner and Wale (1995) glass jinrakrrmarrarna' as 'all of hem' rather &an 'alll', P see no evidence that this ward mems anything other than simply 'all'. In actual speech, it will usually reffer, no doubt, to some previously mentioned group, and thus will be consistent with an interpretation along the lines of 'all of them" But this is not necessary: when needed, the same word can also be used to make open-ended gen~eralizations,of the kind that Hallpike claims are impossible in "primitive languages". Bittner and Hale's sentence 11 ('"all of !them of course Iive only up in the air flyhg [the feathered ones]'"), which comes fram an "oral essrryl'about living kinds recorded by Bale, and which doesn't refer to any particular group of birds but to birds in genera!, provides a good illustration of this.

6. Semantics and "PrhitSw T h a w g h t J 7 9 7 (12) ma -meri ma-Merranunggu gusringgi -wanggaQ human ns man human ns Merranunggn 3nsSR "RR" finish -@ -a wakay pl Pst finished T h e Meraaounggu people all "finished up" (="didw).' [The Merraaunggu people died campletely.)

Two further examples oh such open-ended generalizations from andher Australian language, Kayardild, are quoted in Evms (1985) (DTstands for deitpansitivimd): (16-279)Maarra diya-a-n-kuru. all at-DT-FUT (Speaking, of yams:) 'Q%ey) are a11 edible." (6-28 1) Maarra maku-karran-d. all woman-cEm-Mow [On lioe as food: ) 'Qdy women eat Mice.' (Lit. "all lice are w\nmenYs")

No doubt everyday life in a tribal community doesn't generate much need for generalizations of this kind, but if they are not made frequently it is not for lack of conceptual or linguistic resources (cf. Section 7). I conclude that as far as we know Lhcre is no human language which doesn't haw some lexical means for expressing lthe conceglt of 'all'-n~t something roughly comparable to 'all' but exactly Lhe same conoept. I think Hallpike is right in assuming that without a word (or s o m other lexical component) for 'all'a language wouldn't be able to express oertain thoughts---more than that, that in a language without callknewouldn't be able to think certain thoughts-and that thoughts crucially dependent 011 the concept %ll' have fundmental importance in European culture. But I Mieve Hallpike's conviction that such languages exist is not supported by the evidence. This is certainly not to say that the range of use of words or morphemes which embody the concept 'all' is the s m e in all languages. In some languages, the range of use of the word or morpheme meaning ~ I l restricted ~ s to a relatively narrow range of semantic andfor syntactic environments. This is true, in particular, of the Auslirralian language Marrithiyel (Green 1992) and of the Papuan language Yimas (Foiey 1991). But the range of use is one thing and the existence of a lexicallized concept is another. To siee this, consider briefly the Marsithiye1 facts. According to Pan Green (1992) the only word in Marrithiyel which could possibly be regarded as am exponent of the concept 'all' is the adverbiinterji~~tion wakay. Leaving aside the use of this word as an interjection, it appears that wakay (as an adverb) can only combine with "semantic unadergoers" (that is, it can only apply to someone to whom something happened, not to someone who did something); and that, moreover, it can convey the idea of "completeness"' as web as "'totality"".For example (Green's n ~ m b e r s ) : ~ -ya (wakay). (1 1) Eiyi winjsjeni gani 3sSR "go" "ST finished head bad 'He went [completelly) silly.' Green uses the oliow wing abbreviations in interlinear glosses: Pst-pat, auxiliary, +singular; SR-Subject RcaLs.

"'RR'"hmds

What wouEd it mean for a group of people to die '~ompleteiy"? Smely, in a sentence like 12 w&ay means simply 'alP"ust as Green's gloss says). y twe used with noon-gradable predicates such as "die' The fact that w a k ~ can suggests that this word doesn't encode same hybrid notion of 'cornpBetelyjrtotdlyjraln" but has two distinct meanings: (1) cornpktely, 42) all. O t k r examples cited by Green [personal comnmunication) support this conn. For example, if wcrkay is added to a sentence which means We gave hters in marriage', the sentence can only mean 'He gave away hmers', not 'Me gave away his daughters COMPLETELY'. of this kind, vve have to concludle, I think, that Marsithiyen s have a lexical exponent for the primitive concept 'all" even though this onent's range d use is more restricted than that of the English word all. r an interesting discussion of the concept of %liYiin Australian languages m a dmerent perspective, see also N. Evans [forthcoming); h r a discussion of the concept 'some'see Chapter 2.)

-

6. The PJniiversalilty of K M W and THINK ng to Mallpike (8979) there are languages which cannot express the of 'knowhnd 'think" People who speak such languages are, ke children at the "pre-operatony'\tage of development gnitively incapable of distinguishing clearly between recognizing the operation of his own mental prl~cesses ord like 'think", he does not grasp its cagniliue bplicakconcentrating" '"making a mental eflort', e.g. when try. . . At the first stage . . . (Cat about six) he supposes when we speak, and by assonciatian also identiiies nd smoke, or else equates thinking with hearing, and g we do with our ears. (Hallpike 1979: 38563

According to Hallpike, ""pPimitire"pnseptes, too, confuse thinking with eakhg and hearing, and they, too, have no woncegt of purely cognitive ses and states such as those linked in English with the words think now. He writes (1979: 3934): ility to ana1yse private experience, as opposed to social ffiehvionr, the OF the knowable, is well illustrated by ethnographic evidence from the

6. Semantics and "Primsirive ;TSEoughf" 199

198 General hme3 iOmmura, of the Eastern Highlands Province of Papua Hew Guinea, Like many primitive peoples in New Culmea and elsewhere, the O m u r a use the same verb [sera) for 'understanbgkor %comprehendingy,amd the 'bearhgkfa sound eltc. D ~ p i corresponds fairly closely to 'clear', 'distinct', as opposed to bobscure' ar 'anfud', and thus the expressiom &pi ienrcs means 'that sound which we can hear clmearlybd also, when wed in the sense of understanding, the notion of 'hearing' imptied in. such contexts relates the souwd of the name, nrutu, of the object being spoken. Similarly, Hallpike (1979: 406) quotes with approval Read's statement about the Papuan people Gahuku-Cama: The Gahoku-Gama do not ascribe any importance to the brain, nor have t h y my conception of its function. Cogniltive processes are associated with the organ of hearing. To 'knowko b Wnk' is to %earsEgekn6ir~e)l; Pomw"C know' or '1 don't understand' is Po not bear' or Ti have nolt heard' @eSemu~e].[Read 1955: 265 n.)

"

"

Bn a similar vein, Bain states: There is no way to diEerenitiate the concepts of thiotkbg, listening and heeding in Pitjantjatjaoa. The same verb kulki does duty for aH. . . . This feature suggests that the psychicd and physical, the self and the environment, are not fuYly distiaguism from one another, a characteristicnoted by Piaget in oonnection with pre-operatory thought. (119912: 8161 Xt is true that many non-Western societies use the same word for 'think' and 'hear' or for 'knowy and "ear'. But what exactly does that prove? In English one can use the word see to mean %ndewtand'('" see what you mean . . ."I, but tlis does not prove that the speakers of English do not distinguish ths concept of 'understanding' and the concept of 'seeing'. (Similirrlly, in French entendre can mean either 'hearhr 'understand'; but this does not prove that the speakers of French do not disltinguish the concepts of ' h e a r i n g k d ndunderstanding'.) Admittedly, in English there is also a separate word, underssand (and h French, ccomprersdre], which has only a cognitive meaning. This doesdt change the fact, however, that see is polysemous in English, and that in a sentence such as "I see what you mean" it hhas a purely cognitive meaning. But if see can be polysernclus between %ee (with one's eeys)' and 'understand', why can't the O m u r a word iero be polysemous between 'hear (with one's ears)' and 'understand' or 'knowv ~Cj~us'as t the French woad en tendre is)? In Polish (and a number of other Slavic languages) the word For 'knowing" wwiedztet, is cognate with the word for 'seeing', widziet (see Bdllncknlet 1970). Both! derive from the same proto-lndo-Europeam root veid%now/see' [see also video, '1 see', in Latin and vdda, 'I know9, in Sanskrit; Ernout and Mcillet 1963: 734).

Hallpike overlooks the crucial distinction bemeen polysermqr and vaguess (and so does Bain)~.Ify for example, in the Australian lamwage ankunytjatjara the same word k u h i can mean either 'hear' or ?hinlc'(see oddlard 8992a), it is (as Goddard argues) a case of polysemy, not of aguemess. For example, in the sentenGe ((Goddard 1994b) Ngayulu alatji W i , "tjiingu~_rulia. . ." I t h k (abonlt it) like this, "maybe we .

. ."

arly means 'think', not some hybrid between "think' and 'hear' (for the "hink' sense can take a quasi-quotationall complement). On the r hand, in a sentence such as Ngayulu wan@-n&u wangkenytjala kullinu I person-ERG talk NOML.LOC near PAST 'Iheard peopPe talking' [for only the "ear' sense can take inlkV6lhear' polysemy in Yankunytjatjera (or ra] is exactly paralIel to the %ee'r'bdarstand' polysemy in both cases, the semantic difference c~rrelateswith a difference in by . . ." can only mean 'I underand ajatji kuiini can only mean '[I)l even if there were no syntactic difmantic interpretations, rtwo meanings wouild still y semantic grounds: for example, I ~ e what e YOU my eyes what you mean'. semy involving basic concepts sucb as 'think' ith a possibility of different frames. In the case ustralian Western Desert Language (of which Yankunytjatjjawra is a particularly telling evidence is provided by Glass (1983: 40). This elves the use of a sl;lffivr (-kuk~n$a)and an enclitic (=tkmyu) , w as "mt") Clearly, bath these k'sense d the polysemous. verb (601 Tjilku pirni-lu=ya tjiimya kuli-ra palya-palya=lkanyu cmd many-ma m they you know think-PRfun=mt pituE-pa nganri-rranfljakukantja-llw. kapi-kukaatja-lu W~TQI-ABSI ~ ~ - T P F . M T - ~ G water-m(i-~m The children, you know, mistakenly think that petrol is lying about for fun, they mistakenly tMmk it is (as harmless as] water. ightly the English gbss of this example. Glass uses the following abbrea glosses: abe-abscolutive, erg--ergatiwe, ipf-imperfective, mt-nrist, ps-present, pt-participle.

200 General hmes

tjarrpa-ngu=lktunyap kapi-ngka palunya-kukantja. water-in that-mt '(They) thought that they had gone into the water, that's what Khey mistakenly thought.'

(61) Klruli-mu

think-~.menter-P.PF=~~

Examples such as these make it crystal-clear that even if the concepts 'think' and 'hearbhare the same lexical exponent, this doesn't mean that the concept of 'thinking' in a purely cognitive sense is missing. It is no less present in the Western Desert Language than in languages where Yhinking" has a unique l e x i d exponent, for example the Australian language Ngandi (Heath 1978ib:1147). What applies to 'thinkkpplies also to 'know'. A word which is used for both "ear' and "noow" amd which can be used in a sentence incompatible with a 'hear' interpretation, must be interpreted as pollysemous; and when one looks for syntactic diflerences linked with the diflerenoe in meaning one can us;llallly h d them. For examplle, in the Papuam language Gahuku-Gma [now called Mekanopl, whkh Hallpike uses as one of his prime examples, the word for both "think' and 'knowys indeed the sane as the word for %ear" yet according to one of the best experts on this language, Chris Deibler @ersonall oramunication), the three senses of this word ('think', 'know', and 'hear" can always be distinguished by the frame in which this word is usedJ so that ambiguity does not arise. If the word in question is glossed as "eroeive', as is usually done, then the sense 'heaskan be associated with phrases such as "talk perceive" or "say permive", the sense 'think" with the phrase "one's ear perceive", and the sense 'how', with phrases such as "thing perceive"". For exa~llrpie (Dei'bler, personal letter): (1) na-gal guluumb

my-ear I-perceived 'I thought4 think" (2) das~mogak6 mukii geleneive. God talk all he-has-perceived 'God has heard everything.' (3) l&tu lako Rim6 nene dasim geleake . . . thus saving he-said Gad having-perceived 'God hearing that he said thus . . ." iC4) dasimo net& rnuki gdeneive. God things dl he-has-perceived 'God haws everythiag." ( 5 ) diasimo net& muki-kumu geleneive. God things all-about he-has-perceived God knows about everything."

The traditional! gloss 'perwive' has an obvious value for describing facts of this kind, but it cannot be regarded as an accurate representation of the word" meaning, since quite clearly three diflerent meanings are involved, not one. For example, scntencc I can mean only Y think', not '1 hear', and sentence 5 can mean only 'God knows everything', not G o d hears everything'. The fact that "ear-perceive" means in this langunage 'think' and not 'hear' is particularly telling, since in many other languages (e.g. in Kalam, see below) 'cear-perceive" means 'hear" not %ink'; this shows that in Gahuku-Gama "ear-perceive" is in fact lexidized in the sense 'thinkJ. Words for body parts often provide a convenient idiom for talking about inner states. One language which illustrates this particularly well is Hua (another Papuan language, geographically very close to Gahlaku-Gama, and described authoritatively by Haiman 1980b, 19911). Pru Hua one feels, so to speak, with one's guts, one thinks with one's ears, and one knows with one's eyes. What this reaHy means, however, is ahat Hua exhibits a certain pattern af polysemy (Haiman 1991 and personall comwnication): 1. ear, 2, opinion ( beta havi1. hear, 2. understand ( 1geX;ahavi- think @it.hear one's ear) il ) a i P 1. guts, 2. feel

Isrr English one can refer to one" thoughts as one's "view", and in Hua, as one's "ear"; but it would be absurd to conclude from this that the speakers of either English or Hua lack the concept of 'thoughit'. Lexical evidence is vital for establishing a culture" concepts, but without in-depth semantic analysis lerricall evidence can be easily misinterpreted. For example, when one hears that in the Papuan language Kalam the same word (rap)can translate both know and hear* one might conclude that the language makes no distinction between the two. In fact, hawever, Andrew Pawley's data and comments (Pawlley 19166, 1975, 1986, personal conmuarication) show that Kalam does distinguish between 'know' and 'heary:ng means essentially 'know', whereas tmwd ng (lit. "ear known")eans 'hear'. In sentences referring Ito sounds (such as thunder) m w d nsg can be abheviated to ng* but in this context the bare farm ng can be regarded as elliptical for ~ m w dng. This analysis is supported by the fact that Kalam has many other lexical wilts including the s k m no, and that several of those other lexical units, too, can be abbreviated to a bare ng. For example: wdn dl fib gas

niy ng ng ng

'see" 'feel [by touching)' 'taste' 'think'

((lit."eye know") (lit. "touch know") (lit. "eat know") (lit. ""thoghthind know")

202 General ISZU~S

pk bwk mepn sb

ng ng n;(~ ng

6. a T ~ ~ r ~ msd ~ ~ ~"SrS~~s{tivc f f c . ~ Thor~gh~ 203 "

kudge" 'read, study' Tcel nWTecction for' 'feel sorry for'

(lit. "'hit know") (lit. "book know") (lit. "liver know") Uit. "gut know"]

In e sentence such as

'knowheadsee" is strengthened by data from related and surrounding lanEtimres. Thus, if among geographically close and genetically ly related languages oFAusLrialia scr~mnchaw separate words for 'think" Arrernte; see Wilkins use 1993; and for Willkikins m'know7e.g. s others (e.g. Yankunytjatjara) theHarkins same word both 199411, 'Rear' d "think', it would be bizarre to infer that the Aarernte people do have a

b byn nq-k men woman know-he-past (punctual) 'The man saw the woman" the bare stem ng can be used in \the senwe 'seeyand in fact only in that sense], but this doesn't mean that in Kalam h e same verb [ng]~ maem some d k g " f w y E 'a r intermediate between 'think', 'taste', ' r e d , Yeel sorry', and so that Kalm distinguishes lexically between b o w ' , 'hear', 'see', and 's as foBows: n g know; ( w h ) ng see; [tmwdl ssg hear; Q ~ ~ nfjr, Y ]smellAlthough the bare stem ng c m associated with different senses Qkno see, hieirr, taste), in actual speech these senses are clearly distinguiskdr the object refers to a sound, ng has to be interpreted as %ear" if it refers an odour, it has to be interpreted as 'smell; and so on; and if the oibj, refers to a concrete entity (e.g. a person or even a bell), Ithen the only P sible interpretation of ng is 'see" and never %earyor 'smell'. It is also important to emphasize that in wrtain frames the only possibb reading is 'H know', not perceive"~see, hear, or whatever]. For exam (Pawley, personal communicaltion):

"

yad LJlnike fin akag OW-a-k ngb-yn. I iLJllliLe day when come-Tsc-Past know-Pres-lsa 'P know ["lpemlve] when Ulrike cane." yad Ulrike md-pnuglb-yn P UXke stay-Fres-3s~ know-Pres-1.w 'I know (*grerc.eive] wbew Ulsike is.'6 n e case far positing distinct senses For verbs such as 'knowhear' (

that ng has a meaning COP which there is no word in ward perceive as a label for this inexpressible s m e t a bit like saying that ng means 'X' [the hypothesis hypothesis h a ng by itserf means 'know', and ~ o nu s

concept of 'think'whereas the culturally and liingwisrtically closely related Yankunyltgiatjara people don't. The evidence available to date suggests that all languages do in fact have words for 'know' and %hink'. These words or may not be poEysernoms, but this is irrelevant from the point of view language" conceptual resources. allpike (1979: 391) writes: "Even when we encounter among the prima word we are disposed to translaite as Yhink" it commonly has the meaning of kbvious mental effort', as it does among Fiaget's preTmgu word ngek'ngeki, 'to think, ponder, cogitate, dge 18969: 176) ]." HaJPpike is probably right: it is age will have a separate word for 'think' aving a separate word for 'thinking' in the more k that . . .'.The Australian language Kayardild studied by Evans (1985) is a good case in point. In Kayardild the word ha flit. '"head-put") means "Xhinlk of*recall, come up with somenithi, cuncPe will rough thinking', for example k a k ~ j cnalmarufh~lc~ will emP1 the name' (Evans 1994: 21 1); and there is no word which would mean specifically 'think that' and nothing else (although the word rnarralmaru~ka,lit. "ear-p1at", can be used in the swse 'think thatY, as well as in the sense 'recall'). But Hailpike's argument rests on his assumption that if a word means %ear' it cannot also mean "Bhnk'. Inr fact, if a language has two words, one peaking, 'think w i h effortq,and the other is pollqir h n d 'think (that)', the argument fails. Referring to of ~oncieptssuch as "a', 'some" 'number'%and 'time', (1979: 390) mites: ame wag, when we are considering wards that relate to cognitive prouesses, aernembler that this word, together with those r', 'stupid', and 'understand', can bear simpler interitive, and that It is possiible for primitives and the in relation to behaviowr, facial expressions, bodch, while leaving out of account their distinctively cognispects. We wauEd not expect to find discussions in primitive society about the emce between knowing and believing, for wampl, or appearance and reality. at issue here is molt the use that different societies make of as Yhink' and %now', but the availability of such concepts. ords for 'think'aarud %now' may be present but may "bear

Descartes (1701/1931), among many others, has pointed out, nothin

be 'ksimpler" than "hink'ar 'know' (see Boguslawski 19719, 8989).

7, General Discussilora

claim that in some languages words for "think' and 'know'are not sense. Referring with approval to Gilbert RyBe's view that "at the c o m a i n level our assessments of mental processes are in fact assessments of Be iour" "979: 31841, Hallpike goes on to say:

who share this belief, d l distinctions between ''them" and "us" in

But Needham also lists trmslatiolns of some other Nuer words and which mem to refer mom up11embigauously and explicitly to inner states Hallpike" Faundcztiom of Primitive Thought;Shwedes 19821, pollogists continue to be ~quikepious about the 'principle ail'

Iber', 'forget', 'devec', 'stupid', 'understand",and so on. But the point is that all th aspects of cognition have behavionral memi~estations,too . . . In shark, it is the external manifestadionns d irrmner states n in which primitives interested, and inn these external mranifestaliions the body has a crucial rolIe. The statement that a given word means "think', or ' b n ~ w or ' ~ 'hear" c be tested by the usual semantic methods; if the application of semantic t a shows that a word means 'think', or is polysemous b e t w ~ n' results of semantic analysis. The semantic relevance of behaviourai manifesta'Y.ionscan be tested. example, in English the words merry and gbamy refer in their very m

If a shared basis of universal concepts did not exist, the M e r e n t conuniverses associated Gith dflerent languages would be mltudly in the psychic unity af humankind and in the primiple that whatan say in one language one can also say (more or less easily] in one cannot at the same time reject the hypothesis of a set of

do not: 'He was mrryilgloorny, but he didn? show it, He was happyisad, but he didn't show it. To my knowledge, no similar evidence far the relcvance of behaviourlrl manifestations ta the meaning of the words for 'think'ar "knowVin Australian, Papuan, or m y other languages has ever been produced (by Hainpike or by anyone else). 1conclude that while Hallpike's claim that in many nlan-Western cultures "the realm of purely private experience receives very little elaboration or analysis at the level af public disc.aurse9' is uundchubtedly correct (see e.g. Howell 11981; Lutz 19881, his assertions concerning the alleged absence of wards for 'think'and 'knolllr'(and the concornnitant absence of the corresponding concepts) are unfounded.

concepts ~EIE ~ o ~ n m a n demphasis " added]. The question of native speakers of different languages bave the same basic concepts

same

estipted., and a ttheoretiml framework was lacking within which it could seriously and rigorously investigated. Cole, Gay, Glick, and Sharp 01971: 2151 wrote: 'The allmost universal

cancQusionthat "cultraral differences in cognition reside more in the

206 Geneml h u e s

situations to which particular cognitive ppacxesses are applied than in the existence of a proms in one cultural group and in absence in another"". A4wsali.v mcd~wdi~, the same concEusions emerge fmm research into crosscultural semantics. On the one hand, the almost universal oubome of the semantic study of culture and cognition has been the demonstration of large differences among cuPturaB groups with respect to their patterns of IlexIcalimtion, in particular, their key words and key concepts (see Wiembicka 1991b). On the other Inand, it emerges that in addition to the vast m s s of culture-specific wnmpits, there are certain fundamental concepts which appear to be lexicalized in all languages of the wodd; so that cultural differences b e t w ~ nhuman groups reside in ways in which these basic concepts are utillhd rather t h in the existence of some ooncepts in one cultural group and thejr absence in another. It might be added that there are also considerable differences between cultures in the extent to whi& certain basic concepts are called upon. For example, the concepts d 'bewuse', "if and 'aal may indeed be utilized much less in the cdture of hstralian Aborigines than in Western culture (see N. Evans 1994 on 'because'; Bittner and Hale 1995 and Harkias 1991 on 'dl'; also Goddard 19189c3). But this doesn't mean that these concepts are absent, or that they are not lexicallly embodied. It should also be mentioned that (as argued by Goddard 1991a) the low frequency of some indefinabte wards in some languages may be comperrmsated for by high frequency of more inclusive "semantic moledesyJ, Goddard argues that this is the case with the notion of cb'because' in Australian languages, which is often included in "semantic molecu~es" encoded in various purposive constrlactions. Goddard (1Wla: 44) writes: Prime facie, I submit, the meaning oE these constmcllions involves the notion of became, in combination with the complex notion o r m ~ ~ wanting n e somes"hifig $0 happe~. . . The purposive constructions, in other words, provide a compact means for arliicwllating causal connections within a particular broad domain-that having to do with people" motives or reasons for doinug things. In PN society, I wouEd argue, people lend to be more interested in each others' reasons for doing &in@ than in other kinds of causal Ilinks, Most talk about reasons for actions takes plaoe in the idiom of the purposive, which sesvices the main needs in respect of the expression of causality.

Eeibniz (176UI981: 3261, who Bmdy believed in the psychic unity of humankind, recommended comparative study of different languages of the world as a way to discover the "inner essence of man" and, in particular, the universal basis of human cognition. Nleedham (1972: 2201 commentled on Leibniz's ""grand propasa!" as follows: This b d d suggestion . . . was based on the tacit premise that the human mind was everywhere the same. . . . Methodologically, LeLeibniz was thus proposing a com-

6. Semml[ic~crmd "Primitive Thaught " 207' anakysts of the kind that Uvy-Bmhl was to put into eflecb, almosb exactly uries later, and even in tenns that find ready agreement today; but it is not , not the type of reseauch that he recommended, that have since been called o renewed question. Underlying his proposal was the conviction that human ure was uniform a d fixed, and it is pr~wielythis idea that more hecent concrepDual analyses have made difficult to accept.

Hallpike (19791, who quotes Needham extensively, drew logical wmrclusions m these relativist statements [although one may doubt whether edhaam himself would have endorsed HaIlpike's theories of ''primitive In a sense, however, serdi~~m nom dcrtur (there is no third possibility): either Leibniz was right, and these is, behind the variability of cdtures, a universal, "fixed and uniform" set of underlying human conciepts, or Needham was right, and there is no '%xed and unifam" conceptual basis of different language-and-culture systems. Linguistic evidence suggests that the truth is on Leibniz's side, as do conp h a l analyses more recent than those referred to by Needham. Language-and-culture systems differ enormously from one another, but there are also semantic and lexical universals, which point to a shared conapturil basis underlying all human language, cognition, and culture. But in order to establish what is and what is not universal in human linguistic and conceptual resaurces we need a rigorou~methodology. In particular, we need a methodology which would allow us to recognize polysemy where it is really present without positing it in cases where it is This point must be emphasized, because many scholars have deep-seated fears of ever positing polysemy for another language and imagine that by doing so one will inevitably fall prey to ethnooentrism. For examplie, one the anonymous reviewers of an ueadier version of this chapter ieszbicka 1994g) cautioned against "the assumption that if a term in lanage X requires more than one distinct translation to cover a range of es that the translatodanalyst devises, then it must be polysemous . . . , if w can imagine a distinction, as for example, between 'hear' and ink', for which a single term is used ia X (but f a r which multiple terns are available in our Ilanguage), this (putatively universal) conceptual distinction must be polysemously fabeled in X",and illustrated this point as follows: This is as if to say that if a tern, e.g. ainiwa (Sahaptin] is used to refer to a ''bee" at one time and a "wasp'ht another, that it must have these two distinct senses. Why reject out of hand the possilbility that the distinction is simply of no corrsequlenw: to the spneahrs d A? "IPerps, if it is ru distinction we find dificull to imagim doing without, as between '"1" and '"ome", we would want to argue strenwlously for a polysemous interpretation.

6

6. Semantics and "Prhiffve nought "2209

2

Certainly, some of the universal concepts discussed here may be used more frequently in some cultures than in others. For example, it may well that in some Australian languages, in which the concepts 'tlninkhanrd arbbane the same lexical exponent, this exponent is u d much mare frenfly with the meaning 'Ineas'tthan with the meaning 'thinEr"; and also, t references to 'thinkjing'are much more common in English discousse n in, say, Pitjantjatjara discourse. But the question of the extent of use certain conncepts must be distinguished from the question of their avail-

But the question is not whether it is easy or difi6icult to imagine doing without a particular distinction, but whether the necessity of a particular distinction can be established by reductive paraphrases with full predictive pwer. For example, ' ' ~and " "wasp" can no doubt be r4uw.d to mma thing along the following lines: 'k small flying creature (small enough far a person to be able to hold it between a finger and a thumb); it has a shnp thin long part; it can sting peaple with that part; when this happens to someone it hurts"". If this c o r n o n core fits all the contexts in which h e Sahaptin word ~tni'wacan be used (a point which can be tested), then positing polysemy for this word would be totally unjustified. But the relationship between 'think'and 'hear' is quite different f m that htwm 'bee' and 'wasp' (m from that between "rl" and 'daughta')I. If a loomon core [substitutable in context) can be articulated for Ehe Sahaptin word atnfwa, no c o r n o n core (substitutable in context) can be articulated for, say, the Pitjmtjatjara word M i n i (or for the French word

More generally, the availability of cognitive resources should not be confused with the habitual use of these resources in different societies. Differences in the latter are particularly clearly illustrated by Luria's (1976: I l l ) interviews with Uzbek and Kirghiz peasants. For example: [Q.] In

the Far North, where there is snow, all beam are white. Novaya Zedya is in the Far North and there is always snow there. m a t wlou are the Bears there? the beaus there are,I never saw them.

prle). One could of course suggest that 'thimk' m d 'hear3ave re a m a m care which simply Itaannot be articulatied, but this hypothesis is utestable (because ta hypothetical meaning which hasn't been articllllated cannot Ire tested in context), and therefore them is little point in entertaining it. The status of such an antestable hypothesis must be seen as quite diRerent from the sutttus of the testable hypothesis that, lfor example, the Sahaptin word atniwa has a unitary meaning. If one takes into account that RuJhi occurs in two difTerent grammatical frames, each of them assodated with a different sense Ctlrink" in one frame and %earJ in anotlner), whereas a m h a o~ocwrs[presumably) in exactUy Ehe same grammatical frames whether it is used with referenw to bees or to wasps, one can see that the analogy between the two cases is more apparent t h m real. Similarly unjustified (though understandable) is the fear oil'ethahwentrisrn expressed in the following comments (by the same reviewer): Perhaps it is better to attack the mswpUion that every distb~ti!onwe judge rdewant md nwsessary for coherent abst~actionmust be basic to 'kdult" ratiocination. For exampie, re. the alleged "fai8ureqQo distinguish 'tarusal re1ations"from reladons of simple spatio-temporal contiguity: owr philosophers argue interminably about the validity of causal inferems €ram observations of spatlo-temporal contiguity. Why should ;dm cultures make the same logical errors we are prone to?

But concepts such as "because" '"if", 'think" 'knncrw', and 'ail' are not just "ours": they are well attested in numerous languages of Asia, Afsi@a, America, Australia, New Guinea, and Oceania, and their exponents are by no means always polysemous [for evidence on this point, see Goddard and Wierzbicka b 944b).

a.] Once I saw a hear In a nruwm, but that's all.

,

Luria comments that "the most typical responses of the subjects . . . were ;a complete denial of the possibility of drawing conclusions from propositions about things they had no personal experience of, and suspicion about any logicail operation of a purely theoretical nature" '1976: 108). At the s m e time, however, Curia" interviews clearly show that his interviewees did have concepts such as 'allymd 'if', and that when pressed they could draw the desired inferences. For example (1 11): .I] But on the basis raf what I said, what color do you think the ibears there tare? .] Either one-colored or two-cdored . . . Iponders for a long time]. To judge from ~e place, they should be white. You say that there is a Pot of snow there, but we have never been there?

And another example (1093:

I Brut what kind of bears are there in Nolvaya Xedya? ] We always speak only d what we see; we don't talk about what we haven't seen.

...

Brut what do my urords imply? . . . Well, it's like this: o w tsar isn't Pike yours, and yours isn't like ours. Your words lcan be answered onEy by someone who was there, and if a person wasn't there he can't say anything on the basis of your words . . . But on the basis of my wards-in the North, where there is always snow, the ears are white, can you gather what kind of bears there are in Novaya ZemPya? If a man was sixty or eighty and had seen a white bear and had told about it, e could be believed, but I've never seen one and hence 1 can't say. That's my last word. Those who saw can tell, and those who didn't t e can't say anflhilag!

2 10 General Ismes (At this point a young Wzbek volunteered, "From Jrourwords it mems that beam there are whifie."] [Q.]Weill, which d you is right? [A,] m a t the cock knows how to do, he dots. What I know, E say, and nothing beyond that!

7

Semantic Complexity and the Role of Ostension in the Acquisition of Concepts

The availability of canmpts such as 'all' and W'is crucial to deductive r a sonimg; all the rest can be learnt (as Luria" data show, quickly learnt, given sufficient cultural exposure]^. Different modes of thought do not make human cultures mutually impenetrable if the basic conwptuaI resouroes are the same. As Franz Boas wrote (19380: 1411-2): Irm primitive culture people speak only about actual exprienoes. They do mat discuss what is virtue, good, evil, beauty; the demands of their daily life, like hose of our uneducated classes, do not extend beprnd the virtues shown on definite msions by definite people, good or evil deeds of their fellow tribesmen, and the k w t y d a man, a woman, or d an object. They do not talk about abstract ideas. The question is rather whether their language makes impossible the expression of abstract ideas . . . Devices to develop generalized ideas em probably dwsuys p ~ mnt and they are u d m soon as the cultural needs campel the natives, to farm them.

Discussions of cm~eptualand lewiml resources in non-Western Ianguages such as those contained in HalUpikeYsbook tend to be based on anecdotal information [see Lave 198P) and often lack linguistic sophistication. But if dalmw like Hallpike" are to be suocessfullly refuted, they have to be refuted on the basis of sdid evidence and sound andysis. The task of determining the hll set of universal concepts which underlie the "psychic unity of humankind" is viitall and urgent. Empirical Ilinpistic investigations reported in Semantic and Lexical Univer8ab (Coddard and Wiemlbkka 1994M suggest that in all prolbillib11ity the rnetapredliwtes 'ifax 'because', and 'dli', the mental predicates 'think'and %now7,and the basic "~ubstantives"%omeoneharrd'sometluingkar among their number.

1. Introduction have been impeded, more than anytatabions. Familiar analyses of meaning along se to die' or bachelor equals 'unmarried n regarded as satisfactory, Itrut they have helped to twate the illusion that If the meaning of a word cannot be stated sstmula of three or four words, then what is needed plex one, of five or six words. who tried to go beyond formulae like ts kii! = se to die' found that trying to go just a little further didn't seem to histicakd semantic formulae were as ttne cruder and simpler ones. in meaning of wards the more elusive this rying to catch it in verbal formulae was like tryce, many scholars previously interested earch altogether and turned to other, ing to justify their abandonment of semantic iption in terns of new ideas about the nature of meaning. Meaning, defined-not bemuse we haven" yet cause it is, by its very nature, indefinable (see 1981; Chomsky 1987; Lakoff and Johnson usion was frequently accompanied by attacks on Plato and Leibniz], by almost ritualistic references stein, and by assurances that meaning cannot be described hawse it is "fmya""Ofteny'Tuzziness" came to be oelebrated as almasd the ultimate truth about h m a n language and cognition. One could h o s t hear a collective sigh of relierf: meaning is "fwy'" so we don't need to try to describe it. But in linguistics there is no escape from meaning. Meaning is what

language is all about, and the study of meanhg whet linguistics is, ultimately, all about. Ohiousl to make the study of meaning his or her primary concern: t important tasks in linguistics. But Binguistics as a whole m its responsibility for the study of meaning; and this means avoid the problem of semantic c~mplexity.

2. Complex Concepts as Configurations of Simple Ones The complexity of a concept can be viewed as t From the level of indefinables. Some meanings guages can be regarded as ""sirtrpleY~inthe sense that t decomprased (without circularity) into any otber meaningsmFor exa as argued earlier, one cannot decompose (or define) concepts s u ~ as h Gsomeonel,or 'know', and any attempt to do so must lea and obscurity [as when one tries to define this in terms of dehb, osfiensiol definiteness, refirentiality, and lsiol on; or k m w in terms of in~ursrratian,fa tiuliby, wesa$co~ion, and the Pike). One could of course say that concep such as 'this', "someone', or 'know' are c~omplexw in som senses of the tern "complex"; I maintain, h plex in the sense of being cdwmpo~bubEeinto sirnlpbr than themselves. in this sense (and only be regarded as the "ultimate simples" of any valid @once natural language. By contrast, most concepts e n d e d in any human language ere "IC~CP plexY9nthe sense that they EM be decomposed in terms of simpler col cepts. To stalte the meaning of a word is to reveal the configuration simple concepts encoded in it-just as Locke said nearly a definitions is nothing else but the showing the meaning of one word by other not synonymous bnns. The meaning of words made to stand for by him that uses them, the meaning of any or the ward is defined, when, by other words, the idea it is made tlhe s i ~ no annexed to, ins the mind o l the speaker, view of ansother; md thus its sigdicatio of definitionus; and therefore the only m tian. (Locke 11690il959: 33-43

But to 'tae able to present comp1ex meanings @r ooncepts) as tions of simple ones we must know in advance what the simp1 are, just as to analyse chemical compounds into th we must know irm advance what the chemical elements are. Semantic ds requires a list of semantic dements, just as list of chemical elements. This crucial fact (Ithat

r w e d we need a list of semantic simples) was pointed out not by Locke Leibniz also saw clearly the dilemma stemming from the mutual depenur knowledge of simple concepts and our understanding of plex ones: lea understand complex concepts we have to decompose them what we assume are simple concepts; but to discover which concepts can be reasonably regarded as the simple ones we have to experiment with their power to ccgenerateJy complex d error that we can discover the ulltimate simovered them, all our semantic analyses must ional and to a greater or lesser degree incorrect. s, H shall look briefly at a few diSfercnt types of concept, to assess their complexity (relative to the postulated set of "sims mentioned earlier (Chapter 11, data from child language are relevant ve to be handled with care, since to study conceptual herent semantic theory is needed in the first place. ists sometimes argue about such matters in a some. For example, Chierchia and McConnell-Ginet (19901: on the issue of lexical decomposition.

ut empirical findings on chilid language demonstrate that the concept of usation (not in the fonn of the verb lo carrse but in the form of clausall nkers such as 'cause and because) is quite common in the speech of 2-year. Whether the words kill and die are learned earw: the authors probably don't know either but simply guessing. Furthermore, they take for granted that when children they link them wikh the same concepts to the relevant literature. Finally, the composition of the adult concept 'kill' should n the verbs E;O cause and to become (as suggested twenty-five years ago s that the authors'view of semantic . Wierzbicka 1980rs.) The same applies to Fodor" (1987: 161) comments on the meaning of

2 14 General Issues

%'@

7. Osrensionamd Concept Acquisition 215

er, for example, the English word happy and the Polish word given tionairjles as its equivalent: szczg?$liwy. As Barahczak (1990: 12-13] out, the range of use of the two words is not the same.

farher: "Children know about fathers long before they know about males and parents. So either they don't have the concept FATHER when they seem to, or you can have the concept MALE PARENT without having aocess b internal structure; viz., by having the concept FATHER. Of these alternatives, the last seems best." 1would certainly agree that the analysis offafher as "male parent7Ysmisguided (see Wierzbicka B972], and that the child's concept of 'father' is not that of 'male parent'. But what does it prove? For adults, the knowledge of, roughly speaking, 'begetting' is a park of tlveir concept of 'father'; it is necessarily true, then, that when children acquire the adult concept of 'father" they m s t also acquire this knowledge. Obviously, when small children use the word DatEdy they don? teed to have that knowledge; so it is not true that small chilldren necessarily "haow about fathers"(just lsecause they use the word Daddy). Words such as M o m y and Daddy are among the very first wrds learned by children (see Anglin 8977), but they are first learned as names far particular people, and the road from there to the adult concept of bother' and 'father' is a subject for serious study. Fodor's comments on the subject suggest limited familiarity with the work done thus far. His conclusion that children have an unanalysablle concept of FATHER, which i8 the same as that of addts, denies the whole idea of conceptual development and overlooks the vast body of empirical research on child language and on the aquisillion of meaning. And yet Fodor's musings on "hthar'hnd other similar passages are ofkn adduced in books on "'dbrmal semantics'" as evidence that the whole "deoompositional approach'" to meaning is untenable (see e.g. Chierchia and McConndl-Ginet 1990: 363).

t b word '%appyY",rPuerps one of the mast frequently used wards in Basic ican. It's easy ta open an English-Polisb or EngllshRussian dictionary and an equivalent adjective. In fact, however, it will not be equivalent. The Polish d for '%splpyW"nd I biebiavc tlluis ;ulso Bralds foe otJ~crSlavic languages) has B uch more restricted meaming; it is generally reserved for rare states of profound , or tala1 xatishction with serious things such as love, Iramily, the meaning of and so on. Accordingly, it is not used as often. ns "happy" is m i u American comIt is not only the Polish word szcsg.t/iwy or its counterparts in the other avic languages which differs from the English word happy in fie ways ibed: the Geman word gMcklich and the French word heuirem diner happy in much the same way (see Wierzbicka 1992~).To amount for ase diflerenms, [I have postulated for these words he following two expli-

3, Abstract Corroeplts: Words far Emotions Generally speaking, abstract concepts appear to be less complex than concrete ones; but even so, they are usually much more complex than simple d i ~ tionary definitions or illustrative semantic formulae offered in scholaaly literature would lead us to believe. But very simple definitions of this k i d @.g,e"o tie-'to say something untrue') do not have any predictive power, md they cannot m u n t for the differences in the range of use of related concepts. For example, as pointed out earlier (Chapter 4), a definition of "ie' which says that "0 lie' is to say something untrue cannot account for the differences in use betwmn lie and its dosest Russian counterparts wrat' and [gar', both of which also mean, roughly speaking, Yo say something untrue'. To my mind, if we want to assess a concept's real complexilty we must seek to reveal its structure in a formula whose validity could be verified against its actual range of use. Otherwise, the formulae we devise willl reflect nothing but our own preconceptions.

f

[A) X feels happy. = X feds something sometimes a person thinks something Bike this: something good happened to me I wanted this E don? want anything more now because of this, this person feels something good X feels. like this (B) X feels 8zczgStlry &lUcklfcEEca, heureu, etc.). = X feels something sometimes a person thinks something like this: something very good happened to naa: I wanted this everything Is good now P can't want anything more now because of this, this person feels somethitg very good X feels like this

two explications differ in three respects: First, B has one additional ponent, "everything is good now' (by implication, "wrything that is pening to me'); second, 'good' in A contrasts with %err good' in B; and d, 'I don't want anything more nowqn A contrasts with 'I can't want thing more now' in B. These three diflerenms account, I think, for 'caabsollmte" ~oonotationsof szczgs"[iwy and the more limited, more pragmatic character of happy, discussed by Baraniczak and confirmed by

7. CJ'sserrsbn and Concept Acqaisits'on 21 7

numerous linguistic facts such as, for example, that one can say quite h p p y but not *ca&iema szcz~dEiwgror * g m z gIr;r'ck/ich,or that one can my I m happy witk this arrmgement but not * ~ ~ SszczgBiiwy S I P ~ r $egosrkfadu or *Lk bin gIf4ncrfrls'chmit dieser Anordnmg, A few further examples from the area of emotion concepts [sex also Chapter 5): Terrd@ed 'A feels something sometimes a person thinks something Pike this: something very bad is happening I because of this, something very bad can happen to me now I don't wmt this because of this I would want to do something if I could I can't do anything bemuse of this, this person feels something very b d X feels something like this If one is ferr$edr what one is tcrr@ed of is seen not simply as 4sometln;i;ng bad'buk as something 'very bad'. What one is tesr$ed of Is very resealsomething that is already there. Amnd yet the target of iterror is also p d y in the future' because the present 'bad evenlt9s seen here as a source of a tuture threat ('. . . can happen NOW). This future threat is necessarily personal ('sometkning very bad can happen TO ME now'). The exp~enmr's attitude is one of an intense non-ancrceptance ('I don't want it']; at the same time, it is one of totd helpkssness ('1 can%do anything'). ,Petr$ed X feeis something sometimes a person thinks something like his: something very bad is happening something very bad will happen to me now I don't want this because of this, I would want to do something if I could I can't do anything because of this, this person feels something very bad bemuse of this, this person can't move X feels something like this iPetr@ed appears to be a more spec& version of terrged: it is a ferrEpr which beads to a kind of paralysis: 'this person can't move".mote, however, the difference between 'can h*rppm'in rerrijied mdl 'will happen' in petr@cd,) Horrged W feels something

sometimes a perlaon thinks something like this: something very bad is happening to someone I didn't think that something like this could happen 1 don't w n t this because of this I would want to do something if I could I can" do anything because of this, this person fecls something vcry bad X feels something like this main difference between horror and terror concerns the relationship the exrperiencer and the victim: in the m e of terror, the two are , whereas in the case of horror they have to be different. One is omeone else, as one is appalied to see A second differemnm between horror to the first one] has to do with the prehe farmer: since horror is, essentially, the feeling of a primady what is happening kow'(Cin a b r a d sense), than what can or ~lrsi81happen after now. is kind are very different from so-called sad on a set of necessary and sufficient conditions, to concepts but to denotata (so that one can say of any extralimn-

is a fairly precise and flexible tool of conoeptual analysis, and itae and elusive aspects of meaning far beyond the ation which was aimed at in earlier analyses of ortantly, definitions of the kind proposed here Iy verifiable; they canan, therefore, be distested against native speakers'intuitions, and ended .on the basis of such discussions. Though not perfect, all concepts encoded in natural language are reducible to le, univensal, and inherently "c1ear"concepts such as NE and SIOMETBIING, SAY and KNOW, or GOOD and ]BAD, 9 always be so reduced, so to speak, in one go, that is in a single complex. Often, they can only be reduced to the level conceptual simples step by step. In saying this, I am relaxing a pinciplle semantic analysis which H have defended for two decades, and which was stulated by Leibniz as a necessary empirical check on semantic analysis, to some words (notably, particles): oper explanation of the particllcs it i s mot sufficiemli to make an abstract . . but we must proceed lo a paraphrase which may be substituted in

its place, as the definition may be put in the place of the thing defined. When wle hnvc elo'ivcn In ~ c c kstlcl tn dclierfiami~ie tlucse ,f:t~itnble pnrnp~nansc~il~ nil lhc pnrtidcs so far as they are susceptibic or Llmem, we sUaall Ylusuxe rcgnrlekcd tllclr sigmilicatlons. (Leibniz 1765/11981: 333).

I still believe that this principle is vitally important, bwlt P no longer think that it can be applied as blroadly as 1suggested in a number of earlier publications (see in particular Wierzbicka 1972, 1980). In many cases, I now recognize, it can only be applied step by step. 1 will illustrate this with a number of examples of concrete concepts, beginning with relatively simplie ones, and tihen turning to more complex ones.

4. Relatively Simple Concrete Concepts: Body Parts and tbe Natural Environment Among the simplest concrete concepts are some spatial concepts such as ctopyand 'boffomy: a part of something this part is above all1 the other parts of this something bot~om a part of something this part is under a 1 the other parts of this something A somewhat larger cxtegory of (relatively speaking) simpb concept8 imncludes those referring to body parts.' For example:

head a part of a person's body this part is abow a11 the other parts of the body when a person thinks, something happens in this part

Despite their relatively simple semantics, many body part ooncepits appear to involve a hierarchical (transitive) structure, with, far example, the 'eyes', 'ears', c n ~ ~ and e y , 'mouth' being defined via 'face'* and "ace', via 'head' (see Cruse 11986; WiPkins 8981; Apresjan 1974, 1992; Mel'Cuk 11974): ,&ice

a part of a person's hcnd it is on one side of the head ilt has parts I For an earlier allilemgt at analysilug the meaning of body part lenns, see Wierzhicka (i980: 77-97).

often, when a person feels something, snm~ethinghappens in this p:nrt otlrer peoplc cam see this because af this, when a person feels something, other geaplle can often know something about it eyes

two parts of a person's face these parts are alike one is on one side of the face the other is on the other side of the face because of these two parts, a person can see ears two parts of a person's head these parts are alike one is on one i d e of the head the other is on the other side of the head they are not parts of a person's face because of these two parts, a person can hear nose a part of a permn's faoe one can think of this part like this: there ;are two parts above this part one on one side of the face one on the other side of the face there is one part under this part because of this part, when a person is in a place, this person can feel something because of this, a person can think something l i h this about a place: there is something bad in this place there is something good in this place mouth a part of a person's faoe this part has two parts, one above the other these parts are alike because of this part, a person can say things to other people other people can hear these things often, there: are some things inside this part because this person wants to do something to these things with this part people can think like this about this part: if there is nothing inside this part for a very long dime a person cannot live

7. Qstension and Concept Acquisition 221

What applies to body part concepts applies also to environmental concepts such as "sky'or " u n k r 'cloud" for which 1 would propose explliations rowg01ly along the following lines: 3 b

something very big people can see it people cain think like this about this something: it is a place it is above all other plaoes it is far from people 8UH

something people can often see this something in the sky when this something is In the sky people can see other things bmause of this when h i s something is In the sky people often fzel something be~auseof this cio~d something people can often see many things of this kind in the sky sometimes people cannot see the sun bemuse of these things these things can move Explicated in this way, a set such as 'eyes-face-head' or %loud-sw-sky" reminds one of a set of Russian wooden dolls. A111 this may seem mot only very complicated but mneeessarily so: wouldn't it be better to admit, quite simply, that eyes are eyes, a face is a face, and a head is a head, and that's the end of the story? Of course it would be simpler to do this. Brat consider what words such as these [e.g. eyes) can mean to a blind person like Helen Keller (1956), who could use them in ways mlnat make pcrfect sense to sighled people. It seems to me that seen from the point o[ view of someone like Hellen Keller the explications proposed here sound psychologicaUy quite pbusihle. The words eyes, Jace, and head could have to Helen Kdler an ostensive interpretation, because she could know their designeta by touching. But surely, she knew not only which parts of her own face crri of other people's faces wem called eyes, but aIso that these parts-which she coulld b w ~ h - c a u l d give people some special, otherwise inaccessible, knowledge albout places. She also knew that people" faces can reveal something about their thoughts and feelings, and that their heads are not only above other parts of the body but also have sometlhinp, to do with thinking. In the case of 'cloud', 'sun', or " k g h n ostensive definition is even less

plausible, bemuse Helen Keller could neither see nor touch their designata; and yet she clearly did understand the concepts. I do not think, therefore, that the explications proposed here are unnecessarily connp8ex. k~tthe same time I acknowledge tbat they are complextoo complex for gIobal, d-embracing, one-level paraphrases couched exclusively in terms of semantic primitives to be fully intelligibb. It is desirable, therefore, and perhaps necessary, that our definitions of concrete concepb such as names of body parts or names. of diiTerent parts or aspeds of the natural ersvironment should include semantic "molecules" as weBE as semantic atom^". It slniould be emphasized, however, that a semantic analysis conducted in k m s of semantic 'koleculesY>ather than directly in t e m s of semantic '%toms'hakes no claim about the order of acquisition. Thus, if we define 'eyes' in tems off 'face', or "slm'in terms of 'sky', this does not mean that we expect children to learn the wordface before the word qes, or the word sky hefare the word mn,because the acquisition of concepts is none thing, m d the acquisition of words, another. Though we m y know that a child has started to use the word eyes, or the word sun, this does not mean that we h o w what concepts the chiid is associating with these words. Since a young child's use of words does not correspond to that of an adult (see e.g. knglin 1970; Clark and Clark 1977; Clark 1983; Carey 191851), we m n o t a s m e that the chill85 meanings carrespond to those of the adult; on the contrary, we m s t assume that they may be different. It seems reasonable to conjecture that children absorb the semantic universe of their native language gradually, moving, on the whole, from s h pler concepts to more complex ones. It goes without saying that the acquisition, of concepts by children requires much further study (across a wide range of langvages) before any fim conclusions about the nature of this process can be: reached. It is important to remember, blowever, that the task is exceedingly difficult, precisely because the acquisition of concepts cannot be equated with the acquisition of words. la would seem obvious that systematic and methodologically informed analysis of adult concepts is a conditbn sine qua nora for the study of the grdual acquisition of these concelpts by children.

5 . Temperature Terns and the Colrvciept of Tire' It s m s very likely that 'Ye~mperatureItems" are first learnt ostensivelyfar example, hot in connection with an oven or a heater, and cold in connection with cold water or drinh, or ice, or cold weather. At that stage of language acquisition, hot and coidrnay not even be thought of as opposites.

Buk the full adult meanings of these words are definitely thought of as opposites (although cold is also thought of as an opposite of warm]. We can amounrt for this if we try to reveal the conceptual point of referen~econtained in these concepts. I believe that such a paint of reference for all these three mncepts (hot, cold, and warm) is provided by the concept oE$re, and that slightly different concepts are embodied in the temperature words referring to the ambient air and in those referring plainty in Ile the noun 'paint', together with some further conceptual apparatus [COVER, FACE, and WITH]; and what I claim is that the definition doesn't work; X Y with pafnt mag be a necessary condition for Xpainis Y but it is certadnly

sufficient condition.

rson could $ay what calour Z was

brief c o w n b on this definition are in order. First, whib it is w n -

He concludes his lengthy discussion of paint as follows: ter 71, and also, some non-primitive sptactic constnnctions. Second, tion base that indudes 'ainosaur' and khlorodent'. Either way, the that Milkrk example doesay work. That's not surprising; when ilt lions, the exampbs almost always don't work. (1978: 288)

sary condition for Xpakts K For example, when a woman is painting: finger-nails she is not putting paint on them, bulk nail polish. This does mean that one can "paint" an object with just about anything; one wo for the activity in question. A sentence such as Xpainted Y with Z (where the verb pafm' is used in tlrc rcEcvant scnsc pcdi~ai?~)iiu~pPi~s 11381 a person OX) did soancthing to some object [ f l , putting some stuff (QZE on all the parts c~lrY that could be: seen (tlzat is, on the surface of l'); it furlher implies that the sluff Z was Illquid or semi-liquid at the time when X was putting it on ,'l and that Z had a defnitc colaur [so that one could say what its colour was); and that X wanted that stuff Z ta remain on the surface of Y and become, as it were, part of this surSace. Finally, the verb purist implies a function: if one puts some liquid or sehi-liquid stuff Z on the surface of object Y it is for a reason, and normally (though not always) this reason is to make this object look g a d (1 will return b this point shortly). As a first approximation, then, the following definition can be proposed:

X painted Y with Z. = (a) X did something to E" Qib] like peaph d o Qc) when they want something to look good (4 when X did it

language-specific. Far example, the closest Palish equivalent

a.

X pokrasil Y Z-om ( X LrasitLed I ' with = (a) Xdid samething to Y (b;P like people do when they want something to be a certain coQour (ED because they think that this thing will look good bemuse of this

(4 when X did it (el X did something to some stuff Z (f)i if someone looked at Z at that time iCg) this person could say what colow Z was (h) at the m e time tlnis person could think that part of Z was water (s] X wanted Z to be like part of Y 0) after Xdid it Z was like part of Y The difllelrenm lie in he:wmpanents Qbl), expllication of paint, and (el, which is less spe oomponenf of pa&. Thus, conwpts such as those encoded in the: words p a i ~ ~mabw~E, t, krmit'are language-specific. Consequently9 they cannot be innate unleamt; and since Iexicological research shows tha universal, the "p"prmitiveconceptual basis" of h a t e , pie"', indehablle concepts mwt be quite: dimerent fro [if I may say so] by Fador and his associates. 10. ConcacPusian To quote Chomsky again, '%ordinary dictionary definitions do not close to characterizing the meaning of wordsyp. b harn a n ~ l k language r and understand another that words -not be defined can hardly be anyt Fortunately, Ithis propasition is not true. As Armstrong, Glei Cleiltman (1983: 2681 say, "the only good answer so many doubt the validity of the definitional vie theory is difficult to work out in the required detail". But "diRcuYt" not mean "impossible"". As I wrote in my Lexicography and Conc Analysis:

habitual devices. But the theoretical imssumptians implicit in these routines h dom been the subject of serious analysis. (Wieszbicka 1985: 11)

And in English Speech Act V;?rbs:

IT modern linguistics were b be judged by the contribution it made to lexica it would be bardl to understand why linguistics is said to have made d r m

st obvious, and in a sense the most important, to the ordinary Ianguage the lexicon. This remarkable state: of atudYairs reflects the wide gap which any linguists' declarations and actual elffarts continues to separalte acatde~ngu~slijcs from "real life" as manifested in the needs and concerns oF ordinary language users. It reflects also the failuire of linguistic science to develop adequate ethodofogical tools for dealing with the lexicon-and a widespread Mack of Faith the possibility of a purposerid, methodical and revealing scientific study of this

o the study of the lexicon is beginning ry may bencome in linguistics the era of the

d approach to linguistic description"see

r, and Parkes (1980) put forward the destructive ns", which led to tlne conclusion that semantic general is impossible and should be abandoned. It is time to ge ithe self-defeating nature of this ssogan. Meanings mn be rigared if they are recognized for what they are: ue and culture-specific configurations of universal semantic primitives. ecogniae the: role of these primitives as a foundation on which all x meanings are b a d we can use them as an: instrument for impmvich will be developed in the fallowing chapter.

9. Semantics and lexixklograplrhy 259

9 Semantics and Lexicography aa For years, I b e argued that semantics as a schokdy discipline must prove itself in lexicography. "'Lexicography needs linguistics, and Ihngukxics needs lexicography, As Zgusta (1971: 1P Y) points out, for the treatment of meaning in dictionaries to be radically improved, preparatory work has to be done by linguists" (Wierzbiclca 1987a: 1-2). I believe that during the two decades which have elapsed since Zgusta made this c o m e n t , much of his preparatory work has in fact been done. In this chapter I will U y to show that, as a result ah this work, the treatrncnt of meaning in dictionaries can indeed 'be radically improved.

2. Scope versus Adequacy and Truth Dictionaries are books about words. Unlike, however, various more or less selective "studies in wordsY"e.g. Lewis 1960), dictionaries are meant to be relatively complete-a~t least with respect to one thematic domain, or om aspect of language. Since they are also meant to be prwtically useful and commercially viable, one of the first dllcrnmas for a dictionary-maker is how to combine completeness with a reasonable six. It is at this point, I bdeve, that a practical lexicographer often Laecom impatient with theoretical lexicography. Theoretical lexicographen tend to maintain that to describe one word adequately one needs a grealt deal of space (many pages, if not many dozens, scores, or even hundreds of pages). As one leading lexicographer and semanticist, Igor Mel'Euk (1981: 571, pot it: "Not only every language, but every lexeme of a language, is an entire world itir itself." In a sense this is tme-but if so, then of course a praclt4ml lexicographer does not have the room to do justice to even a single word, let alone to the thousands of words with which he or she usually has Go deal. An earlier version of this chapter was published as one oE two "lead papers" in a special issue of the journal Dfcrfonories (14. 1992-3: 6781, devoted to the )theoryand practia: of Meximp raphy. In the same issue, a oumks of commentaries on the t w lead papers sere published, along with the authors' replies [Dictionaries. 14. 1992-3: 139-59). Several OF these com~~nmtaries are referred to in this chapter.

One possible response to this situation on the part of practical Uexicographers is to turn their back on, theoretical lexicography and to continue doing what they have always done: to rely on experience and common sense. I believe that in doing that practical lexicographers have frequently produced valuable and useful works, and can still do so. But I also believe that if they try, instead, to look theosetical lexicography in the eye and to take from it what it has to offer, they can do a lot better. Landau C1984: 5) writes: "A dictionary is a book that lists words in alphabetical order and describes their meaning." It is only as an afterthought that he adds: "Modern dictionaries often include information about spelling, syllabification, pronunciation, etymology (word derivation), ma@, synonyms, and grammar, and sometimes illustrations as well." I agree with 'Landau's emphasis: although a good dictionary has to include, as Apresjan (forthcoming)i points out, morphological, syntactic, prosodic, pragmatic, and phraseological information, as well as infomation about meaning, it is the latter which normally constitutes the core of a dictionary. In what follows, I will not try to c o m e n t on all0 aspects of the relationship between Lhcorc.elical and practical lexicography, but rather will Bbcus, primarily, on the one feature which is truly essential: Ithe description of the meaning d words.' My main thesis with respect to this central problem i& this: The description of a word's meaning may vary, Iegitimateiy, in completeness from one work to another, but it should not differ in its basic content. A "definition" is meant to represent the truth about a word" meaning, and there is only one such tmith, whether it is to be presented in a research paper devoited to one particular word or in a dictionary intended for a general audience, including various dictionaries addressed specif cally to 'khildren", "learners'', 4'sbudents's, and so on. It is a curious but widespread illusion that by saying things which are untrue, meaningless, obscure, or theoretically untenable, the dictionarymaker can gain in either insight or spaw, and that the dictionary user is better served. If space is of paramount importance in a "comercialty e'victionary, then all the space available, however limited, should be for saying things which without being complete are none the less true, eaningful, illuminating, and clear. It might be thought churlish to deny that reputable c o m e r c i d dictionaries do say, by and large, things that are '"me, meaningful, illuminating, and clear". But unfortunately they often don't.

a Que partimlarly important area which has not been discussed at all in this chapter is that of relationships Between the meanings OF words and their syntactic properties. For both general discussion and ample exempiiffication, see Wierzbicka [M9&Te]. See also Ch. 5.

260 Lexical Semntic3 CobuiPd Engli$h Languuge Dictioy3ary [Cobui/d

3. Saying Something that is not True Sometimes dictionary definitions say things which are simply false. Far example, the Oxford AwbsaJ"hy3Junior Dictionary (OAJD 1980) offers the foillowing definition, of sure: sure-knowing something is true or right But of course '%knwingg' and "being sure" are two very different things, and even in a dictionary intended for children they should never he equated. An "adult" dictionary, the Oxford .$@perbackDictionary r(0P.D 1979) offers a more complex and 'kophistimte8" but in fact equally false, definition: sure-having or seeming to have sufioient reasons For one's beliefs, fma Rom doubts

The apparent afterthought ""Tee from do~brs'Ysbasically right, but doubt itself is defined by the OPjD via certaintry, and cerrahfy via dosxbt (doubt"feeling of' uncertainty about something'" ceastaia--"having no doubts"). Leaving aside this circular detour (see Secltion 101, we will note that for ~ u b jmtive certainty (being sure of something), having sufficient seasons far one" belief is neither necessary nor suficienf. Similarly, amounce is defined Ray the OAJD as "to say something in front of a lot of people"'. But in fact, one can also announce something [for example, an important decision) to one's parents, and the presence of a lot of people is not necessary at all. BoMis defined by the OAJD as "brave and not afraid". But this is wrong, too: one can be bold without being brave, and be brave without being bold. In particular, bolldness is shown in relation to other people, whereas none can be brave even in solitary confinement (see Wiembicka 1992a: 208-91. Srondard is defined by the same dictionary as "how good something is1'* But in fact, it is rather "how good you think something has to be". Threat is defined as "a promise that you will do something bad if what you want does not happen". However, a threat is mot a kind of promise, although it can be called that ironically; and one can say, for example, t h r e a ~mdpromises, whereas one cannot say *spmie;eba d dogs (because a spaniei is indeed a kind of dog]^. AbiUty is defined by the 8?$JD as "the power to do something"". But although the notions of 'ability'and 'powerkre related, the fomer cannot be reduoed to the latter: "ower' implies that one can do things ]that someone doesn" want, and so it implies actual or potential conflict of wills; 'abillity', however, does not h p l y this. To show that errors of this kind occur also in ambitions, prestigious, and innovative modern dictionaries, I will condude this section with two ex-

s, Cobuiiild defirnes empathy as '"the ability to share another personas s and emotions as if they were one% own""'.But in fact, as shown by (19921, empathy does not imply that one shares another person's (but rather, that one understands them, as if they were your own); athetic counsellor cannot be expected to share his efinition off forgive implies incorrectly that to be one has to be first angry with them and want to give someone who has done something wrong or one has done, you stop being angry with them, unish them'" But stories of saints and martyrs lences in which someone is said to have forgiven thalwt any implicallioru tlrat at first he or she was ted to punish them. Likewise, in the Gospel story the prodigal son [which for many people epitomizes forgiveness) there is er was at first angry with his son m d wanted

4. Saying Something that is Superfluous Given space constraints under which practical dictionaries usually operate it is surprising to see how often they waste precious space by saying things which are entirely superfluous. For example, the Longman Dictionary of Conrlemporary EngIish (LDBTEL 1984) defines the word weapm as follows: weapon-an

instrument of okTenstve or defensive cornbat; something to fight with

The simple phrase "something to Bght with'qs perhaps not a perfect definition of weopon but it is a pretty good approximation; the definition is qoiln, however, by the completely unnecessary addition of "an instrument off offensive or defemnsive combat"".One can almost sense the nervousness of the lexiooguapher who, having produoed an excellent short definition, realizes that he or she has nothing to add to ilt-and panics at what appears to be m unfamiliar, unconventional level of simplicity, and tries desperately to add something to make it longer, more complex, more "respectru.ble". Theoretical lexicography can be very useful at this point if it can reassure the practical lexicographer: "'There is no need to add anything; the simple short definition is okay; on the contrary, it is the longer one which is faullty, hecause, as Aristotlle pointed out twenty five centuries ago, in a definition every superfluous word is a serious transgression."

5. Confusing Mleaning with Knowledge Another way to waste space in a dictionary is to include in it technical or scientific knowledge. For example, SDBTEL defines the word dentist as follows: dentist-a

person who is skilled in amd licensed to practise the prevention, diagnosis, a11cl tre:uil~nient of disciusce, irrju~rics,: P I I ~nialra~rmuiutio~rs nf thc teeth,

jaws, and mouth and wha makes and inserls false teeth

It may be instructive for a reader to learn that a dentist does all the things enumerated in this definition, but information of this kind, however useful, is out of place in a dictionary. The short definition oflered by IOAJD (though not perfect) is much more satisfactory: dentist-someone

whose j~obis to look after teeth

The line between knowledge and meaning is not always easy to draw, but in principle it can be drawn (see Wierzbicka 1985 and Cbapkr 1]I), and in any case crBicfionaries are often full of infomation which quite clearly belongs in an encyclopaedia, not in a dicctbnalry. Consider, for example, the following definition of sugar (LDOTEL; my emphasis): sugar-+ sweet substance that consists wholly of s~crose,is mlaurless or white when pure, boding to brown when less refined, is usually obtained commercianly fiom sugarcane or sugar beet, and is nutritionally important as a source of carbohydrate as sr sweetener amd preservative of other foods

Clearly most of what the LDBTEL definition offers is not g a d of the everyday concept at all (not to mention the fact that sugar is defined here via sugar-cane and mgar-beet; see Section 10). As usual, lthe OAJD ddinition, though not perfect, is much m r e piausibte: 'ki sweet food ithat Is put in drinks and other foods to m&e them taste sweet'". (It would probably be better still to say something llike this: 'csomething that peopb add to things they drink or eat when they want to make them taste sweet; it ~jcsmes from some things growing out of the ground w[i.e. plants); it is normally white".) McCawlley (1492-3: 823) suggests that, in one respat, the OAJD's definition of sugar "is more accurate than Wierzbicka", since QAJD's initially guzzling use of 'food' in the definition neatly distinguishes sugar from such sugar substitutes as saocharine and Nutrasweet". But while sExgilEr should indeed be distinguished from saccharine, do we have to call1 sugar a 'Tood'~something that McCawley himelf Gnds counter-intuitive) to achieve this god? Iffiod stands, roughly, for things that people eat, then it is understandable why people would normally not call sugar "a food": one noranally doesn? eat sugar (on its own). To dis-

h between sugar and saccSiariue we could say that while both sugar ccharke are "added" to some things that people eat a r drink, only sugar can it be said that people can "eat it as part of some things they onsider also the following definitions of horse from three different dica solid-hoofed perissodactyl qluadrupd ~(Equrt~r ccrr*~!fu~fi(SOED 3964) a large sollid-hoofed herbivorous mammal [EQMMS cabaJ/u.r)domesticated by man since a prehistoric period (Web~tesk 19881 arge solid-hoofed pllamt-eating Clegged mammal (Eqcttrs eabal[us,family Equidae, e horse Family), domesticated by humans since prehistoric times and used as beast of burdem, a draught animal, or For ridimp; esp. one over 14.2 hands in height

ardly needs to be pointed out that dehitions of this kind do not repwhat ordinary speakers of English have in mind when they talk of ses. The information imncluded in such "definitions" isi for the most part, perfluous in a dictionary of English. It would be much better to ply that a horse is 'k kind of animal called horse"'. It would be betto try to explicate, in an abbreviated f o m , the folk concept encoded ngllish word horse; but if a dictionary cannot afiord the space to do waste space on infomation which is given in all encyclopaedias h has nothing ta do with ordinary speakers' knowledge of their guage anyway? (For further discussion', see Chapbr I 1.)

6. Dehitilons which are too Broad 011s which are too broad do not contain any falsehood (because ng they include is true), but their implalcations are false (because ey leave out certain necessary components). For example, taiemr is defined by the QAJD as '"he ability to do someh g very well"'. But this implies that an acquired skill could be called tab t, which is not true. The definition misses the crucial component 'inborn' 'if someone can do things of a certain kind very well not because hei'she $I something to be ab11e to do them well"). 7%succeed is defined as "to do or get what you wanted to do orget". By is definiition if one gets a present that one wanted to get, this could be esleribed as suweding; once again this is not true. (To sulciceed one has to ca something; the disjunction ""dl or get" is therefore wrong.) 7% defy is defined as "to say or show that you will not obey". But if a ild says to his or her brother or sister, 'You are not my mother or father, will not obey you"', this would not be described as defying. [One can only

264 Lexical Semantics defy orders given by someone who actually does have authority over m and can be expected to be obeyed.)~ The definition of steal says "to take something that does not you and keep it". But tll~iscould rcfer to robbery as well as to st stealing, it is essential that the actor does not want people to or she is doing, and expects that they will not know it. Secret is defined as "something that must be kept hidden from 0th plc"; bull this could rchr LO physical objects, whcrcas in fact secret only for something that one knows (and must mot tell other peo Thirst is presented as '"he need to drink"; but in fact it r sation, to w h d one feels Ywhen you feel you need to drink"). A ribbon is, according to lthe OAJD, "a strip of nylon, silk, or some a material"". But if this were true, any strip of any material co ribbon, which of course is not lrue. In Fdct, the word ribbon [in the re1 sense) refers only to a kind of thing made (by people) in order to something look good. [See Section 9.) IFcl shed is defined as "to let something falYy[and it is illustaate sentences "trees shed leaves, people shed tears, and caterpillars skins"). Hut this implies that if 1 let a book fall 1 am shedding cia1 concept missed by this definition is that of 'part" A can only shed B before the event B can be thought of as part of A (and after the event, can not]. Finally, a wswm is according to the O"AJD '% fully g r o m ffemak which turns a bitch or a mare into a woman. Needless to say, definitions can also be too narrow, but this fault seld oacurs on its own, and P will discuss it in the context of which it is most commonly combined. Here, just one exa The QAJD defines appahtment as "a time when you have ar and see some one'^s . is too restrictive, because the l a y e r who r w i v clients or the professor who sees students can also have an without having to "go" anywhere outside their ofice.

7. Capturing the Invariant Althaiugh this may sound too grand far (what tends to be seen as) humble task of a lexicographer, the process of constructing a definritioln is-or s h o l d be-a search for truth. To find the truth abou meaning of a word means to find the invariant concept which is part o native speakersQacit knowledge about their language and them in their use of that word. Yet lexicagraphers often lack the confidence, the resolve, reach for the invariant, and thus bccome unfaithfull to their t

mplain-l. to say that ame is dissatisfied, ta pmtest that something is wrong; 2. to state that one i s sufTe'feritl.gfrom a pain, etc.

first meaning is stated in two different and non-equivalent ways. I1 needs to be pointed out that one can complain without feeling (or retending that one feels] pain; that one can protest that something is

d with oneself without complaining about anyone or anything. in addition to being wrong in almost everything it says, the whole exudes lexicographic despair and apathy: "It is impossible to czupture variant, or even to dmide how many different meanings are invohed; t is, we do not know how to go about it." the lexicographers responsible for this entry had a reliable Ilexicotheory at their disposall, they would have need of neither their halfspeaking (for a detailed and more predse discussion see a 8987a3, the complaining person has to convey the following 'something bad happened to me-1 feel something bad bemuse

nd the failure b even aim at capturing the semantic invariant. The exlcogmpher realizes that the phrase "'to state that one is suffering from a " is too narrow as a definition of comptain, but instead of looking for s restrictive f o m d a he or she simply adds am ebc. (and, for good mea-

9. Semanfics and Lexicography 267

are others which are inherently negative (that is, which reflect a negative: evaluation), for example 'reckless', Yoolhardy', or Yinapudent', "Bold' belongs to neither of tl~esetwo calcgorics, bcing cormpalibPc with either a positive or a negative evaluation. By splitting it into two supposedly different meanings, one positive and one negative, the dictionary is misrepresenting the truth about this concept and blurring the difference between the neutral concept 'bold', the positive concept "courageous', and the negative concept 'impudent'. (P4wdless to say, 'boldy,'courageoms', and 'impudentJ differ also in other respects; for detailed discussion see Wierzbicka 19920: 203- B S .) Another characteristic example is the OPD definition of boast: '"0 speak with great pride and try to impress people, esp, about oneself"".This time no polysemy is postulated, but the little esp. (especially) is no less of a sigh of resignation (or a moan of despair?) than the etc. of the previous defiuolition. Clearly, the authors of the entry could not make up their c01iective mind as to what the essential features of boast are. If they had a reliable lexicogtaphic theory to lean on, they would have k n o w that an esp. is a sign of defeat and they would have fdt obliged to think a little longer. If they had done this, they would have realized that the concept of "oast' always involves oneself (whether directly or indirectly), and that it is not diflerent in this mspect from 'pride" Again, for detailed discussion the reader is referred to Wiembicka 1987a; here, it wiU suffiw to say that hasting always involves the following attitude: saying something very good about someone or something, thinking something very good about myself, comparing myself with other people ('other people are not like me'), and wanting other people to think something very good about me. Thus, if a father says something very g m d about his children, evidentlly thinking something very good about himself, comparing himsePf with other people ('other people are not like me'), and wanting other people to think some thing good about him bemuse of this, then this can indeed be described as boasting. It may be noted in passing that the OPD definition of impress, via which the OPD defines boast, is equally inadequate: "'to make (a person) farm a strong (usually favourable) opinion of something"".suadJ"y, like esplechlly, suggests that the component of "favourable opinion" is not n a e s s q , whereas in fact it is absoUutely necessary both for beast and for the relevant meaning of imprw (as in "He wanted to impress h1erJ'). The Failure to capture the invariant is manifested in a particularly spectacular manner in dhc use of the conjunction or, with which dictionary definitions are usualBy peppered. For example, the QPD defines tempt as follow: "to persuade or try to persuade (especialEy into doing something wrong or unwise) by the prospect of pleasurc or advantage". The first or can be dispensed with immediately:

ting can of collrrse be suwssful, but so can trying; it is enough, therey "try to persuadem,thereis no need for "to persuade or try to '. The disjunction c'~omethingwrong or unwise" caw be reduced hing bad" (not necessarily " " e ~ " a r "morally very badW",ul that is thought of as a bad thing to do]; and the "prospect of asure or advantage" cam be reduced to the prospect of "something good temptee)'". The qualifier espech#y cam be dispensed with altogether: ply cannot tempt somebody to do something good; it has to be Lng that is seen as "something bad"' (although the speaker can of e be using the word tempt in jest). conclusion, devices such as w ,espercial/ysu~aaS!y,the use of mulltiple es [whether words or phrases) to portray the same meaning, or the stting of arbitrary polysemles are all different manifestations of the same failure of practical lexicography. This failure mars most entries in of the existing dictionaries, and makes them m c h less usefid to the r than they otherwise could be [under the same limitations of space d other practical constraints). A rigorous and consistent lexicographic om,with a firmly established principle of determinacy of meaning, can illy remedy this weakness. n particular, a sound lexicographic theory can prevent the common phenomemoar of unfounded proliferation of meanings, as well as the (less common, but even more harmful) conflation of meanings which are related but not the same. It can prevent the confusion of ironic, sarcasltlc, jocular, or metaphorical usage with the literal meaning of words (as in the case of threat, discussed earlier). It can oRer lexicographic criteria on the basis of which meanings can be firmly separated from one another, clearly identified, and intelligibly stated.

8. Standing Firmly on the Ground of Dis~reteness (Dineof the major reasons that most dictionary definitions are much less useful than they could be is the widespread lack of faith in the discreteness of meaning. As Aristotle realized better than many contemporary linguists do, there are few things harder than constructing a good definition. How can a lexioagrapher be expected to undertake the necessary effort if he or she does not believe that lthe task is feasible at all? Theoreticians who undermine the lexicographer% faith in nhe possibility of stating the meaning oE words truthfully and accurately are doing both the lexicographer and the dictionary user grievous disservice. ln fact, most of the problems which plague practid lexicography are linked with the issue of discreteness. For example, how can lexicographers search with all their might, and patience, for an invariant if they do not know whether they can expect to

9. Setnantic..vand Lexicography 269 find a definite number of meanings? To recdl the OPD definition of cornplczim, cited earlier: "I, to say that one is dissatisfied, to protest that something is wrong; 2. to state that one is suffering from a pain etc.". On the face of it, two meanings are postulated here, but in f a t the Arst alleged meaning is stated twice, in two different ways, and the relation between these two different attempts at a definition is left unclear. The use of the numbers I and 2 implies that this particukr lexicographer does believe in the discreteness of meanings, but the constant practice of throwing together different fomulations of what is counted as "one meaning" indicates the shakiness of this belief, If the lexicographer felt obliged to state just one definition for each @ypothetid) meaning, this would encourage him or her to look for the true invariant; as a result, the multiple meanings postulated In present-day dictionaries w u l d o f t ~ nbe reduced to a smaller number, invariants would be captured, superfluous phrases wodd be omitted, space would be gained, semantic rdations between diflerent meanings (and dit= ferent lexical item) would be made much clearer, and, an tog of all thiss, the language used wodd be much simpler and clearer, as well as more =anomical. For example, as pointed out ember, far camphin one could propose just one unitary formula, and there would be no need for positing polysemy, no need for an etc., and no need for agonizing between two nonequivalent phrases "to say that one is dissatisfied'hand "to protest that something is wrong" (not to mention other advantages linked with n stmdarbarian and reduction of the metalanguage used). Or consider the way LDOTEL defines the English verb rltl pray: la, ba entreat earnestly; esp. to call devoutly on (God or a god] b, b wish or hope fervemdy 2. arch~icor JomaE to request oourtesy---often used ta introduoe a qlueslti~m,

request or plea 3. archaic to get or bring by praying: (ia address God on. a gad wiflh adoralion, confession, supplication, or thanksgiving; engage in prayer Although three figures are used (I, 2, and 31, the actual number of meanings postulated is far from clear: Ps (a) a separate micafling? Or @]? and what about all those especiaI1ys, or$, eftens, semicolons? The relationship between the different alleged meanings is even less clear than the number of meanings postulated. For example, why should the meaning "to address God or a god" be given under heading 3, and "to call devoutly on (God or a god]'hPuner I? Are these two alleged meanings more different f m one another than those listed under IH[sr)and 1(b] (only one of which mentions Gad)? Why is the alleged meaning "to engage in prayer" given lander 3 and "to call devoutly on (God or a god)", under 12 I am not saying that it is easy to define pray in a satisfactory way, and E sympalhlize with the lexicographer" painful erlirorls. But 1 bclieve this pain

have been alleviated, and the efforts rewarded with more satisfactory ts, if theoretical lexicography had sent a clew md unequivocal mesthat meaning is determinate, that a definite (and minimal) number of eanings must be looked for, that there are no "shades" of meaning, no and (bls, and that no hedges [no ~specSd~Sly, +em, etc.1 are necessary or ptable; and if, in addition to this message, clear criteria for establishd distinguishing different meanings had been provided. I believe that h a dear message had been sent, and if the nemssary guide-lines had ided, the entry for pray would have ended up with just two meanarchaic and one contemporary (without any submeanings), and e two meanings would have been stated clearly and a m a t e l y hedges, OM, ees., or other visible signs of i n k i s i o n and ana;see WieraBPicka 19934. sider the lists of quasi-equivalents offered in dehitions such as the following ones from Webster" (1959): ly (noun) - an answer; response; ccounnter-attack - to ybld to aaather; surrender Formally; withdraw from; submit calmly neport (verb) - to give an amaunt af; relatq telU from one b another; circubate publicly; take down (spoken words) iequest [noun)- desire expressed; petition; prayer; & m a & entreaty er (nourn) - method of regular arrangement; settled mode of procedure; rule; regulation; mmmand; class; rank; degree; a religious fraternity; an associatiom of persons possessing a common honorary distinction . . .

Walt is most striking about such lists is the fact that the Pexicographer making no attempt to indicate how many different meanings are involved ch case. Should the first four entries above leave anybody in doubt t the lexicographer% mmotivatim for this failure, the hotchpotch of I-equivalents thrown into the entry for order makes it quite clear that e only possible motivation is despair. This despair is understandt is not jzrslified. As 1 have tried to show in my Dicfionary of eecb Act Verbs (which includes, in particular, the verbs reply, igm, seporr, and repest), meanings, can be sorted out from one another, ace Wittgenstein and kllowers) boundaries between meanings can be .The doctrine of family resemblances must not be used as arm excuse eximgraphic laziness or as justification for lexicographic despair. (For ther discussion, see Chapter 4.) one final point related to the question of discreteness, Bet us consider 's (1982: 1012) claim that there is no reason why "dictionary definitions are to be mad as mutually exclusive'" and that '"in practice, the warding of definition 1 normally colors the interpretation of definition 2'" 1agree that,

9. Setnass tics and LexicograpIry 27 1

fmm a reader's point of view, the wording of one definition may colour the interpretation of the other definitions of a polysemous word. The main problenn, Inowever, is to establish whether the word in question is reallty polysemous, and to ensure that its meaning or meanings be correctly identified. If this is achieved, theu I think there is no need for such a "cross-fwtilization of definitions"". For example, Hanks quotes a sentence describing two girls as "shultaneously bold m d innocent"",sking: "Does boM here mean forward or impudent or daring?"; and he answers: "'A bit of both, really"'. But why should we assume that $aEd reaily does have two meanings which can be stated as (I) forward or impudent and (2) daring? If none of threse supposed "definitions" "s the sentence well, it is, I think, not because there are two meanings which colour one another, but because neither of the proposed "definitions" of boId is correct. (For an alternative definition, and justification, see Wierzbicka 1992a: 208-9.) A definition should always be able to stand on its own. If a word is %enuincPy polysemous, h e n each of its meanings should be stated separately, and each definition should be able to defend itself. This is not incompatible with Hanks" statement that "secondary meanings have a tendency Ito contain traces of primary meanings'". I, too, believe that different meanings of a word are usually interrelated, and that adequate definitions should reveal those links. (For many illlusitrations, see Wierzbicka 1987; also Meltuk's concept of '"emantic bridges", Me16Euk et a l 1984.) But this does mot change the basic requirement that each definition shodd be able to stmd on its o w . 91. Distinguishing Polysemy from Vagueness One of the main reasons why lexicographers often find it di@cult, indeed impossible, to a p t w the semantic invariant is that they do not know hoy to distinguish polysemy from vagueness. It is not that lexicographers do not believe in poiysemy: frequently, polysemy is posited in dictionaries on a truly massive sale; but it is posited on an od k c basis, without any clear guide-lines or general principles. Consider, for example, the definition of ribbon mentioned earlier: "a strip of n)llon, silk, or some other material" (COAJD). As pointed out, this definition implies that any strip of material could be called ribbon, whereas in fact many different "strips of material" (e.g. a piece of sewing-taw would not be so ailed [because their hnction is clearly different from that of ribbon: sewing-tape is clearly not made for tying things and, equafly clearly, it is not made h r a decorative purpose). But the generalization poposed here may seem to apply to many [even

mrpst) cases rather than to aEI cases. For example, what aboult typewriter ribbon? Is it meant for tying things? Or is it decorative? And yet it is called ribbon, too, isn't it? Confronted with an apparent exception of this kind, lexicographers often tend to lose faith in the existence of a semantic invariant, take recourse to hedges, qualifiers, and various other 4d hoc devices, and Pose the generalization. But in fact the counter-example is apparent rather than real: the so-called Jypew~iterribbon is not called ribbon but bypetvriler ribbon (even if it can sometimes be referred to, elliptically, as ribbon]. The common belief that a modger-head constructiolv must indicate a taxonomic ('kind of") relationship is based on a falEacy, which feeds on the fact that compounds with such a structure can often be abbreviated, in an appropriate context, to the head alone. For example, ill is often assumed that an artificial leg is a kind of leg, that a plastic flower is a kind of flower, that an electric chair is a kind of chair, or that a house of cards is a kind of house. Since people cannot live in a house of cards, m d since "a house of cards is a kind of house", the generalization that houses are m d e for people to live in appears to be easily refuted. Similarly, since plastic flowers do not grow out of the ground, and since "a plastic icaawer is a kind of flowr", the generalization that flowers grow out of the ground may also seem to be easily refuted. Reasoning of this kind is fallacious because it confuses semantic relationships based on the notion of VikehlNlth those based on the notion of 'kind' [i.e. "horizontalY'and'%ertical" rerelionships; see Bright m d Bright 1969; Berlin 1992). For example, a rose is a kind of flower, but a plastic Bower is Me a flower, not a kind of flower. Similarly, a deck-chair is a kind of chair, but an electric chair is not a kind of chair ("somhhing for people to sit on . . .'"; rather, it is an object which is like a chair, bwlt whose function is quite different from that of a chair. Finally, typewriter ribbon is not a kind of ribbon; rather it is something which is like a ribbon, but whose function is quite different from that of a ribbon. There is, however, one important difference between, the case of typewriter ribbon and that of plosticflowers: the fact that one can rala a plastic imitation of a flower aflower is language-independent, whereas the Fact that the "typewriter strip"is called in English rfbbosl! (typewriter ribbon) is language-specific ((e.g. in Polish the corresponding rcompound is r a h a do maszyny, lit. 'typewriter tape". Consequently, sypewriier ribbon has to be Iisted in a dictionary as a separate item, with its own definition, whereas pI~$tlflowesdoes mat. To prove that a typewriter ribbon is not 'a kind of ribbon' and that the definition of ribbon does not have to cover typewriter ribbon, we proceed as fol~ows:we first assume, far the sake of argument, that typewriter ribbon

9. 8emts~n~ics and lexicography 273

272 Lexical Semwtfcs

does have to be covemd in the definition of ribbon and we ask what the two categories have in common; when we establish the common denominator [roughly, "a strip d material"] we ask whether any object which fits this common denominator can be called by the word in question (rfbbon]; we find that the answer has to be negative; from this we conclude that the supposed common denominator cannot account for the wohd's range of use; and fmm this we infer the exisltenm of polysemy. I[f we proceed in this way yve can arrive at dehitions with full predictive power, not in a diachronic sense, explaining why certain objects came to be called by certain names I(e.g, why the "'typewriter strip" came to be called in English by a compound including the ward ribon, whereas, for example, in Polish it came to be called by a compound including a noun which on its o m means but in a synchronic sense, which means that the definition matches a word's actual range of use. This procedure will enable us to be precise and to dispense with hedges and qualifying expressions such as ~rswally,ojrsen, typica!Ilp,or etc., which are meant to make up for the inaocuracy of the definition itself. Another m y of making basically the same point is this: a hafr ribbon differs from other kinds of ribbons in only one respect, spmified by the m d irfier (being used for tying hair with), so there are no grounds for positinrg polysemy in this case. But typewriter ribbon differs from other ribbons in more than one respect (it is used in typewriters, it is not suitable for tying things with, it is not decorative); in this case, therefom, polysemy has to be postulated (see Chapter 83. Thus, although with respect to nouns polysemy often has to be established on purely semantic grounds, this does not mean that there are no guide-lines for establishing whether a word has one meaning or two (or more). With respect to verbs, the task of establishing the number of meanings Is often facilitated by differences in syntactic frames. This point can be illastrated with the English verb to order. The Concise Oxford Dictionary (GOD 19M) offers for lthis verb the following glosses: "'put in order, array, regulate . . . ; . . . ordain . . . ; command, bid, prescribe . . . ; command or direct . . . ; direct tradesman, servant, etc., to supply r( dinner, settle what it shall consist of)". These glosses do m t make it clear how many meanings are being posited (and perhaps the underlying assumption is that the different meanings of this verb cannot be sorted out from onre another). But in fact, if the s p tactic frames are sorted out in orderiy fashion, clear semantic dis.Xiwctians emerge, too. Leaving aside (for reasons of space) the meaning illustrated with the sentences "'e ordered his affairs'kr ""He orde~edhis troops", 1will focus here on the distinction between what 11 lnrilil call orderl and olrser2, which can be

-

tences "'She ordered him to leaveY'and"She ordered with only minor s in my Dictiomtzr'y in a restaurant or a book in a boohhop to have that thing and expects him to do llar tto order]. But there are numerous order2 but absent from order,. The pers to have something; an action by the r ithis desired state of affairs to eventuate, but it is oal itselt it does not matter who carries s long as it is carried out. This semanin a syntactic difference: one ordersl a person (to rders2 a thing (from a person). One cannot order2 r2 a steak, and one cannot order! a steak (as one rs 110 a steak), even though concrete nouns can be reported door', he ordered"). ect represents the focus of the speaker" interest. For kiject has to refer either to the addressee or to the action to IPZ~IV~",'We ordered1 an inquiry"") For 0rder2, it has to an object ('We ordered2 a steak""), with the addressee being cony and syntactically demoted to a prepositional phrase CX ordered2 eakes who orders2 something assumes that the addressee ny people may want to have, and that he is willing: to people with some d these things, on certain conditions. The cerns not only the product which the speaker wants to sesxioes: the addressee has to do something; to the object desired I(i.e. get it, prepare it, wrap it, serve it, and so on). For his prt,the speaker undertakes to do something, too: whatever is required (for example, to pay). He also has to wait, because his wish cannot be complied with immediately [as in the case of buying), but onlly after some delay, allowing the addressee to perform the necessary actions. Finally, the person who orders2 something does not assume that the ddressee has Lo do what Ere wants him to do; he does assume, however, that the addressee is willing to do SO. A person who orders1 someone to do k that 9 . a ~have to thing is a little less confident, because out ithe arderz. But, in this case, too, nfident fclthink that if you can do it, you will that order2 has developed out of orderl by a shift of phasis from the addressee tla the object provided by the addressee, and a concomitant disappearance of certain assumptions conoeming the

9. Siemanrfsrtics and Lexicography 2275 relationship between the speak~erand the addressee: order1 implies that the addressee is subordinated to the speaker and has to do what the speaker wants him to do. In o r $ e ~ this , assumption is absent; instead, there are new assumptions which emphasize the object ('something has to be done to itY] and which de-individualize the addressee: he is not seen as an individual subordinated to the speaker but as a person or group of persons who idbgly provide certain kinds of objects to unspeEified customers. Thus the last gloss in the COD entry for order ("'direct tradesman* servant, etc., to suppIy9')confuses two diflFerent meanings, associated with tiifferent types of social relationship and with different sets of assumptions: it is one thing to order someone I(e.g,a servant) to do something, and another to order something from someone (e.g, from a trades man)^. In an adequate 3iexiloographic description, these two senses whould have to be clearly distinguished, and the readers would have to k informed of the different grammatical frames associated with the different meanings.

110. Avoiding Circullirrity There was one thing that Edith could anat beet, and that was the d i e liionary. ""The Larausse i s a big cheat. You look for a word, you find It, they send you back to another word and you haven" got anywhere." (Blerteaot 1973: 1103) Conventional dictionaries are, generailly speaking, vitiated by all-pervasive circularity in their definitions. Some didionaries are better in this respwt than others (for example, the OMD is much better than all the Oxford dictionaries addressed at adults), but while there are differences of degree, there are hardly any exceptions+ircularity is a malady (in a more or less advanced form) to wbicln virtually no conventional di~tionaryis immune. Practical lexicographers are often well aware of the circwtrity of their definitions, but not knowing how to avoid it they try to make a virtue of "mecessity"', and attempt to justify this circularity as something that may bother theoretical semanticists but that is quite amptable in a practical die tionaq and which will never bother the ordinairy user. In fact, however, they are dwxiving themselves (and unwittingly insulting the intelligence of their intended audience). A few examples. The verb tbohmp is defined by the OPD as "to move off the ground ete. [try bending and then extending the legs or (of fish) by a movement of the: tail"' (Ifitst meaning] and "to move suddenly witla a jump or bound, to rise suddeniy from a seat etc." (second meaning). As for the f i s t definition, one might query the unexpected attention it gives to fish (as we18 as its use of etc.), but it is the second definition which is relevant in the present context. For what is "a jump'? ?e OPD offers several definitions, but the relevant

rst : "a jumping movement". Thus r o j m p Is defined jumping, and jmping is not defined at ail, being a form of the verb ro jump. Substituting the da, we obtain the falltowing: ta j u m p C ? omove g movement"; lihat is, "to move suddenly with a of moving suddenly with a movement characterisa movement". And so it goes on-like a record ould take a real jump of faith to believe that that ition which d l serve the dictionary user best. another example, the QPD defines fate as "a persomn's destiny", as "that which happens. to a person or thing thought of as deterplacing the wordjate with its definition we get the folthat which hahagens to a person or thing thought of as t which happens to a person or thing thought of as that a person or thingY'(andso on, ad kjinitum!). Quite apart oF this kind is an insult to the readers' inteielwhat use could it possibly be to them? Bf somebody knows what ans, what destiny means, and how they differ from one another, any definitions at all; but if they do not know, or are ictionary will not teach them anything. BoCh the proney is wasted on definitions of this kind. be added that fate is also given another definition in the same thought to control all events and impossible to resist", Iso defined as '"ate considered as poweryy.This time, definition we get: destiny Is "a power . . . considered mare illuminating result. that this last example is unfair because the concepts iculady difficult to define. But in fact circwat the easiest concepts are often defined in the same For example, LDQTEL defines besr as "excePling a11 others". Excel is efined, in turn, via superior and surpass, superior via surpass, and surpass ia betser, as well as via exceed, with exceed being defined in turn via merior. What baffles the reader most is why besf ~ouldnVhaw been defined ia better in the %st place rbetter than all the others'"), instead of going und the circles involving superior, surpass, and exceed Similarly, OPD defines question as "a sentence requesting information or an answeryys and answer as ""smthing said or written or needed or done to deal with a question, accusation, or problem". Omitting, to save space, the numerous ors, we get something like this: an answer is "something said to deal with a sentence requesting something said to deal with a sentence requesting . . ."-and so on, ad infis~ffum.And yet the essence of a guestion, or an smmwer, is not difficult to state: tbe gueslianr refers to a situation

when, rough,y speaking, someone says '7 want to know something, I want someone to tell me" and nnswex means, roughily, '%elling someone soma thing that Ithey said they wanted to kmwY'(formore precise definitions, see Wierzbicka 1987~). The examples given above were relatively simple, with A being defined via B, and B via A. TypicaBly, however, vicious circles are like huge webs enveloping whole extended families of wards, or Bike gigantic tmtades extending throughout the pages of a dictionary. Far example, A is defined via B, B ria C, and iC via A; or A, B, C3D, E, and F are defined via one another-in circles, criss-crosses, and all imaginable sorts of combinations rand patterns (for example, A via B and D;B via D, E, and E T; via A, B, and Cn; C via A and l$ and so on)-with repercusions throughout the entire dictionary, which becomes an entangled web of overlapping circles. For example, in the OPD, one ~ l a afind a little circle (Fig, 9.1) and a larger one, with the little one within it (Fig. 9.2).

-

refuse

call

offer

u

request

In a system of this kind, every answer generates new questions, and these new questions either lead us to further questions or bring us back ltc~the starting-point (or both). It is just as Descartes said in his "Search after Truth" (speaking through the mouth of Eudoxus and mfersing to the socalled metaphysical steps or the tree of Porphyry]: ~uoaxw.You pay n o attention to my question, and the reply that you make to me, simple as it may appear to you, wiill bring us into a labyrinth d &ifficulties, iF 1 try ever so little to press you. Were 1 for example to ask E p i s t a o n himself what a man is, and were he to reply, as is done in the Schools, that a man is a rationall animal; and if, in addition, in order to explains these two terms which are not hss obscure than the first, he were to conduct nus by a31 the steps which are termed metaphysical, we should ltwe dragged into a maze from which it would be impossible k r us to lmerge. As a matter of Faiet, from this question two others anise, the Brse is what is an animal? The second, what is reasonabie? And further, if, ltcr explain what sun analmall is he were to reply that it is a living thing possessed of sensations,

accept

answer

claim

question

that ia living thing is an animate body, that a body is a corporeal substance, you see that the question, like the bramhes of a geneaiagical tree, would go an increasing and multiplying; and finarly all these wonderfd questions wouId finish in pure tautology, which would dear up nothing, and would leave us in our original ignorance. (Descartes 1701/E93t: 31181

Circularity involves the same kind of regressus ad injinitwsr. Pascal denounced circularity with his mock-definition of fight, He wrote: There are people who go as Far in absurdity as to explicate a word by itself. I know some who have defined fwmiare ("light') Bike this: ""La lumiboe est un rnouvement luminaire des corps lumineux" [Light is a Itminary movement of luminous bodies]; as if one could understand the words lwminaire and ~ ~ ~ E Y Ewithout w understanding l~lmi8re. (Pascal 1667/1954: 5810)

Three centuries, and hundreds of dictionaries later, the problem of circularity has not only not been solved (in practical lexicography) but, on the contrary, has by and large ceased to be seen as a problem! The hydra of circularity is rearing its ugly heads with more and more self-assurance. There mn be no doubt that-although dictionary makers are, naturally,

9. S e m t f c s m d Lexicography 279

reluctant to admit it-what est of the reader.

is sacrificed to this hydra is, above all, the inter-

at all, and thus is free to define both evil and wicked via bad, imperfectly, no doubt, but at least without circularity:

- very wicked wicked - very bad evil

11. Relying on Indefinables One cannot define everything. For any sound hexicographic undertaking it is crucial to decide which words are going to be defined and which can be raken as indefinable. The point bas been made so many times, so clearly and lioroefully, that one feels embarrassed having to repeat it again and again (see, for example, the quotes given in Chapbr !)I. Yet repeat it one must, until this basic point is generally understood and finally universally amepted. But how should a lexicographer decide on the set oF indefinables on which the dictionary /s lo be based? For obvious reasons, the set of indefinables must 'be reasonably small. For example, if half the words in ru, dictionary were defined and the other half not, the reader w d d have the right to complain, and perhaps even to demand a 50 per cent rehnd. Sccond, the indefinables must be cliosen horn among words which are intuitively dear; otherwise, they are useless (or worse than useless] as building-blocks out of which the definitions of all the other (definable) words are constructed. For example, if the words good and brrd are defined, directly or indirectly, via mom! and immoral this is useless to the reader because the former pair is by far clearer and mire intelligible to everybody (including small children] than the latter. Thus, explaining good via moral or bad via immoral is a parody of an explanation. And yet this is how dictionaries often proceed-not 'because their makers rue foolish but because they do not have a f i m and clear semantic theory at their disposal. To illustrate, the QPD offers the following: bad - wicked, evil wicked - morally bad, oflending against what is right - morally bad, wicked evil

Unfortunately, the same wisdom was not sffiom in the case of good, which b defined, causing, predictably, a vicious circle (and, incidentally, committing the dictionary to a dubious and dangerous doctrine that 'goody Is the same as 'socially acoeptablle'): good - of the kind that people like and praise praise - to say that someone or something is very good solution to all this is very simple: to accept that both good and bad are mong the most basic human concepts and that they neither can nor need o be defined-and then to define everything else clearlly and accwraki8y. Critics are often sceptical of the defining power of simple and general m s such as good and bad. For example, Landau (19921-3: B 151 asks how can be sufficient "to distinguish between, say, mistake, blunder, lapse, ng, and sinyy;but 1 believe that simple and general words sllpch as bad an achieve this goal much better than the unrestricted set of words used conventional dictionary definitions. Consider the set of circular definitions offered by AHDOTEL (1973) [abbreviated here for reasons of space): ht&e

- an, error or fault - . . . 4. a mistake - . . . 2. a mistake; error - 1, a transgression of religious or moral iaw, espclallly when delib-

iolation

- 1. the act of violating . . . 2. an instance or violation; a transgres-

erate; 2, amy offense, violatian, fault, or error

sion sgression - I. the violation of a law, command, or duty Pictoridly this is represented in Fig. 9.3.

If once pursues the leads offered a little further, the web of vicious circh thickens: to oflend - b do wrong wrong - morally bad, conltrary to justice or to what is right moral - of or mnoerned with the goodness or badness of human character or with the principles of what is right and wrong in conduct This, means bad -+ wicked -+ bad; wicked -+ oJJen!d --> wso~g+ had wicke& bad --> wicked + mord -+ bad; on and on. The QAJD shows more wisdom, in that it docs not attempt to define bad

violation

!-/

sin

Ltransgression FIG.9.3

f

280 Lexical Semantics CobuiFd takes a diflerent approach, but, in my view, it is also far fram sumssFul. For example: mistake I. 1. an action ar opinion that is jmcamect or foolish, or that is not what you intended to do, or whose result is undesirable; 1.2. something or part of something which is incorrect or not right The comment on the margin says, in ddition, that "mistake = errorWIf the definitions offered by AHDOTEL are striking in their blatant circularity, those oflered by CobtddJ'd are striking in their failure to capture an invadant. ]Inmy view, however, misrukr (noun) does have a unitary meaning, which can be stated as follows:

nsissde [Xmade a mistake] something bad happened k a u s e X did sometiling X didn't want it Lo happen X wanted something elm to happen X thought that something else would happen Hy analysing the concept of 'mistake' into its components, we can not only avoid drcularity and capture a unitary meaning, but also show the diflerences as well as similarities between related concepts such as 'mistake', "Iunder', and 'sin'. For example, GanGtriSd defines blunder as 'b big mistake, especially owe which seem to be the result of carelessness or stupidity". But not every "big mistake", or even "terrible mistake", is a blunder, not even if it 2s due to carelessness. Something like "stupidity'" on the other hand, is a necessary part of this concept (so it shouldn't be introduoed in an '%specia1111ym frame]. I would propose the following:

blmdes ( X made a blunder) something bad happened because X did something X didn" want it to happen if X thought about it For a shorr time, X wouldn't have done it people can think something bad about X because of this Landau doean" believe that a general! and simple word like bad could Ise used in defining both a word like mistake (with no moral or religious h p l i cations) m d a m r a l and religious concept like sin" But if E am not RYjlstaken, and if I am not sinfully over-confident, it can be done. Here is my sin (in the serious, non-jocular, use of the word):

sin (Xcommitted a sin) X did something bad X knew that it was bad to do it

If. S ~ ~ ~ L Tand F I Lexicography IS'CS 28 1 X knew that God wants people not to do things like this X did it because X wanted to do it e shplicity of all the elements used in this definition [except the concept d" which is not very simple, but which underlies thc concept of 'sin'] us to avoid circularity, portray stru~turatrelations, and avoid blind uch as the one in which, for example, both AHDOTEL and Cobuild mselves in their attempt to d e h e sin via law. To illustrate from a sin - is an action a type of khaviour which is 'believed to break the laws

- 1. is a system d rules that a smiety or government develops over time in order 'to deal with business agreements, social relationships, and cldmes such as theft, murder, or violence.

dy, the definition of law quoted above does not allow for any "laws of " ~ the 0 attempted dehition of sin via h w does not allow for any interpretation. ,a few words about wrong (adjective), for whkh AHDOTEL finds ged to posit no less tban seven different meanings, and C~buiM, many as eleven, without being able b show what all these supposed ngs have in common. Of murse, one could write a whole study about noepts of 'right' and 'wrong', but basically, the meanings of these two adjectives are quite simple. In essence, they could be stated as follows: It is wrong to do this (like this). = it is bad to do this Oike this) if one thinks about lit one can know it It is right to do this (like this]. = it is good to do this (like this) if one thinks about it one can b o w it Unlike the concepts of 'goods and 'bad', wwhh are universal, the concepts of ' r i g h t b d 'wrong'are culture-specific, and in fact they are very revealing in the links which they postulate between values ('good' and 'bad') on the one hand and 'thinking' and 'knowing' on the other (see Wierzbicka 19X9a; 19920, ch. 1). A list of indefinables that has proved itself valuable in lexical senrantics should be of great potential benefit to practical lexicography. Since the same indefinabSes, and the same simple syntactic patterns, which appear to be mast useful for ananysing the English lexicon appear to be allso wry usefull in anallysing the Peximl resources of other languages (including ones as diverse as Japanese, Pitjantjatjara, and Ewe), the ~onclusiondoes not seem

9. Semantics and lexicography 283

282 Lexice~l&man tics premature that the same set of indefinables can be used as a core ofa "natural lexicograplnic mctalanguagc" swilablc ror both mo~l~olinngual and bilingual dictionaries in most, if not all, Irmguages of the world. The practical advantages of such an outcome would seem to me to be huge, as any Ianguage learner would thus have relatively easy access to dictioruaries of amy language via their common coree2

12. Using Simple Language The issue of indefinables is linked closely with that of simple language. Thle use of excessivelly complex m d obscure language is one of the greatest obstacles to effective cornmication in m y area of human endeavour; brut in a dictionary, which s&s to expkria the meaning of words, it is particularly out of place. k n a u l d refers, in this mnnection, to the writings of tbe philosopher and mathematician Gassendi, m d he wribs: "Gassendiasexposition makes clear that there is scarcely a more reprehensible t m of mind than is exhibited by these enigmatical writers who believe that the most groundless thoughts-not to say ttne most false and impious ones-will pass for grand mysteries if reclothed in f o m s unintelligible to the c o m o n m n ' " [Arnauld 166219164: $8). Despite repeated pleas from thinkers like Gassendi, the use of complex and obscure language is a great plague of Western civilization, which mars, in particular, most encyclopaedias, textbooks, manuals, printed instnnctiom Ebr the use of machines and devices of dinerent kinds, and so om. M m often than not, it also mars, and diminishes the usefulness of, dicieionarim of diflerent binds. Consider, for example, the definitions of the words obFigatory and crpltbnol, given by AHDOTEL: obligatory - 1. legally or morally constraining; binding; 2. imposhmg or rseordhg am obligation. 3. of the nature of an obligation; compulsory. optional - left to choice; not compulsory or automatic wouldn? it be better to explain what these words mean in very simple words, along the following lines:

I a n not suggesting lrhat the Natural Senantic Metalang~agedevised by the author carnd colIeagues should be wed, unaltered, as a lexicographic metalanguage, but onUy that It an ke used as the core of a iexicographic metalanguage. Nor am I suggesting that all bxical item in a dictionary should b defined directly in terns OF the indefinables. In particular, the n m oC natural kinds (e.g. cgt, ps~oort~c,burlerfly) or af culliural kinds (e.g. iGortC, bicycle, chaw require a different approach, with a much larger defining lexioon than abstract vocalbula~ does (see Wierzbicka 11985; dso Ch.7).

obligatory - everyone has to do it optional - one can do it if one wants to, one doesn't h a w

tio do it

@'m not proposing these as fully accurate definitions, but only as an improvement on those offered by the dictionary.) My respect for the work of practical Iexicogqhers is so high that I would not wish to be seen as accusing them of passing (as Gassendi put it, according to Arnaud] "groundless and the most false thoughts" for "grand mysteriesm&ut I think it is fair to demand of them that their definitions avoid k i n g "clothed in f o m unintelligible to the common man".

13. Exploring New Models of Definition xicographic definitions can be improved immensely while maintaining a or less traditional f o m . This can be done, above all, by simplifying egularking tlne language of definitions, by using a discrete model of tionrs, by trying to capture invariants (and thus banishing all ors and eras), and by getting rid of circularity. It is possible, however, to ove definitions still further, if one is prepared to give up the traditional! s of definition and to explore new formats and new models (drawing on the discoveries olF,contemporary semantics). Consider, for exampje, the LDOTEL entry for the verb so p~rms'sh: la. to impose a ~w:naltyon for a hult, offence or violation lb. to inflict a penalty for [an offence) 2. )totreat roughly, harshly, or damagingly Many weaknesses of this entry are quite apparent: the positing of a completely unjustified polysemy (1 versus 2) and semi-polysemy (la versus lb]; the failure to capture the invariant (what do "fault, ofince or violation" have in common?); the latent circularity. The curious distinction between "impose" [la) and "in63ictY"r(lb) collapses in the entry for inpict, which is defined as 'Yo hrce or impose (sornethimg damaging or painful) on someone". Penalty is defined, predictably, via pam&krnent: "punishment imposed for, or incurred by, committing a crime or public offence1'- And if that much circularity was not enough, more is introduced via crime, which is defined as "an act or omission punishable by law'"unth ; . pemcrify + pmbhment; punish + penc~ity+ crime + pmi~h). Here as in many other cases, the simple and unitary definition offered by OAJD is incomparably better: to punish-to

make someone who has done wrong suiFfer, so that he will not wanti wrong again

to d o

284 Lexical Semantics In fact, this simple short dediniiion can bc made even h t k r by shortening it further: since one can speak of "capital punishment" (by death) or of "eternal punishment" [by hell), the corrective purpose cannot be a necessary part of the concept. We are left, therefore, with the short formula "to make someone who has done wrong sufler"', and this is probably almost a$ good as one can get within the traditional lapodell. The definition is no more, however, than an approximation: it does not capture correctly all the camponenits of the concept, and in some respects it manages to be over-speciik. In particular, it posits suffering as a nemssary part of punishment, whereas in fact an intention to cause suffering is sufficient, even if no suffering actually occuw. What is missing from the definition is some indication of the: relationship between the punisher and the punished, and of the punisher's view of the action as morally justified. For example, if a little boy (Johnny] hits his younger sister (Smie) on the head, and Swzie retaliates by biting Johnny's finger, the OAJD definition would fit the situation (since Johnny did something wrong and Swie made lnim suffer because of it), but the word pmish would not. To portray the concept of 'pwnishnnent' accurately we need, I think, a scenario, not a definition of the traditional kind:

X punished IY [for 4. = I(. IY did Zll (b) X thought something like this: (c) P did something bad [a (4 I want Y to feel something bad because of this (el it will be good if Y feels something bad bemuse of this it will be good if P do something to Y because of this (g) X did something to Y because of this

u)

Component (a) refers to the culprit's actian, (b) to ilfr) describe the punisher's attitude, and (83 refers to the punisher" action. The punisher's attitude incl.udes, roughly speaking, a desire to inflict pain ( d ) , and three assumptims: that the target person did something bad (c], that it will be right and julst if Ine or she "suffers" [feels something bad) because of \this (e), and that the punisher is callled upon, to inflict the necessary pain wlprcsumably, as the person in charge). Cruse (1992-3: 89) questions my analysis or thc verb psmi.rh on ithe grounds that "the punisher may actually hate having to cause sufferinggL, 1 entirely agree that the punisher may hate having to cause suflerlng; but this is not incompatible with an intention to cause suffering. For example, the father or mother imposing the punishment on the child may s u f i r intensely themselves; but if they didn't intend to cause some pain for the child they wouldn't be "punishing" him or her. On the other hand, if the child doesn't really feel any pain this doesn't stop the parents' action from being d e m i b able as punidrrrmesrt.

9. Semantics and SexicegrqAy 285

As a second example of Lhc need for a scenario, consider the concept of 'revenge" which the OPD defines as follows: revenge-punishment

or injury inflicted in return For what one has suffered

The definition is unsuccessful for many reasons, two of which can be linked with the use of the words punisFfimemt and rerrrm. Contrary to what Uhe definition implies, revenge is not a kind of punishment, because it does not imply the assumptions which as we have seen are part of the latter concept. The expression in return is not defined at all, and the definitions assigned to the noun retzdrm are useless and irrelevant from the point of view d defining revenge (e.g. "coming or going back"). Again, the definition offered by the OAJD is much more satisfactory ("a wish to hurt someone because he has hurt you or one of your friendspy)il but is; not quite correct: rewnge refers to an action, not merely to a wish, the mendon of "friends'2s swpefluous, and the crucial idea of 'Voing the same" is missing. To portxay the concept of %evengayaccurately we need a scenario:

Y took revenge on X [for Z]. = (a) someone ( X ) did something bad [Z'j to someone ( 0 (b] because of this, Y felt something bad (c) after thh, Y thought something like this: (4 this person (A) did something bad to me (el because of this, I want to do the same to this person (X) (f)P thought about it for a long time (g] after this, Y did something lbad to X because of this Component (a) refers to the action of the offender, and lCg) to that of the evenger; (b) shows what the revenger felt, and components ( 4 and Qe) hew his or her thoughts [with their focus on "paying in kind"). Finally, consider the concept of ?temptingy,which Web$~ster$Dictionary 9) "defines" as follows: "temps-to put to trial; test; persuade to evil; ; allure; entice". It is hardly niecessay to point out that this entry does t tell the reader whether the verb tempt is supposed to have one meanor more, and if more, then how many; that no attempt is made to cape the semantic invariant or invariants; and that the entry offers no clues to the differences in meaning between all the different verbs which it s as supposed equivalents of fempt. It does nat require much imaginaion to guess that the same dictionary will "define" entice and a h r e via As pointed out earlier, a much more illuminating alternative is provided by the BAJD, which offers the simple, short definition "to fempt-to try to make someone do wrong". But of course this is only an approximation; for example, one can "'tryto make someone do wrong'9y threats, and this

286 Lexica/ Semantics could not be called tempting. To portray Rhis concept adequately we need, 1 think, a scenario along the following lines:

X tempted Y to do 2. = (a) X wanted Y to do Z (i5) 'l thought somethilrg like this: (c) if I do Z it will be bad [d) because of this, I don" t w i t to do it (e) X knew this [J)because of this, X said something like this to E 6g3 if you do it, something very good will happen to you [h] you will feel something very good because of this (fi X thought something like this: maybe 3' will do ii t u s e of this (j') (k) X wanted this

I am not suggesting that new models of definition such as those illustrated here with rewage, psilnisfisrrent, and tempt should be nemssarily accepted in dl practical lexicography, although I think it wodd be useful to adopt---or to adapt-them for some types of dictionaries. But [I believe it is ~ s e f b~ ra the practical lexicogaaphers to know that new models of definition are available-and to let them draw on whatever is availablle in ways which they would judge most appropriate in any given case.

14. Conclusion There is more to practical lexicography than getting the meanings right, but trying to get the meanings right is vitally important-more importmlt, I think, than anything else. If theoreticall lexicography could not help in this respect-by providing ideas, principles, criteria, models, and guide-line+ onc could really doubt its mliscrn dlt;rre. I have tried to show, however, that theoretical lexicography indeed offers a31 these thing^.^ Most imporbntb (from the present writer's point of view), lit oflers a too1 which can by itself remedy a large proportion of the ills of traditional lexicography: a natural Ilexicographphic metalanguage, derived from the Natural Semantic Metalanguage, and based on universal semantic primitives.

'

For briEliant di5cwi*mr of various aspects of theoreticall lexicography and of the principles of Pexicographic definition, we in particular Apmsjan (1974, 1992, foraskhcaming]; Mel'Euk (1974b); and BogwsEawski [198%]. For discussion or the lexicography (PS the conclete Iexicotu, see Wienbicka (19851 and Ch. 8. For some recent dictionaries which orer~onalethe indeterminacy and the circularity of trardiiiona! Ucxicography, and wlriclh aim a1 enjpirical adequacy without departing from traditional models, see e.g. Apresjan and Rozenrnan (1975'9; Boguslawski S1983); Gddard (U992a]. For a new model of a monolingual dictionary, see Me16Cukand Zonkovskij (198411; Mel'Euk e l or! (1984, 1988, 11992); Rwdzka ef el! (E481).

The Meaning of Colour Terms and the Universals of Seeing

Phemomenological analysis . . . is analysis of concepts and can neither agree with mar contradict physics. (Wittganstcin 1937: 16)

"dour' is not a universal human concept. It can of course be created in all human societies, j~ustas the concepts Ltelevi~iona, 'computer', or honey" can, but despite the rapidly increasing contact between human societies illl many which have neither borrowed nor developed the canuryand of course there have been many more such societies in are ""colourterns" a universal phenomnonr. It is certainly not true as often been daimed, all languages have words for black and s point will be documented and discussed in detail later, but in a sense it is quite obvious: if a word is used to describe not only black, but also brown, grey, or dark-blue objects, then it cannat possibly mean %blacky. sh, and in many other languages of the world, 'kolour" can be arded as a reasonably self-contained semantic domain. But in the mise of hiurnan discourse it is not. To try to carve out, for all languages, a "coolaur semantics" means to impose on the study of all cultures arising from only some of them (in particular, from modern, y complex, Western culture). ltures, people are interested in "seeingY'andin describing what they see, but they don" necessarily isolate "colour" as a separate aspect of their visual experience. All languages haw a word for SEE (see Chapter 21, but not all languages haw a word for "colour'? From what we know about the vocabulary of "eeingyn different languages, we can conclude that in ures the discourse of 'seeing' is contextualized, and the experience is described as a complex and integrated one, with colour, texture, lion, and many other attributes being treated as an indivisible This chapter owes a great deal to many long discussions with CUiff Goddard.

whole. As van Brake1 (1993: 1 13) writes, '"n western languages, the domain d cdour is clearly separated from other categories and there is a bias towards hple at the expense of brightness anrd saturation. In other cultures, the hue aspect of colour may, as it were, be subsumed under dflerenlt categories, so that it isn%really present as a separate domain." 1 do not doubt that there are some "universals of seeing"', which mn be discovered and validated through the study of the world's languages. But to establish what tlnese universals are, the focus of research must shift from the search for "colour universals" to the search for '%niversaEs of seeing", There can't be any colour univ~enals,if colowr itself is not a human miversal. But 'sedng'is indeed a universal human concept. To say that the search for colour universals has been largely misguided is not to say that it has not been fruitful. The massive research into the description of colours initiated by Berlin and Kay's (19641) classic study has generated a great body of knowledge about the discourse of SEIEing, and has contributed a great deal to any future theory d the universals of seeing. In particular, this research has made it clear that the notion off colous is not only far from universal but that its hale in human discourse is, relatively speaking, quite limited. What does seem universal, or near-universal, in the domain of seeing is, first d all, the distinction between times when people can see ('Uay") and times when people cannot see ("night'". This universal or near-universal distinction between, roughly speaking, nights (dark times] and days (times of light), appears to be linked, universally or near-universally, with same distinction or distinctions in the description of what one sees. Roughly speaking, people tend to distinguish, universally, between seeing things which look "light" and '%shinymand seeing things which look "'dark" and ""duaa(that is, light-less, shine-less). Cleady, the first kind brings to mind the experience of ""sun-timevision", and the second, that of "night-time vision". (It is worth recallling in this connection Birren" (14178: 3) observation: "'A111 civilizations since the beginning of man's existence worshipped the sun, and from the sun came light and co1o~."3 The distinction between "dark" colours and ''light''colows appears to play an important role in most languages of the world. For example, Hargrave (11982: 208) makes the following comment about the Australian language KKnnku: Yalanji (a "stage I1 language" in Berlin and Kay" cotourencoding sequence): According to the investigators, bingaji and ngtnmbw mean 'light' and 'dark' as well as 'white' and 'blmk" Several participants appeared to name chips Blight or dark ia comparison with the frame around the chip or in comparison with the &.hip, just shown them previously.

Hargrave adds: Terns denoting light and dark have beem recorded by other researchers in Australia. Jones and Meehan, carrying aut an investigahiom of Anibarra (north-ceoemutral Punhem Land) colous concepts, concluded that there were only two real coIour terms, those ror light and dark. Four additional h3colouur terms' were names for mimeral pigmemts and could only be used to describe a limited range of objects (Jones and Meehan 1978: 2630). Davis faund that children at Mdinghbi, also in Punhem Land, first classified all colowrs as vvatharr 'light' or mol "ark'. As they got older, they added further tems which classified ~oloursby hue and saturation as well as brightness [Davis 119821.

Another universal or near-universal has to do with the impartanoe of the environment as a fundarnenltal frame of refemce for any human descripdon of 'seeing'. English words such as vfew, scenery3or landscape provide useful hints in this respect, since they link the idea of %seeingywith the idea of "lace'. For what do human beings normally '%ee"? Presumably, objects, m h a l s , or people positioned or moving against a background (cf. the "figure" and '"round" distinction in psychology). Of the two, backgrounds are ma doubt more stable and more predictable than "figures'? the sky (often blue], the ground (often brown), the grass (typically green), the sun (often yellow and brilliant), the sea (often dark blue), the broad expanse of snow (normally wlnite)]. Of course, the landscape doesn't look the same everywhere. Not all human beings are familiar with the sea nar with snow, the ground is not evebywhere brown (and in some places it may be seen as predominantly red, yeifow, or black), and even the greenness of the grass depends on the availability of water and on the exposure to sun (e.g. in Australia the grassy landscape is, typically, yellowish or brownish rather than green). I am proposing, however, that the principle of using common features of landscape as a friarme of reference for visual categories in general, and for 'colour3n particular, is an important human universal, and also that this principle is responsible for many recurring features of human discourse on 'seeing', Yet another universal or near-universal feature of human discourse on seeing is the important role of comparison, or, more precisely, of the universal concept LIKE, in the experience of visual experienmw. The English adjectives goEd and gotden Illustrate this mode of description very well, and so do numerous other "non-basic colour terms" such as silver, navy blue, khaki3mh blond, and so on. Another example is provided by some of the main colour t e r m in the Australlian language Warllpiri: y~11ys~-yabu, 'red' (lit. 'bbnod-blood'), karntawarclr, 'yellow' (lit. 'pllow ochre'), which, together with two "environmentall" terms, waEya-waEyos, 'brown' (lit. "earthearth'] and ytrlk~ri-yukusi,'peen-blue' (lit. 'plants-plants"$ and with something like UdarVlolack' and 'lightfwhite', form the core of the Warlpiri ''co1our''vocabulary [Hasgrave 1982: 23 (13).

10. The M e ~ n i ~ofgCoIour Terms 291

But miversais or near-universals such as those mentioned above ccsulld not be stated within the Berlin and Kay (1969) framework, with its emphasis on ""bsic"colour terns. Shweder and Bourne (1984: 160) described Berlin and Kay" (1969) theory of "colour universals" as an example of the "data attenuation rule"". They wrate:l Not infrequenlly, the discc~weryof a universat is the product of a sophisticatedl pPQ6lesSof data restriction and data attenuation. Berlin and Kay (1196911, far e m ple, discover unIuversal prototypes for the definition of color categories, and a miversa1 sequence For the emergence of a color lexicon. Their study begins with twsr app1icrutions ofthe data attenuation rule. First, 'ec~lor"ccllassifimtion is equated with the task aF partitioning a perceptual space, predefined in terms at" hue, saturation, and intensity (thus, attenuating the referenda1 range of the ""co1or"wncept as understood by, at least, some cultures [Conklin 19551). Smorrmdly, all1 collar categries whose linguistic expression fails t0 meet oertain formal criteria (e.g., snperordination, monolexemic unity) are eliminatledl born oonsideratian. The consequence of the applicdion of these two data attenuation rules is that 95% of the world's expressions for color and most of the world's mlar categoties are dropped from the investigation. In the intervening time so much counter-evidenm to Berlin and b y ' s theory has been presented that one could no longer say that they discovered "universal prolatypes for the definition of colour categoriesy' or "a uniwersal sequence for the emergenoe of a color Bexican" (see e.g. Kay eS 01. 1991; MacLaury 19187, 1992; Hewes 11992; Kinnear m d Deregowski 1992; Saunders 1992; Toren 1992; van Brakel 1992, 1993). 1 suggest that if we wish to discover, and to explain, the universals of human discourse on seeing, we must, SO to speak, look in a direction different from that chosen in Berlin and Kay's (1969) classic and further explowd in the huge body of research b ~ l on t the foundations laid out in that wok.

2. Meaning and Scientific Kncawledge The hardest things to observe are those which one sees every day. (""H faut beaucoup de philosophie pour savoir observer une lois ce q u b n voit taus les jours"; Jean-Jaqws Rousseau.") The question "'What do words like red and blue mean?" may sound, to many, offensively foolish. But in fact, it is "f. also van Brakehi (1993: 1112) comment: 'kll subsequent work in )the Berlin and Kay trdition has 'been carried out with Mwnsdl Ccalom Chips and standardized procedures to elicit B a s [basic crolour t e r n ] . lt has been estimlled that in doing ahis 95% of the nodd's mlour terns are eliminated." I, borrow LMSquote from Moore and Caslling 1019821, who used ill as one of the mottoes of their hook.

very difficult Ito answer. Although the psychological, anthropological, and linguistic literature on colour t e m s is very extensive, it usually addresses itself to other questions. The simple, "naive" question raised here tends to be largely owedooked-as simple and ""laaTveY'questionsconcerning our everyday experience often me. It is, of course, true that the meaning of colour terms has often been discussed by philosophers, and linguists and psycholagists can profitably draw on the writings of thinkers such as Loclce, Hume, Carnap, RusseUl, or Wittgenstein. But the philosopher's perspective is necessarily different from that of a psychologist and, even more, from that of a linguist. The crucial difference is that philosophers are interested in language, whereas Linguists [qua linguists] are Interested in languages. To a linguist, the problem is not only to discover what the (English) words red or blue mean, but also what the Hungarian words vdkfi3 and piros (roughly, types of red) mean, what the Russian words goluboj and (roughly, types of blue] mean, what the Polish words niebieski and granatowy (roughly, allso types of blue, but different from the Russian ones] m a n , or what the Japanese word aoi (roughly, blue, but much broader in range than the English blue) means. Glosses such as niebieski = blue or iaoi = blue or sing = blue will clearly nolt do, since the range of each word is language-specific and cannot be correctly established on the basis of interlingual matching procedures of this kind. ]But if miebieski, singy or aoi do not m a n the same as bIue, what do they mean? And what does blue mean, in the first place? To some scholars, questions of this kind may seem foolish, because they believe that the meaning of every colour tern can be identified in tems of physical properities of Bight such as wavelength or relative energy. For example: ""When the wave lengths are between 400 and 470 nm [nanametres, lP9d,the field is reported to look violet for an average light levell; around 475 nm it is seen as mostly bllue" (Hurvich 1981: 391). In fact, however, scientific knowledge of this kind is entirely beside the point, if we are interested in meaning, and if by meaning we understand, essentially, what people mean when they use the words in question. Clearly, when someone says a blue dress, niebieska ('FEM) sukienka (Polish)l, or sinee ( M E E P T .pSat8e (Russian), they may have no idea what wavelengths, or what relative energy, are associated with the words &he,yriebieski, and sin& and yet, surely, it would be foolish to conclude from this that they ddn't tnaw what these words mean. Scientific knowledge of wavelength associated with different colour terns is valuable in a textbook of physics, but when it is repeated in linguistic books and articles and presented as if it were an answer to questions about meaning, it only clouds the issue and stands in the way of our search for a real understanding of what people mean when they use these wards. As

294 Lexical Semantics workings of our minds may, indirectly, reflect this; but the conceptualhatlons in our minds must be Linked to something that at constitute the canLent of our thoughts. The faith which some scholars have in the relevanae of nemrophysiology to the study of meaning can only be equalled by their faith in the retevar~~ce of formalisms. For example, Kay and McDaniel write: We have found furUher that tlhe facts of colour semantics are modelled Felicitousky in fumy set theory, and are not readily modelled in the traditional theory ol discretely contrasting semantic features. This finding casts doubt on the general usefwllness of the Feature model, and suggests that mare powerful formalism, employing a range ooS strwtures much broader than the restricted Boolean algebra implicit in the discrete semantlic-feature approach, are probably neoessary to provide realistic accounts of the semantics of words. (1978: 6441 The full title of their artic6e reads: "'The Linguistic Significance of the Meaning of Hasic Colour Terms". This isianplies that the authors know what the meaning of basic colour terms is; and that they me going to b d d on that knowledge (which, one is to understand, has emerged from the neurophysiological research reported in the arlicle). But all1 the reader is told, al the end, is that ithe authors believe that the facts of colour semantics can ibe modelled felicitously in fwzy set theory, and perhaps in some other "powerful mathematical formalisms"'. In my view, if some scholars are interested in translating linguistic ffacts ~ I Y L O "powcr~~U mathematical formalisms'"sucl~ as, for example, fuzzy set Iheory) they have every right to do so, but I do not think that Ibly doing wa they are bringing us any doser to discovering what words mean.

3. Meaning and C~plepurCharts Another popular approach to the semanltics of colour t e m s is based on the identification of meanings with denotata. One recalls in this connection the scholars fmm Swift's G~IIiver'sTravcb (1728), who believed that verbal explanations could be replaced with the demonstration of denotata, and who carried everything they wanted to talk aboult on their backs. In the same vein, it is proposed that instead of defining colour terns in different languages we can simply produce samples of colours themselves. In particulm, great faith is placed in commercially produced colour cbips such as those which were used by Berlin and Kay (1969) in their investigation of universals of colour naming. To some linguists it seems self-evident that the method which initially at least seemed to produce so much insight in Berlin and Kay" investigsltiolll of colour unniversals provides also an obvious solution to the problem of the meaning of colour terns. The attitude of these linguists can be par-

liOl The Meaning of CoIour Terms 295

w e d as follows: What do words such as bhe, niebieskd, or gohboj mean? Simple: we can show this by circling appropriate areas in a universal colour chart. Far wordis such as Mue, niebfeski, and gsrlubaj these areas may overlap, but since they will not coincide with one another, the language-specific range of each word's use will be correctly amounted for. Bwt Berlin and Kay achieved the apparent suluiess they did because they were investigating not the meaning of colour terns but the interlanguage stability of colour foci-and the method they chose seemed initially appropriate for the task which they had set themselves. They saw clearly, however, that tihieis method was totally inappropriate for the investigation of colour bowndairiex. Thus, they wrote: Repeated mapping trials with tbe same informant and also across informants showed that category foci plamrrranls are Rigluly reliable. . . . Category boundaries, however, are not reliable, even for repeated trials with the same informant. (Badin and Kay l969: 13) They concluded:

ia is possible that the brain's primary storage procedure for the plsysical reference of coEour categories is concerned with points (or very small volumes] of the colour solid rather thm extended volumes. Sacondary processes, of lower salience and intersubjective homogeneityswould then mount for the extensions of reference to points of the croloue solid not equivalelvK to (or included in) the focus. Currenl formal theories of lexical definitions are not able to deal naturailly with such phenomena. (itaid.)

I believe that in 11969 this conclusion was correct; and that the concomitant decision not to pursue, at that time, speculations about the meaning of colour t e m s was prudent and justified. I think, however, that in the course of the intervening twenty years, enough progress has been made in the areas of both the theory and practice of lexicall definition to enable us to tacklie the protPaem which in 1969 may have-rightly-appeared inltaactable; Berlin and Eay had every right to limit their attention to colour foci, and to choose not to explore colour boundaries. But if we wish to reveal the concepts encoded in the colour ]lexiconsof different Eanguages of the world we have to take into account both the foci and the boundaries. But to return for the moment to the possibility af "showimlg'We meaning ofcolour t e r n in colour charts, consider also Frumkinaysobservations: any colour model is characterhued by some degree of indeterminacy, as far as its possible naming is cmcermed. Often, people who are not professional colour experts . . . i.e. who have nothing to do with the science of callour or with other areas of howledge where precision in the naming of colour perceptions is important, will not be able to find any intuitively satisfying conour terms to designalte a given 'colonrr madel'. In other cases, they will propose several tems for one colour model. Since in practice there are situatioms where denotlaliive indeterminacy of colour

296 Lexical Semantics designations and 'naming' indeterminacy of colour models may be very inconw nient, specid nomative charts are produceded, which show what lcolanr designations should be given to a given colour model. For example, the charts of the Bditig;b Colour Coundl, 1939-11942, have such a nomative character. Charts of this kind have purely pragmatic gads; for example, to achieve mutual understanding in the description of different genres and species of plants it is necessary to ensure, in an artificial manner, one-to-one correspondence between colour designation and colour modds, despite the fact that in natural languages the correspondence is commonly of the many-to-many type. The charts of the British Colonar Council, just like other normative charts, are a terminological guidebook, whose validity is strictly limited to that do~nainfor which it was prepared, so that, for example, the nomenclalt~reol colouc designations for aolou~photo-reproduction (i.e. the system d pairs: coiour designation-colclur model) requires already a separate guidebook. (Frumkina 1984: 26) Frumkina concludes: The problem of colour naming, that is OF assigning callour designations to s p G c coPour models, deserves separate investigation as one aspect of the problem oFnaming in general. As for the possibility of describing colour designations by means d pictures, the fact that the relations between cogour designations and colour mdels are oE the many-to-meny kind makes it rather unrealistic. (1984: 27) This echoes Conklin's f1973: 940) remark: "There is obviously more to the study of colour categorisation than the matching of spectrographic readings with human verbal responses." h o u l d add lo this that the use of pictures and CIO~QPR~I charts can be useful in tbe investigation of meaning if one makes proper use of them, without placing unreasonable demands on them. They cannot automatically show the meaning of a colom tern, but they may help establish what the meaning of a colour term is. For example, Jones a d Meehan Q1978), who investigated the use d the two basic colour terms (-gungar&@ and -gungmt$a)i in the Australian Aboriginal language Gu-jingarliya with the help of the Munsell charts, obtained results which are indeed highly instructive b i n a semantic point of view. But they are instmdive because they raise fascinating questions, not because they field any ready-made answers. Equally instructive is the fact (which the chart itself cannot show) of how the data were obtained: first, Gummmnana (the in8;orrnanlt)said these were no -gamgaIoa colours them at U d and pointed from the chart to a piece of reflective foil used for coding, Igbg on a bench in the bnt. 'That one here, properly number one gum-grtmgrelfjia,no mare this mob.', . . Having made his proibeslt, Gnrmanamana then proceeded to outline the approximate boundary af the -gu~gaIsjracolours as shown in Fig. 2 [not reprodumd here]. It can be seen that only about 101% of colour chips are included in this category, the main bulk of the chart belonging to the -gangundjaclass. (Jones and Meehan 1978: 27)

kt

10. The Meansing of G'oI~wrTerms 297

The question of w h d the words -gefngaI&ihand -gmgwndja mean is a fascinating one, and 9: believe it is the kind of question that is more pertinent to linguistic research than any questions concernling the neurophysialogical bases of mlour perception, important and interesting as the Matter may be their own right. I will return to this question later, after I have: discussed e meaning of the English coilour terns white, biarck, bhe, green, red, and law, and their closest counterparts in a Few other languages with comx colour lexicons. First, however, I should like to clarify what 1mean by eaaingy",and how "'meaning" is related to "psychological reality".

4. Meaning and Psycholagicd Reality leaning of a word can, roughly speaking, be defined as what people or have in mind when they use it.' Since what they mean or have in may differ somewhat depending an Icrantext and situation, we should that 'beaning" has to d o with the constant, not with the variable, of ;a word's use. These constant aspects can Ibe ascertained in a variays, indwding a methodical introspective study, a study of common ology, w m m m metaphors, questianing of informants, psyi?noQintic experiments of different kinds, and so on. All these methods reveal in the speakers%nds, words are mutually related in different ways, they allow us to establish, how tiley are related (see Wierzbicka 1985: For example, Frumkina (1984: 30) reports that she asked a number of infommts to explain to her "what pink ( r ~ z o v yis" ~ ) and that she obtained m them the foPlowing E n d of answer: '"ink is a very3 very light red cdour, quite light, but sumciently specik for people to be atale to it is similar to red or has a shade like red." In Frurnkina's s e w , swen of this kind help us to reveal ' U e organization of memings in the linguistic consciousness". 9: believe this is correct, and I think that ate semantic description of the word pink (or rolzovyj] should intuitive link with the concept encoded in the word red for kmsnyjl and with that encoded in the ward light (or sve~J'yj]. It is important to keep in mind, however, that "linguistic consciousness" has many diflerent levels and that while there are facts which lie on its very surface there are others which are buried deeply, ellien very deeply, under the 5urface. As was stressed forwfully by Boas (1911/1966: 63-41 and Sapir (11949: 416-71, and more recently by Halliday 1(1987),native speakers' Of COIPCSR one could also define the tern "meaning" in many other wags [see e.g. Ogden and Richards 1923), and P have no desire ta argue about terminology. But the question of "what people mean'"when they use a particular word) is clearly a very important and worthwhile question t~pask. Obviously, nemophgsiology cannot answer questions like that.

10. The Meaning oifcCaIo~rTerms 299 knowledge of their language is, by and large, subconscious. It is important to distinguish tacit knowledge, which is hidden ""ithe depths" of a, person" mind but which can be dragged to the surface (see Sapir 1949: 3111, from scientific knowledge, which native speakers simply do not have rand which no amount of searching could ever reveal. The latter, in contrast ta the fcrrm~er,is not reflected in lanjg~ageafi~dplays no role in ttre li~iguisajc piatlcrning. (See Cllapters E l and 12.) Semantics is a search Ibr meaning, not a search for scientific or encyclopaedic knowledge; but this does not mean that it is concerned onlly with facts whicli lie on thc surfacc, or vcry near Llnr swrracz, or spcakers' cansciousncss. Of we confuse '~syclrologicalscality" (sce Buding 1469) with "consciousness" w shall never find out what goes on in people" minds ad what conceptualizations are reflected in human languages. Let us consider, for example, the following facts, reported by Erumkima (1984: 30): ""W~lilcfor Russian infornuants, rlozovyj 'pink' and krasnyj 'red" arc sirtrilal- in colour . ., feltyj 'yellow\afild kuriZnrvyj "brwnhre [far tlicm) simply different colours, j~usltas different as krasrayj 'red' aandfi~iesovyj "urple'."Shoonzld we then con~ludefrom this that an adequate semantic descriptionr of Russian colour terms should present krastryj and$loSessrvyj as totally z~nrelatcd-as unrclaled as, say, ZeEfyj and ,;fr'oS~fovyj, or zelenyj, "recn" annd jiu/e~o9yj? I tlzink thal we should not. It is important, B believe, not to draw hasty conclusions from anything that informants may tell us. Rather, we should take tl~eirinitial responses as one kind of evidence, to be used jointly with other kinds of evidence. Informants' responses should never be taken at face value; they should be interpreted and made sense of (see Wierzbicka 1985: 89-90; see also Chapter 12 Section 21."

.

5. Coloulr T e r n s as Quotations Once again, then: what do people mean when they say, for example, "I bought a bkue dress" or '" saw a blue car"? One "ciommon-sense" answer to this question takes the following form. 'Tolour terms are learnt ostensively, and their meaning is also based an ostension. We have all heard the word blue applied to a variety of objects It should be emphasized, however, that "folk comments'" as well as folk definitions, can provide precious insight into the meaning oF colour terms. To see this, consider, for example, an informant's comments on the word hyi-hyi, 'grey', in the h t d h language Warlpirk " M e n a gum tree is first in good condition, in Its Foliage, it is first green. But if it should then (die and] dry up, its leaves would then become grey 1i.e. layayCFoj?iI . . . hyf-Eayi that is dry grass and dry foliage, old dry leaves. And ludlayi-Sayi is while hair d ;people, that white . . . We also refer to old people as /oyi-Eayi"*(Simpson 1989: 2). Clearly, the concept encoded in the Warlpiri word SnjC/ayi is not the same as that encoded in the English word grey.

-and we have learnt, on this basis, what people mean by bhe. Bhe means 'what people call blue'." 1 believe that an answer dong these lines is probably correct, as far as it goes (although, as I shall argue shortly, it does not go very far). In particular, it is important to note that an answer along these lines is not circular, as it Is not circular lo say that, for cxannplc, llhc word JoSfjlSe~ri u ~RPIC senlencc referring to some: particular person called John, means, roughly, "'the person: whom 1 call JOHN" (where JOHN, in capital fletters, refers not to a person but a sound). Assuming, them, that colour terms are Ileaart, essentially, by ostension, and that their mcaning reflects this, we could propose, as a starting-point For further discussion, the following explicaltion: X is blue. = people say of things like: X. "this is BLUE""

A formula of this kind represents the colollnr term as a kind of proper name: it implies that just as the word h h n means, essentially, ""Le person called

JOHN'', the word !due mleans, essentially, "the colour called BLUE"". S h m to understand a word like blue one must know that this word has something to do with seeing (rather than, say, with hearing or tasting), we could expand our first Formula as follows: Xis blue. = when people see things like A' they say of them: this is BLUE It seems reasmuable to suppose that a formula of this kind may reflect the child%first meaning of the wn;cPbhe; and it is important to note that to sketch such a formula we do not even need the word clobur, which, one must surmise, would be normally acquired much later than blue or red. (As pointed out by LeikPniz (19616], the concept of cdour is not indefinable: it can be defined via seeing, since colour is the only property which we can perceive only by xeeingn5) Since, however, the formula sketched above refers to some specific models (such as a particular object "A"" which would be different in each person's individual experience) without attempting to draw any boundaries, it cannot have full predictive power with respeclt to an adult's use of the word bhe. N t e r all, ithirugs that people call greeFa or purple can also be seen as similar to those which they ucaill biue-and yet mature speakers of English do nolt extend their use of the word biue to objects which they call green. As it stands, the formula sketched above dms not account for this. In learning a second language, we often acquire the boundaries with the help of negative feedback. For exampie, my daughters, who are bilingual The concept of 'colour' is actually quite complex, and I will not attempt a dehition here. It is clear, howelier, that a definition of 'collour' would have ni@r be based on the concept of SEEiug.

3100 Lexical Semantics but who iive in an English-speaking environment and for whom English is their primary language, as childntem tended to extend the range 0 6 the PoEish word niebiexki (%lue" rrom nieba 'sky') to dark shades which in English are still called bhe, but which in Polish would have to be described as granatowy, not as niebie8ki. When they did this, I corrected them: 'hot nlbieski, grsrrrtsfowyr"".(See nlsa Diiritlctt 1978.) 1 don't know what role corrections of this kind may play in the acquisition of the first language; presumably, a more limited one. It is known, however, that in the first language, too, a child3 lexicon of basic colour words is more limited than that of an adult, and that-from the adult's point of view-children "over-extend" even words such as yellow and blue, let alone b o w n , pink, p;urp3"e, orange, or grey. (See Warkness 1973: 182; E. R. Heider 1972b.J This suggests that in the speakers' consciousness or subconsciousness, neighbouring tems may detimit one another" range, to some extent ([although the boundaries are, of course, hzzy). In his discussion of the logic of colour terms, Bertrand Russell wrote: We oertainEy know-though it is difficult to say how we know-that tw different collours cannot coexist at the same place in one visual field. . . . More simply 'this is red%and 'this is blwekre incompatible. The incompatibility is not logical. Red and blue are no more Sogicajly inlcomplalliblle than red and round. Nor is the incompatibility a generalisation from experience. I do not think I can prowe that it is ncat a generalisallion from experience, but I think this is so olbvious that n0 one, nowais grammatical. I do not days, would deny it. Some people say the inu@ompakibility deny this, but I am mot sure what it means. [RzosselE 1965: 781 Quoting this passage in my Lexicogrtrphy and CTsrncepruaJ' Analysb (Wierzbicka 1985: 79-80; see also Wierzbicka 1940a) I suggested that the incompatibility between red and blue is in fact semantic, and I proposed semantic components to that effect, along the following lines:

X is blue. = when people see some things they say of them: this is BLUE Xis like this when people see other things they say some other things of them they don't say these other things of X

I have come to doubt, however, whether ""leclusiocrary'" components of this kind are really necessary, for a number of reasons. First, not all pairs of "basic colour terms" are felt to be incompatible in the same way and to the s m e degrlee. For example, wkik and black are felt to be opposites, whereas red and bhe are not. Furtihermore, re$ and pink, though incompatible, are felt to be closely related, whereas, again, red and blue are not. Even more importantly, some "basic colour t e m s ' b a y not be mutually exclusive at all. For example, in Japanese both the t e m s aoi 'blue, blue-

10. The Me~~nSmg of CoIour Terms 301

and rnidori 'green'appear to be "basic", and yet they dcfinc ihc notion of a a1 exclusiveness mandan follows, anyway, from identification (as argued p@rsonrel;crred Lo srs JOHN is r~ormallynot reFerrcd oes mean that when I refer to someone as "John" I om I call JOHN and whom E don't call anything ula: "he person whom I call0 JOHN'is sufficient. if an explicit "exclusionary" component Is not necessary for proper it is probably not necessary for colour terms either and a rudiy formula such as 3 is blue = when people see things Ilike X they hem: Ithis is B L U E h a y be essentially correct (not for all colour e caabstract"ones, such as red, blue, green, yellow,

. . . what all green objects that we've learnt to call them 'green'aand what all kwaals 'yellow-green" a SShswap tern en the N.S. Pacific coast, which d M a ~ h u r y(1987) 3 objects have in common is that Shuswap t ltcl call them kwaai"sand can teach us which things are as we can bach them which obj~erctsare green." is is probably true; but, as I shall argue below, this is not the 3: 132) writes: '30perhaps

6. ""Black" and ccWhilte"7"Dark"' and "Light" If we say only that white means, essentially, '"hat people call WHITEy'$ bhck "what people call BLACK'" we will1 fail to account for the fact these words are felt to be opposites, and also for the fact rhat they are to be closely related to dark and Sight. For example, one can form in English compounds such as light blue or dark blue, but one cannot form mmpowds such as *lighr kvhite or *dark black. Nor, for that m t t e r , can one call something *dark white or *Sight black. The expressions dark white and light black sound self-contradictory, whereas lfght white and dark bIack sound foolishly tautollogous. To account for these facts we have to analyse both pairs of adjectives into components, and to see what they have in c a i m a n . H believe that (as hinted earlier) the clue to the semantics of dark and light lies in the concept oE seeing, and that the prototypical use of these words has to do not with any objects but with the ambience. We say, above all: It was (allready) dark. It was (still) light.

Sentences including expressions such as '% dark ball" or "a light flower" seem neither as common or as onar~iralas sentences wilh PIC words dark or referring to the ambience. One can also speculate that in children's speech the words light and h r k refer, plrredominantly, if not exclt~sirsely,to the ambient, not to calours. Pllthozlgh h have no data to support these speculations, it is hard to irnagine small children talking about a "dark dress" or a "light dress", whereas sentences such as the one quoted earlier (by a two-year-old, Ellloom 1991), "I was crying because I dicriln" want to wake up, because it was dark, so dark" are of course well attested. Bult what dlo we mean whew we say tbat "it was (already) darY or tbat "it was still light"? I would suggest that we mean something along the fdlowing lines: it was dark {at that time). = at some times people can't see much it was like this at that time It was light (at that time). = at some times people can see many things it was like this at that time

It could 'rae argued, quite plausibly, that these definitions are too broad, and that they could be linked explicitly with, roughly speaking, d a y h e and night-time, along the following lines: It wm dark (at that time). = at some times people can't see much because the sun is not in the sky it was like this at that time It was light (at that time]. = at some times people can see many things because the sun is in the sky it was like this at that time The matter requires further consideration. For sentences referring to "darlr"' and "Eight" objects, we could then propose explications along the folllowing lines:" The word one in the sense used here has no place in the Natural Semantic Metalanguage, and should, strictly speaking, be replaced with sameone, along the following lines: when someone sees Lhiogs like X, this someone (this person) can thiak of tintes or this kind

I haw dccidcd Lo use one, rrulher than someone, however. lo make tlne explicatiaaus easier to wad.

X is dark. = at some timcs pcopEe can" scc mlucll when one sees things like X one can think of this X is light (in colour)." at some times people can see many things when one sees things like X one can think of this I do not think Ebalt the words durk and J'igSr~(as colour desigmnatiows) are art by ostension, with reference to some objects wbich provide models "a dark oolour" or ''a light colour"'. Ef here is a model of "darkness"", a model of "li&tnessm>t is to be found in the darkness of the night, or the light of the day. To put it diffierently, seeing dark objects reminds us the experience of seeing things at a time when it is dark; and seeing ligbt ects reminds us of the experience of seeing things at a time when it is ligbt. It is interesting to note in this connection that in some languages, for example in the Australian Aboriginal language Luritja, one of the two basic wolour terns ["light' and "dak'"~ Is in fact identical with the word for night-time ([Ian Green, personal comunication)~;and d s o that in Alice Springs Aboriginal English, night is often called "dark t h e " (Jean Harkins, personal communication). Turning now to the English wards 6Iack and white, I would suggest that their semantic sltaucture would reflect both theh status of "basic colour terms learnt by ostmsion" and their association with the concepts 'dark' and "light'. (Cf. Leonardo da Vhci's comment made in his "Treatise on Painting'" "We shall set d o m white for the representative of light, without which no color can be s m ; . . and black for total darkness"; quoted in Birren 1978: 4)~.As a first approximation [to be refined later) I would propose the following:

.

X is black. Ipartial explication] when people see some things they say of hem: this is BLACK X is like this at some times people can" see anything because the sun is not in the sky when one sees things like X one can think of this

For white (of which more vdl be said later) we could initially consider a symmetrical exgllicalion:

X is white. [partial explication] when people see some things they say of them: this is WHITE

X is like this One could also can~siderexplicating 'light' via 'dark', so ba speak @ecause even in broad daylight, dark ahiogs stiil look datk, whereas when it is dark, even light Lhings look dark).

at some times people can see very many things because the sun is in the sky when one sees tbiangs like X one can tllrio~kof this Explications of this kind amount both for the intuitively felt antonymous relation between bhck and white, and for the intuitiveiy felt links betwen bbck and dark, and between white and light. They do not imply that peaple think of the day as "something white" and of the night as "somethlrrg b1ack"ds they might think of snow as something white and of charmal as something black. Nor do they imply that white objects necessarily make us think of daylight, and black objects, of the darkness of the night. Bwt they do imply a potential conceptual link: "when one sees things like this one can think o f . . .". There are good reasons to think, however, that the meanings af bhck and while should not be presented as fully symmdriml. The associaition between black and night is no doubt more straightforward and more tramsparent than that between while a d day. The link kbween white and high visibility seems intuitively indubitable, but it is not white itself which is highly visible. Red and orange are no doubt more visible, or more obvious, than white. On the other hand, white provides the best background far all other colours: dl other colours are better visible in "broad daylight" (in Polish, w bhfy dzieh, E ' n white day" than at dusk, and also they are better visible in places which provide a white visual background, such as, for example, a snowy landscape or the white paper on which we write or type. To account for this property of white as the best possible background far objects of all kinds (other than white) we could consider adding to its explication some further components aQongthe fotlowing lines: X is white. [parltisl explication] in some places, people can see very many things when one sees things Bike X, one can think of this It should be added, however, that 'white' is a much more complex, and more problematic, concept than %lack" no doubt because 'black' has a universal prototype in a '"pitch-black" (very dark) night, whereas 'white" doesn't have a similarly uniform universal prototype in a very bright day i(becausewhen it is very light people see Pots of different collours), and may in fact embody in its meaning two very differenit points of referenoe: a ternporal one (day versus night) and a spatial one (a white wintry landscape, covered with snow). AS mentioned earlier, snow (unlike day) cannot be a universal referencepoint in the semantics of vision, but of course 'white' is not a universal conloept either. For English, and for o t h r languages which do have a semantic equivalent of h e English word white, a snowy Iandscape seems a plausibb mferenoe-point, of course not as a neoessary feature of every individual's

personal experience but as a feature of the collective memory of speakers of English, reflected in their shared semantic universe (see expressions such ;as snrow-while, snowy whIfc, or Samw Whil'e, and white CIsris~irwas)~. A number of observations about the concept kwhitehade in the Iiterature appear to support this suggestion. Thus k h i t e 9 s often described as a '%whce colour",not a "voluanl: co1our'~seee.g. Westphal 1987: 14; Katz 1935: 7); a colour which "more than any other colour, offers resistance to the eye" Westphal 1987: 14). It is also described as a quintessentially "opaque" colour, incompatible with transparency. "White is an opaque colow", noted Wittgenstein (1977: 4), and he puzzled: "Why is it that something can be transparent green but not transparent white?" (1977: 5). It seems to me that the prototype of the ground covered with snow explains, to some extent at least, intuitive observations of this kind. For if "white" k "'e lightest of colows" (Wittgenskin 1977: 23, and is that "which dms away with darkness" (11977: 151, this is explained by the fundamental contrast between day and night (roughlly speaking, the night is "black", the day is the opposite of the night, and 'khite" is the opposite of "black"). But if "white" is also "opaque", a barrier to the eye, surely this is consistent with the image of snow covering and '%hiding" the ground? The "bjue" of the sky, or the ' ~ e l l o w ' k fthe sun, can hardly be thought of as a "barrier" between the eye and somethhg dse; the green of the vegetation is also something that one can normally see through (except in the thickest jungle); and of course deep waters of the sea, or of a Iake, are anything but opaque. But the white expanse of snow is indeed an exceedingly light and yet opaque '"barrier" to the e p , a covering of the ground, which cannot be seen though, although it sets off, and lightens, the visibility of all "figures'" visible against this light and opaque background. Finally, it is worth noting that "black'hnd "white" are by no means symmetrical in the world's languages, and that '%kicky' is a more common term than 'khite"'. For example, Hargrave (11982: 211) writes this of the Australian Ismguage Martu Wangka: The primary question raised by thc data in comparison with IBerPin and Kay's] mllour-encoding sequence is the absence of a basic tern for white---ar even for 'macro-white" Aawrdlng to the sequence, a Pamguage with two basic colour terms has the: categories 'macro-blackkand 'macro-white', and foci for the latter can be expected to vary between white and red, while the former may have foci in black, green or blue [Kay and McDanieJ 1978: 63%. The Martu Wangka data, however, show clear Gategorim focused in btack and red. Twemty-two participants d;$ focus a colour tern iru the pure whine area, but a variety of terms were used, and five participants used two or three terns. In all, twelve different terms were used which were focused in white.

Hargsave notes further that "This same lack of agreement on a tern For white is found in the Warlpiri area" (1982: 2121, and she concludes:

3016 Lexical Semontta The above data suggest that Aboriginal groups who were @aditiolnaIly desert m w d s did not abstract the collaur white as a separate property of a variety of mahral phenomena, and fierefare it canmot be oonsidered a basic colom term in tlieir language. when Wittgenstein wrote &at "white is an opaque collou~"41977: 41.31,a ""tmsparent white is impossible'"l977: 191, and that "' white water is inconceivable" (1977: 51, he was clearly thinking of the q'white". But the words from other languages glossed in ~ n g l i may have a different image. For example, AQexandraAikhen~al c o ~ m ~ i c a t j l oreports n that in the Tariana language of Bra "whi&" fi~~sajire) means also 'transparent"as w Birren (1978: 3) qudes (in English] the following (so fmm the Upanishads: "The red color of burning fire is white color of fire is the color of water, the black color of fire is of earth". Then, while the experience of snow is of course far fro gal, so is the idea of an opaque, "surface co1ourq', 'white'.

7. Greea, gwyrdd (Welsh), h t u ~!yHsunlsnd~S In mamy languages of the world, the nearest equivalent o f t green is eiher morphologically or etymdogically related to words herbs, or vegetation in general. For example, in Polish the ward etymoQ~gkallyderived from zi&, %erb3.In 'Wartphi (as m far "green" or "green-blue" is a reduplication of itbe plants. Bn fact, even tkne English word green is believed to be e rejated to grow (see Swadesh 1972; Mein 19661. Native speakers of English, when asked to give some ex usual[y mention grass, leaves, or fresh vegetation (most cOmmon This does not mean that their range ol greens is restricted to the grass, or even mare generally, to the colours of vegetation; sonably clear that they do associate the concept e gees with vegetation ("things gowing out of the grou this, I would propose h e falllowing (partial) explanation

X Is green. = in some places many things p o w out of the ground when one sees things like X one can think of this

I haye deliberately refrained firom using here the phrase '" is li bemuse there are shades which native speakers of English w0ulc.I pared to call green although they would be reluctant to colour of vegetation. None the less, a vaguer association by the explication sketched above seems to be valid.

PO. The Meaning of Cobur Ter~ns 307 hings growing out of the ground" '8 no doubt ot ody for the Engllish word green and far its semantic equivalents r example, the Polish word zielhlny), but also nearest counterparts of green in languages in which this word does have exact semantic equivalents. counterpart of greea is gwyrdd, whose er than that 01geen: and some English reens" are lexically identified with "b1ues"in Welsh [see Hjelmslev 1953: n on Welsh to interpret these facts in uld appear that Welsh restricts gwyrdd to er, brighter, fresher greens. Trying to account for this in lnitively plausible prototype, I would propose (as a startingssian) the following (partial) exp1icatian:

in some places many things grow out of the grounnd at some times there is walter in these places (after rain) when one sees things like X one can think of this The reference to "wetmess after rain" brings to mind, 1 think, fresh, glisore consisBnt with the range of g w y r d than a mere owing out of the ground'" But it is not so much wet is a point of reference; rather, it is a growing out of the ground, rain comes, thing glistens with wetness". The whole vivid, natural greenness evoked also by the inages ture lore ('"ow green was my vdley owdaries of gwyrdd are as '"fuzzy" as ifferent phrasing of the conceptual reference-points somewhat difleremnt range of reference. tation in the case d green, and to vegetation and dd, may seem rather speculative, but they are case of the Hanurrdo word laruy, desc~bedby 64: 191) as 'Yight green and mixtures of green, yellow, and light c ~ l o u "which r most tangibly visible in their [the Hanundos'] e surro~~ndings'~, and whose focal point is '"ear light- or yellow-green". onklin shows that htq is clearly associated both with plants and with 3s- Hanundo has four basic colour terns, which can be PooseIy glossed e m s of wetness versus dryness. siccation and wrewess or freshness @u@environment which are reflected in the tively. This distimction is of particular sig~ficanw lterms of plant life. Almost all living plant types possess some fresh, succulent,

308 Lexical Semom tics and often 'greenish' parts. To eat amy kind of raw, uncooked food, garliiGlularly fresh knits or vegetables, is knowm as;pag-hry-un (Ssr~uy].A shiny, wet, baown-colowed section of mewly-cut bamboo is rnakatuy (not marrrraq. Drkd-out or matured phnt material such as certain kinds of yellowed bamboo or hardened kernels of' mature nor parched corn are marara7. (Conklli~u1964: 191)

On the basis of Gonkclin" comments I propose the following tentative explication: X i s latuy. = in some places many things grow out of the ground there is something llike water in these things when one sees ~thikingslike X one can think of this 1111 this case, unlike the case of the Welsh gwyrdd, "uiciness" rather tha external wetness appears to be part of tihe conceptual model. (I doubt if" shiny, wet, brown-coloured section of newly-cut bamboo" co gmryrdd.) It is. also inkeresting to mote that although Hanunbo d a separate word for "blueW>ts word for ""geen'Uoes not exten blue at all, dark blues being categorized with "black", and light "wfite". The association between Iarrduy and "juicy plants", which as a part of the meaning of this word, is consistent with this fact, Conklin" iiluminatimg description or Hanunbo makes it partic clear that the use of colour charts are not a suitable melttrod the meaning of cdour terns. To understand words such as Satuy an we have to understand the conceptual prototypes to which these refers to fresh, juicy plants, whereas th refer. The prototype off laarls~~y ciation between redness and dryness can be expiained if we assum word rara? refem, in its semantic structure, to fire and to burning. colour chips cannot account for facts of this kind, but verbal can. Of course one could say that the "wetness" implied by bt.rryis a sep semantic feature, which can be added to a description in terns of brightness, and saturation. But the evidence presented by Con that in the speakrers' mind this ""wetness" or '~uiciness"is not an dent semantic feature: rather, it is an integral part of Ithe same p which determines the kind of greenness associated with this warn, succulent, ripe, closer to yellows and to light brown th What applies to Hanunfio applies also, rnoratt mulandis, to the S term Rwaalt, Yellow-green', which was menltioned earlier, and g in ahis mnnectim Toren's [I992 1693 remark: "co abstract& From other domains of classification as if it formed a flnn Hanunbo warm and cojid categories, with their connatations . . . wggest a connection with plant classification, far which IE than with ~ 0 3 as 0 such". ~

10. The Meaning of (Cobm Terms 309

""Much to the amazement of MacLaury (1987) reporting this fact . . . 'contradicts present physidogical knowledge? " (van Brakern 1993: B IS). To van Brakel's highly pertinent question "Wound it really be possible that the meaning of a word in a far-away-culture mntradicts our ph!ysi~r'ogical howledge"?"'lwould add my own: Isn't it likely that in the natural surrowdings of the Shuswap people these is something that is visually salient and that is "ellow-green' (perhaps sun-burnt grasslands, like those which define the yellow-green Australian landscape)?

8. Bhe, niebie~ki(Polishi), gohboj md shij (hssian], aoi [Japanese), armd Jiia [Thai) [mr numerous languages of the world, the nearest equivalent of the English word blue is morphologically, or etymologically, related to the word for ple, the Polish word niebieski is derived from niebo, %ky; and Latin ccaeruillew is derived from the word caelm, 'sky" Words of this association between the colonr concept in question and "sky"". The English word jbhe and the Japanese word aoi are related to the words for sky, but (judging by informants' these languages, too, there is a strong association between the nd the concept of 'sky" h:em asked to give shme examples [we, or of something a&, informants invariably mention the o account for these facts, I would propose not only for niebieski and lso for ErSW and mi, the following stmamatic camponent: " X i s bluelaolJniebieskir'caeruIeu~~ = at some times people can see the sun above them in the sky when one sees things like X one can think of the sky at these times However, although words such as B S w , aai or niebhski are all semanticoncept 'sky', they are not identical in meaning, since of these words is unique. For example, as mentioned earrs only to light and medium dark blues, to veq dark glish would still be callled blue). To account for this, I he, but not to niebieski, an additional reference-point: "big water places", such as the sea or lakes (especially is allows us to contrast the meaning of niebieski and blue Xis niebieski. =

(4 at some times people can see the sun above them in the sky when one sees things like X one can think of the sky at these times

3 10 Lexfc'cal Sem~asa'cs

at some times people can see )thesun above them m i p the sky when one sees things like X one can think of the sky at these times (b) in some places there is a lot of (very much) water when people are far from these places they can see this water when one sees things like X one can think of this

(Q)

I have refrained from using in the explication d b/ue the phrase '" is like this" "cause pople can distinguish the cdour "blue" from the spec5c shade '"sky-blue'" None the less, I believe that a vaguer, more general m a ciation between blue and sky is valid, ampd my informal cjuestioning of a number of informants confirms this. I recognize Ithat the '%st", focal bIue is darker than sky-bhe, and IIIOR "vivid'9harv the fcRbl~e'y of the sea. Bts exact shade may indeed depnd some properties of the human perceptual apparatus rather than on the shades prevalent in the human envimnment, such as the sky or "big water places visible from afarY'".ut the mnge of blue is II it cannot be explained in purely biological terms. can account for it if we assume that the concept b of swuctnare which is characteristic of the compoun or pea (as collour terms): it does not provide an ex some points of referen~e.~ Polislr Itas no pllrrase Pike '"sky-blue", h i t it has a more specific adjective B!gkitrty, which is associated primarily with the sky. Accordingly, 1have no used the phrase "Xis like this" for the Polish word nfebieski either, and have used instead the vaguer formuia: "one can think of". Let us turn now to the two Russian ccruntcrparts of b 'dark blue', and galcrboj, Vight blue'. Berlin and Kay (11969: 3671 have r some doubts about the "basic" character of gnl~Eubaj,referring to some dence showing t b t among Russian children goSuboj is less salient than (Istomina 1963). However, there is also some evidence s low", which in turn is less salient than the word 11973); and yet all of these words are regarded as Furthermore, Frurnkina (1984: 31) reports that Russia prised when they learn that English has only one sing (i.e, blwe). This suggests, it seems to me, th and grohbojas "basic". She also notes: "Some inform spakers of Russian--don't want to regard the wo m d seryj, "ref, aas basic "because: they are absent a m n g the mB0iurs of It is interesting to note, none the less, that aocosdixug to van Erakd (1993:1141, "English speakers often volunteer two foci For 'blue"[one dark and one liglnt].'" 9

10. The Me'caning ox CoIaur Terms 3 1 1

'-."' llvey are all convinced, however, that golvboj and sinfjare there. o Corbett and Morgan 1988; Moss 1989.) ieve that the semantic relationship between gohboj and sinfj (and these words and the English word blue) can be satisfacr if w show, in the explications, that d l three words Y, but that gohboj'is directly likened to the sky, whereas sing be "like the skyY'althoughit can make people tthink of the specified in this respect (so that it can include both the -sky-blue shades of the sky-sea range]. In addition, the proposed below link golluboj directly with broad daylight and sing nce of full daylight. people can see the sun above them in the sky when one sees things like X one can think of the sky at these times X is Pike this kind of sky at some times pe~plecan see many things when one sees things like X, one can think of this at some times people mu see the sun above tYrm in the sky when one sees things like X one can think of the sky at these times [b) Xis nor like tlve sky at these mimes CC) at some limes people can't suee very nqu& when one sees things like X one rn think of this ed out that the explication assigned here to sffig does, as a '"ark mlour'", although it does present it as darker than see this, compare the following two variants: eople can't see very much eople cm't see much t i(l), which I have assigned lio the English word assign to other words which stand for colours thought and it differs iflg not thought of as "a dark colourYy; Polish word granralowy, also "ark blue" wwhh defhas been assigned a d a d colom. The h c t that accounts for these differences. Panese word dlr~iI(@@), we note that its rmge covs which in English are called bhe, but also some e calked green.1° Thus, it is not only the sky which calbd anlFf, but also wet grass and the crGo!" traffic lights. In fact, Y"' information on the use of aoi comes chiefly from discussions ~ & hTakako To&, md m her reports of infomaxutsSresponses. I am very grateful to her for her help in mat-

5

3 12 Lexical Semantics

110. The Meaning of CoIour Terms 3 13

Japanese has set phrases referring to both grass and traffic lights as (Takako Toda, personal communication). For example, when teacher Japan teach children tramc rules they say:

t

to note that the sea, umi, is normally described in

, next to the sky, what could be visually more changethe ocean? In fact, according to my informants it is the ocean

n grass or plants in general which provides the second best exafter the phrase aoi SOM,'blue sky', it is the phrase aoi umi, comes to mind most naturasly in oonnection with sea can be seen, at different times, as either blue or triple model, based on the sky (primary point of reference), the sea ference), and vegetation after rain {a tertiary point of to accord better with the way aisli is used, and with to it. Fosiowing this line of thought, one could prowing (partial) explication:

WWn the lights turn aoi look to the right, look to the left>and cross." When there is a need to contrast the colotnr of the sky with the wlo grass, a different colour adjective is used for grass: midorr'. But when

at some times people can see the sun in the sky when one sees things like X one can think of the sky at these times [b] in some places there is a lot of water when people are far from these places they can see this water when one sees things like X one can think of this (c) in some places things grow out of the ground at some times there is water in those places when one sees things like X one can think of this (0)

other.

also restrictions on the use of a d as an attribute: o mry state of trees or grass, for example: Arne no ato, ki ga ao ao to shite im. After the rain, the trees are (look) very m i . The reduplication ao aae underscores the vivid, fresh look of the troes a the rain. Hnterestingly, midori wauld not be used like this: ? h e no ato, ki ga rnidori midori to shite 2m.

to a temporary visual impression. It is also intereslting to note that while troi Is readily applied to cha a book with a green cover w u l d be described as midmi, not as aoi. these facts point to a link between aai-mess and a possibility of change.

ally, k t us consider briefly the situation in Thai, described authoritaby Diller and Juntanamalaga [forthcoming). In ''lower", rural. Thai, are only four basic colous terns, with foci in the areas of white, black, nd green. In the '%igher"+uutban Thai, however, there are also two of the "blues' type: f i a (lit. 'sky') and nam-gars (lit. "silver-tarnish". efers only to very light blues ("sky-bluebr even lighter], tter designates, in particular, the dark blue of the Thai flag. ered in English the focal blue is too dark to be callledfda and called nam-gan, and informants regard it as a "difficult to e, allthough if pressed they may call it fhtr-k& (lit. 'sky-dark' '1. There is, therefore, a "no man's sand" between the two remarkably, it is this no man's land which corresponds to the pposedy determined by universal human neurophysiology. hlights the irreducible gap between neurophysiology anrd g. Surely, what the Thais Pack is not a perceptual category but a conone. It is likely that sooner or later they will develop o n e - o n the lish bhe, of the Polish rslbieski, or of the Japanese aoi, or ems mast likely, in fact, that they will follow a path ne, with two "basicL'words far "blue".) In any case, X the exact shape of this future category on the basis of

3 14 Lexical Semansics

any past or future findings in either ~chromat~lagy ar neur~physiology~ Furthermore, the situation in Thai seems to be at variance with the @laera1 amount ofcolour category formation proposed by Rosch (1975b: 1M): "There are perceptually salient colours which more readily attract attention and are more easily remembered than other colours. When category names are learned, they tend to become attached first to the salient stimuli, only later generalizing to other, physically similar, instances. By this means these natural prototype colowrs become the foci of organisation for categories." But in Thai [like many other languages) it is the sky which is twated as the "nalural prototype" of a bluelike category; and this "natural prototype" is different from the kind of "blue" which is said to be perceptually most salient and which is (perhaps) most likely to become the focus of the: not-yet-born basic "blue'btegory. For this category to be born, the focal, pcrccptually 111osd salient ""bwc" must 'becronne conceptually linked with srvllc ~ii~l~iccnblc ~~cl'crelnec-hroilrl it1 Llsc speakers' cxpcric~~cc-suclr as, for example, the idea of the sky on a sunny day.

The nearest equivalent of the English word red is in many languages etymologically related to the word for "blood" (recall, for example, the Warlpiri word for "red" niccntioned in Section 1); i r can, bowcvcr, be related to many other putative models, such as, For example, various minerals (for example, red ochre) or other sources of pigments and dyes. The Polish ward czertvmay is synchronically no longer analysable, but it is believed to have come from the name of a red worm, czerw (Brwckner 1930). The English word red is not synchl;onically analysable either. It is possible, none the less, that here, boo, we can discover a common association which might unite the speakers of English in their conceptualization of the category in question. In an earlier work (Wierzbicka 1980: 43) H proposed that red may be conceptualized via the concept of %ladd',and I proposed the following rough formula: red--co!our thought of as the colour of blood Further work with informants, as well as an introspective exploration af my own concept of 'czerwony' Iprompted by objections expressed by other linguists), have led me to question the adequacy of this kind of explication. The relevance of blood to the concept of 'red' can be compared to the relevance of milk to the concept of 'white', or to the relevance of chasmal to the concept of 'bback'; while objects of this kind may provide good exemplars of certain commonly recognized colours, they are not things of extra-

JO. The Memring O ~ C O I OTMe rPm 315 ordinary visual interest, things that dominate people" view (like the sky, the sun, the sea, or a white snowy landscape do). But if we do not define red via blood, or not just via blood, what else can we do to ducidate this ooncept? Trying to approach the problem from a different angle, I shall take as my point of departure the suggestion made by Manning (1989) that red is 'b rich, warm colour". The words "rich"amd ""warn" are used here metaphorically, but I think that these metaphors provide useful clues to the meaning of red. Of the b u r "'basic colour categories" encoded in English as red$yellow, greem, and blue, two, red and yeS!okv, are thought of cornmonly as "'warn caIours". Why is that? What does the notion of "a warn mlour" mean and why is it that people associate 'karmth'kwith red and y e h w rather than with green and h h e l The answer seems to me rather obvious: ye/tmv is thought of as "warn" bcause it is associated wit11 the sun, whereas red is thought of as "warm" because it is associated with fire. It seems plausible, therefore, that although people do not necessarily think of the colour of fire as red, they do associate red colour with fire. Similarly, they do not necessarily think of the colour of the sun as yelllow, and yet they do think of yellow, on some lewek of comnsciousness or subconsciousness, as a "sunny collour". It seems likely that the association between red and fire, and between yeifow and the sun, is a little hrther removed from the surface of speakerskcansciousness than that between bhe and the sky, or grem and things growing out of the ground. None the less, it is not difficult to bring these links to the surface. I have asked a number of informants what colour they think fire is, and several of them replied: orange. However, when F ask informants which colour fire makes them ehhk of, many of them reply: red. I think the reason may be that when asked about the colour of fire people think of the flame; but when asked about "'what fire makes them think or', they think of the whole situation involving fire, and this includes glowing red coals. The association between fire and red is supplorted by the existence of set phrases such as red-hot, red coals, or fiery red (cf. also the name of the mast popular Australian brand of matches: Redheflds). Other European languages have similar phraseological reflexes of this association. Far example, in Polish the expression czerwony kksrr,literally 'red rooster" is a synonym of fire. It is also worth noting that fire-engines and other paraphernalia used by fire brigades are often painted red; that fire extinguishers are also painted red; that red is generally used as a symbol of danger or warning (for exampk, in traffic-light systems). It seems reasonable to suppose that all of these facts reflect a common association between fire and red. The common association of the colour red with fire is well attested from a wide variety d times and places. For example, Birren (393833 notes that

'"he Jewish historian Josephus in the first century AD associated . . . r d with fire" (p. 3). Be mentions the same association in Chinese culture; he addu~esLeonlardo da 'urinci" statement "We shall set down . . . red For fire" (4); and he quotes from the Upanishads: 'The red color of burning fire is the color of fire . . The red color of the sun is the color of fire . . . The red color of the moorz is tlre color of fire . . . The red color caE the lightning is the color of fire . ."'. (pp. 2-3). It rnay also be worth recalling here Swadesh's (1972: 204) speculaticans on the possible etymological links 'between red and the Latin nrdere, "tcp born"~:is well as bcllwccu~/igh and tlic Latin ceSb~c'.s, whit^').^' Tlve Pdct that pcoplc Lcnd to picraive the coPour of fire as orange or yellow rather then red does not undermine the conceptual link between fire and redness, lf i t is true that '"be Four hue classes, red, yellow, green, md bluc . . are ncurophysiologI~aIly ' w i r e d b r 'programmed' in human bcirigs" (Witkowski and U;rowna 1978: 4421, for the purposes of conceptualizatioo~hand communication tlvesc ncurophysiologhcal categories have b be proj~ectedon to analogues given in shared human experience. For "bluen and "green", the choice is obvious: the sky [and perhaps the sea) end vegelatioo~.For "yelllow"" the sun ofSers-perhaps-one natural point csT reference. (The k t that in children's drawings and paintings the sun is represented as yellow reflects this association).'* For "red'" however, there is no invariable environmental model. Although there Is the invariable experientiat model of blood, most lzuman beings do not see blood nearly as often as they do the sky, the sun, or grass, and in any case, blood Is not nearly as salient, visually, as is fire. It is natural, therefore, that in manyw perhaps most, human cultures, in addition to "local'hssociaitiorus such ar that with red ochre, a deeper association should have been established between "red" and its nearest analogue in human environment which is both visually salient and culturally, or existentially, o v e r w h e l m i n important: Bre. The fact that we can find traces off such a con~eptuallassociakiau even in English provides, it seems to me, a striking confirmation of this hct. These considerations lead us to propose the following (partial) explieations:

.

.

.

X i s red. = when one sees things like X one can think of fire when one sees thing like X one can think of blood X is yellow. = when one sees things llike X one can think of the sun I NSwadesh's speculations rnay seem to us rather Fantastic in some 016 the details, but thls does not invalidate his basic insight into the importance af Might and fire to tbe human conceptualization of calour. As pointed out 'fry Xu (19941, however, this is not universal. Far example, in Chinese ml. tnre the sun Is usually represented as md, no! as yellow.

"

PI further diflerence between red and yeIIow is that yellow is thought of as a light ccrlour, whereas red is not thought of as either light or dark. Since we haw already explicated the notion of a light colour, we can ow use it in a fuller explication of the concept 'yellow': X is yellow. = when one sees things like X one can think of the sun at some times people can see many things when one sees things like X one can think of this RRh colours"'aace ' U c c p ' ~ w tnot dark; they look as iS "there was much lour in them", as if the dye, or the paint, was thick. They cannot be light, ecause light collours look as if '"here was not much colour in them", as if he dye, or the paint, had been used thinly. On the other hand, red is cerainly a " ~ v i ~ i d ' k ~ l that o ~ r ,is, one that is very easy to see. If we think, hen, that red is "a rich colour" as well as a "warm colour'" and a "vivid colour", we might consider, initially, an explication along the following

X is red. = when one sees things like X one can think of fire when one sees things like X one can think of blood one can see things like X at times when one cannot see other things On the other hand, additional components would presumably have to be ostulated for the two Hungarian words for "red", vcs'rliis Q"dark red') and kos ('light red". As a starting-point for discussion, I would propose the Plowing:

X is piros. = when one sees things like X one can think of fire when one sees things like X one can think of blood at some tines people can see many things when one sees things like X one can think of this X is vbras. = when one sees things like X one can think ;of fire when one sees things like X one c m think of blood at some Xhes people can see very little when one sees things like X one can think of this These (tentative) expllications present the two Hungarian words for "red" as manogous to the two Russian words for 'cblue"".

10. Malcrlo-white and Macro-black Following the findings of Berlin and Kay (119691, it is widely believed that the concepts "lack'and "white' are, in some sense, lexical universals. Berlin alurl K a y tIicirusePvcs (0969: 2) plrrascd tluc clairuns In questio~uas FoIPows: "(I) All languages contain terns for white and black. (2) If a language contains three terms, then it contains a tern for red.'"^ infomall, abbreviatory ways of referring to generalizations precisely formulated elsewhere, statea~icnlsof Llliis kind can bc scci~as quite legitimate. It is unforrwnate, however, that these informal abbreviations have led many scholars to conclude that if a language has only two basic colour words, we know what them wards mean: ""they must mean 'black' and "white"'. But, as mentioned earlier, this cannot be true. Tf a language has only two colouo. woods, wluich divide betweetr ~lliemselvesall the colours perceived by tllc speakers, tliesc words cannot possibly mean the same as what the words bkck and mean. What do they mean, then? For example, what do the Eu-jingarliya (Buram) words -guingaIsja and -gu~gun4a,discussed in Section 3, mean? Onc suggestion which has sometimes been made Is that words of this kind mean 'lighthand 'dark" respectively. But this cannot be the whole truth either if the word supposedly meaning '~ightY~ndulcfes red in its range. For example, the fact that the Gu-jingarliya counterpart of white includes also highly saturated, medium light red suggests that, in this case, tl~econtrast between light and dark, that is, ultimately, between day and night, cannot constitute the only underlying model. Since the combining of light colours and red in one class groved to be a rule rather than an exception (see e.g. E. R.Heider 1972a; Turner 1966; Conkiin 19731, the simplistic model opposing 'Yight" to "dark" h d to be abandoned and an alternative had to be sought. At that point, a number olpscholars suggested that the putative categories "light" and "dark" should be replaced with composite ones: "light warm'" versus "dark cold" (e.g. E. R. Heider 19724, and this is how "Stage I languages'kre now often represented. But this reinterpretation, which may seem quite reasonable, presents serious difficulties, too. For what evidence do we have that speakers of languages such as, for example, Dani or Gu-jingarliya possess a notion of a "'warm colour"? In English, there is at least h e expression "warm colows"; but in Gu-jingarliya and in, Dani the anly evidence we have is the very fact which we am trying to explain: that is, that the speakers of the languages in question include in one category colours which we [Ithat is, speakers of English) think of as "warm colours"'. From the point of view of the Dad and the Gu-j~kngarliya,the idea of a "warm colour" or of a "cooI ccplour" 111Aile

may be just as alien as the undulatory theory of light. Consequently, the expressions "wmm co1ours"and "cool colours" may help WJ to identify the ranges distinguished by these speakers, but they tell us nothing about the meaning of the relevant terns-what the speakers mean when they use hem. To my mind, the Fact Lhal languages commonly (tho~ughnot invariably) EinL red with light rather than with dark colours suggests that this type of categorization may have some explanation in common human experience. My hypothesis is that the explanation lies in the natural association between fire and sun, both of which are associated for human beings with warmth and light: even if the sun is seen as, primarily, a source of light, it must also be perceived as a source of warmth; and even if fire is seen as, primarily, a souroe of warmth, it must also be perceived as a souroe of light. The natural association between fire and the sun (reflected, indirectly, in the notion of a "warm calourm~applying to both yellow and red] may also account for the variation in the way diflerent languages which have only two basic lcolour terms treat reds. If a language distinguishes light colours from dark and medium ones, one would expect red to go with the latter, and sometimes this indeed happens (for example, in the Papuan language lalc; see Berlin and Kay 1969: 23). In other languages, Itowever, such as Gu-jingarliya, red "unaccountably"' goes with very light colours. It seems to me that the association between sun and fire would explain this. The fact that reflective foil may be seen by Gu-jlngarliya informants as the '%best example" of the category in question ("properly number one gun-gungaSQaM')suggests that in this particular language the idea of sunlight may be especially important for the conceptualization embodied in this category: shining, glistening, bright objects bring to mind things lying in the sun [and, possibly, reflecting sun). The fact that some languages, for example the Papruan language Dani, put even deep dark reds with their light colours, and that they alllow their speakers to think of dark red as the ""bst example" of the category in questiom, is also consistenlt with the idea that both the concept of sun and the concept of fire may play a role in the conceptualization of "macro-whites". Presumably, in Dani it is neither daylight nor sunlight which plays the central role in the conceptualization af "macro-white", but fire-and possibly not even fire but glowing embers. if we assume that universal human experienrce suggests a number of potential foci, interrelated but distinguishable (daylight-sunlight-fire-glowing embers)~,and that each of these potential foci can be given priority in conceptualization by a particular culture, then cross-linguistic variation in the behaviour of "macro-whites" begins to make sense. In any case, it is quite clear that the differences between the diflerent concepts of "macro-whites" call for carefully differentiated explications, and

320 Lexical Semm tics

that the two colour t e m s of languages such as Jale, Gu-jingarliya, and D;)n~iC ; I I U I I I ( Dhc ~ ~cruaau11lic:11!y itlcaiPi6nctf wit11 cllclr oPkucr, rus dhcy canrlall be scmaoilicalily identified with the English words bbck and wwhire, dark and /igk, or warn? and cool. References to the neurophysiology of vision will not help, since this is, presumably, the same for all human beings. Ilaving said Ilris, I will now try lo construct sonvc explications, hoping that they may become a starting-point for a constructive discussion. To start with the two Dani collour terms inlrestigabd by Rosch (E.W. Heider 197201, we note that "the focal points (best exanaplles) of miti and mob were not 'black' and 'white'. . . . Examples of mili w r e reliably placed among the darkest greens and blucs. Mob, however, appeared to have two focal points: Ithe most common a dark red, the less common a pale pink" (1972~:4511). The poinlt is importanit and one must be grateful to the author for skting it in quite unequivocal Iterms: "After each informant had pointed to an exemplar for mili and mob,I asked if he were sure that was a better example than the pure 'black' and pure 'white' chips which were available; innfornants reliably insisted that it was" (ibid.]. On the basis of Rosch's discussion, we can propose the following explication for !no/@:

X is mola. = when one sees things like X one can think of fire at some times people can see many things when one sees things like X one can think of this at some times one can see the sun when one sees things like X one can think of this This explication accounts for the fact that mola includes, as Rosch puts it, light and "warm" colours. Unlike the explication of red, it does not include a reference ta blood; it does, however, include a reference to fire, and so it also accounts for, or at least is consistent with, the fact that most infarmants see red as the "best example" of mafa It does not aocount for the fact that some informants see pale pink, rather than red, as the "best example" of this category; this, however, can probably be explained in tems of a change in progress (those informants who chose pale pink appear to have moved to a system with three, rather than two, basic colour tern). As for the opposite of moia (is. milt), w e note that it inclludes both dark and "co1d''colours; and that its focus is "among the darkest greens and blues". This description suggests that the concept in question has a largely negative character and centres around absence of light and absence of sun. This can be portrayed as follows:

X is nilili. = at some times people can't see very much

when one sees things like X one can think of this a1 sorurc Li~lmcspcuple carr'l scc llie sun when one sees things like X one can think of this when one sees some things one can think of fire X is not like this Turning now to the Gu-jingarliya terns -guaga/tjb and -gwssgundja, we recall that lthey oppose light and brilliant shining colours to dark and dull ones, and that bright red is included in the fanner group. To account for these facts, I would propose the following explication for -gungaltja:

X is -gunngaltja. = (a] at some times people can see very much (marry ithings)~ when o m sees things like X one can think of this (a) at some t i m s in some places some things are in the sun when one sees things like X one can think of this (c) when one sees things like X one can think of fire The first component (a) of this explication is the same which has been posited for the English word light; component (b) accounts for the link between -gungaltja and "brilliance"; and (c) accounts for the link between -gunga!ga and redness. As for the "darkfdulll" tern -gmgm&a, we have even less basis for speo ulation about its possible meaning because we are not told what its ""bst examples" might be. It would appear, however, that at least the dbllowing components should be included:

'A is -gungundja. = (a) at some times people can't see very much when one sees things like X one a n think of this (b) at some times in some places things are not in the sun when one sees things like X one can think of this

The existence of "'macro-whites" and "macro-blacks"' at the beginning of the alleged "evolutionary sequence" cannot in my view be explained in tems of either physics or neurophysiology of vision. "'Black" and "white" are indeed opposites in t e m s of physical properties of light and "psychophysicat" properties of vision, but the fundamental contrast between "jight or wam'kolours and "dark or cool" colours does not seem to be similarly explainable. It could, however, be explained if we gave credence to Swadesh" (1972: 205) speculations which place h e and light at the root of human conceptualization of colour. Given the importance of fire in human life, and given its percepitual salience, derived not only from its collours but also from its movement, and from its brillianoe and lwninosity, these speculations seem to me to be intuitively plausible.

This link of "'macro-whites" with light, sun, and fire (in a31 their aspccms, i~tcludingbrillDiarucc and Iu~nit~ersity) lvigllligluns the fact that, contrary to what is commonly assumed, "mlour" is not a universal human concept-not only because there are marry languages which do not have a word b r 'kolour" but also because in languages with only two "basie colour berms", like Gu-jingarliya, the allleged "colour terns" are not really "ccrlour terms" tub" general descriptors off appearance, or of visual impression. Witkowski and Brown (1978: 4411) argue that if in primary macro-classes red is usually combined with yellow, and green with blue, this '"provides evidence that a dimension based on wavelength order . . . is important in human colaur categorization. Only conjunctive primary colours or, in other words, those adjacent to each other in wavelength arder are combined in composite classes." But this does not explain why yellow-green is a very rare [though not unattested) category. Nor does it explain why dark colours should be associated with green and bllue, and tight ones, with yellow and red. Witkowski and Brown try to explain this fact, too, in terms of "wiringy'(1978: 442): "'Wring also underlies the pairings of warm hues with white and cool! hues with black in the categories macro-white and macro-black resptivdy. (The converse associations, warm-dark and cool-light, are not attested.)" But this begs the question. I believe that a hypothesis which links light, sun, and fire provides a better explanation of the recurring regularities thaa a mere reference to the supposed ""wring"'.

11. Macro-red and Grue Those languages of th~eworld which have only three basic colaur t e r n appear to oppose the concept of a "coloured'~chomatic)visual experience to a "non-coloured" (achromatic) one. AS a rule, the ''co1oured''colour is fo~usedin "red", which is the most salient hue far human beings (Bornstein er SF!.1976). At the same time, however, it is a "warm" colour, that is to say one which is opposed not simply to light and dark colours, but to light colrours on the one hand, and to dark-cool or dull-cool ones on the other (see Kay and McDaniel 1978: 640). This means, in effect, that "macro-r&, wlrile focused in1 red, includcs not cli~rlyred, but also yellow and orange; and also, that it is associated with "brightnessyy. What could be the conceptual counterpart of a colour category which people intuitively call "warmq'aandwhich has the following properties: it is vivid H("coUourful"), it is highly noticeable both during the day and duriag the night (and therefore is perceived as maximally distinct from bath

"light" colours and 'Vark'kolours), it is bright (luminous], and it is focused in red but includes also yellows and oranges? l [ ~ lmy view the answer is clear: the concept in question must take fire as its point of reference. This leads us to the following type of explication: X is 'macro-redy. = things Bike X are "easy to see" (i.e. people can see things like X at times when they cannot see other things) when one sees things like X one can think rkof ffire at some times when one sees things Pike X one can think of the sun

Moving now from ccmacro-red~" to the next stage of the alleged "evoluionary sequence'" we note with Kay and McDaniel(ll9178: 630)thaa "'many e world's languages have a basic collour term that means grue". But does "grue'kean? or many writers on the subject, the first (and often, also, the last) er which comes to mind is that '"rue" means "cool"'. But vague phors like "cool" are not satisfactory explanations of meaning, ough they may provide helpful hints. We must, therefore, ask further: nd what does "cool" meam? Once this question has been asked, however, e answer is not difficult to h d : ""cool" (when applied to colours) means, essentially, "not-warm", and since "warn" makes sense only as an indirect reference to fire and/or sun, "cool" must mean a colour which-while vivid and highly visible w('kolowsed"')-does mot bring to mind fire or sun. But this is not aiL The most striking feature of "grue" is that, while it streltches over both bl!ues and green, "focal grue selections have often proved to be bimodal, being chosen from both the focal blue and focal green regions. But grue has never been found to be focussed in the intermediate blue-green region" '(Kay and McDanieI 1978: 6310). This is an extremely intriguing finding, which requires an explanatiomn. Kay and McDaniel imply that they have one: "The absence of focal chdces from this intermediate region is strong evidence that these colours have lower grue membership values, and that guue has the 'membership structure stipulated by the fumy union analysis" [ibid.). But how can "fuzzy union analysis" explain the faact that the "bestqy example o r "gme'"that is, of a "cool" colour] is chosen either From focal blues or from focal greens, whereas the '%bestw example of a "macro-red" (that is, of a "'warn'' colaur) is not similarly bifocal, and is always focused b "red"? Of course one can nzodel the bifocal structure of "grue" in a 'Tuzzy union analysis", but I don't see haw one could exptuia it this way. It seems to me that both the biabcal character of "'grw'band the "manofm1" character of "macro-reds" can 1Pe explained on the basis of the hypothesis that "'grue" isis,in a sense, defined negatively, as a "non-warm"

10. The Meaning of CoJaur Terms 325

colour, whereas 'hacro-red" k ddicnned positively, as a "warm" coIowr. The notion of a "warm" ccolour refers us to a positive experiential model: fire. The concept of a "non-warm"colowr is dafined above all in opposition to that model. It is only in addition to this contrastive oore that two positive models are involved; and these are, clearly, the sky and vegetation.13 Admittedly, one could suggest that "grue" has its positive point of ueferenm in natural '%ahr places", that is, in lakes, rivers, or seas, which cm be seen as blue, green, or blm-green. This, however, would not account for the bifocal character of "grues"; whereas the hypothesis that they are cmaeptualized primarily with referenoe to the sky and to vegetation would explain this. These considerations lead us towards the following definition of '"me'" (as it is llndersitaod by speakers for whom '%he" is more focal than "geen""):

X is 'grueBs.=

C.

(a) when one sees some things one m think of fire

X is not like this (b] when one sees things like X one can think of the sky (c) in some places many things grow out of the ground sometimes when one sees things like X one can think of this

For speakers for whom "green" rather than "'bue'\epreserrts the lkst example of "grue'" we would plaoe the components referring to the sky after, not befare, those referring to vegetation, and we would include the word "sometimes" in the component referring to the sky: X is '$nuea9. = (4when one sees some things one can think of fire Xis not like this (GI in some places many things $sow out of the ground when one sees things like X one can think of this ( c ) saametimes when one sees things like X one can tlvink oh" the sky

It will be noticed that for "macro-red", too, two positive points of reference have been posited: fire and the sun; but the relationship between these two models is quite dimerent than that between )the sky and vegetation. First, one can presume that fire is visually much more salient than the sun, whereas the sky and vegetation are on the same level of salience. Second, fire itself can be seen as yeliow, orange, and red, and therefore it is not Van Brake1 [IW3:117) notes (halt Zulu speakem, who haw one term Far '%he" and use at times expressions "grue like the sky" or " m e like grass" to difkrenrtiak between the twa. It is also inltenesllilng to note that although the Tarilana word for "red" is derived from Ithe ward far blood, ills rcrerenlirul range (red. orange, dark yellow) points t~ tine, rather Itham blood, as a wnceptual prototype (especially given that dhe lanauage does have r separate word far r~el!ows']. n3

'"reen",

s something noru-yellow to saamething yellow. Both in d brilliance fire can be seen as a unitary mode18 of all ugh its lrocllns is identified as red rather than orange or e sky nor vegetation can be seen as a unitary model is why gmes are bifocal, whereas "macro-reds" are s can also be bifocal because the category in question ifferent way: by its "cooll", 'cnon-wann" character, that is, of, roughly speaking, " h e associations". On the other hand, [which emerge as a category before ""grille") are not defined s", that Is, they are not conceptualized as "non-cool" are defined with reference to a unitary positive model: nd positive model here (the sun), it plays a secondary case it can be seen as similar to the first one in terms of lities: visibility and warmth. By contrast, the two models of "gmgsess" can only be united on a negative basis, as k i n g different from "warn ~olcaurs",that is from "ffiery'hnd "sumny'"'macro-reds".

12. Names of Mixed CoOours According to physicists, there are three primary colours in light: red, green, and blue. "White light can be made by mixing red, green and blue Bight" I( WarEd of Science n.d.: 1163). But, of course, this is not how ordinary people think about colours. Acleordhg to psychologists, the smallest number of colour t e m s by means of which we can systematize our colour experience is not three but six. "'If pressed to the greatest possible economy of colour terms we find that we can describe all the colours we discriminate by using only six tems and their various combinations. These are red, yellow, green, and blue, the four unitary hues, and black and white, the two extremes of the series of hueless colours. All other colour narncs . . . can bc described by referring to these six t e m s and combinations of them" [Hurvich 1981: 3). I believe that the meanings of colour terms in languages with an elaborated colour lexicon (such as English) accord reasonably well with the above statement: beyond the list of the first six colours in Berlin and Kay's sequence all the other ones [with the exception of brown, to which [ I will return later) are conceptualized, on some level, as "mixtures". Very roughly: orange = yellow + red pink = red + white purple = blue + red grey = Mack + white

AS mentioned earlier, in Warlpiri, where colour terms are forme reduplimtion, the nearest counterpart of the English word brmvn nze erally, "arthearth" just as the nearest counterpart of the Engli green means, literally, "grass-grass"l4. TTh manifest association something " b r o m ' k n d the colour of the ground is instru~tiw. Of course, the colour of the ground can vary, and it varies more than colour of the sky or the colour of the sun. This is consistent witb the that "brown" was further down in Berlin and Kay's sequence than "re 'cyellow", "green", and c'blue"'. At the same time, the hypothesis "brown" does have a positive model (albeit a notoriously heter one) would explain why it came in that sequence before '"grey' "orange", and "purple"'. These considerations lead us to the following [partial) explicatio English word hrow~l!:

X is brown. = When one sees things like X one can think of the ground (earth) at some times people can't see much when one sees things like X one can think of this In support of this 'knvironmentaE prototype" approach to the 'brown" I would add that "brown colour" is often regarded by s a puzzle. For example, Westphal (1987: 53) notes that if red, green, and blue darkemzed, "llze resulting maroons, navies and dark greens seem to re their parent hue in a way in which b r o w doe Boyruton" (1975: 315) view that "brown is certainly the dark colours created by experiments of this kind] because it almost entirely to rescmblle the original bright co~ourY'. (See also G 1977: 127.1 WestphaP (1987: 441 maintains, none the less, that " a kind of darkened'yetiow", but this is counter-intuitive uuwnviucing, "What dws it meam to say, 'Brawn i Wittgenstein (1977: 25) asked, incredulously, and he noted: "'Bro above all, a swrface colour, i.e. there is no such thing as a clear brow only a muddy one." I would like to suggest that "braiwn" and "yelllo colours, and not as different versions of the same colour, because I% associated, ~mconsciously,with diRerent prototypes: if "yellow" isis,p ily, the colour of tihe sun CiigQlb, "warn'" and I l4 Similarly, Alexandra AikhenrvaUd (pexsslnal cornmicadon) reports that in L r notes ~ p l rthe Tarjana language oF Brazil [from the Arana Family), the nearest eoun bsam is glassed as 'muddy, dirty, brovmislm', and that this ward is clearly associated colour of the earth.

primarily, the conour of earth. Wittgenstein's observation that "'brown'" Oike "whiteJ') is a '%surface colour", talllies well with the idea that the concept %row' (like 'white') has its prototype in the surfaoe of the earth. From t h i point of view of chramataiogy, it might seem strange that human beings should treat "brown" as an important concept and honour it with a separate ""itpasic calour brm". 8ut from the point of view of people's We on earth, "the naked earth9Vsan important visual (and existential) reference-point (like the sky above our h e d , or the vegetation all around US]. It is this visual and existential saliena of the earth which explains, I suggegt, the scienltistk "puzzle of brown"".ewes (1992: 863) writes: "Fixation am t!he speGtrum colors and on physical m d neurophyslological explanations for color proefion obscures the fact that many colors of cultural interest to human being, such as the variety of browns and tans, while now understandable as compli~tedmixtures of light of different wavelengths, etci@., are not present as distinct components of the sojar spectrum." I agree with this, but I would add that the cultural interest of browns and ns (which, presumably, has to do with the value of soil and cattle in man life) must be seen in the corntext of the visual salience of big expanses such as the sky (often light blue), the sea (often dark Hue], the grass-covered ground (typically green), the snow-covered ground (white), the naked earth (often brown). It should be added that while I haye explicated a number of colour concepts via "mnvironmental" concepts such as those encapsulated in the English wards $re, sun, sky, graax, sea, and ground, these 'cenvironmentai" concepts are not p~stul;rfedhere as indefinable conccptuai primitives in s of which people conceptualize their experience. On the contrary, ,too, are regarded as constructs built by human beings on the basis of ejr experience of life on earth. (See Chapter 7.)

14. Names of Specific (Locally Salient) Referents It seems to be a universal feature of language that callour perceptions are dewxibed, at some stage, not only with reference to wisuallly saPient features of the ""macro-environment" (such as the night, the sky, the sea, or the sun), but also in items of locally salient or particularly important referents, such as certain minerals, animals, or plants of characteristic appearance. This applies, for example, to the English words gotd arrd silver,and presumably, it used to apply to the English word oraJrge.Words of this kind provide evidence for the psychological reality of a comparative semantic component in colour semantics in general. But words off this kind, like any words, are subject to semantic change. For example, the fact that the Russian w o d pIuboj, "light blue', is

330 Lexical SemlcJ.mtics etymologically related to the word for pigeon, or that the Pollish word czerwomy, 'red', is etpologically related to the name of a particular red worn, does not mean that the associations in questions are synchronically alive. They are definitely not: in present-day Russian, godtrboj' is clearly associated with the coljour of the sky, not with the colour of pigeons. Similarly, in the Dani language of New Guinea (E. R. Heider 19'72a), three other colour terns are widely (though not universally] used in addition to the two basic words, mi&('dark-cool') and m o h Clight-warm'), discussed earlier: pimtdl, the name of a kind of red clay, is also used for ""rrle', bod& the name of the root of the turmeric plant, is used for "ye11owW,and io'uaiegen, the name of the bud of a particular flower, is used for '"Jue" (whereas no special word is used for "green"]. It seems to me that facts of this kind do not demonstrate that the Dani associate (what is called in English) the colonr red with red clay and not with fire. For those Dani speakers who have moved, or are moving, towards a threeaolour system, and who are beginning to differentiate the old concept of 'rnolaq [focused in fire but extending to sunlight and daylight) into two concepts, the name of red clay may constitute a usefuim8 point of reference, but it dws not have to dominate one of the emerging new cicrnceptualizations. At some stage the word ppisrtur may be Oinked with both n?ed clay and fire [and perhaps also with blood), an~dat sofinc point it may dissocialc itself from its etymon altogether and attach itself excOusiwely, in the speakers' linguistic consciousnuess, to a ddiflerent, more salient perceptual model. I conjecture that this is precisely what has happened in the case of the Russian word gotuboj and the Polish word czerrvomy. It has also happened in the case of the English word ommge and is probably happening in the case of the English word siFver (if not yet got&.

15. Camclusionr Chrolmatollagy, Cognition, and Culture: The main conclusion which emerges from the analysis proposed here is that the language of 'seeing' is rooted in human experience, and that its basic frame of reference is provided by the universal rhythm of "light"days and ""drk'hnights and by the fundamental and visually salient kaltures of human environment: the sky, the sun, vegetation, fire, the sea, the naked earth, the earth covered with snow. Since some of these fundamental and visually salient features of buman experience are universal, it is only to be expected that they will be reflected, in some way, in recurring features of the vocabulary d seeing. Since, however, they are aPso variable, with different kinds of smnery prevailing inr different parks of the globe, it is also to be expected that the vocabulary of seeing will be far from uniformquite apart from such obvious and often discussed differences as the avail-

10. The Meaning ofih:olour Terms 331

of ""dable coloring agents'"Hewes calour words'9in tlre Tariana language a Aikhenvald (forthcoming): kadite, orange, dark yellowy,mite, 'yellow', [emailprotected], "reen, blue" halite, 'white, light, transparent', kesoiire, "uddy, dirty, brownish' (from rlcesole, %mud". In some respects, this set meets Berlin and Kay" expectations since bers it inciudes five which could be said to match with 'kvolutionary sequence" [bkack, white, red, yellow, and iana set contradicts Berlin and Kay's 'brown", even though it doesn't have blue" and '"reen". If the word for "brown"is rejected the set as non-basic (because it is derived from the word ifar "earth"), ord for "reed would have to be rejacted too (because it is derived from word for blood)-and this would contradict Bedin and Kay's expectatween the terms for "black" and "white", e curious overlap of the terms for ""rdY'and"'yelllow'" remainn totally ained from this perspective. the other hand, the hypothesis that ""colour terms'hre oriented ntal prototypes makes perfect sense of all ana data, and it allows us to interpret the set with reference to night daylight (white, light, transparent-unlike: a snow-covered ground, the inhabitants of the Amazonian tropics), fire (red, orange, vegetation (blue, green), and earth ur brains, not in the world outside, and by our human biology (which links us, measure, with other primates); but to be able to communicate em on to something in our shared enviAs pointed out by Witkowski and Brown (1978: 42): "'Several authors classes, red, yellow, green, and blue, and white, are neuropffiysiologimlly beings.'Vn addition, however, it has lS As for I lk "evolubiona~ysequence" proposed by Berlin and Kay,it is no longer seen es fiienable and it is not clear which, if any, parts or aspects of it wi19 sunrive the current onslaught of criticisms. P believe, however, that an alternative inlterpretation of this "evolutionary aeg~enw"",hich I proposed in Wierzbicka [lg90crfi, i s worth keeping on record as a dimerent way d thinking about the issues involved, which can eccommodale all the new insights emerging from the ongoing research h t o the history of human conceptualization of vision.

been claimed that these 'knerophysiolcsgicaaly wired" categories are reflected in tanguage, For example: ar particular structure is inherent in the human perception of which is mot deducible from the physical praprties of light a1

process analysis identifies and describes four specific ~alegories the R (red], G (green), Y (yePIow], andl B (blue) response states. . . . of basic co1our terns in all languages d'brecsfy reflects the existence o human neural response categories. (Kay and McDaniel 1978: 621; added) But how can language be "directly" linked to neural response

se o n our common human experience.

lea, their linguistic cadability across languages, and their superior retention in art- and larigterm memory-it would seem most economical to suppose that aktaibutes are derived fsom the same underlying fadors, most likely having to ith the physiology of primate coPous vision. In sho~t,far from being a domain suited to the study of the effects of language om thought, the colour space

human neurai responses), whereas concepts can be shared. To be a talk with others about one% private sense data one must be a b b b late them first into communicable concepts.

perception to certain basic aspects o r human existence we can lend ing to what otherwise would be nro more than a mysterious play and mnes in the human retina, and of the cells in the neural p

llinks colour naming with common-but variablee anvirotrment and human wisud experience but not

anchors"', It is the shared concepts of fire, sun, sky, vegetation, and s which function as mgnitiwe anchors far colour naming. The visual

communicable to others. not mean the same as goluboj, a d green does not mean the same as g

te from Machaury will show just how far it has been necessary to tailor the and Kay (1969) silhouette to explain the endless 'kcdour-naming" anomalies: Ibrightness, similarity, and distimctiweness are not the only coordinates by

334 Lexical Semntics

Similarly, Hewes (1992: 163) remarks on the harmful effects of the "fixation on h e spectrum colors and on physical and neurophysiological explanation for colour perception"; and he comments that "The criteria employed by the color-name evolutionists for rejecting most commonPy used color terms as 'not basic* are unrealislic'"ibid.). Finally, van Brakcl (1992: 1169) comments as dbhllows on M a ~ h u r y ' s (31992) attempt to "save" Bedin and Kay's theory: I applaud MacLaury's recognition that if one "goes out into the fidd'bith 320 Munsell coloulr chips, one dmsnt always come back with pure hue words. He r s . ognizes "'the myriad compllexities, subtbtks, and difrerences" which may turn up in naming collour chips, and he allows many other "Ldimensions" to play a role. I m also very sympathetic to his suggestion that the first ofieial "preliminary analysis of data" ((Kay, Berlin, and Merrifield 1991) from the World Color Survey shows

"'the inevitable collapse" of the "empirical approach" to "calar-category evo!utionEq. The choice between linguistic arbltrtxrhess and neurophysiological dieterminism in colour caltegorization is a false one. Human conceptualization of colour, which is reflected In language, may be constrained by the neurophysiology of vision, but it can be neither described nor expilain& in t e r n of neurophyiologr. To describe it, we need to take recourse to human conceptual unlvemds (such as SEE, TIME, PLACE, and LIKE). To explain itin both its variable and its lmnilul~rsalor near-universal fcaturcs-we need to pay attention to the way people actually talk about what they see, without limiting our data in an artificial manner, and without, as Saunders (1992: i65)aptlly put if, "reifying the neurophysiological into the phenomenal",

The Slemantics of Natural Kinds

1. Introduction How is knowledge stored and organized in the human mind? In particular, does the mind draw a distinction between "linguistic knowledge" and "nonlinguistic kncrwledge", or between a '"mental dictionary" and a 'hental encyclopaedia"? For example, what do ordinary people know and how do they thinlt about mice, crocodiles, or moths? Can the knowledge encapsulated in the everyday meaning of words such as morrse, crocodiEe, or mot11 be separated from the knowledge that people may have about mice, crocodiles, and moths? There w hardly be a better way of approaching these questions than malysing language. Language can allow us-better than anything e-to discover how knowledge is represented and organized in the uman mind. IF by analysing language we find evidence suggesting that nguistic knowledge" differs somehow from "non-linguistic knowledge"', that a distinction between the two a n be drawn in a non-arbitrary support the view that the mind itself draws a distinction tal dictionary" and a ccmental encyclopaedia". In this e that this is indeed the case, and that by examining e can learn how to draw the lime between "meaning" between '7linguistic knaw1edge"and "encyclopaedic y, until reoently the structure of the lexicon was not subjected d methodical large-scale study of a kind which might throw t on the organization of knowledge in the human mind. The main reafor this was the absence of a suitable methodology ;and also the wideF faith in the very possibility of developing such a articularly harmful in this respect was the attractive but not doctrine of family resemblances, which was put forward in his PhiIos~phic~l hve$1fga6fons and which has gained xtraordinary popularity in contemporary philosophy, psychology, anthropology, and also linguistics {see Chapters 4 and $1. As mentioned earlier, I believe that lexicographic research of recent years has proved Wittgenstein wrong on this particular point. Meanings do have boundaries, words can be rigorouslly defined, lexical fields with analogous semantic structures can

336 Lexica? Semantics

be uncovered, and, on this basis, more or less reliable and accurate cognitive maps can be drawn. Linguistic theories which deny the possibility of drawing the line between one meaning and another have the tendency to become seEEffuPf2ling prophecies: they make the study of the lexicon an unpromising and urnattractive enterprise, and so prevent the discovery of evidence which would lest their validity. The view that it is impossible to draw a line between "meaning9' and '%nowledge" or between 'Uictionaries" and "encyclopaedias" (sw e.g. Haiman 1980a, P982; Langacker 1987, 1990) has had, I believe, a similarly unfortunate effect on the study of the lexicon. For knowledge is open. ended. The belief that a dictionary definition represents nothing other than a selection from a (real or imaginary) encyclopaedia entry, with the choiwe: being determined by practical considerations and having no theoretical jusCificailtion, lcads to stagnation in lexical scmanlics. On the othcr hand, the hypoehcsis that the meaning of a word is dderminate, that it can be established in a nom-arbitrary way and clearly delineated, has the opposite effect. It encourages the semanticist to turn full attention to the lexicon, to examine carefully all available evidence, to come up with specific hypotheses, to look for possible counter-examples, and p n erally to engage In serious and thorough study of a language's l & d resources. But to be able to disoaver the boundaries between meaning and know!edge we need to have a clear idea of what meaning is and how one can establish the meaning of a word or linguistic entity of any kind; in other words, we need a mherent semantic theory and a rigorous semantic methodollogy. AS was shown in Chapter 7 , different types of words show dfierent Jerels of semantic complexity. In particular, there are words whose mearnimg can be portrayed directly in terms of primitives. [for example, emotion items), and words whose meaning is so complex that it can only be reduced to the level of conceptual primitives step by step. The bulk of concrete vocabulary, and in particular the names of ""living kinds" and c'culturd kinds", is of the latter type. None the less, allthough the tacit kmowJedge implicit in words such as m o w or crocodile is quite extensive, it can be separated, in a mom-arbitrary way, from encyclogaedic howledge about mice or crocodiles; and there are some types of information about denotata which can never become part of the folk commpt (e.g. information about the average weight, in grams or kilograms, of a particular kind of animal).

2. Abstract Conmptts m d Ccmcrate Concepts apter 7, both concrete conoepts and abstract concepts usually much more complex than one might expect before trying to ts are usually sufficiently of the primitives, while an b concept written purely in terms of the primitives rehension (as a whole). I believe the correct concluat concepts associated with natural and cully complex, One can, of course, try to deny and chim that concepts of this kind are learnt largely by nsltitute "gestalts'" not conceptual configurations, ng in an encycllopaedia, not lact remains that explicat a kind of knowledge which native speakers of a age have and which is part of their communicative competence. (For psycholinguistic evidence of the reality of this knowledge, see e.g. mmkina and Mirkin 11986; Fmmkina and Mostovaja lsi8$.)1 Given that it is one of the tasks of a (monolingual) dictionary to portray, faithfully and accurately as possible, the howledge encapsulated in ge, it follows that iexplications of this kind belong, ry. Of course, practical considerations may impose breviations on the dictionary representations of ds, but this is an entirely diflerent matter, tical! line separating a 'cdictionasy" from an "encyds "dictionasyY'aand'kencyclopaedia" in a language-related "folk knowledge" (everyguage-independent scientific knowledge [and cermy concrete reference works such as the Oxford E~ag&h guage-related folk know,edge is different, and shed in a principled way, from other kinds of knowledge at it can be articulated in a coherent and rigorous manner, and I will o do it with reference to a domain regarded as particularly dificullt and Ily the domain of "living kind^".^

Whether or not 'Tolk-knowledge"' in general can allways be distinguished, in a principled y, from "scie~tificknowledge'" is mother matter, which need not ooncem us here rut the omen!. (See Section 6.) 1 am lalking here about the kaowicdge which has become entrenched un the words of a particular hguage.

Pt is widely believed that the names of animals acquire their meaning from science. The BEoomfielldian claim that am words acquire their meaning fro111 SC~CIICCIrias bccn generally rcjectcd in corltcanporary linguistics as selif-evidently unacceptable, and (as far as 1know) no dictionary has ever sought to define words such as hale,jear, or ~endernesson the basis of the latest findings of neurophysiolagy, as recommended by Bloodidd (1933/1935) [see Chapter 111. None the less, in the area of the names of animals and plants, the "scientific" approach has always been strandy represented, even in dictionasies, and is still widespread. For example, the Shorter Oxford Englid~Dictionary (SOiElD 19164) defmes hama as "a sol& hoofed perissodactyl quadruped (Equus cahahs]'" Wehater (1976) informs us that horse is "a large sdid-hoofed herbivorous mammal (Xquxnrs cabaISus) domesticated by man since a prehistoric period"', and the: Llomgmass. Dictiamasy [LDwOTEL 1984) finds it necessary to mention that the animal designated by the word horse belongs to the family Equidae, and that the word is applied specifically to animals "over 14.2 hands in height". It seems hardly n~ecessaryto argue that scientific definitions of this kind do nor represend: the native speaker's concept. Science is, or tries to be, oniversa1 and to reflect the know1edge a ~ c m u l a t e dby mankind as a whole (and, more specfidly, by the professiional experts in different fields of knowledge); languages ware not universal, and each of them reflects the experience of a particular part of mankind, united by a common culture and ar c o m o n existential framework (and not the experience of any llocah m p r t s but that of the "people-in-the-street"). This point was argued by the Russian linguist Jurij Apresjan, in his masterly work Lexical Semantics (1992: 32-3, 35):

The folk picture of the world that developed in the course of centuries and includes h l k geometry, physics, psychology, elic., reflects the material and spiritual expienoe of a people (native speakers of a certain language) and therefore is languagespecific in the fojlowing two respects. First, a folk picture of a certain portion of the world may be ~:rucidlydtsFenenr from a purely logical scientific picture of the same portion of the world that is shared by speakers of a variety of languages. The task of a lexicographer (unless he wants to g0 beyond his discipline and turn into an encyclopedist] consists of disoovering the naive picture of the world bidden in lexical meanings and presemting it in a system of definitions. Seaand, folk pictures of the wodd, obtained through analysis of meanin& of words in various languages, may dif"Eerin details, whereas a scientific picture aT the world does not depend on the language used to describe it.

In the area of names for animals, the language-specific character of the onccpls c~~capsularcd inr words ~lma~lilksls ilslclf oa a number of difrercnl s. To begin with, the basic categoriratioa of the "animal kingdom" diUer considerably from language to language. For example, in lpiri the basic categories lexicalized in language are these: (1) kuyu -meat, creature with edible meat (2) pama -edible, not meat, doesn? grow out of the ground (3) jwrllpu- flying creatures with feathers data are from Hale ee: aI forthcoming; the phrasing of the glosses is .) K q u includes not only edible "meaty" animals such as kangaroo,

sects such as honey ants; it also includes to such creatures, such as honey or nectar, but it (the d a s s i h t i o n is not exhausr example, doesn't tnclude emu. ,the categorization embodied in the lcxlanguage. Far example, Japanese and n mice: and rats, and for native uite difiwlt to learn the difference in iwh words rat and mousese.lOrr the other ally between the moths that eat t fly around lamps at night, which native speakperceive as two totally different kinds of insect (moQ and &my). types and the 'ToPk knowledge" embodied in the names of anilanguage to language. For example (as men, in Russian iJak ("donke;y"")pitombes hard work, whereas "works (and eats) like a horse" rather than "like a donkey". hard w r k is epitambd by a! buffalo, in Malay, by a bullmk, and m. In English, cats are thought of as c o r n o n pets (as well of mice), but in Warlpiri they are thought of as kcryu, 'keaeat"'.

pulsive creatures spreading diseases among people. But in words glossed as "hopping mouse, rat" [and regarded as quite different connotatiomns for the native speakers: burrows. It digs a big burrow. . , . Wc kill them Lo eat. We cat them. The meat of that small animal is good. They dig down in the burrows to find that mima1 and they kill it in its burrow. They take it to cook itY"IHale er a[. forthcoming).

4.

An 18Ius1trration:Folk Elilia versus Scientific Micle

To show more dearly the diflermce between scientific knowledge lrnd kind of knowledge which is encapsulated in a folk concept of a natural k I will adduce here one detailed illusltration. This will take sonably full explication of the folk concept mice (a revised version proposed in my Lexicography and Conceptual Anai!ysi8, 1985), co with the full entry for mice i~ the Encyclopaedia B r i t m To show that the folk concept of 4mmwse>arallels in folk conoepts encoded in other animal names lnre would have to here, and discuss, many other such explications. Since this is i reasons of space, ~tlne reader is again referred to Coancepfual AmJ'y~is.~ M I C k n expIica~ionof the folk concept a kind of creature people call them MICE people "Chink that they are ail1 of the same kind because they come from other creatures of the same kind people t h i k these things a b u t them: they live in or near places where people live k a m s e they want to eat things that people keep for people to eat people don" want them to live there (some creatures of a similar kind live in fields) a person could hold one easily in one hand (most people wouldn't want to hold them) they are greyish or brownish one cannot notice them easily (some creatures of this kind are white some people use them when they want to find ou creatures when peoplle do various things to them some people keep them in or near their houses bccausc [Eucy like to watch thcm and to look efics thcruu'p they have short legs Both the lexiwn and the syntax oF this explication are quite complex. simgify the language, we could do so fairly readily, but at the: oost of lengt cations considerably, and making them much harder lo read. For example, 'because:they come from creatures of Itb same kind' we could say: bemuse before they were things of this kind they were parts of other creatures of this kind

becausa: of this W E I C ~ dhcy move onc can't sce their legs moving it seems as if their whole body touches the ground because of this they czlm get quickly into small openings in the ground they are soft they can squeeze into very narrow openings their head looks as if it was not a separate part of the body the whole body looks like one small thing with a long thin, hairless tail the front part of the head is pointed it has a few stiff hairs sticking out sideways here are two round ears sticking up one on eilthea side of the bop of the head they have small sharp teeth that they bite things with they don't want to be near people or other animals BEHAVIOUR when people or other animals are near they make no noise they hide from people and animals in places where people and animals can't reach them animals of another kind living in places where people live [cats) want to catch and kill creatures of this kind people put special things in or near their houses to catch creatures of this kind and to kill them when they are caught they make little sounds it sounds as if they wanted to say that something bad was happening to them they move in places where people live looking for something to eat they can move very quickly they can move without making noise sometimes when they move one can hear little sounds it sounds as if something light and rigid was moving quickly on something hard sometimes one can see very ssmalE, dark roundish bits of something (dung) in places where they haw been eople think of t h like this: RELATION they are small creatures TO PEOPLE they are quiet they don" want people or other animals to come near them one cannot notice them easily they can do bad things in places where people live they like to eat him yeilowish stuf3 of a certain kind (cheese) that people eat Before we proceed to an encyclopaedia entry for mice, a few brief comments are in odes.

The explication of the h l k concept proposed here starts with four components, labelled here (for the sake of convenience] as "caLegory", "name", "essence", and "'origin". Jointly, these components present mice as what Bedin (19%) calls a "folk genus": a category of living things which is thought of as having a biologically transmitted inherent nature linked with a name (see Chapter 112). What follows is a series of camponenits spelling out what Putnam (119751 callls the stereotype: what people think about mice. A s with most other stereotypes of animals, the stereotype is organized around the following signposts: habitat, size, appearance, belhaviour, relation to people. The sequence in which the components sure given is not a b i trary but seeks to elucidate the internal logic of the folk mncept (see Wiembicka 19851. All this is very different from a typical encyclopaedia entry, such as the one which Follows.

MOUSE (an encyclopaedic dewiption] An imprecise term designating any small rodent but often meant to apply b the common house mouse (Mus musculw), the type of the genus MSCS and the fanmily Muridae. In North America most species of the widespread and varied family Cricetidae also are called mice. Specific kinds of mice are usually designated by a compound term such as harvest mouse ~MlcrramysIof Europe; Reishrado'oJstomysd America), wood mouse (Apodemus of Eurasia], whitefooted mouse (SJeromysccrsef America) or pocket mouse (Perog'oJsarh~of North America). Mim are indigenous to almost every land area and in a given area are likely b be the commonest of mammals. Some species are of narrowly restricted ocxummce and habitat; others are Yrride-spread and versatile. The genus Mws, for example, occurs naturally on all major land masses; the typical s p i e s has been distributed by man to a11 inhabited areas of tbe earth and has became naturalized. One species of Peromyscw occurs over most of North and Central Amerka from the subarctic to the tropics, in swamps, deserts, forests, mowtains and prairies. Mice eat a variety of foods, some oonsurnirrmg almost anything edible-seeds, vegetatiorrm, arthapods and Besh when availabb. Tbeg are in tum preyed upon by a811 manner of larger carnivorous mammals, rapacious birds and reptiles. Mice constitute the most important prey group of any of the mamamais. Mice mature relatively young; the house mouse typicallly is ready to mate two to three months after birth. Gestation periods, averaging about three weeks, is less than two in some species. From l to 118 young comprise a litter, the size of the Bitter depending upan the species, the number oT3itlers already produced by the female (the second or third is usually the largest) and the season. Breeding may take place am any season in some species and be seasonallly restricted in others; in a widespmlead species the climate of a given region is usually lthe determinant. Some species are social and live in common burrows or in colonies. Others are solitary. Even in the social house mouse, however, excessive: crowding produces metabolic disorders and abnormal behaviour patterns that may result in the decimation of the population, a phenotnenon thought to be rebatedl to the well-knom periodic '%uicidaI" migrations of lemmings to the sea @ee LEMMING]. Many mice, notably the house mouse, seem to prefer dwellling in man-made s t w

haadled adequately and most safely by trapping. Mice, especially the together with their near relatives, the brown and house rats, are r emormous econmic damage annually. Even those living in natural so numerous in limited areas as to become serious, although usopests. Except In abnormal circumstances, however, mice

Many other variant strains of known genetic andlor nutritional history have eveloped for experimental purposes. (Encyclopaedtb Britlmnica, 1969, xv. According to the Encyclopaedia Britamim entry r e p r o d u ~ e d above, o w e is an "imprecise term" which doesn? correspond exacdy to any taiogical tsuxon. I n natural language, however (that is, in ordinary English), is not felt to be any less precise than folk genera such as horse, rabbit, o r tific category M m mlrslcuhs does not correspond to the folk c a t reflected in the concept ?nouse? in everyday English "the commouse" [Mus muscuh) Is not thought of as a specific variety ''Mus", and the expression "lkouse mouse" is nat used it is precisely the "house mouseY%hiclln is normallly callled "field nuice" or "'white mice" being seen as horizankd extentegory (see Bright and Bright 1969; Hunn 1476; Serllin t as other varieties, on a par with '%ouse mice"". , the folk concept 'mice'stands for what ordinary people see as a ture" different horn scientific categories and identifia m ('people call them MIECE'), and of its presumed

paedia entry For rmostse, one is struck by the mass of

maximum size of' a litter, on metabolic disorders overcrowding, and s o on. Oln the other hand, a great deal of n which is essential to the everyday concept is missing. This

ser"') documents the psychocats, which is further supported r sayings such as "when the s that a reference to cats should s a reference to mice should be English).3 But there should also be another kind of c o m p d i m turaI dictionaryE')which would explicate the everyday concept of ' some componemt such as 'anipeople live want to catch and

5 . The Evidence for the Folk Conapt How do we know that th The methodology of given folk macept L a ~ornplextopic which cannot kw discussed hare length. (For more detailed discussion, see Wierzbicka (1985) and Chap 1I; see also Apresjan (197411992). I will, however, adduce here examples difierent kinds of evidence that can be used). Ta begin with, there words and phrases s

to many dictionaries, there is also a verb to mouse, which can ct to mouse-hunting by cats (and perhaps ow1s), activities: "00 go or move about softly in search something, to prowl"'(OED), 'Yo search furtively for somethimg, to use attests to the pqchological reality of the seless, furtive movements in search of foad. mome-ear, noted in m n y dictionaries, stands for "army of t have soA hairy leaves" (LDOTEL), Obviously, this is y with mouse ears, and thus it constitutes evifor the psychological reality of ears in the folk concept of m o w . rly, the cornpound moasa-hit ('b plant of the genus Myosrrsw, esp. nssnimw, Born the shape of its seed teceptade"",ED) attests to the concept of mouse. (See d s o the reference to e about "the thtee blind mice")). e m t use of the word mouse to refer to a iemce of certain aspects s characteristic of mioe. In a that '"he whole body looks

compact, light little '%ody"with a long ck, light, noiseless movements, fib both case d many other names of animals, lexical evidence comes also of wards semantically though mot necessarily morplrolagically]~ names (in Cruse" (1 986) terminology, c c e n d o n ~ s " ) . e is a whole Family OF "horse wards" reins, stirrups, star, stud, steed, ey, m ~ ~ t a ncavalry, g, and so on (see Wierzbicka B985: 201). In ch endchnyms (other than those 3 mouser), but there are words a; these include scurry, squeak,

I I . The Semandcs of Natural Kind8 347

344 Lexical Semansfcs nibbk, and perhaps p caw per. These words give evidence for various as of the folk conoept, such as character ties. omo on phrases such as quiet as a also a source of evidence. The first of these t perceived quietness of mice, and the second, th human houses as a place which (unlike a chu nent source of f a d . Another source of evidence is to be found in conventional metaphor person [nomaBly a woman) who is called a! mowe is perceived not very noticeable, not drawing attention to herself. As ment metaphors of this kind are partly language important aspects of the folk concept. Often, valuable evidence comes fuam proverbs and c o r n o n sayin such as the one about carts and i c e cited earlier. Literature, in particular poetry, is also although one which has to be used ations can be separated fram shared mixture of fantasy and stereotyped every useful in this respect. For example, the w mim, see how they run" highlight the importance of quick and ap enartless movement in the h l k concept of kouse" and so does lowing rhyme: Hickory dickory dock, The mouse ran up the c k k , The clock struck one, The mouse ran down, Hickory dickory dwk. Finally, we can mention ethnographic such as h e appearance of mice in loommn car conspicuous round ears); the schematic drawi Pang )thin tail at the end of a compact, vi little body; common children" games such as the farmer's wife, a mouse, and cheese; and so on. It is important to emphasize that t established simply by putting direct qu knowledge which we are trying to establish is tacik knowledge, which den below the surface of conscious the surface through painstaking, rneth longed dialogue with a wumber of inr more as a method of verification than as a direct "'dscoveuy For example, one reviewer of the earlier explication of mfce (in

485) has objected to "the statement that mice make no noise when movaround'hnd pointed out that "many people think mice make scratchy, '(Malt 1987: 266). Other informants with whom I have since this point have iagwed with the reviewer, and the explication has ended in the relevant mspect. I presume, however, that the reviewer ea of the "scratchy, mstling noises" by exploring her own tions rather than by asking large numbers of inifomants. Obviously, and warking with informants. But er, not the latter, which needs to so needs to be stressed that methodical introspection can widely used procedures hvolvparticular with linguistic evidence of various kinds. (For

6. General Discussion methodical exploration of folk concepts, using all available evidence, allows us to delineate their contours with a precision pearances to the contrary, is simply inawessible to an encyentry. The editor of an encyclopaedia has to decide, in an include from the mass of to arrange the information d so on. In investigating folk psiition is quite different, the task of choosing what to includq the full concept as it really is, using trying to use exclusively slimich is being explicated. These ncept fully, and to do it as far as posleft for individual choices pt accurately we need that attention Zolkovskij (U964b1,who callled for dividual words. From the present view, however, the metaphor of a portrait is not fully apposite artistic freedom. By cmtuast, an houlld leave no freedom of choice; er compared to that of an ine of a statue or an artefact hid-

(1982: 3.54) has argued against ""the separation of dictionaries opaedias" on the grounds that "there are no hard facts, and all

I d . The Semwdics of NQEUMIKind8 3491 scienm is ethnoscience" (3371, and that, for example, "our present knowledge of cats and elephants is as provisional, and specific to our culture, as the definitions of words like care and taboo in the languages where they omur" (337; see allso the exchange between Frawley 1981 and Haiman 1982). ]But the conclusion doesn't follow from the prerniss. The encyclopaedia entry for mouse quokd earlier may indeed be ""provisional'" '%specific to our culture", and, E would add, based on a number of somewhat subjective and arbitrary choioes. Yet the purpose of an encyclopaedia would not be served by replacing entries of this kind with the explication of the folk concept d the kind outnined in this chapter. PwadmicaIly, of the two, it is the dictionary entry$ not the encyclopaedia entry, which can be said to be "objective'bd non-arbitrary, and to represent a '"ard fact", Psychocultur;al fact, of course, not biological fact. An encyclopaedia entry for mouse may be provisional, biased, and subjective in its choices and in its emqdmses, but it doesn" aim at establishing psychocultural facts; it does not aim at dimovering conceptual sltrwtures. Enqclopaedic knowledge is cumulative and inexhaustible. By contrast, the meanings of words are discrete and finite. They embody a special kind chF howledge [and pseudoknowledge, such as that about mice's fondness F l cFr cheese), and they consdtute a vital point of rekrencc far both communication and cognition, Bt is true that the meanings of names of living kinds-unlike, for example, those of emotion t e r n 4 0 have a masure of indeterminacy, since the amount of "folk knowledge" encapsulated in a naive conoept may vary somewhat from speaker to speaker (see Gal 1973; Gardner 1476; Mays 1976; and also Locke 169W1959: 82). But there is a limit to this variation. For example, information such as that mioe are ready to mate two or thee months after birth, or that gestation period averages about hthree weeks, cannot be part of anybody's "najve concept". It can, of course, be part of their individual knowledge, but nol of that mnceplt which they themelves see as a shared stereotype, on the basis of their life-experiences in the community (see Wierzbicka 1985: 212-18; Tyler 1978: 2331-48). This is not to say that living kind concepts such as 'mice"ave, after all, the same kind of semantic structure as, Tor example, emotion concepts. The two domains are fundamentally different, and the greater variability of living kind concepts constitutes one of the important diflerences between them. But it doesn't follow from this that living kind concepts cannot be defined (or explicated); and from an explication the differences separatirrmg them from scientific concepts [and from scientitic knowledge) can be clearly seen. In rejecting the (theoretical) distinction between dictionaries and encyclopaedias Harman (1982) was in fact defending the view that natural kind words such as mice or J F F o ~ s ~ s embody a great deal of "cuitural knowledge* and that they could therefore be defined. In saying this, he was arguing

against the earlier claims of Kripke (14'72-31, P u t n m (19751, and others, including myself, that natural kind words are like proper names and carinot be defined. I bdieve now that Haiman is partly right, and that natural kind words (such as mice] a n indeed be defined, explicating the cultural knowledge encapsdded in them. (The reasons why P have abandoned my I972 position in this regard are set out in Wiembicka (19851.1 But a line can be drawn between, culltural howledge which has become deposited in language itself and other knowledge-whether scient'fi a c or non-scientific. Hairnan argues that "the distinction between linguistic and cultural knowledge" is misconceived, and I would partly agree with this, in so far that, for example, the "ling~~istic" knowledge about mice, spelled out in the explication proposed in this chapter, represents cultural knowledge. But there is also knowledge about mice which is not part of the folk concept reflected in language-and a line can be drawn between that knowledge and the knowledge [and ideas] encapsulated in the word mouse itself. The fact that different languages draw such boundaries in different ways demonstrates that these boundaries can indeed be drawn. For example, if Japanese doesn't distinguish lexically between mice and rats, or English between clothes moths (in Polish, nroCe1 and other moths (in Polish, tmy]~, this shows that semantic boundaries between differear, living kind concepts do exist, and that they are different from those drawn by biologists. Hajiman's claims that "dl science is ethnoscience" (1982: 337) alnd that "the difference between everyday experience and scientific experience is a digerence: in degree of precision and generality" do not affect the present argument: the question is not how to draw the line betwen science and etkuoscience, or between cultural knowledge and linguistic knowledge, but how to draw h e line between knowledge and ideas which are encoded in language and knowledge and ideas which are not.

'

Trying to discover how knowledge (or at least basic, 'Youndationd" lknowlledge) is stored and organized in the human mind, we can rely in considerable measure on language. There may be concepts which are not lexicxlized in natural language, but these are probably less common, less basic, less salient in a given speecln community than those which have achieved lexicalization; they are also less accessible to study. Words provide evidence for the existence of concepts. Lexical sets, sharing a similar semantic structure, provide evidence for llhe existence of cohesive conceptual wholes (or fields). Ef it is hypothesized t b t knowledge is organized in the mind in the form of "cognitive domains", then conoeptual fields detectable through semantic analysis of the lexicon can be regarded as a guide to those domains.

The organization of cognitive domains is reflected in language, aad above all in the structure of the lexicon. The lexicon of a ianguag is the speakers' fundamental icagnitive resource; it is a treasury where the shared knowledge of the world, and the shared models off biollogical, mental, and social aspects af life, are held. Exploring ths: lexicon in a systematic and methodical way we can dkcover how "ordinary people" (in contrast to experts and scientists) conoeptuallize the world; and we can learn to discern the line which separates tanguage-related everyday knowledge from the specialist's knowledge, which is--or should be-largely language-independent-

Semantics and Ethnobiology

1. Introduction It is widely agreed today that 'cculture Voes nolt consist of things, people, behavior, mi emotions', but the Eoms ar organization of these things in the o;pEey"(Frake 1942: 85, with reference to Goodenough 19573. ause disagreement is this: How can the orgaruihe minds of people k di%orvered? d yet much neglected-path to discovery lies the area of language, and that there is a whole battery of linguistic tests ~ a different l aspmts of the organization af ople. In this chapter, E will try to show the ach with respect to some of the basic issues and detailed study of botanical and zoolagical nomenclaworld (especially that undertaken by Brent ealed thak different societies differ corusidceptualization of the biological universe; but it has also of strikingly regular structural principles hssifhcation which are quite generaIY"i(Berlin eeb ai. 1973: nt lines, univenals have also been suggested by k i E of eithnobiologjcal universals and the ensuing ated interest in the conceptuaPization of plants s, md they are largely responsible for the key position of this domain in current anthropology. In pasticuiar, the recent interwhich is rapidly becoming one of the most topical issues in mgrmitive science, is focusing very much on this particular domain (see e.g. Gelman 1992; Keil 1989; Hirshfeld and Gelman 1994). In the asrent debate on the question of ""whether there are domain-specific cognitive universals that amount for the peculiar kinds of regularities apparent in folk systems of knowledge and belief. . .or whether those regularities are the product of general prooessing mechanisms that cross . . . domains" (Atran 1990: 471, the domain of '"living kinds" is accorded a spedal place and is often treated as a natural testing-ground. One issue which attracts particular attention in this context is that of the

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11987a) shows that direct questioning of infomants, and even expelrimenlhs involving informants, can only be a subsidiary methodological tooll. Information coming directly from informants is often superficial, unreliable, and mislleading. Linguistic tests based on methodical! examination of usruyc (such as, hr cxampllc, bhosc crlvisuged in the elassic smudics by Conklin (1962) and Frake (3962)) and on systematic examination of lexical and grammatical evidence (such as those applied in Apresjan (1374r'1992], Berlin (1992), or Dixon (19821 3 provide more reliable results. To illustrate, in McCloskey and Glucksberg's (1978) sessions with college to the students ilt emerged that 3 per cent of their informants said '"No"" question "Are geese birds?'" whereas as rnany as 117 per cent said "Yes" ' 0 the question "Are bats birds?" McCloskey and Giucksberg draw from such data the condusion that the category "bird" in English is fuzzy. In fact, however, closer exwinadon of linguistic evidence shows that this category is not fuzzy at all, and t h t while geese may be thought of as atypical birds, they are none the bss conceptualized as 'b kind of bird", whereas b t s are not conceptualized as birds at ail (see Chapter 4 and Wierzbicka 1985). The crucial point is that, in certain circumstances, an individual goom can be referre$ to as bird (as a turkey at a Christmas dinner may well be referred to as "the bir8'1, whereas a bat cannot. Similarly, all the infomants that McCloskey and Glucksberg worked with agreed that butterflies" are iasecbs, while 3 @er a n t stated that bee3 were not insects, and 7 per cent that bars were insects; for Psh, 60 pier oen2 of infomants classifiedjeIlyfisSz!as fish, 110 per cent daasikd alKgators asfssh, and 2 per cent stated that tuna and saImon are notfish. This, too, was imterprreted as evidence for the alleged fuzziness of human thinking, and for the lack of clear boundaries between different categories. But in fact such results am artefacts of the particular techniques of investigation, Generally speaking, directly dassiffimtory questions ("'Is an X a I"?' or ""What is an X?"') are unhelpful in the malysis of folk taxonomies. What is more illuminating and reliable is the acceptability of sentences referring to individual creatures, such as "Look at that fish over there?" said with respect to jellyfish, or "How many birds can you see?"with respect to groups including geese, buts, or bees; as d l as other kinds d linguistic evidence (such as those discussed in Apresjan 1974/899.2). Similarly, Dougherty ((1978: 78-9) reports that all students in one of her samples placed butterflies in, the insect category (as does, incidentally, Cruse (3986: 136) in his discussion of English folk taxonomles]~.But presumably, the same informants wouSd not say "Sea that insect over there?" or "What a beautiful insec&l3%th reference to a bufterfly. This suggests that their responses were confusing scientific categorization with everyday language, and misrepresented the subconscious folk taxornomy reflected in their actual use of language.

As pointed out by Boas (1911) and Sapir (19271, the categorization reflected in language is unconscious, and it is for this very reason that language is such a revealing and valuable guide to culture and to social psychology. Direct qliwestioning of informants appeals to their ccmsciows kmowlcdgc, not lo lhdr tacit k~aowlcdgc,and is unlikely to reveal much about their unccmscious canceptuallization of the world, whicE1 is revealed more clearly and reliably in linguistic structures and in linguistic usage (see Randall and Hunn 1984: 3331."

3. Types 0f Linguistic Evidenoe There am rnany types of linguistic evidence which provide clues to the conceptualization af the biological universe. I will not try to undertake here a wmprehensive survey or detailed discussion (see, however, Wierzbicka 19851, but the five Eypes listed below [Sections 3.11-3.5) are particularly important. The last two of these have already been introduced, with respect to mice, in Chapter I 1. 3.11. Ways of Referring Qne @an refer to a rose as ""tat flower" or to a magpie as "that bird'" but in ordinary (non-scientific) usage one cannot refer to a particular tree as "that plant" or to a particular pmpkin, as "that vine". This shows that, despite many daims to the contrary, a tree (singular) is not conceptualized ins folk English as "a kind d plant", or a punrpkin, as "a kind of vine": 'Look at that plant over there! It's the oldest oak in this country. Similar tests show, incidentally, that the recent wave of '"anti-Ros%:hianY' thinking sometimes goes too far, as when, for example, it is claimed that in the English folk taxonomy dissimilar creatures such as caterpillars and buttedies, or frogs end tadpoles, are classified together (Atran 19190: 153; The difficulty in identifying lire fonns in diKerent rangnagas of the world is well illustrated By Randall and Hum (1984: 334). I suggest that the operational critecia proposed in this chapter WOUMlead 10 much more reliable results, although the resulting repertoires of 3ife forms would not always coincide with those proposed by Berlin et aL (1973) or by C. Brown (1977, 1979). In particular, the diflerence between anonolelnemicallly and polglexernial~labelled m a , whose va'aedity nu importance Randall and Hunn 1(1984:34131 question, sbodd wnbinue to be regarded as important evidence pointing to direrences in the underlying conceptualization. Eurthennl~re,it should be kept in mind that "~unctional"and 'ktilitilean" mncepts such as vegeta€a/eo r j ~ ~often i t behaw differently (in Einguistic usage) from "'moaphotypes" such as free or 16irdJzfienbicka 1984, 1985, 198h). On the other hand, linguistic evidence shows that some categories, for examplejffower, which have been judged as "functional"and disquali6ed on this basis as a potential life form (Atran 1987~:32; C. B r o w 1977: 3201, may in Folk aaxonoang play a role malogous to that of genuine, taxonomic life forms such as bird, fish. or tree.

12. Semaslrics and E

356 Lexical Semanrrrf ics Gclon:~n auld lCoBcy 2991). For cxnlnl~lc,uole ~ a t ~ r say ~ o ti l l Emlgiish while pointing to a tadpole or a c~terpikr: *Look at that frog! *Look at that butterflyl Linguistic tests of this kind sllrow that while an AEsalim and a dachshwd, despite their dissimilarity, are put into the same folk category (dog), a mdpole and afrog, or a bburser$y and a caterpillar, are not. 3.2. Grammatical Congruity k a c b (1964: 41) has drawn a taxonomic tree of what he calls "the English language discriminations of living creatures", which implies that in English gigs are "a kind of farm animals", farm csnimnraEs are "a kind of l i v e s t o ~ k ~ ~ ~ iilvexrock is "a kind of tame beast", tome beasr is '% kind of beast", and beast is a kind of "laad creature", Many different tests could be used to show that this is an arbitrary scheme invented by the researcher, not a failthful representation of the clitsshficatiom embodied in the English language, One of these tests Is tlnat of "grmmatical congruity": pig is a countable noun, whereas livmt~ckis a mass noun ((cf,rhree pigs versus 'fhree Hves~ocks);on these grounds alone we can establish that a pig is not conceptualized in English as "a kind of livestoek", just as an apple (countable noun] is not conceptuali~edas "a kind of fruit" (mass noun), or a chicken (countable noun) as "a kind of poultry" (see Wienzbicka 1984, 1985, 1988~;see also Section 10 below). 3.3;. Morphological Structure The morphological structure of a linguistic expression provides an important clue to its meaning. For example, as pointed out by Mel%uk es a l 41984: 411, the two Russian expressions leJEa ('wife's mother', one word) and mar' feny Cwife's mother', lit. ' m o t h of wife', two words] do not haw quite the same meaning. Both SeSZa and mat' feny specify a certain relationship, but seFEa in addition identifies a certain (recognizable) kind of relationship and it is the latter, not the former, which is always used in the innumrablle Russian jokes about mothers-in-law. Similarly, as pointed out by Langacker 419931, the two English expressions wentan and deer m ~ a t suggest different conceptuallizations. Likewise in Polish, wolowim, 'beef', is not used in quite the same way as rnip.rn wolowe, literally 'ox meat' (referentially, the same thing as 'beefy). For example, in the context of meat exporls, one would be more likely to use the phrase msipso ~valsrwe,whereas in the context of a dinner menu one would be more likely to use the noun wofewfna. M i p o wolo~vedifferentiates this particular kind of meat from

b

o 357

other possiblc kinds, wlucrcas walorrvi!~a idcnkifies a, recognizable standard kind of food. Considerations of this kind svnpporlt the significance of the distinction between "secondary Ilexemes" (such as blue spruce or scrub oak) and "primary Eexemes" (whether analysable, such as fulfp-tree, or unanalysablc onirs, sucln as J J ~ ~ J Sor~ Jc/!,r), ~ drawn by Hcsbin, Brcedlove, and Raven ( 1973).

3.4. Phraseological Evidence To ducidate tl~eEnglish concept of, say, 'butterfly" we can draw on the stock of common English phrases and secondary lexemes, such as, for example, ''a sot5al butterfly", "butterfly kiss", ''bbuttefiy clip", or "butterfly stroke"; for 'rabbit' we can, and should, draw on phrases such as "breed like rabbits'" "a rabbit warren", 'Yabbit teeth", "rabbit mouth", "run away like a scared rabbit", and so on (see Jauncey 1990). The fact that the common English collocations involving mlosrse difler considerably from the Japanese collocations involving nezumi, houselrat', suggests that the two folk concepts in question are very diflerent. Analysis of the two sets of collocations shows in what respats these two folk concepts differ (see Miyokawa 1989).

3.5. Lexical Evidence English has many different "endonyms" of the word dog, that is to say, words which are, so to speak, semantically derived from it (see Chapter 11 1)-firsf of all, names of kinds of dogs, such as ~pmfel,poodk,fox-terrier, jbuSE$09, boxer, dachshund, and so on, but also other kinds of 'Yog-words", such as bark, growl, muzzle, feash, and kernel. All these words provide evidence for some aspects of the cot3ceptwl~zatlonlinked with the English wad dog. The existenoe of special nouns for kinds of dogs reflects aspects of the folk classification, and shows that the conceptual hierarchy is in this case more complex than it is for any other part of the English folkbiological system (see Wierzbicka 1985 and Section 7 below). The h c t that English has numerous nouns for kinds of dogs (e.g. poodle, xpmiel, boxer, and so on] but no nouns for kinds of cats or kinds of mice suggests that the two domains are conceptua6xed differently. Moreover, it suggests that the domain of dogs, but not cats or mice, involves a special Bevel of taxonomic categorizationn (("'subgenus'" see Cecil Brown 1987; Wieszbicka 11985: 232-6). Roughly spcalking, a word such as poodk OF spaniel identifies a oertain kind of dog, whereas an expression such as bhxe whak, white nnorsse, silver fox, or bush turkey identifies a kind of animal [namelly, whale, mouse, fix, or turkey) and differentiates some subset or quasi-subset of the class of animals corresponding to that kind from other

12. Semantics and EtEnobiolog

possible subsets. This distinction between positive identification and differentiation, whose importan~ewas first pointed out by Berlin, Breedlove, and Raven (1973), is. reflected in a number of ways in linguistic usage [see Wiembicka 8985). It is also often reflected in diachrony, since a cuiturd change may lead to a change in conventional conceptuallization, and henw to a linguistic change such as that from AIsarian l(adj.3 dog to ASsabjEQn (noun]. I am not saying that linguistic evidence is the only reliable guide b human conceptualization in general and to human categorization in particdar. There are, of course, many other types of ethnographic evidence that anthropologists have traditionally relied an. But linguistic evidence is particuiart y revealing.

4. "Life Forms" in English Folk Zoology How many "life forms" a n be found in the zoological folk taxonomy embedded in the English Ilanguage? And by what criteria can we reccogniiue them? The first criterion proposed by Berlin, Breedlave, and Raven (1973) and Berlin (89811) is that of number: life form categories are few in number. "Ibis is useful, but it doesn't really help us to decide on individual cases (abr example, on shg, ssrake, spider, or busterfly). A second, and operationally much more useful, criterion is that of " p l y typicity": a life f o m is a category which is thought of as comprising mamy different (named) kinds of entities. Pipplying this criterion to the folk zoology embedded in English, we could identify the fdliowing as life forms: srnC ma/, bird, j k h , snake, and perhaps insect. All these words naturally invite the question "'What kind of (animal, bird, fish, snake)?" and all are readily used in reply to questions of the form "WWt is a Cplatypus, emu, salmon, python)?" Interestingly, the words bug and worm are normally not used like that; rather, they suggest a lack of interest in the identity of the creatures in question: There arc bugs on my windscreen. ?What kind of bugs? There is a worm in that apple! ?What kind of worm? In mast contexts, questions inquiring about the genus of b;ulg.s or worm sound either jocular or scientific, which is not the case with unfamiliar birds, fishes, or snakes, or with wnfmiliar animals in a zoo: is that? What kind of bir&fishr'snake~animan/?wor~bug

359

ernin, Breedlove, and Raven (19731 offer tflzammul as an example of a form, and mention animal only as a ""unique beginner", not as a life ut mmml-like q ~ d r u p e dcnmiwre, , or amprbsibiom-is a scientific , and doe~n'tbelong to the English folk taxonomy at all. This can ed lby linguistic tests such as the following one: Look at that animallbirdlfishl "Look at that mmaikrquadrupe&amphibian! cientific concepts such as mammal stand for dasses, not for individuals, d it is remarkable that although educated speakers of English are, so ta speak, bilingual (in "scientific English" and in "folk Engli~h'"~ and can mix elements from both in their speech, none the less they unconsciozlsly apply different rules to them and in particular do not use scientific concepts such as m a m a 1 with reference to individual creatures: What a beautihl animalhirdIfialh! *What a beautiful mammalEguadrupedlamphibian! Using the same linguistic tests, we have to oonclude that aniinul is not a "uarique beginner" in folk English, as it cannot be used with reference to individual spiders or ants. For exampk, seeing an insect on sowbody%solr one cannot say (except in jest): *There is an animal on your collar. Similarly, one cannot (seriously] say of a spider or a butterfly: *What a beautiful animal? "Look at that animal over there! If &ere is ;a zoological "unique beginner" in ordinary English it is creamre, not animal, animal being rather a life f o m , on a par with bird, fish,snake, or &sect Qcf. phrases such as "animals and birds", or series of children's books such as "Auimals of Australia", ""Birdsof Australia", and "'Fish of AustmQia"').The ward creature is perhaps not used very often in colloqluial English, but it is certainly there (especiallly in the plural) as shown by phrases such as 'kfl creatures great and srnall"flr by sentences such as the following one: Diving in the Coral Sea, one can see all sorts of strange and fascinating creatures. If the word creature did not exist in the English folk taxonomy reflected in ordinary English we could still speak of a covert category: "omething that can move and feel' (mavens senriew], opposed to the covert category oF 'things that grow out of tfne ground'. Returning to anha!, in the non-scientific sense of the word, it is

360 Lexical Semmfic-v

interesting to note that. ir is not just a col'loqnuial eq has sometimes been suggested in the literature, For ex easily be referred to as an animal, whereas a spider neither can a slug, a snail, or a butterfly, On the other hand, human b are mammals, but they are not amimoh in the mryday sense of the Atran (1987a: 55) writes: T o r the most part, vertebrate life f o m spond to modern [scientiBc] classes: mammals, birds, fish, eL. . . . often, folk views on the extensions of these life forms diffe callly construed extensions of the corresponding dasses in from the folk viewpoint, are rattnea marginal cases . . . bat, ostrich, etc.'. But in fact mammal is not a part of the folk-English tax foEk English conrcept animd, whose extension is reallly quite that of rnamrnoJ', does inc1ude whale and bas (as well Furthermore, in the present-day folk-zoological system, though a highly atypical one. In some ways, then, Englis is closer to the scientific one than is usually assumed. In olther ways ever, it is much further from it-but to sea this it must be recognize words such as mammal or qundradped belang only to the language of ence, and are not part of the English faRk taxonomy at ail. It is worth redling in this connectjam Russell's (1948: 83) re words such as dog or ant are probably learnt by oslnsi such as quadruped or aniimajl ("in the sense in which it includes o limpets") are definitely mot, Russell doesnY spell out the intende iizatiann, and it might be mnje~tusredthat the distinction t was similar to &at between ""Talk genera" and higher-I presumably life form terns such as bird or tree are also learnt ostensiom"; on the other hand, scientific concepts such hn, or animal (in the sense including spiders] are cle way. (CK Chapter 7.)

5. Are there Manogeneric "Life Forms"? But if creatures such as spiders or snails are not thought o (folk-English] life form do they come under? Clearly, slrakes,@shes, or bids. Could we assume that they aw om right? Amesag the many different criteria for life Form whic gested in the lirteraltpure the taxonomic level (the first one "unique beginner") has often been mentioned (e.g. Atra this criterion, spiders, ants, or snaih could count as life Bb ever, they are not (lexicallly) polytypic: ordinary Engl

12. S"erir~anticsa d EfRnobia!ogy

361

nds of spiders, ants, or snails. as redback spider, or funnel web spitain circumstances9 '" saw a redback is kind are elliptical, and redbnck is used here as fier in the secondary lexeme ~ d b a c kspider, not as a primary Bexeme o w right. To see this, it is enough to compare the aaeptabiiity of e phrase a redback spider with that of *a swallow bird or *a troutjish. But if we allowed ~t~ails, spiders, ants, or bats to count as "'manogeneric life forms" "wan 11987b), we would be undermining the main operational criterion we have for distinguishing folk genera from life forms: the linof kinds) of t h latter. It s m s Bin el a t 1973) that categories of generics" rather t h n "monogeneric life forms", that not all1 living kinds are thought of in however shaU1~4w".Atran has argued expljcesemt an exhaustive partitioning of the local flora" erics'hre, essentially, generics, not 'hmanoim has to be rejected (see Berlin 1992: 21 1). be rejected anyway, given that (in English, at least] bcrsk, vine, rb are not taxonomic life f o m terns (and that, semanticallly, r pumpkin ''a kind of vine"). ce of the categories under discussion in their semantics), it might be best eir special shtus (for example, by callling e this). In any case, it is misleading m d "manogeneric life fomsm",&e@;ause the notion "life nk is particularly usefull and particularly revealing ind includihng many kinds")-indeed pera kind of living thing there are many kinds of things of this kind all these kinds '%we their names" (i.e. there is a word for every onc of Lhesc kinds)

6. "Life Forms" in English Folk Botany ow more specifically to English folk botany, I will argue-in dist with most other writers on the subject-that only one of all the life forms usually mentioned in the literature is reallly thought of kers of English as something that comes in many different kinds an therefore be recognized as a tavronomic life farm, namely tree. Even

362 Lexica/ Semanrics urban dwellers in America who cannot tell an oak fro whom tree is psychorogically moue salieot than oak, Domgherty 1978) are aware that there are many diffe trees, as there are many different named kinds of bir& or $shes, and question ""What kind of tree is this?'"s perfectly natural to them, unlike question "'What kind of maple is this?" This brings ws to another putative csiterion for distinguishing life fo from folk genera: thalt of psychollogical salienoe. Berlin, Breedlove, Raven (1973: 216) described generic taxa as the basic, and psychologi most salient building-blocks of a11 folk taxonom Dougharty (1978) and others have showtrr that for m bird may be psychologically more salient than oak or 1 have argued in detail elsewhere wiembicka 19851, we do not have to clude from this that for these speaken tree and bS Psychological salience may be a characteristic feature of fol many s p h communities (especially those living largely in a na human-made, environment) but it need not be, and should not be, for defining and distinguishing these categories [see Berlin 19 was, it would lose most of its value as a theoretical consltruct for cross-linguistic cornpadsons. The criterion of polytypicity is rably more useful and more illuminating. Assuming, then, that tree definitely is a life form in ordinary En what of the other putative folk-botanical life forms-that is, what of shrub, vbze, moss, grms, kerb, fern, or muskroom!? In same sense, all1 words can indeed be regarded as botanical "1i however, in which tree or biirdare life forms; Bh a taxonomic supercategory. Take, for example, the word gross. On sometimes refer to "difirent grassesW",n the plural; but if ol speaker of English "What kinds of grasm are there?', unable to comc up with difrerent names. Some might mention b but this is a secondary lexeme, not a primary one For example, referring to grass, that someone "was sitting For most ordinary speakers, grass is simply grass. Not only do th know of any named kinds of grass, f hey are unaware that there are names, a situation quite ~dlifferentfrom that pertaining to free. Sinnil wvl~en one asks nativc spcakcrs or English ""What kind there?" or "What kinds of ferns are there?", they look baffled and are ga erallly unable to come up with any names. With barshes, the situation is somewhat different. A know that bushes can be of different kinds (e.g. lilac b biackberry brrskes, thorn bcrslges, gsrae Gwkes, nt but they do not think of roses, tihc, blackberries, of bush". Tyler (1978: 190) has actually defined lilac as

12. Semonrics and EtJsaobioJ'ogy 363

asked "What is lilac?' y "a kind of bush". though it can also

""Look at that tree!" (as mentioned eariier) but it is difto imagim anybody who would say "Look at that vine!", referring to

b,and so on. Conversely, when asked 'What is so on)?", they do not hesitate to reply "A kind

'. Furthemore, inlfcrmants do not hesitate to accept sentences in s to an individual tulip, daisy, or daffodil, as in ing growing out of the ground, but in real as the "part" sense. Intuitively, above all, a kind of thing which grows out of the ground, and mes In many different kinds, just as a free is a kind of thing which omes in many diffemnt kinds. (1987a: 32) argues that "when living kinds enter the space of with human function anldl use, such as eating, gardening (weeds n), entertainment (pets, circus and omic importance". E believe that,

364 Lexical Semmbfcs generaly speaking, this is quite true, and as I have argued in detail (Wierzbicka 1984, 1985, 198&;crE,linguistic tests show that, conoeptua1111y, appEes are not "a kind of fruit", nor are CarroEs "a kind of vegetable'" But the same linguistic tests show that just as oaks, birches, or maples are, conceptually, "a kind of tree"~td@s,hJfodiQ, or roses are, conceptually, "a kind of flower'" aand that both tree andflower are, conoegrtudly, comparable "kinds of things that grow out of the ground". The circumlocutjion '"thing which grows out of the ground"'may seem clumsy and unnecessary: why not say, simply, plant? But the point is that plan6 does not redly function as a botanical '%aique beginner'" ordinary English. In particular, trees are not thought of as 'Vi kind of plant", anad neither are mushroom. When asked whether a tree, or a nzuskroom, is a kind of pbnt, educated informants may of cowwe reply in the affirmative, but they do not aocept that plant wuld be used with reference to an indivldual oak or birch tree (cf. Section 3.1 above): Look at that plant over there! Which one? *That oak treeithat mushroom.

A pJ'ans (in the everyday sense of the word, and in the shingula small (much smaller than a person], and it has to be green. A pro p/t,trr is a snnall grecn IcaTy plant such as 2u poltcd plant; but a f mw~kirsrom,is not just an atypical piant-it is not a pion$ at all (in English sense of the word planr). In English folk taxonomy, then, planit. is not a "unique begin it is a category comparable to bush, darub, gross, or moss. As cepts gross, mtuss, fern, or mushrclom it is quite obvious that they are thought of as included in the concepts of some folk genera subordinate them, bemuse in ordinary English there are no such [known, named) genera subordinated to grass, moss, jFern, or mushsoom. What are these categories, then? If they are not (taxon.ornic, lik forms, could rhey be unamlialed folk genera, like cacesrs, to shg? It seems clear that such a conclusion would be counter [partly for reasons discussed below, in Section 7). It is lntu more satisfying to conclude that categories off this kind are in more like life forms than like folk genera, but that they are not (polytypic) life forms.3 To sustain Ithis point of view, h o w m

12. Sewramsics and Efhnobiologg! 365

further construct: a "quasi-life form" as distinguished from a taxonomic, '" We also need some additional criterion distinguishboth "life forms" and "'quasi-life forms". I will try to such a criterion in Section 9.

7. Plollytypic Genera b m s (such as bird fish, tree, orflower) differ from in being thought of as polytypic and in including many named el. This characterization, however, needs to be supnal criterion, referring to the position of a given o other named categories. To see the need for such itional criterion, it is useful to consider the concept of dog. existence in English of nouns such as spaniel or poodle is a particuthough not the only) piece of linguistic evidence showing that ught of in English as coming in many diflerent kinds. ;But rly, it would be absurd to conclude from this that dog is a life form in par with ranixscl.!, bir4 and Jfs'sh, and that spaniel and poodie , on a par with cot and COW. hought of as "a kind of animalm,and the phrase unds absurd, whereas "animals and birds" is pero the following sentences: "It's not a bird, it" an dog, it's an animal",] g felt, ~ ts involving co-ordination show that d ~ are e on the same level as cars or sheep, not on a higher level, or p ~ o d i eare felt to be on a level lower than that d cat om. es cats, but Mary prefers dogs7', versus "*John likes cats, ary prefers spaniels"'. ic evidence shows that primary lexemes such as spaniel or belong to a s p i a l level lower than that of folk genera, though than that of specific taxa, normally represented by secondary lexh as Siamese cat or blue spruce. I have suggested that this level, y available only for taxa of particular cultural importanoe, can be subgeneric level (Wierzbicka 1985: 232-61; and a similar suggestion forward, independently, by Cecil Brown (1987). (Cf. Section 3.5 hen, that not only life forms but d s o some-rather excepbe thought of as coming in many different kinds. re, a proviso: not aEB biological categories thought of ;as m e d kinds are life forms. If a biological category comes narmed kinds but is treated linguistically [e.g. in conjoined phrases] on the same level as folk genera (that is, as categories which do

366 Lexica! Semantics not come in many named kinds] h e n it is not a life form but a (rather exceptional and cdturallly salient) follk genus subdivided into named subgenera.

8. "Gestatants" a n d 'Distinctive Features" It has sometimes been claimed in the fiterature that folk genera are conceptlaali~das holistic indefinable '"estaltsv" whereas life f o m s can be defined by m a n s of it few abstract features. For example, racoobssn is conm p t d i m d (it has been claimed) in terms of its unanalysed, global "ramonness", whereas bird can be represented in the speaker's mind in terns of a few abstract features swh as feathers, beak, and eggs Nunn 1976: 588). But in fact, it is intuitively f a from clear that gestalt of a free, a bird, or a j s h , just as we have a glo ire/. Indeed, elsewhere Hunn (1977: 47) himself men wccoon, dog, and bmbr'e-bee-as an example of not a "deductiveve"' one. And indeed, if we can have a despite the wide variety of types of dogs, why sho global image of a bird? In fact, Bruner, Goodnow, and Austin (195% offer bird as their prime example of a holistic c and bill and feathers and characteristic legs. But . feathers, illhe bill and legs are highilly predictable. ID coding environment, one builds up an expectancy of all of these features sent together. It is this unitary conception that has the conffigur Gestalt property of 'birdness'." What can be said of bird of tree,$& or snake, as well as of dog, squir tions of life forms such as bird, free, or@sh a md C O I I ~ C ~ Ana/ysia ~ I U O ~ are at least as long as (in fact lon sqlrkrel (see Wierzbicka 1985). 1t is doubtful, therefore, t be distinguished from folk genera along the lines of "a tures" versus complex unitary gestallts. Furthemore, as pointed out by Cecil Brown (1990: have unitary gestalts for "cultural kinds" too, wh ones s u ~ has bottle or jug or relatively complex ones such as The impression that artefactual concepts of this kind c terns of "a few abstract features" is just as illusory as forms such as free or bfrd could be so defined (for detail and other similar concepts, see Wierzbicka 1985).

12. Semianlies csmd Erhnobiology 367

9. "Hidden Matures" and "Proper Names" One further possible difference between folk generic concepts and life h r m concepts is that the former-but perhaps not the latter-imply a "hidden nabure"ar an "underlying essence" which cannot be reduced to any observable attributes (see Atran E9XTa,b,c; Keill 1489; Kdpke 1972; Putnam 1975, 1977; Schwartz 8978). For example, we may think that some particular bird is a spurow, but if other people, whose judgement we trust, assure us that this bird only fooks like a sparrow but in Fact is not a sparrow [but another kind of bird), we are quite likely to accept their judgement, assuming that the "underlying essence" or the "hidden nature" of tfis particullar bird is not that of a sparrow. But could we simdarly accept the judgement that a creature which looks and behaves like a bird in f a d is not a bird? codd probably accept the judgement that a tree which e an oak in fact is not an oak (but another kind of tree), or a flower which looks like a tulip in fact is not a tulip but another kind ower. But would we similarly alcvoept that what Books to us like a tree stance but from dose by, in good visibility conditions] is in a tree but some other kind of thing growing out of the ground it doesn't have the '"idden naturey' of a free)? Or that what looks e a flower in fact is not a flower (but, say, a mushroom), because have the "hidden nature" of aflonarefl Similar questions mn be h respect to n~n-taxonomicquasi-life forms such as brrshes or in each w e the answer appears to be in the negative: we assume ow how to racognize a Sree, or ajower, or how to recognize a and we would not defer in such matters to experts; but with might well defer to an expert. ests that the meaning offfolk generic words like sparrow or opllk have some component absent fliom the meaning of life form wards. as bird or tree, a component which would account for the assumption idden nature". This component can be linked with the idea that a IFOR enus-in contrast to life f o m s and to various other groupings-provides " b r living things which belong to it. For example, the explition of the wad tiger could start as follows: a kind of animal there is a word for animals of this khnd h i s word is tiger assumes that the dividing line runs between living things and 3, has argued, in apparent support of a presumed '%idden nature'" , that "a given tree may not be as large as a person, but atornab are

still \trees %y nature"'((39815: 302).4 But linguistic tests show that bonsais are not thought of in English as "trees". Just as a crob-ap$e would not k referred to, in ordinary English, as "an apple"', a bonsai free would not be referred to as "a t r e " "5 a sapling could not be so referrled to): *Look at that apple! "Look at that tree'! It is interesting to note that "unaffiliated generics" appew to behave in this respect as the names of other generics, not like the names of life fern. Far exmpPe, if we are told that a creature which looks like a bat (or a mail) in fact is not a hat (or a snaio, we might well accept this claim--certainly more readily than the claim that what looks to us like a bird, or a tree, is in fact not a bird, or a tree. In talking about a possiblc "lllddcn nanurc" of living kinds, 1 do nor[ lapcsvn no abandon EIIY lclarlier claim (Wierzbicke 1985) thal folk genera are also definable in terms of specific features, such as stripes, claws, and teeth in the case of a tiger. On the contrary, 1 hope to have shown that folk genera can be fully defined, and that in this respect they do not differ fmm the names of cdtwral kinds (or any other words). The definitions which I have provided list the newssarry and sufficient campnents of a concept such as "gerkr 'squitreB" not necessary and sufficient features of all the referents d the words in question. I cllaimd in earlier work (1972) that biological kind terms, unlike the namnes of arlefacis, cannot be defined and are a kind of generic proper name. In subsequent work (19&5)1,on the basis of trial and error, I reached the conclusion that the names of natural kinds can be defined, and I showed that the resulting definitions (or explications), though complex, are ;en more complex than those of names of artefacts. My present suggestion is that these two earlier stands are in fact not incompatible; they can be reconciled if we sugpllement the definitions oF natural kind words with an additional component hinting at their hidden underlying essence. What I am suggesting now is that words such as tiger or squirrel may have one additional semantic component, referring to an '%underlying essence" of a given genus, an essence which is felt to be something dfierent from, though usually manifested in, typical perceptual features, such as stripes in the case of a tiger, or a bushy tail in the case of a squirrel. This means that in saying of something "'This is a tiger (squirrel, etc.)" people mean not only that the animal in question can be expected to have dl Ithe features characteristic of tigers (squirrels, etc.] but also that it is an a n i d Cf, also the Eollonlng statements: "Thus, 'tree' and 'sparrow' remain Folk kinds, with presumed essenws"((Amn 1W0:16); and "the definition~of lexical entries for living kinds at a l I'ewekpertain only ;lo the essences ofkinds, not the actual appearance OF their denotata" (EAI1m~;an E985: 301; see a h Atam 1990:61.

that people d l tigers (r(squ$reb, etc.]. 'This cords very closely to P'utnamrs C1975: 141-2) formula, summarized by (19137a: 50) as foUows: '' 'natural kind' terms swh as "tiger' can be nhwith the blSowing empirical presupposition: bears a certain sameness relation (say, X b fhe f of the things which speakers in the linguistic ccasions labelled %tiger"." quoted in Atran 1987a: 421 claims that caws differ other amhals in "familiar ways, but iL is no part of the meaning of hat cows say 'moo" and give milk, and Pook thus-and-so. These are ecessary truths-a cow that did not say 'moo' would still be a cow, o would one that did not give milk or was purple.", But semantic theories equating "'meaning" with necessary truths which rcfercnts ol'a given term arc so slerile that they have in lexicotogical descriptions or any large bodies of or in any other language of the world, and they have eless as a basis for cross-linguistic and cross-cultural s. By contrast, if we assume that stereotypes, expecs, and so on can also be part and parcel of a word's a fim foundation on which empirical study of (see e.g. Apresjan 1974/1992; Goddard 1992a; ; MeilrEuk el a!. 1984; Wierzbicka l985, 1 9 8 7 ~ ~ A purple cow which doesn't give milk or say ""moa"caan still be called a an animal of the same kind (that is, "having nimals mlled c o w which are not purple, da give more serious and more complete explication such as cow, see Wierzbicka 1985). t taxonomic supercategories such as tree orflower nent asserting "sameness" with respect to is means that whlen we refer to something as imply that the entity in question has some "underthat of all entities called trees. It seems particwthat we do mot attribute "underlying essences" to non-taxonomic forms, such as Gush or gros~.A h s h , regardless of its observable ertles, is not something which belongs to "the same kind" as things pleoplle called bushes. But I think that what applies to bush or grass

B life forms, it is perhaps less clear that they are 'budderlying essences'" and the matter requires ars, however, that they are not: if we see a e a bird, or an animal, it is hard to innaginre that e could be persuaded that in fact this creature is something else.

12 Semantics and Ethnobidogy 371

370 Lexical S"ernmtics

The notion that not only living things but also artefacts can be said to ave a "hidden nature" is due to Putnarrr, who has argued that words such i!% chair, or illoffjlecannot be "dehed by conjunctions, or possibly of properties" '(11975: 1601):

Atran (1987a: 48) writes: ""living kind terms are conceived as 'phenomenal kindshhose intrinsic nature, or (to use Locke? notion] 'real essence' is presumed, even if unhown"'. For folk genera (e.g. squirrel or oak) this is convincing, but it Is inconceivablle that bushe8 may haw a ''real essenw" of a bush, or that bugs may have a "real essence" of a bug. It is less inconoeivable, but still unlikely, that trees may have a "real essence" of a tree, and b i d , of a bird. Presumably, the idea of a '%real essenay"as somehirrmg to do with the notion: of oldgin and of inherited hidden properties: a cow is a COW primarily because it "comes from" a cow. By contraslt, artefacts dm't c o ~ u e~ ~ O D~LUler U I ar11cfacls and lo solrnc extclit the samc applies even to life forms (e.8. a free doesn't have to "come from" another tree, and a'bush doesn't have to "come from" another bwh). It is interesting to mention in this wnruecltion a feature of Australiaa AborjgitraP languages, which links folk genera with proper names and perhaps with an implied "hidden nature". In some of these languages one can ask about the "name" of a living, thing in thre same way as one can ask about the name of a penon @.g. "What name?" in Yankunytjatjara; see Goddard 1992a: 171, soliciting in this way an answer identilfjiing a folk genus. Since questions of this kind can be asked neither with respect to life forms (trees, birds:,etc.) nor with respect to artefacts [Goddasd, personal cornmication) a distinction appears to be d r a m between h l k genera and everything dse. This fact supports the psychological reality of folk pneric concepts and the absolute character of the distinction between folk genera and life farms. It also supports the idea that folk genera are seen as a kinid of "'proper name" (in fact the '%Aname"; we Berlin 1992: 6%) which cannot be reduced to a set of observable properties and which is linked with ;a presumed "underlying essencey'.

10. Living Things and Artefacts-Similar Different?

perad is clot ~ " p o a y m ~with w s any description-not even loosely synonymous with loose description. When we use the word p ~ a c i !we ~ intend to refer t o whatever he same mfure as the normal! examples of the locali pencils in, the actual wodd. Pencil is just as hdexictd as w t e r or goIdd5 (1974: 1621

As poirrtcd auk by Scl~~iurPd (19781, Iuowcwcr, tbc twu cascs-[hat or nabwal kinds and that of namles of arleil~cts-are by no nzeans parallell. It may make sense, intuitively, to attribute a presumed "hidden nature" to lemons or ffgers, but certainly not to chairs or pencils. "'What makes something a pencil are superficial characteristics such as a certain farm and function. These is nothing underlying about these features"(Schwartz 1978: 571). Similarly, Atran (19870: 41) dismisses the idea of any "hidden nature" supposedly implied by names off artefacts {("Talkof artifact 'natures'is idle welll"], and he points out that "unlike living kind categories, labelled artict concepts are not meant to classify particular items. Instead, they discriminate mental plans for serving functions" (r(198Ta:42).6 H hope to have demonstrated wierzbicka 1985) that the meaning of nnata1 kind words such as lemon and sigigeu can be arualysed as fully and prensely es that of names of artefacts such as penti/# cup, or bora"~le. In both cases, what is involved is not a "conjunction" of properties but a structured

or Radically

Atran (11987a: 28) argues that different cognitive domains may have different types of semantics, and that, in particular, the semantics of living things is different from the semantics of artefacts. Accordingly, "'in work amc e r d with folk categorization researchers should clearly distinguish between the conceptual structure of living kinds and living kind terns as opposed to that of, say, artifacts and artifact terns'" He criticizes the bulk of the literature on human: categorizaltion for taking it for granted that what hdds for f d k biology holds also for the domain of artefacts. According to Atran, BYne difd;erenws between living things and arkelacts have to do, first, with the question of "hidden naliureybdrrd, second, with the levels of categorization.

"

Puttlam's idea aham not only natural kind terns but also names of artefacts imply an "underlying essence'hplpears to be supported by Hunn 1(1987).But in fact, when Hunn (1987: 147) s p k s of a "cultural essence" shared by artefacts OFa given hype, and when he p i n t s ant that "having a flat surface'' may be "@IT the essence of 'table' . . . as tbat is essential 10 a table functioning as such", he is taking of something quite different from the presumed '%nderlyir?g essence" or ""hidden nature" of folk genera. H u m (1987: 1417) argues (against Atram] tbat "the 'virtual nature' of a concept such as 'pine' is open to modification on the basis of additional experience. The possibility oF encounterirug a truly coneless pine cannot be d e d our a priori. Thus "ones' are an empirically contingent feature of "pineness'." I tbhk these arguments are valid, but they are not incompatiblewith the idea that the ooncept o l p h e Indudes a refenenw to cones, and that if a comeless tree was calmed a p k e this would imply that it was seen as an atypical t r ~ eof the same k h d as those trees which are called pime3 and which would nonnaliy be expected to Rave cones. I hope to have shown in my study of cups, mugs, and related conoepts wienbicka 1985) that names olarkfacts do indeed incllude neo~ssary((oressential] features, as wen as prototypical ones; but these features should be distinM s h d [ram the assumed '"idden essence" contempkated by Putnam, Schwartz, and Atran. Actually, I don't think that Scbwartz is quite right in referring to both farm and function as ""sua~eriiciallcharactedstics". Tbe: function of a "cultural kind" such as, for example, stool (in contrast to ckair) can be wry oomp!ex and far From obvious. LkualPy, native speakers are mat immediately a m r e why stools can be bath much bigher and much lower than chairs [e.;g. bar SSOOLS versus Jao~~toaSs]. Some a s p i s of the function of a cultural kind can be quite "hid&*, too Qe.g. the fact that stools are meant for "doirug somethi&', not just for sitting comfarlably, with the upwr legs supported om the seat and the feet on the ground). Brut this is difFerent from the presumplion of a hidden "real esmoe", which native speakers may nol know at all, as in the case of living kinds.

g

332 Lexical Semantics network, with its own logic, involving both essential and plrototyp tures and ~omprisingthe causal relations betwen the individual which explain their mutual presence (see also Keill 1989: 267). The fa it may be Justified to add one further component (accounting for the den nature") to the explications of lemons or tigers but not to those o cib or horsSes does not cliiange in any way the rrccd for L l n r full cxpliicaYa of the folk concept. Nos does it dellract from the deep analogies betw the natural kind concepts and cultural kind concepts demonstrated in numerous explications given in Wierxbicka (1985). As for the levels of categorization, Atran argues that '%ierarchical ing of living kinds is apparently unique lo that domain" (1987a: corresponds also to Hunn's (1987: 1471 position on this point: 'V a Atran that the phenomenal reality beneath folk-biological class~ficat does exhibit unique features. . . Most notably, a transitive ever shallow) is to be expected in the classification of Rora I believc this is correct. In hct, Atran's and Hwnn's vicw ness of hierarchicd ranking to the domain of living things corres closdy to the claims put forward in Wierzbicka (1984). As I hope to demonstrated in a number of works (e.g. Wierzbicka 1984, 1985, 19 linguistic tests show that in the area of artefacts there are no "supercat ories" corresponding to the bliollogical rank of life form. Semanti spooas are not a kind of culfery or a kind of tableware, cups are not a of cont~iner,flrrblEes are not a kind offitmilure, skirt8 are not a kind of in#, and dolts or rattles are not a kind of toy. Concepts such asfur cjr10thing or toy are not taxonomic supercategories in the way that ba taxonomic supercategory for swatlaw or pmrot, power for tul@ or rose, treeEoroukormp!e. I have argued that there are other types of supercategories in the dom of artefacts, but that none of these types can be regarded as taxonomic, t is, based on the concept of KIND: To summarize the discussion of nontaxonomic supercaliegories, purely func mncepts such as toy are defined in tems of what for; collllectiva-singwlaria t such as Jwrwitilrsre are defined in terns of what for and where; coilecti tantum such as !eftovers are defined in terns of where and why; and munutables esuch as mediches are defined in terms of what For and where additiou, all four of these types of non-taxonomic supercategory are d tems of the mode of use: functional concepts stand for individual indivis collectiva-singuiaria Itanturn stand for groups of indivisible things; mlli~tiva ralia Itanturn stand for groups of things, divisible or not; and pseudo-con stand for "stufEs" and divisible things. (Wienbicka 1984: 325) ,

I have also argued, as Atran (1987a: 42) does, that (at the bvel d su categories) natural kind categories are not "fuzzyy' in the way artefa kinds are (see Wierzbicka 1984: 3118).

12. Semunfi:s and EfEmobio!ogy

373

ktran (1987~~'~ links the greater "fuminess'bf aptefactua! concepts with a lack of presumption of "hidden natmesY'ar"underlying essences'" 1have argued, however, that life forms don't carry such a presumption either. The presumption of "hidden natures" is a characteristic feature of folk generic concepts, not of all natural kind concepts. The "fuzziness" of artefactwal supscalcgories is cxplaiued, I bclicvc, by i l h ~fact llrat they are not taxonomic. Eliologilcall supercakgorles such as rrsre or bird are not "fuzzy'hot because they imply some "hidden nature" but because they stand for "kinds rather than for heterogeneous collections, groups, of things'"superkinds") Furthermore, cultural kinds such as chair, borrle, or bicycle are not necessarily any more 'Tuzzy" than living kinds such as dog or wiIlow. 1 do not accept the argument that "one and the same item can literally be an instance of 'waste paper basket' in one context and 'stooE' in another if orienlted EBifEerently" or that 'Yt is the fact that artifacts are defined by the functions they serve, rather than by any inherent perceptual properties, that allows a given (morphologically selfsame) item to belong to different categories of artifacts in different circumstances. But, e.g., a dog is always a 19510: 57). As J. Lyons's (1977) tern "cultural klndY'suggests, bicycle is not defined exclusively by the function it serves but by its f o m (cf. the definitions in Wierzbicka 1485). It is only artefacegories (such as Soy, weapon, or ~ekfcle)which are defined m s of their fmctions-and these categories can indeed be heir range of reference). The same object, e.g, a knge> can be ither a weapon or piece of cutlery (or a k f t d e n rstewil), because supercategories such as weapon, mtlery, a r utensil are indeed "fuzzy". But a bottlFe is always a bobrb, as much as a dog is allways a dog. I agree, therefore, with Cecil Brow's (1990: 38) argument that bottles or scwwdriufers imply as much "discontinuity"' in the world as squirrels or racoons (and that they, too, evoke gestalts). It is not the presence or absence of gestalts or the degree of "fuzziness" which distinguishes living kinds from cultural kinds. It is probably true, as Schwartz (1978) and Atran 91990: 55) argue, that any '"tak of artefact natures is idle", but CUItural kind comepts can be discrete, and can imply clusters of perceptual properties, without implying any '"hidden e~senoe".~ Finally, living kind concepts are subject to inter-speaker variability and can expand with the speaker's experienoe with denotsrta (a process which Keil(1984: 535 sluggests that "the dividing line lbetwsen artifacns and natural kinds cam be fuzzy in many cases", k c a w e complex machines, such as televisions, automobiles, and, above all, computers ''take on many of the properties that supposedly distinguish natural kinds from artilfacts"".This is an interesting point, deserving further investigation. It seems to me, however, that the two caws are mat truly parallel. Folk genera names such as tiger or Eemon appear to attribute to the "'kinds" in question an underlying essence which cannon be Fully spelled out in wonds; but the names of complex artefacts do not seem to carry any such implications.

12. Sewansics and E t h ~ ~ b i o i ~ 375 gy should not be confused with any increase in scientific knowledge); a s h i lar variability does not seem to occur in the domain of artefacts (although timcs 01' kcllrniical invcrr~iomss u ~ l as i ~eSe~isior~, rudiu, or C ' W I S Y ~ raise ~S~~ interesting problems in this connection, too, as they do with respect to "hiridden natures"; see Keil 1989). But as mentioned earlier, the mast fundatnentaY difference between the two domains (natural kinds versus names of artefacts) lies m i the phenomenon of a transitive hierarchy of categories, which is unique to the r e a h d living things (although in thalt realm, too, there are many concepts which are not included in that transitive hierarchy, such as, for example, bwxh).

Despilte the intensive and wry fruitful work of the last two decade;, the area of folk-biological categorization stilll sullfen from a good deal of conceptual loanfusion. This confusion is due very largely to the fact that folkbiological taxonomies ase frequently studied in the abs~kact,without t h support of linguistic tests and linguistic evidence. From lack of attention to linguistic evidence, scientific concepts such as m m l or qwdrupe$ continue to be confused with folk cancepb such as a~imakthe scientific senses of the words onimai and pbvrt cantinue not to be distinguished from their everyday sense; and categories thought of as polytypic, such as bird or tree, continue not to be distinguished from categories which in everyday I m p a g e are not treated as polytypic at all [such as b~xh,grass, or mos8). I have argued before (1984, 1985) and again here that the domain of living things is unique in presenting ranking taxonomies of primary Bexemm, and that, as Atram (19875: 306) put it, '"science and common sense constitute logidly independent approaches to knowledge, despite their subtle and pervasive interactions in West~ernsociety"". have also argued, in agrela ment with Berlin, Breedlove, and Raven (1973) and Berlin (1992)9that the categories of life form and folk genus are non-arbitrary and can be identified on the basis of clear, absolute criteria. I have disputed, however, the claim that biological life f o m s "partition the everyday wodd of h u m experience" (Atran 1987b: 31 I), and I have questioned the correctness of the widely recognized repertoire of English life forms, including items such as bush, vine, moss, g~ass,herb, mammal, or bwg. I have supported Atran's claim that folk genera-unlike artefacts-imply a "'hidden nature", and I have linked this Implication with Putnam and Kripke's Idea of terns for living things being a kind of proper name, while at the same time maintaining my eadier claim (1985) that all natural kind terms can, and should, be def ned. I have also argued that the presumption

of hidden nature cannot be extended to [taxonomic) Eife form concepts, such as tree or bird, or to quasi-life forn loanmptts, such as Bwh or gas.?. AG tile same time, 1 haw supported Gcil Brown's (l990) claim that culSwat kinds may imply a Bevel of discreteness and discontinuity attributed by other scholars (e.g. Atran] only to living kinds. They may also imply gestalts as much as living kinds do. Above 21111%1 hope ]I have shown that linguistic tests can throw important light on the basic issues in the study of human categorizattion in general and etlhnobiolagiml categorization in particular; and that they can be used eflmtively as a source of verification, documentation, and insight.

The Semantics of

13

Semantic Rules in Grammar

As I have tried to show [see in particular Chapter 51, a ward's syntactic khaviour reflects, and depends on, its meaning. Thus, it Is no accident that one can mk,beg, or pply FOR something, but not order, demand, or cornm n d FOR something; or that one can both order and ask someone TO ;DICE something, but not demofid or apply someone TO DO something. So, the grammatical hhaviour of words is governed by subtle semantic "rules"; and although at first sight these rulles may appear open to exwptiorus, on further investigation even the appamt exceptions turn out to be a n t i d l y motivated, For example, as I have s h o w elsewhere, there are d semantic reasons why we say "the shirt IS old" h t "the trousers ARE '"ice IS w a m Y ' b u t"beam ARB warm", ox ''wheat HX good'' but: s ARE goad"' (Wierzbicka 1985, ch. 43. augacker (1987: 47-18) writes:

.=

stic theorists place mwch emphasis a n ithe importance af making strong rical claims. Severall related Factors determine whether a theory or description 8es this requirement. For one thing, it should make clear predictions: the nature orting or disconfirming evidence should be readily apparent. A theory must restrictive, by limiting descriptive options to a narrowly specified range that out many ~onceivableaIterrrmatives. ]It shovlid further provide a principled eans of choosing among competing analyses.

Having said this, however, Langackex backs dowm (ibid.): Far Ilnguistls, to demand of a rule, principk, or definition what might d abs~/ueepredic~obili~y. What this means, roughly, is that a statement pera certain class must be valid for all and only the members of that class if accepted as having any predictive value at all. Statements that achieve predictability are obviously desirable, for they make the strongest and empirical claims. Yet it cannot simply be assumed that language invaritypically lends iWlf to statements of tlhL kind. In fact it does not. ctatlonn of absolute predictability are sometimes unreasonable for natural lanand ~ommonEylead to erroneous ~am~usimms, dubious ciaims, or conceptual on. We must scale our expe~tationsdown to a level of predictability that is riate and realistic for the subject matter.

380

The Semantics of Grammar

According to Langacker, them, the nature of language is smch that it is "unreaQistic" to expect "absolute predictability"'. m e expatation of absolute predictability has beem prominent in diachronic and typological studies, and has not fared well, The most famous example is the neogiramarian doctrine that valid sound laws have a o "true" exceptions: apparent exceptions can always be explained by analogy or by the operation of another sound law yet to be discovered, or in some other manner. Today it is generally agreed ghat this doctrine is wrong, whatever its buristic merits; certain types of changes spread by lexical diffusion, typically Peavirrmg residues, so at no sllage d m a sound law necessarily hold true for aPI eligible forms [see Labev 1981 for a general review). En Langaieker's view, what applies to putative "sound laws" also applies Go rules of grammar (1987: 49): h expectation of absolute ~edictabili(iY is dso apparent in the requirement that certain rules (syntactic rules in particular) be fully productive. The validity of a gammatical generalization is often denied unless one can predict exactly which foms it does and does not apply to.

The expectation of "absollute precliictabillity)' is l i n h d , in Langacker's view, with the outdated ""Aristotelian'bodel of ~ategorisatiomn,to which he o p p o s e e a s more appropriate and more valid-the ' T o s ~ h i a n "prcatoltype model (ibid.): The standard criterl-attribute model of categorization also exemplifies an expeetation of absolute predictability. If the model is interpreted slrictly, a81 and only the members of a class or category will possess the entire list of criterid properties, which thereby achieves absolute predicubility with respect to class membership. We have already questioned the appropriateness of this model for linguistic cakgorktion. . .. The prototype model offers a more realistic account in many instan=, but adopting it implies that class membership is not predictable in, absolute ferns: it is a matter of degree, decreasing as an entity deviates from b e prototype, with no apecif c cutor point lbeyond which speakers alaruptig become incapable oFpemiving a similarity and thus assimilating an entity to the category. But are expectations of absolute predictability aiwoys unrealistic? I do noit wish to defend the old dogma that sound laws have n o exceptions; but must we s priori assume that there is no absolute predictability anywhere in language? T o my mind, slatetnenls such as the following take caution too far: cognitive grammar emphasizes the importance of factors that make it unreasonable to expect rule applicability to be predictable in absolute terns. (ibid.) The questiosn should rather be what kind of kiagulistic rules can be truly predictive. Langacker himelf acknowledges that "generality is a virtue" (1987: 451, and he elaborates:

Linguists properly seek general rules and universal principles. They merit our plaudits in stating obvious regularities, and our enwuragement in finding others that are less madilly apparent. And munting heavily in favour of a theory or description is ks ability to capture nonobvious generallizations or to unify seemingly diverse phenomena.

I agree with Langacker that "we must recogmize that language is a m h ture of regularity and imgularity", a d also that "Linguists have occaally invoked suspicious devices to make things appear more regular they really areY"Cibid.). But lbeilng a n empirical science, lirrpistics -like any other empirical sciencx+look for true generalizations.

2. Semantic Rules: The Past Practice When arguing that grammatical categories d o not have neat semantic correlates linguists have often invoked pairs such as oats and wheat. F o r example, Elwdsom (1976: 6) wrote: k second reason far bdieving in tho separation of syntax from semantics, as autonomous levels, is that the same phenomena can require different chssificacatians on the two levels. The clcarest instance of this that 1know of is number in the nounphrase, The argument runs as follow: there are some noun-phrases (or mouns-it &s no difference to the argument) which are syntacticalIy plural but not semntically pllural [such as these bo!hrtmm scaar'es, which may be ambiguous semantically but in one of its readings must be as singular semantically as, say, this bathraom weighkg machine; see also these oafs versus t h b wheat];and there are others which are semantically plural but not syntactically plural, notably the following two cases. Fitst, there are noun-phases with collective heads, such as the commitfee, which a n occur witb verbs like disperse, which need to be marked as occurring only with subjects that refer to a group of individuals-4.e. semantically plural subjects; and second, there art: noun-phrases with heads like heap, as in a hrge h e ~ op f l ~ g swhich , can wcur in a reciprocal construction ('PI large heap of logs were piled on top of each other'), in contrast with a large heap o f s a ~ dwhich , has to be semantical.llysingular. I take it as axiomatic that this kind of situation requires two diKerent levels, each with ilis own classifimtion of the items concerned. The argument goes as follows: there are two grammatical categories (singular and plural) anad two semantic categories {singular amd plural). The grammaticas singular does not always correspond ta the semantic singular, and the grammatical plural does not always correspond to the semantic plural, so syntax and semantics have to be separated from each other as two independent levels. In my view, the examples discussed in this passage show something rather different; namely that the distinction between "'sngular'bnd "plural" is simplistic and does not fit the English language. Nouns such as

13. Semanxic R~uIesin Grammar 383

heap or cmmittee are not '%emantimlly plural but syntactically not fluran"". Semantically, words of this kind stand for ''rnuYtifple entitiesy', or "emtities composed of other entities"-and their grammatical behaviour reflects Ithis. Far from being semantically arbitrary, the grammatical behaviour of words of this kind admirably reflects their distinclt semantic nature. (See Jespersen 19241'19128: 19161,) Consider allso the following passage of GBeason's (1969: 224) classic work: There Is an old story of a man who was asked, presumably by a grammarian, whether psr~ftswas singular or plural. His wpPy was, 'Well, mine are plural at the bottom, and singular at the top." Ultimately, the confusion, which many others have also felt, rests not so mwh in the shape of the garment as in the grammar of English. The object named is as clearly am entity as, say, a shirt or a mat. This does not matter; by a cowentiom of English, pan& is plural. Interesting!y enough, this Is not an isolated case; compare JmW#ers, breeches, shorts, shcks, etc. This whole group of words are gramaticaiully plrl~ralwith no evident semantic justification ... the distinction between these subclasses OF nouns is purely arbitrary. How can one hill to recognize that words such as pmfs, trousers, 6reeches, shorts, slacks ( a d also scisgotx, gaggles, g1ass"es, tweezers9 f [ ~ ~ g s , forceps, and so on] d o form a semantic class, as well as a grammatical one? G r a m a t i d l y , t h s e nouns have two shared features. They are all plazrah tantun, but-unlike oats, chiwes, or cogce-grmads-they are not uncountable; they can be counted, but they require a special dasifier: a pair o$ Semantically, all these nouns designate objects which are seen as having two identical parts, joined together, and performing the same function. The word pmts is neither singular nor plural. Rather, it belongs bo a sep arate category (one m o n g several categories of English nouns) which can be called "'dual"'. The semantic unity of this group seems intuitively obviow-but we ctrwldn%articulate this intuition if we were resltricted to crude, a priori semantic categories like '%emantically singular" and "semantially pluran"'. It is one thing, however, to acknowledge the semantic basis of a clws such as the one including trousers, s c h ~ o r and ~ , so on, and another, to maintain that the semantic rule which assigns nouns to this class is "absolutely predictive'" For example, Langacker (1987: 473 is willing to do the former but not, apparently, the latter. ]It is . . . fallacious to assume that a phenomenenon is purely "syntac~ica'justbecause it is nonuniversal. For instanm, it is a matter of cowention (not cognitive sity) that scissorsppang gimses, bimocuhrs, erc. are plural in form (and Bargely in behaviour), but contra Hudson (19T&: 61, this does not imply that '"syntactic n u Iber" is distimct from semantic number or that syntax constitutes an autonomous component of grammar. The plurality of these expressions reflects canventiomal imagery: they highlight the bipartite character of the objects named, so the a s s q -

tion that they are semanticallly singular is incorrect. Contrasting foms like noxfrifs vs. I ~ D S6P~, t d b ~ r t ~VS, c kSs Z S ~ Q ~ Ystars S O ~ 'VS. ~ cowreEhrion, etc. similarly construe the conceived entity by emphasizing either internall multiplicity or overavll unity. The existence d an autonomous syntactic compomnt hardly follows from the convemutiandiffy of such images. Nouils such as trousers or scissors do indeed "highlight the bipartite character of the objects named" (Wierzbicka 1985: 322-41. But this generallization is not just an approximation open to counter-examples. Pn rmny experience, rules which are truly semantic in nature do not admit exceptions. If the grammatical class in question is governed by a semantic rule, then I would expect this rule to be '%absolutelypredictive'" 1 will try to show that the various counter-examples which come to mind are in fact apparent rather than real. [See also Wierzbicka 1993e.)

When we compare the ""dal" noun trousers with the "singular'koun shirt the reason for their different grammatical behaviour seems to b e d l e a s o n notwithstanding-crystal clear: trousers have a "bbipartite"sstmcture while shirts are essentially "unitary" ob$eeds. Of course, one could argue that shirts have sleeves, and that the role of sleeves in a shirt is analogous to that of trouser legs in trousers, but it seem intuitively obvious that the two Gaises are difirenli: sleeves are not as essential to the function of a shirt as trowser legs are Eo the function of trousers (one can imagine a sleeveless shirt, but not legless trousers). But what about sStorrrs'2 And what about " h ~ t p ~ ~ npanfliesI t ~ " , undie~,or c b ? Trousers, jeans, slacks, and so on have separate coverings for the and these coverings constitute a large part of the object. Stretching facts a little bit, one could make the same argument far shorts. But rs m d briejFsr don't have to have any separate coverings for the why do they, too, belong to the same grammatical class as trousers caul-se, rsnderpmrs still haw two separate "holes'" one for each leg; ut why aw \these holes more important than the "holes" far arms in a kt?Furthermore, why are they more important than the two 'kups" in a a, which would seem to tre quite essential to the function of the garment Langacker w o l d probably appeal at this point to c'conventional imagery"'. People, h a t is, native speakers of English, think of underpantx and shorts in terns of a '"bipartite structure", but they don't think of s h i m even bras in these terms. 1 think this is corrwt but not sufficient. The tion naturally arises: Do we have independent evidencx for this alleged

3$4 The Semmtics of Gr~msrmas

d i f l e r e ~ ~ine "thinking"? Or do we have any other reasons to think that people think of garments in the dual noun class in a special way? I think that we do have such reasons. Trousers, shorts, pants, and so on can all be thwght of as "separate-leg gaments", in contrast to "wrap arounds" such as skirts or dresses. This distindion between "separate-leg gaments" and "wrap-arounds" involves an important cultural principle. Traditionally (in the English-speaking wodd), "separate-leg garments" were associated with men, to whom they accorded a full Pheedom of mlrwenzent, whereas 'cwrap-arounds'~were associated with women, thus prchridhg a symbolic protection (including visual protection) to the taboo area of the body. Of course, in speciaP drcumstanw ldies could wear "non-fminind' leg-separating clohes such as riding-breeches and so on, but exceptionis d this kind simply confirmed the rule. In the present (English-spaking) world, women tao, wear trousers, and other outer gaments separating the legs (jeans, sham%, and so on)\, thus discarding the traditional feminine image associated with "wrap-arou.ndsLI(nomally not worn by men]. But the choice L still there, and it is culturally Important. Even if trousers are now thought of as gender-neutral rather than masculine, dsesses and s M s are definitely associated with women, so the choice between "separate-leg garments'bd "wrap-arounds19s still! symtFOPically important. There is no similar cullturally important cll~oicxIn the case of garments worn an t h upper half of the body, so there is, so to speak, no need to signal whether their structure is "bipartite" or otherwise. Hut this is not the, whole sbry. Turning now to p m t i s , wrcties, s w i m e n , bathers, rrmks, scmgies (Australian), jocks, and so on, we will note that these, too, are all "separate-leg garments". .kern of a similar nature which are not "separatorsm-for exampfie, a gird!@or a pelticoat-are never pluralia tantum in English. It is tme that-unlike outer gaments such as trousers-pwrie5 or swimmer^^ are not worn in preference to some type of '"rap-around'" What matters, however, is Ghat these garments, too, fdl into the cullturally salient category of "leg-dividersy'-that is to say, garments which have two separate identical parts, m e for each leg. It hardly needs to be pointed out that this is culturally significant too: items of clothing which have two separate identical parts, one for each leg, are those whose function consists in tightly covering the parts of the body which have to be protected from being exposed to public view. The two separate holes for the two legs are relevant to this function: if instead of Ilhllwe two legs there was one big aperture, the parts of the body which are meant to be protected from view would not be so protected. It is nor, then, the bipartite structure as such which matters, but a saliessfly bipartite structure; and in the case d human artefacts (such as tools or items of clothing) functional salienoe may well be more important than perceptual salience.

This is, li think, why some gaments with a visibly bipartite structure may have names which are not In the tro;ousers class, whereas others, whose bipartite function is visually much less salient, may have names belonging to this class. . the strucConsider, for example, the words pyj@msand s ~ f lPhysically, ture of these gaments may seem quite similar. Each is composed or two separate parts which @anr be called trousers and jacket, respectively [dltYrouglh a suit can also be cclmgosed of a skirt and a jacket). Why, then, is pyjamus a "dual" pIurale tantum whereas sttit is not? My explanation is this: pyjamm is seen as an alternative to niighbshirisS, nightgown, or nightie, fhat is to say, it is seen as a leg-separating alternative to a unitary garment; but suit is not seen as a legseparating alternative to a unitary dress. Rather, it is seen as a unitary substitute for two separate garments: a pair of trousers and a jacket (or a skirt and a top of some sort). QElF ccrune, from a physical point of view, a suit is not unitary, but frarn a cultural and psychological point of view, it is a unitary [though two-piece) alternative to a combination of two different garments. I conclude, then, Ithat in this area as in others, apparent exoeptions are h fact no exoeptionrs at all. On the contrary, even minor variation in grammatical behaviour mmsponds to differences in the underlying conoeptuallizations. Although these underlying conceptualizations are not open to direct inspection in the way physical objects can be, we can have access to them through methodical introspection, and also through cultural analysis. The different grammatical behaviour of diYTerent nouns provides clues to different conceptualizations, and alllows us to formulate semantic hypotheses. But these hypotheses can be verifled in terns of knowledge derived from other sources. For example, if we came across the name of a "wrap-around" "longing to the class of frousers it would not do to assert flatly that this particular "wrap-around" is conceptualized in terms of some sort of bipartite s l m o ture. We woaild have to defend such a claim with reference to some evidence other than the grammatical behaviomr of the noun in question. I do not claim, then, that any object with a bipartite structure will have a name analogous to Frowers, because we do not know a priori just how important this bipartite structure is in the underlying conmptualizatiomn. Rather, H claim that for every word of the trow,Fers class we can posit a conceptualization referring to a "bipartite structure" and justify such a hypothetical canceptualization in terms of some observations other than those that we have started from. This point will be ellaborated and further illustrated in the following section.

13. Semantic Rule3 ira Grammar 387

4. Evidence for Different Coaceptudizatiiams Consider, for example, the English word mouth and its nearest Polish equivalent wsta. The first is a singular (countabBe), the second is a plurale tantum. Is this diflerence in the grammatical behaviour arbitrary or can it be linked with different conceptualizations? To maintain the latter we need independent evidence; and if we look for it such evidence is readily forthcoming: while both mouth zrnd wsta can refer either to the lips or to the a d cavity, differences in the collocations of these two words suggest that the lips are 'much m r e prominent in the conceptualization associated with the Polish word than in that associated with the English one. For example, in Polish not only wargi ('lips') but also wta ("mouth') can be described as czeswne Cred'), rdzowe (pink), spgkane (cracked), spiarzcbnifrpte and so on. By contrast, in English one would not speak of a ?r *pink mo~tA,*cracked mouth, or *ch@ppedm o t h . These differe locations suggest a difference in meaning-and this differennoe is reflected in the diflerent grammatical behaviaur of the two words. As a second exampls, let us consider the German words for die Hose (singular, countable] and die girose~[pluralle tantu informants are not aware of any difference in meaning forms, so on the face of it the gramatical diflerence between chronically at least, perfmdy arbitrary. But again, evidence far a diffe in their conceptualization is not difficult to find. For example, the same informants who claim to use criminaitely admit that in the case of shorts )theywould use the singular krtrze Hose, 'short trousers" rather than the plural (die ffose the same informants also admit that for underpants they gular [die Unserhose] rather than &he plural (die Unfe facts suggest that when the duality of the object is less salie Begs), the singular f o m is preferred, On the other hand, in the proverb "die Frau hat die Hos '(in that house,] the woman wears the trousers', only the plu can be used. In this case, the word for trousers is used as a cullinity, and the leg-dividing nature of the referent is implicitly con with the traditional feminine manowraps. In this case, therefore, it sense to ermphasiz the duality of the object-and this aacounts for of the pplwral form. As a third example, consider the words for "hair'9n English, Fr Italian, and Geman, which Palmer Ql990) adduces as evidence for trarimss of grammatical patterns. Why, he asks, is hair singular whereas the corresponding words in French, Italian, and other are plural? He maintains that the correct answer to this question i

is just the way it is. But this does not explain why, for example, in Geman, where there is a choice between two f o m s [das Haor, singular, and die Haare, plural), the speakers do not choose between these f o m s at random but appear to be sensitive to considerations of countability. For example, while both laage Haare (plural) and Sanges Haar (singular) can be used as a counterpart of the English phrase hng hair, the singular Haar is highly preferable in the phrase bckiges Ham, 'curly ha?. On the other hand, only the plural Nmre is amptable inr the sentence msir ssehen die Hsrare zrr Barge k n n y hair is standing on end (out of Sear)l'(Ulrike Masel, personal c o m u nication). If we adopt Palmer's position, facts of this kind must be regarded as totally mysterious and inexplicable. But if we link grammatical number with semantic countability, an explanation is possible: a phrase such as lockiges Ham, 'curly hair', suggests a mass which is perceived as composed of interlocking cuds, not af individual hairs. On the other hand, when a prson's hair 'stands on end', it l ~ a nwell be imagined that it is the biozividuilll hairs which rise and straighten up (because of fear). The same point can, of course, be illustrated from English, where the paural hairs can also sometimes be used, but only with reference to conspicuously countable individual hairs, such as the first grey hairs on a person's temples. It is true B the two l a n ~ a g e sGerman , and English, draw the boundary in differways, but the principle is the same in both cases: the contrast between ngular and a plural appllies in situations of heightened countahility; the singdare tanbum is used in situations of iowered countability. All these examples show that the differennoes in grammatical behaviour f apparent synonyms point in fact to differences in the umdarlying conceptualization, and that claims about differenoes in the conceptualbation can be validated on the basis off independent evidence.

5. The Mystery of Scales The view that nouns such as heap or cr~mmitlee"are semantically pluraly' and that the grammatid behaviour of such words is semantically arbitrary is quik surprising because it seems clear that far from being arbitrary, the 'xed"' grammatical behaviour of such words reflects their ccmixed" ntic nature, just as the "'mixed" grammatical behaviour of srouserx, orforceps reflects their '"xed" semantic nahre. it is said, however, that the grammatical behauiour of scales is lily arbitrary ( r e d l the quote from Hudson 1976: 6), then I must t that at first sight this looks reasonable: it seems clear that the gramml plurality of scales has a historical rather than a synchronic explales are a weighing instrument; and in the past, all, or most,

13. Semantic R u l s its Gsarnmm 3 89

instruments of this kind had a saliently bipartite structure. Thus, in the past, the grammatical plurality of scab was semantically motivated, but in the present it is semantically arbitrary. Or is id The first point to note is that at least in some dialects of present-day English (in particular, in American English] there has emerged an alternative to scales in the form of a countable noun scak (as a weighing iinsmmenti), noted, for example, by LDOTEL. This in itself points to a change in conceptualization, foHowing the change in the material wltuae: the gradual disappearance of '"lbipartite" sales and the emergence of unitary scales (e.g, bathroom scales) has led to the emergence rof a new grammatical fom, matching the new meaning. The second point to note is that in contemporary usage even the plnzrale tanmm scaEes Inas changed imper~eptiblyin its grammatican behaviour. ]In, the past, when scales werc normally bipartite, the word sessfes taok the classifter a pair aj",just like ~rou,ver~, S C ~ S S O ~ or J , gIasse~.But in the present-day usage, this is no longer the case. For most of my Australian informants, bathroom scales can be described as a set of scale8 but not as a pair o j scales. When 1 questioned my teenage daughter about why she thought the name of the object in question was s w h rather than scaie, to my surprise she replied, without hesitation, that it was because of all the little nlurmkrw which one could see there. Thinking that this interpretation was heifull and idiosyncratic, I asked a number of other children and teenagers---and to my even greater surprise, they all came up with the same answer. 1 canclude from this that these informants have, so to speak, reanahysed the word scales, endowing it with new characteristics, both fomall and semmtic. Formally, scales has lost (in these people's sspeech) its ability to take the classifier a pair ooS, and has become reanalysed as, roughly speaking, an object with a "multiplle sltructure'~atherthan one with a '"bipartite stmcp ture'" (The usage of those people who can still say "a pair of scales'bherm speaking of bathroom scales will be discussed later.) English has several classes of nouns which are '%ymrtircticalIyplural", that is, of pluralia tantum. One such class includes Frowers, scissars, and so om. It also used to include s c a h , but (for most people) doesn't include it any longer. Nouns belonging b this class are countable, but to be able to combine with numerals they require the classifier a pair of. Another class of plurdia tantum includes "plural mass nouns" such as oats, chives, or coflee-gro&s. These nouns do not combine with numerdw at a& and they do not c o - m u r with the classifier a pair of. In most people's speech, the plurale tantrum scales does not belong to either of these classes: unlike oats or chives, it does combine with mmerals, but unlike schsors or oats it does not take the classifier a pair of. If these people want to count bathroom scales they can do so either using the

classifier a set of H('"wehave three sets of bathroom scales"') or without any classifier ("we have three bathroom scalesy']. But whenever we find an apparent freak in a language we should suspect that it is in fact a member of a class &&rent from the onle we are looking at-and that it obeys the mles of its own class. As a fist appromimatichn the dam which scales betongs to can be defined as follows: physical objects perceived as including a large number of identical parts or "bits" which are noticeable but difficult to count. The clearest examples of this class are: provided by the nouns bead and pearls, When one says of a woman that she was wearing her beads or her pearis one doesn't mean a multitude of separate little beads or pearls (plurals of the countable nouns bead or peaso. One means an object composed of a multitude of such (countable) beads or pearls, threaded on a string; and the question: "how many beads (pearls) was she wearing?" wuleld be totally inappropriate. Dictionaries of the English language usually miss this point and fail to include bea& or pearls (as uncountable pluralia tantum) as separate entities. Similarly, the compound noun rosary beads does not designate a coltection of individual bead3 (plurall), but a single obj~ect,composed of many beads, though having a structure of its own. Another good example of the class under discussion is the word bmces (as it is. med in Australia): a dental fitting used to correct irregular teeth, which seems to include separate metal bits for each tooth. A related example is fahe teeth-again a unitary fixture composed, or seemingly composed, of many individual parts which look the same. Yet another example is SsEirads (in particular, venetian bIinsds]-again, a unitary object visibly composed of a multitude of semi-separate identical parts. There are also games such as checkers, draughts, skittles, and so on. This is, then, the category to which (for many speakers) the plural noun scales ha# become assimilated. The grammatical shiat horn $a pair of) scales to foa set of) scales has been accompanied by a semantic reinterpreitadon. For younger speakers, at least, states no longer stands for an object with a salient bipartite structure but for an object with a salient multiple structure---like d r a u g h , checkers, braces, rosary beads, or biinds. Of course someone might assert that they pewonally do not regard bathroom scales as an objlect with a saliently "multiple structures'. But this is beside the point. What matters is that younger speakers who had come across the plural faan of the noun scaIes and who subcon~iouslynoted its plmale Yantrnm behaviour have interpreted this behaviour by subcomsciously assigning this noun to the class of nouns designating objects with a noticeable multitude of '%ingsY' all looking the same. This is evidenced by many infomants' sdf-reports. Evidently, the object in question (bathroom scales) does lend itself to this interpretation. But if it does so only marginaily, or not obviously, this only supports the argument developed

390 The Semantics ofGriarnmar

here: speakers assume (tacitly) that semantic rules know no exceptions, and therefore they (subconciomsly) seek aa interpretation which would be compatibb with the rule. If they couldn" find it the grammatical behaviour of' the noun would change. What happened to scales, then, can be described as follows. At a certain point in time, changes in the material culture brought about an intollerabllt: mimatch bdween this word's form [including grammatical behaviour) and its meaning. This mismatch could be rectified by a change either in the word's Form (and/or grammatical behaviour] or in its meming. PLsmericran English opted for the first solution and moved from S C ~ S ~LO~ Ja scale; rn the other hand, British Englislb, and Australian English, opted for the ond solution, and (in many people's speech) moved from scaies wen as an object with a salient bipartite structure to smks seen as an object with a salient multiple structure. As d;or those (rare) speakers who can speak of "a pair of hthroom scales" it can be hypothesized that they still think of the older bipartite scales as prototypical scales; so that they see a bathroom weighing device as an untypial instance of a category whose prototypical instanws do have a bipartite structure. For these people, a bipartite smoture is as crucial to the concept of scales as $for all of us) flying is mcial to the concept of 'birds', despite our common knowledge that not alP birds can fly. If ostriches and emus can be seen as atypical examples of a caitegory whose prototypes can definitely fly, so bathroom scales can be seen by some (older) speakers ills atypical examples of a category whose prototype has a bipartite structure. But peapfe who are not hmiliar with the older, bipartite scabs would never speak of modern bathroom scales as "a pair d scalesmSThus, all three words-(a p i s of) JFCQ~S, a scarle, and ( a set of) scales-abey absolutely general rules: the first one belongs to a class lof words seen as designating discrete, countable objects with a salient bipartite strwture, the second to a class of words seen as designating discrete, countable entities rvnd thought of as unitary, and the third to a class of words seen as designating objects with a salient "muEtiple'\tmcture (more precisely, objects which include many clearly noticeable distinct "things" of the same kind, which all look the same, and which in principle could be counted, but which would be difficult to count). I challenge anybody to ffind counter-examples to these rules.

6- Predictiwness and Different Languages Same readers will no doubt raise the folllowing objection: If semantic mles are fully predictive why is it that they are not universal? For exap1e, why is it that the French word for "trousersa~s singular I(& gameal'oln), whereas German has two different forms: die Hosen (pluralle tant turn) and die Hose

13. Senarmtic Rdes in Grammar

291

ce or in Gemany have a salient glish-speaking countries? onsider how the notion of '"redichat exactly is expected to predict .g. trousers, scissors, or scales] e grammatical behavilour of their nation, then undoubtedly we will behaviour of a word the drnotata. 1t is tErc redictive, not Ilne detsofasda~.One cannot discover the by examining its denotation because meaning involves tiom, and the same physical objmts may lend themselves to not universal, because reality is, by and large, open b diflizations, and diflemnt meanings embody those conceptuin a particular speech community and s "conventional imagery"). The ptualizations may be explainable in s of history, culture, living-conditions, religion, and so on. They are a utside the scope of semantics. (Iwitll .)I What semantics is concerned with discovery of language-specific meanings. The meanings which go hich apply to whole classes of elements can be said to underlie certain "semantic rulesw",n the sense that they @andetermine the grammaticall behaviour of the elements in question (not Ire grammatical forma but the grammatical behaviour). Gleason (1969: 226) observed: "'The singular-plural contrast is common languages. We must, however, expect that there will be considerable difween the assortments of concepts which various languages bring together into each of these mtegories." This is perfectly true: different languages draw their distinctions in different ways and, for example, we should not expect that the behaviour of the words for particular kinds of garments, or instruments, or whatever, will be the same in different languages. But it is a mistake to conclude From this that within each language, the distinctions drawn by grammar are '"arbitrary", as Gleason (ibid.) did: What is important to node is that the category of pIural in English gathers together a rather diverse assortment of concepts. All these have one thing in common: they contrast with another assortment of concepts which we call "singular"'. That is, the unity within the category is purely a feature of the linguistic system OF the language which arbitrarily sets these two iar conkrast amdl imposes the requirement that every noun be assigned to one or the other.

As pointed out earlier English doesn't really dr between "singular" and '~lural",but a number of more subtle distinctio Baclctl rrcsultib~gcalegosy galluers llogctl~crnot a 'VI~ oepts') but a class of concepts sharing a s~~)@EliaaPI tic invariant. The unity within the category is a feature of this pa semantic system. Semantic rules, then, are language-specific. Th following sense: if we find, in a particular la share the same grammatical behaviour, a iow is g0~erIIedby meaning (that is, that it o we can expect that any other word in that language which may come attention later and which shares the same grammatical behaviomr w be governed by the same sexmanti@rule. For example, V we notiae that the E glasses, and forceps have the same grammatic countable, but onty in combination with the classifier a this behaviour is governed by meaning (roughly, salient then we can ex@ any other words exhibiting the behaviour to be governed by the same rule. If we come which do share the wme grammatical behaviaur but vrr to obey the semantic rule then we should suspect that we have this rule incorrectly and seek an antern consistent with all the data. If w cmn should look again at the grammatical behaviour of the items which fit the semantic rule and see if they do not form a grammatical class own, different in some respects from !the class governed by that rule. For example, as mentioned earlier, a grammatical distinction such as between "'singular" and "pIural" is simply too crude to fit all the En nouns. English grammar has many categories base "number", not just two. It has fully countable nouns such as tree or it has "dud nouns" such as scissors or S ~ O P C I such as sass or chives, it has various c such as hairh hair*strawh S S M W , flCEve~d/athread, an tantum applying to unmoveable multiple stuuctures such as stairs, ers (herican), ga/lows, library ~tacks,stalk, and so on; it also has tanturn which are countable biut not in terms of the classifier a pair as s c ~ h scheckers, , blinds, or braces; and it has several other classes dinerent grammatical classes are governed in each case, the rule L fully predictive, in the x n s item which shares the full set of the gran~rnatical class in questian. OF course some of thcsc classes are much lar others, but this is beside the point; the point is that within its scope

n each rule is fully predictive. (For detailed discussion, see Wierzbicka hen B say that semantic rules are truly predictive [he, have no exccp1 (in Wierzbicka 1488) as Follows: "Strictly speaking, Wierzbicka cant answer the unqualified question d 'why is the word for 'bats" a ppPuitanttun in English while the word for 'kheat'9s not?' Her amount

dassiffier a pair of (*a pair oJ chives). Semantically, words of this ply a conceptualizationn in terns of c'multipUicity" and "limited ility" (referents occur in most speakemkxperience in limited quand have visible particles which are neither totally uncountable nor able, or worth couuting (cf. the difference in this respect between

speakers'experience) in limited quantities and in a visibly 'multiple'

'be a plurde tanturn? I do not claim this. There coulld be other factors ting the underlying conceptualization. The conceptualization is not ssible to us directly and can only be speculated about. The grammatim (and its behaviour) provides the G a t possible clues to the underconoeptualizatioms, but to be able to verify such ciues we must also le

rcasoruing involved here QWlerzbicka 1988) has oftem been misun-

but it will be allowed to stand. In the case of oats (my account of which was questioned roo

, h n g others, there is evidence from different collocations. ow to bathroom scales, one couldn't predict whether speak-

would name it with a countablle noun (such as a scale] or

bathroom scales (and also with informants' responses].

separate, their name changes, too: they are now called porridge, a s h g tantllmn just like rice. So the "counter-example" actually supports hypothesis.

7. Different Cultures, Different Conceptuallizatians nipages embody dinerent can~ephalizatialns. The task of ('qua linguist) consists in discovering the conceptualizations

"spaghetti sauce" while there are no commercial 'bnoodlle sauces" independent evidence for this hypothesis. Palmer accuses me of circularity: differences in grammar are expl

on a lawn, oatflakes an a plate easier than porridge in a b

13. Semantic R~lljesin Grlrmmtlar 397

these particular coruceptualization~~The latter task belongs, as I have pointed out, to the cultwal anthropollogist. Having said this, howcvcr, lct rnc try orr uhc hat of a cultural anthropologist and try to show how different conceptualizatims of the kind d i s c d here can be explained in terms of cullturall anthropology. Let us start by nab ing the fo8lowing linguistic fact: English has more dual nouns for '"eparateleg garments" such as trousers or shorts than other European languages do. For example, the Frenlelh word for trousers, k pantalo~r~, is syntactically singular, and so is b culotbe (women's underpants), le s& (men's underpants), Jle rnafht (swimmers)i, or Ee pyjama {pyjamas). In Russian the wods for trousers and underpants (#tony, brjdci; rsu8y) are plurallia tantum, but the words for pyjamas (piilrrna) and swimmers (kupal'nik) are not. In G e m n , as pointed out earlier, the word for trousers can be either singular or plural (die Hoseidie Hose$, and the word for swimmers is singular (Bademzug]; and so on. The perceptual salience of the bipartite structure of many such gannenl, and the cultural importance of the distinction between "separate-leg garments" and "wrap-arounds", explain why most, if not all, European Panguages do place some nouns designating such garments in a category of dual nouns. But why should English put a greater emphasis on this distinction than French, Italian, Spanish, G e m , or Russian? My suggestion is this: English Greats the distinction b.etwmn ""sparakeleg gaments" and '"wrap-arounds" more seriously than other ;E;ua;c~pean languages do because of the Puritanical heritage in Anglo-American cdtwe. That the importance of this heritage explains a great deal about this culture is beyond doubt (see in particular W e k r B930i1968;abo Morsbach and Tyler 1986). What matters here is that the importance d this heritage also explains a good many characteristic features of the English language, or rather, of Modern English (see Wierzbicka 1992a, ch. 2). It is true that in the contemporary Endish-speaking world, sex is probably spoken of, or referred to, more freely and more matter-of-factly than in many omher societies, including France, Italy, Spain, and Russia. This factJ too, has its linguistic reflexes. For example, French, Italian, Spanish, and Russian still don? have neutral, non-euphemistic counterparts of words such as girljrfend and boyfriend (as opposed to $lrfic&e, rnbrress, jrriefld, or giro; and they don't have neutral, non-technicall and generally usable words such as vlrgi~aand penis (as opposed to medical terns or vulgarisms). But grammar dloesn" respond to cultural change as quickly as the lexicon. The conceptualization of gaments in terms of '"separate-leg garments'" and '"rap-arounds" has become so entrenched in English grammar that it lives on aad extends to new items and new words, such as, for iexmple, smdies, scungfes, G-ssrfjrgs (in some varieties of English), and so on--even in the era of sexual pemissiwness and unisex fashions.

This is, then, my tentative explanation for the grammatical diuerence between troursers and le panraion, or between underpomfs and lo culotte: native speakers of French are, of course, as capable of perceiving the legdividing nature of the obj,wtsin question as native speakers of English are; but tbe latter are, so to speak, conditioned to emphasize it more than the f m e r are. Hn English there is a pressure horn hhe language itself to conoeptualiae such items of clothing in terns of their legdividing character, and this pressure may be due, indirectly, to the Puritanical heritage. It should be noted, however, that if this tentative c~lruralexplanation were to prove wrong, this wauld not detract i n any way from the absolute predictiveness of the ~ernan~ic rule stated here. The question why different languages draw the boundaries in the way they do is not a semantic one. I believe these questions are also worth asking, and in some cases I have suggested answers. For example, in the case of n m e s of fruit and vegetables, differences betw~een,say, Russian and English may be due to different cvllinary traditions. (See Wierzbicka 1988.1 But it is important not to confuse a quest for culturai explaruations of this kind with the quest for a semantic invariant of a given linguistic category. Linguists do not have to engage in the former, however fascinating, but if they refuse to pursue the latter, they are neglecting a central issue. For what is linguistics if it is not a quest for meaning?

8. The Semantics of Gender One c'oblFio~~ counter-example" to the view of language advanced here is pmvided by the area of grammatical gender. This is a huge topic, which nnot be discussed here in detail (see e.g. Corbett 19941, but a few brief o o m e n t s may be useful. I will draw my examples from Polish. In Palish, the word for ceiling (su$~) is masculine, the word for floor od#oga)lfeminine, and the word for window COJFCFEO) neuter. How can one explain facts of this kind? The obviaus answer to this question is that in Polish the '"enderl"that is, the word cBass] d inanimate nouns is not governed by a semantic rule, d, in partkular, that it is mat governed by any rule based on cLsex''. arly, wnslderations of slex are inapplicable to such noums. It would be urd, then, to regard words such as SUBS,podtoga, and akno as counterexamples to the claim that semantic rules kmow no exception. These words are simply not governed by any semantic rule whatsoever. Let us turn, then, to animate nouns. The Polish word for elephant (sEoh)l is masculine, and the word for giraffe (2yrafo) is feminine; the word for rat (szczur] is masculine, and the word for mouse [mysz) is feminine; the word for fly (msrch] Is feminine, whereas the word for mosquito (komar] is

398 The Semantics of Grammm masculine. In the case of animals and other living creatures questions of sex may arise, so how can one explain such differences in gender? Here too, the answer seems quite clear: the assignment of elephants, rats, and mosquitoes to the s o - d b d "masculine gender'hzund of giraffes, mice, and Wies to the so-called "feminine gender" is not governed in Polish by a semantic rule. Let us consider, then, human nouns. Here, the assignment of different nouns to different grammatical classes is, generally speaking, based onn meaning. Let us see, then, if this assignment is governed by fully predictive rules. Human categorization nouns such as m@czyzna ("man'), ckrtopiec ("boy'), or s~artrszekQ'dd man" all belong to one class "masculine gender". Human categorization nouns such as kobiefejfaQ'wornan')~, dziewczyno~('girll", or S I C F ~ S Z ('old ~ Q woman') belong to "feminine gender"'. Human categorization nouns such as dziecko ('chilid') or nie~lawlgvbaby') belong to another class ("neuter gender"), Ml this is clearly governed by meaning. But then are plenty of apparent 'kmaptions". For example, there are expressive words such as kobiecisko Q'womanyneuter), dz;iewczymi3ko ('girl'-neuter), 6:Jslopisko ('man'--neuter), chtopczysko ('boyy-neuter), and so on. All such words may seem to be exceptions to the rule, but in fact they are not exceptions at all; rather, they farm a grammatical category of their own, governed by its own semantic rule. Most words of this kind are derived fmm basic words which are either feminine or mmdimie, and the replacement of this basic "naturalP"gedder by neuter gender signals the speaker's expressive attitude, an attitude which includes the companent 'H don" want to think of this person etc, as a wamaaS$ir&"madboyeltc.'. One or two nouns of human cailegorizanion are inherently expressive and are grammatically neuter even though they are not (or no longer) perceived as derivates of other, more basic nouns. The word dzkwczq, "irl"neuter, for example, etymologimliy related to dziewczyna, cgirP'-feminine, evokes the image of an i n n m n t young gid, nice to Book at and generally ondaring. The neuter gender of this word signals the speaker" attitude: the referent, while female, is not thought of as, primarily, a female, but as a young, innocent, and endearing creature. In Polish there are also highly expressive masculine forms of feminine names such as Marysik (from Marysia, from Mczria) or KIarrrsik from [Kl~nn).In this case, the masculine gender signals an attitude of affectionate jocularity. (For detailed discussion, see Wierzbicka 1992a, ch. 7.) There is also a group of expa-essive noun5 swh as niiedoIega, flied~roFj&, faiftapa, or ciapa, which all des&nslte incompetent people, without enegy, initiative, and ability to get things done. Nouns of this kind take feminine agreement when they are applied to women, but when they are applied ta

13. Semansic R ~ u hin Grammar 399

men they can take either masculine or feminine agreement, the latter option being more pejorative and more insutibing. "Plrofessional activity" nouns such as tohiem, %olldierY, smlarz, 'carpenter', &&or, '(medid] doctor', or pisarz, 'writer', are marked by extremely complex gender behaviour and certainly cannot be reduced to any simple rule based on sex along the lines of male sex-masculine glender, female sex-feminine gender. [For discussion af similar complexities in Russian, see Rlothstein 1973.1 Even more complex is the gender-behaviour of titles such as projessor, 'professor', doklor, 'Ph.D, holder" or iniaiy~rier,"engineer" ((inPolish also a title). The semantics of gender in Polish or in other languages with similar systems of noun classes requires further study, despite the extensive literature on the subject which aiready exists. But it would be wrong to suggest that semantic rules governing the gramatical behaviour of Polish nouns are not predictive because this behaviour cannot be accounted for in terns of two biological fealtures such as 'malehersus 'female'%

9. The Uncons~iousCharacter of Semantic Rules Semantic rules operate below the threshold of consciousness. Linguists often miss this point, and decEare that since there is no obvious reason why, for examples oats should behave differently from wheat, the difference betmen tlhe two words is semantically arbitrary. But in fact, semanntic rules are usually hidden, or at bast partially hidden; and the fact that they are hidden is linked to the fact that they are unconscious. Frmz Boas" insight into the unconscious character of language is particularly apposite here. In his ffamous introduction to the Handbook of American J ~ d i Languages, a~ Boas (19 1111966: 63-41) wrote: rlue wry fact of the unconsciousness of linguistic processes helps us to gain a clearer understanding of the ethnological phenomena, a point the imporltance of which can not be underrated. . . . in dl languages certain dassifications of concepts occur . . all thew concepts, although they are in constant use, have never risen into consciousness, and . . . consequently their origin must be sought not in rational but in entirely unconscious, we may perhaps say instinctive, processes off the mind. . . . It would seem that the essentid difference between Linguistic phenomena and other eth~rollogicallphenomena is that the linguistic classifications never rise into consciousness, whik in other ethnologicall phenomena, although the same unconscious origin prevails, )theseoften rise into coasciousness, and thus give rise to secoaudiury reasoning and to re-interpretations. . . . if we adopt this point of view, language seems to be w e of the most instructive fields of inquiry in an investigation off the f m a t i o n off the fundamental ethnic ideas. . . . Judging the importan.ce of linguistic studies from this point of view, if seems weill worth while to subject the whole range of linguistic concepts Ita a searching analysis.

.

4Nl The ,Yemantics of C~ammar

Linguistic rdes can be unconscious while being open to exceptioans and thus without being fdly predictive. This applies, in particular, to phonological rules {see Schuchardt 1895/1972; Venneman and Wilbur 19721.But paradoxically, perhaps, semantic mles are different. They appear to be truly absolute-albviousPy, not because they are "mechanical"' or physiological, as neo-grammarians believed their Lautgesefze to be; but presumably 'caecause they are psychologically real (though unconcious): they am really "thereW,atthe bottom of our minds (so to speak), and they apply across the board, to anything that falls within their domain. The word scale8 iIlustrates in a striking way the difference: htwleenn umncansciowns semmtic mles, operating without exceptions, and conscious rationalizations, which are often open to 'kxceptions" and counter-exarm fles. For examplle, some infoman&, when asked why they thought they called a bathroom "weighing machine" "ales rather than scale, came up with a historial explanation: "because it derives fiom aid two-bawl weighing scales, is. as in scales of justice, or because originally scales consisted of two scales, one for the weights and the other for the object ltol h weighed". And yet the same informants report, when questioned, \that they are unable to apply to bathroom scales the classifier a pair of. This shows that while on a csanscious level they link the plurality of scahs with the previously bipartite structure of the referent, on a subconscious level they do not do that: if they still conceptualimd $tales in terns of a pair of identical parts they would be able ta use the classifier a pair of. In fact, howev they report that they could only use the classifier a set of or no classifier all. Om the other hand, those informants who can still talk of "a scales'" even with reference to bathroom scales, show that a (protot bipartite structure is still a part of their concept of 'scales', whether they are conscious of it and whether or not they could immediately late this aspat of their concept in reply to a question.

101. Col~clusion Stephen Hawking, the author of A Brief History of Time (1989: 110)~ recently restated the criteria for a scientific theory as follows: '% the0 a good theory if it satisfies two requirements: It must accurately describe large class of observations on the basis of a madel that contains only a arbitrary elements, and it must make definite predictions about t of future obsewations.'T"lTh may seem too hard a requirement for ory of any human phenomena such as religion, customs, kinshi or language. In my view, however, this requirement does fit semantic operating in natural language. To retrace our steps: we started arbitrary elements (frower~",scissors, glasses, and a few more),

13. Smunlic Rules in Grammar 40 1 basis we h i l t a model: the combination of plural agreement and countability in terns of the dassifier a puir of is correlated with a specific semantic structure (roughly, an object with a salient bipartite structure; for a more precise formula, see Wierzbicka 11988: 558). Elarthemore, we made definite, testable predictions: any other English words we might come across that wouEd have the two grammatical! features in question! wodd be correlated with the same semantic structure. In the case of scales we started with just one arbitrary element, and again we built a tentative model on this basis: the combination of plural agreetabillity in items of a classifier other than a pair of is corresemantic structure (roughly, an object including f "things" all looking the same), and again, we stable predictions: any other English noun that we may disuld have the same two grammatical features will also be wrm e semantic structure. Bn an earlier study, I followed this far oats and wheat (see Wierzbicka 11985, 1988). believe that so far our predictions conoerning F ~ o u Jscaks, " ~ ~and ~ oafx, the classes to which these items belong, have held good. What matters s that these predictions don? have to hold good: they are ulated in such a way that they can, in principle, be disproved or falsiby further observation. To quote Hawking (1989: 10) again: theory is always provisional, in the sense that it is only a hypothesis: r pmve it. No matter how many times the results of experiments agree eory, you can never be sure that the next time the result will not cann the other hand, you can disprove a theory by finding even a at disagrees with the predictions of ribe theoryr. As phiEosopher ence Kad Popper has emphasized, a good theory is characterized by the f a t t makes a number of predictions ahat could in principle be disproved or falsiy observation. Each time new experiments are observed to agree with the prewives, and our comfidenrxe in It is increased; but if ever a new disagree, we have to abandon or modify the t h e o ~ . how here and elsewhere (see in particular Wierzbicka ry of g s u a r can be predictive in the sense in which Hawking, expect a good scientific theory to be predictive. stresses the empirical character of his version of cognitive grama 'keaPist", he fully expects to find counter-examples to his gen. The hypothesis advocated here, ho~ever,aims at the more standards of Popper and Hawking: one could refute it by findltion that disagrees with its predictions.

18. TransStMty and Repexi~es 4403

14

science, with its broader empirical scope and more sophisticated theoretical

A Semantic Basis for Grammatical Description and Typology: Transitivity and Reflexives

1. htrc~ductlon Grammar encodes meaning. Categories of g a m a r known, tra

Labds of this kind reflect the sound intuition that grammatical categories have a semantic bask, and also that they can be matched, lie some extent, s-mot by virtue of the grammatical Ifom, or structure, s from h q p a g e to language, but precisely by virtue of shared semantic core. often are, they carry with them a ause while they may hint at the meaning encoded in a n grammatical category, they cannot represent this meaning amuhat a traditional grammatical lak! ccurate portrayal of the semantic rmge lor a category s that grammatical categories have no semantic basis t be described in semantic terns.' amounts to thrawing out the baby with the bath ay find themselves in this absurd position if they have erent semantic theory to draw on, or can see no alternative to either semantic labels at face value or denying that the categories in quesis worth recallling in this connection John Lyons's commemnts on the s d linguistic labels, made specifically with respect to standard labels; alods, but applicable to other grammatical labels as well: important to emphasize that, at the present stage af linguistic theory and a ~omwiavteany very clear notion of the disithin the category of mood, throughout the t are used in standard descriptions of particlly are. This is true, far example,

o different functions are involved. (Lyons

Jaklobson 1962).

and interpretation of the hundreds, even tl~ousands,of o languages which have become accessible to study in the

linfing grammatical labels with well-defined meanings we can stanse off these labels m d thus help to overcome the oonfiusion that ing about. The range of meanings encoded in one construction we want to call ""irrrpative" (or '?e;Aexi~e") may well not be the

404 The Semantics of Grammar same as that encoded in another construction, in another language, which we want to give the same label. But this doesn't mean that we not assign the label "imperative" (or "reflexive"") coherent show how this cam fse done, I will first discuss the notion of

2. The Uniqueness of Grammatical and Semantic Systems Every language has its own unique system of meanings encoded in mar. Traditional graanmatica1 labels do not make this point clear. who has had same experience with difirent languages knows that called ""purai", or "past"' or 'kmimpleratie" in one Panguage does no spond exactly to wtwt is call& "plnral"",'"pst"~r ""iperatliver' in ano Is it justified, therefore, to apply the same labels to such different phen ena? There is nothing wrong In using the same label for different phe as long as these phenomena have something in common, and as label is defined in terms of a c o m m core (and of course as language-specific phenomena linked with such labels are ngorou of this kind were usually not given; I believe, however, that since widely amepbed grammatical labels are based on sound IinglPi~ficin definitions of this kind can, in principle, be provided. Consider, for example, the (so-alled) English imperative ccrnstnr in EQ away!, Give m that book, Keep the dam closed, or Be quiet. P this construction can be described as a verb phrase with an uminflexe as its head. Semantically, it can be described as encoding, protat the foilowing core meaning: Y want you. to do something'. Since meaning carries with it a certain illocutionary force, a more precise (1) 1 say: 1 want you to do something I think: you will do it because of this

In addition to this prototypid meaning, the same construction be used in a restricted number of set expressions such as Sleep we a! nice day?, or H ~ v a e good ts@&that is, expressions which encode lowing gerrerall meaning: "I want something good to happen to you". Can the English "imperative construction" be equated with the '" ative constructions" in other languages-for example, In Polish? In it can't, k a u s e the scope oF the Engjish construction! is diflerent from L of the Polish. one; I will argue, however, that in another sense indeed Iwe identified with one another, and that traditionall gr right in identifying them terminologically

a

First, some facts. Polish verbs haw a special imperative form, or rather two such Foms, singular and plural. What is normally regarded as the Polish imperative construction takes the form of a verb phrase with the imperative form of the verb as its head. For example: (231 ChodZ tutaj! come: IMP:SG here 'Come here?' (3) mi tg ksiqtkg? Give: 1Mhaa:SG me:DAT ~ ~ ~ : A C C : S G :bFoEoMk : ~ c c : s a : ~ ~ ~ 'Give me this book!"

mi

The basic (prototypical) meaning encoded in this construction is the same as in the English imperative construction 7 want you to do something" but the extensions from this prototype are different. First, one doesn't say in Polish things such as +kPijd~brse,'Sleep well', "Miej pszyjemay dzieh!, 'Have a pleasant day!' or *Miej d d r q podrdi!, 'Have a good trip!'-that is ta say, Polish doesn't have the 7-want-somenthling-good-to-happen-to-you' extension. On the other hand, the same grammatical construction can be extended in Polish in ways in which the English consbuction cannot. For example, it can be used with stative adjectives or other expressions referring (explicitly or implicitly) to the addresswee's thoughts: (4) Bqdi; spokojny. % ~ e tranquil' (i.e. don't worry). (55 Bqdk pewny t e . . . ']Be certain that . . .' (6) Bpdk zadowolony, 2e talc sie skcrhczylo. 'Be pleased that it ended Pike this." (7) BqdZ dobrej nzyhli. 'Be hopeful' (lit. Be of good thought).

I suggest that the meaning encoded in this "psychoPogical extension" can

_ be formulated as fo11ows:

(831 I want you to think somthing good Adjectives such as sprok~jny~'tranquil' or paway, "certain', are not inherently positive, but they are compatible with the positive meaning of the colvstruction as such, and whlen they are used in this construction they are hterpreted as referring to ""god thoughts"0rm the other hand, terms for megative emotions such as miezadowobny, "displeased', or ziy, 'angry' (lit. "ad'], cannot be used In this construction:

408

The Semantics of Grammar

linguistic form, or by lingwistic structure, because these differ fram lwIguage b language, but it can be provided by meaning. To quote a r book on typology and language universals: 'The characteristic featu linguistic typology . . . is cross-linguistic comparison. The fundam prerequisite for cross-linguistic compamison is crross ity, that is the ability to identify the csame'gramrilti across languages. . . . This is a fundamental issue in all in fact. Nevertheless, this problem has commanded tion relative to its importance" (Croft 1990: 11). Croft q necti~n Greenbrg's (1966b: 74) statement concernin comparability of grammatical cmsiructions: ""Ifitlily realize that in fying such phenomena in languages of dinering structur employing semantic criteria'" and he comments: "'These b marize the essential problems and a general solution. The is that Panguags vary in their structure to a great exte w h d typology (and, more generally, linguistics) aims to But the variation in structure makes it diiEcult iff not impossible b strlllctural criteria, or oaIy structnrab8 criteria, to identify gories across languages."Croltt concurs with Greenbe the ultimate solusltian to the problem is a semantic on that the same conclusion was also reached by crows-linguistic analysis of relative dauses (Keenan This condusion would seem to imply that the relia linguistic typology depends on the avaihbility of an adequate semantic ory. CroR stops short, however, of spelling out this implication, and other badinlg typologists tead to do the same. Frrm ex The problem of cross-linguistic identification should not be overstated. Inr cases, it is not diflicult to identify the basic grarnm basis. To a great extent this is amomplished by exa ten= m d its pants, which is of coarse based on semantics and pragmatics. other hand, the weaknesses of an intuitive crass-linguistic identification gories become apparent when one focusses OELan example w h i ~ his not so in clear after all . . . (19901:831

E would argue, howeverI that while the researcher's intuition is a able, indeed indispensable, starting-pint, it cann coherent research methcxlology. As the remarks q such a coherent methodology can only l x provided by semantics. 1 s t h t the Naturd Semantic Metalanguage, which is based m un semantic primitives and which has been widely teste caP, and pragmaltic dewripdon of many languages provide a suitable semantic foundation For grammatical typology. ImY iticular, relying on this mekalanguage we can standardize the use of I such as "reflexive'" "causativeWbc'iinnperative", or "s

14: Tramxitivity a d Rejexa'ves 409

the cross-linguistic study of grammatical categories. I have this daim with respect to causative constructions in my o f G r a m m s (Wierzbicka 19881, and with respect to 'kvidentials" 15. In this chapter, I will illustrate it mainly with respect to the I category of "reflexives". 986: 131 points out, "universal concepts are necessary prer aPI language adivity. They are the rertiurm com;naralimis necry for the comparison of languages, for translation; necessary also for ssembling linguistic data." The set of universal concepts arrived at on an empirical basis in the quarter of a century of single-minded searching by myself and vides, I beiieve, a fer~iusrmcampamtionis, in terns of which onstructions can be rigorously and insightfully compared. rs 2, 3, and 15; see dso Wielrzbicka 1988.)1

4. Reflexive Coltllstmctions constructions are usually defined in terns of coreference of the nd the object. For example, Givbn (1990: 628) o f i r s the follown of what he calls ""te reflexives": "The subject is coreferenith the object, and thus m f s upon itsevEP(re&lexively)In; and Faltz (1985: defines what he calls "primary reflexive strategies" as grammatical h '%pcifucally indicate subject-object coreference". to this characterization, English sentences such as Mary herself or Mary defended hersev are instances of a reflexive conthe object is marked in them as coreferential with the sublying the same definitions to, for example, Polish, we might believe incorrectly) that Polish has no "true" reflexive art all. Consider, for example, the following pairs of sen(14) (a) Ewa zabla Adma.

'Eve (b) Ewa Eve 'Eve

kilIed Adam' zabla siq. killed ~ P L killed herself.' (15) ;Pa)Ewaa skaleczyka Adama. 'Eve injured Adam." (b) Ewa skaleczyla sic;. Eve injured REFL (16) (4 Ewa urnyfa Adama. Eve washed Adam.

14. Trarzsirivfty and f?le$exives

are equally transitive, despite the fact that go is a ditic, the fact remains that the syntactic status of the "reflexive" clitic sip is not the same as that of the non-reflexive clitic go. Whether it is a full-blown direct object or not, go behaves in some ways like a n o w phrase, and in particular, it can combine with agreleing predicate nominals, whereas sig cannot. For example:

(b] Ewa umyia siq. Eve washed REFL In each pair, sentence (a] is transitive, but sentence (b) is intransitive ( below), and so it cannot have an object, but only an intra and so for [b)sentences the question of corefemnce between does not arise. English so-called reflexive sentences are also tivity by a number of criteria (for example, t Picy can" bc passi least their reflexive object can usually be conjoined with oli (17) Harry covered his wife and himself with a blanket. In Polish, this is not possible: (18) *Henryk prsykryli siq i tone: kocern. Harry covered REPL and wife:~ccblanket:n~.s~~ Thus if one can desmibe English reflexive sentences in tems of coreferentiality between the subject and the obj~ect,the same descripltion would not q p l y to Polish sentences usually called by this name. It might be objected that the Palish reflexive marker sig cannot'be conj~oinedwith "other lobjects" because it is a clitic (see e.%.Rappaport, forthcoming). But the very fact that a would-be object is a clintic may point to the sentence% low transitivity. In many larmguages, 'kditic objects" don't behave like "real ob~ects"in a number of respects (e.g. they don't tistinguish "direct objects'Vrom "indirect objects", they don" respect the r u k for the relative order of "direct objects" and "indirmt objects", and so on). We should constantly remind ourselves that the number of syntactic ore arguments depends not on the number of entities involved in the situation referred to, but on the manner in which the situation is conceptualized by the speaker, and that one cannot speak, For example, o f a ""tansithe action" or an '"intransitive action", because the same action may be viewed as c'transitive" or ""intransitive", depending om the point off view. (For further discussion, see Wierzbicka 1988.) Furthermore, even if one wished to argue that in Polish semntences such as 19 and 20 below: (19) Ewa Tve (20) . Ewa 'Eve ,

zabiia killed zabiia killed

Adama. Adam.' no. him.'

The co-ordinatim test is, of course, ouly one test among many which can be used to judp the !eve1 of a sentence's tmmitivity. I think, hawever, that it is an important one, and that it provides a reliable key lo the mnccplluallktion, or all least to one aspect or the conwptudizallhon. (For some olther tests, see e.g. Wieuxbicka 1958: 18-/9; also Hopper and Thompson 11980.)

41 1

rn

(211 Zobaczyit Adama samego/pijanego. s;aw:3so Adam:ncc alone:~cc/drorrk:~~cc We saw Adam aioneidrunk." (221 Zobaczy! go samegolpij~anego. saw:3sc; h i m : ~ c aalone:slccjrdrunk:~cc c 'Hei saw h i q atanejldrunkj." (23) *Zobaczyl sig samegolpijanepo. saw:3so REFL a1ane:~cddrunk:acc Facts of this kind suggest that in contemporary Polish the clitic sf@, traditionally called "reflexive pronoun"(zaimek rwosny; see e.g. Szober 1966: lW], is better viewed not as a pronoun but as a "particle" [as it is indeed viewed by GeniuSienb 1987: 245). But if sig is m t a noun phrase in (contemporary) Polish, then it cannot be the direct object of any sentence where it occurs, and consequently, a sentence where an otherwise transitive verb combines with sig cannot be regarded as transitiven3 It might be claimed, of course, that definitions couched in tems of coreference between subjects and objects refer in fact to "underlying objects", not to '"suface objects"'. A claim of this kind, however, presupposes the now obsolete framework of transformational grammar, with its underlying structures, surface structures, and transformations deriving the latter from lthe former. Since the basic assumptions on which this framework was based have been repeatedly refuted and since its inadequacy has been widely acknowledged even by most of its former proponents, it seems hardly necessary to argue against the use of this framework any more. (Of course it might be said that in the 19801s and 1990s syntactic '"nderlying st~uctures" are used onlly as convenient fictions. But if so, then they have no empirical content and cannot be used as a basis for identifyimng and matching constructions across languages.) Returning to Polish, it has to be recognized, I think, that most Polish sentences usualEy described as reflexive (see e.g. Kwaplsz 1978; Saloni 1976) are intransitive and so can't have any corekrential subjects and objects. It is true that B"crUish also has another ccreflexive"construction, illustrated by sentences such as the fo8lowing: "The element sic has a number of different functions and diVerent statuses in Polish grammar (see logustawski 1977). What is said about sir in this chapter oonwms mly lane of these functions, and one OF these stalwses.

4 12 The Semantics of Grmmar (24) Kochaj bliiiniego jak siebie samego. love:rrvr~neighbour:hcc like selfiacc EMPH:ACC 'Love your neighbour like yourself." (25) On nienawidzi samego slcbie. he hates EMPH:ACC s e h ~ ~ We hates himself.'

These sentences are transitive (as, for example, the test of conjoined objects shows), and their object, sieebde (being a special "reflexive" pronoun), is inherently marked as coreferential with the subject. But sentences of this kind normally require the presence of an emphatic specifier, smego (mmej, samych, etc; lit. 'the same" homophonous with samego, 'alone') and t h q are highly marked. (Sentences without an emphatic specifier are not impossible, but they would have to bc contrastivc.) Of the two patterns, the intransitive pattern is more basic and it is the only one whkh is w m a l l y used in physical action sentences [whether the action is voluntary lor not): (26) Ewa okryia sig kocem. Tve covered herself with a blanket.' (27) ?Ewa okryda siebie a heem. Eve covered sem$:acca ~ m : a c cwith a blanket 428;) EEwa okryia raieebie kocem. Eve covered selfislcc with a blanket (241 EWQskaJleczyEa sig. "ve injured herself (either aocidentally or lon purpose)^.' (30) ?EWQshleczyla s m q siebie. Eve illjured EMPH:ACC S ~ ~ ~ A C C 'Eve injured HERSELF." (31) ??E&w~ skaSeczyh siebie. Eve injured se1f:acc

En fact, even in a contrastive context, the intransitive pattern L usually much more natural in physical action sentences than the transitive one, with an emphatic marker (in the nominative) added to the subject: (32) ?Ewa okryle samg shbie? a e 0kry6a Adma. Eve covered EMPIU:ACC se8Eacc but didn't cover Adam:~cc 'Eve covered HERSELF, but didn't cover Adam.' (33)Ewo sama sig ekryta, a Adama nie okryiu. Eve:pla~EMPH:NOM REFL covered but Adam:plcc didn't cover 'EYCc ~ i ~ e r eHERSELF, d but didn't cover Adam.'

14. Transitivity 'rnd j'Ee$exiwes

4 13

(34) +JEW@ ~[~kryEasig $ m q , a nie okryfa A&ma. Eve covered REFL EMPH:ACC but didnY cover Adam. 'Eve covered HERSELF, but didn" cover Adam.'

(As scotcncc 34 abovc shows, tllc cclilic sip cannot combine with the emphatic pronwn $am;but the same is true of other clitics.) In his study of the relationship between prosodic and syntactic properties off pronouns in Slavic languages, Rappaport (1988) presents the relationship between the Polish "reflexive pronounq'ssjebie and the "'reflexive clitic" 84 as exactly parallel to that between tonic and atonic versions of personal pronouns such as jego, 'hirn"tonic], and go, "him' (atonic). I would argue, however, that in fact the relationship betwen the members of each pair is quite different, from 'both a syntactic and a semantic point of view. The ditk (which as we saw earlier has s m e properties of a noun phrase) points to a second participant in the speaker's conceptualization of the situation; but sig [which as we have seen does not behave Bike a noun phrase) signals that there is only one participant in the speaker's field of vision (the one identified by the subject of the sentence). On the other hand, ~ k b is k a noun phase, and it does have a referring function, allthough by virtue af its lextal meaning It signals identity between its o w referent and that of the sentence's subject. Since sentenoes with siebiie are tuansitive (by a number of criteria) and siebie can be conjoined with other objects, it is understandable that ability of sentences with siebie dqpeds on the extent to which one a n treat oneself in the same way as one treats other people. For example: (35) Adam zastrzeEiB swojq Bong i samego siebk 'Adam shot dead his wife and HIMSELF.' is more natural and rmore amptablle than (36) ?Adom U E Q swojq ~ ~ 2ung isamego siebie. "Adam drowned his wife and HIMSELF.'

The reason is that the actions hnvalved in shooting oneself and shooting someone else are fairly similar, in contrast to the actions of drowning oneself and drowning someone dse: to drown someone else one would have to push a person into water, or hold their head under water, whereas to drown oneself one would have to simply jump into water; but in the case of shooth g , the basic action is the s m e , regardless of who one is shooting at. The fact that in Polish even ""the best" transitive reflexive sentences sound more natural if they include an emphatic masker shows that from the point of view of Polish cdture, reflected in the Polish language, one's relationship with oneself is normally expected to be dinerent from one" relationship with another person. In this respect, Polish differs Bimn English, since in English not only sentences such as

414 The Semantics of Grammar

(37) Adarm hates HLMSEQF. but also those without lthe emphasis on the pronoun: (38) Adam hates himself. are fully acceptable. [l will return to this feature of English in Section 5.1 To conclude our discussion of the differences between sir and siebie, sentences with sit and sentenms with siebie suggest two different conceptualizations of a situation, and in fact very few verbs ante semantically compatible with both sir and siebie; this is not the case, however, with go and jego Chim", which can combine with the same verbs. Thus, when applied to Polish, the definition of ""rflexives" cconuhed in terms of coreferenw ibetween subjects and objects makes the basic canstruction traditionally regarded as reflexive into a non-reflexive one, and allows only the more peripheral emphatic mnstructicrn to be regarded as refle~ive.~ Furthermore, under this definition many, indeed most, languages traditionally described as having a reflexive ccrnstruction would have to be said to have no reflexive construction whatsoever. For example, Dixan (19801: 433) goes so far as to make the following general comment about Australian Aboriginal languages: 'Xeflexive and reciprocal verbs owur only in intransitive constructions-the singlle core NP is in s function and involves a noun in absolwtive and/or a pronoun in nominative case.""' What do linguists normally mean, then, by a "reflexive construction"? I believe that what they really have at the back of their mhds is a wrtain meaning, and that they call different constructions in different languages 'Wlexive" if they sense that the central function of these constructions (though not necessarily the only one) is to express this unidentified but intuitively felt meaning. This unidentified meaning is often called '?reflexive meaning'" For example, Dixon (1972: 90) says that in Dyirbal "reflexive Ibrms sometimes carry a reflexive meaningWphereas"in other cases, the reflexive afix appears just to derive an intransitive from ai transitive stem, without carrying any reflexive meaning'".(See also Marana 8984: 152, quoted in footnote 5 ; or Geniugied 1987: 355.) I hypothesize that the prototypical meaning which, on a subconscious level, guides linguists in their actual use of the term "reAexive'kan be represented as follows: Needless to say, for reasons of space, the account of Polish reflexives given in )thischap ter is vary sketchy and does not aim at completeness. In particular, P am not going la survey here the existing literature on the topic. in ract, Maran& explicitly Unks "reflexivization" with intransitivity. He writes, for aample: "Many languages include s w a l intransitive verb forms with reflexive meaning" ((1984: 052). (One wonders, however, what exactly he has in mind when he talks of' "refPexive meaning".)

(39) (R) at some time, someone did something because of this, something happened to the same person at the same time For example, a sentence such as (410) Harry killed himself by cutting ibis wrists. indicates that at some time Harry was doing something with some sharp object ((bringing it into contact with some parts of his body), and that he died because of this (loosely speaking, "'at the same time"). The condition "at the same time" has to be understood in a broad sense, as it is usually understood in ordinary language, not in the sense of strict simnltaneity. For example, if a man kills himself by cutting his wrists, the action of his cutting his wrists precedes, stricltly speaking, the event of his dying. Both events have to occur, however, at what is mnceived of as the same time. Although one can say, for example, (41) He killed himself: he cut his wrists on Thunday and he died on

Friday. one cannot say: (42) "He killled hilmself on Friday by cutting his wrists on Thursday. (43) *By cutting his wrists on Thursday, he eventually killed himself on Friday.

ReiRexive sentences are similar in this respect to transitive clauses. (For discussion, see Wierzbicka 1975, 19XOb.) It must be stressad that dbmula R is proposed as a representation of the prototypicai meaning of all so-called "reflexive" sentences, not as their semantic invariant: there are many types of so-called "reflexive" sentences in many languages which do not have the prototypical meaning in question. Nor am I proposing formula R as a full definition for the notion "reflexive co111struction~';rather, I am suggesting that a usefid definition can be f~lrmulabdwith reference to this semantic formula. I propose, then, the following definition of a reflexive construction: A REFLEXIVE CONSTRUCTION IS A CONSTRUCTION WHICH ENCODES THE MEANING SPELLED OUT IN THE FORMULA R (AND POSSIBLY SOME OTHER MEANINGS).

A reflexive construction may have more than one meaning ("just as an imperative may have more than one meaning; cf. Section 21, but it must have the meaning spelled out in the formula R. The formal characteristics of a given "reflexiveyhonstruction (in the sense defined here] will vary from language to language, and so will the additional meanings which it can serve, but the prototypical meaning

418 The Semantic8 of Grammar

I t should be added that wlviOe the English and Polish reflexive construo tions have been described here with reference to transitive verbs, the proposed semantic definition of a reflexive constrlrction can also be met by intransitive verbs, and that it can account b;oH the fact that, in many languages, reflexive markers are widely used with change of state verbs, regardless of their transitivity. For example, in Romance languages reflexive markers are often used with perfective verbs of physical position, in contrast to the comespanding imperfective verbs. For example, in Italian there is a contrast between the imperfective sedere, Yo sit, to be seated', and the perfective sedersi (with the reflexive marker -si), 20 sit down" or between the imperfective giacere, 'to lie', and the perfective sdraiarsi, 'to lie down'. Facts of this kind can be explained with reference to the prototypical reflexive smnario: 'at some time, someone did something (e.g. made some movements); because of this something happened to the same person at the same time (roughly: this person came to be in a new position).' Of course, one might declare that "reflexives" of this kind are purely bmical arvd have nothing in common with fully productive gramaticd "reflexives'" but by doing so one would be losing a generalization which c&nbe captured in bms of the semantic scenario. The definition of reflexives proposed here corresponds, by and Iarp, b the accepted usage (in the sense that it picks out, on the whole, those constructions which are usually called 'beflexive"]. But it doesn't necessarily correspond to the way the term "reflexive" has been used by every descrip tive grammar-bcause the general usage of this term not 'being controlled by any precise definition, Is, predictably, shaky, inconsisterut, and at times arbitrary. Consider, for example, the possibility that a language may have two didferent constructions, one far describing a voluntary action, for example:

(53) Adam covered himself with a blanket, (54) Adam cut hrimsdf (on purpose).

and another for describing actions with unintended resdts, for example: ( 5 5 ) Adam burned himself [amidentallly].

Should both these constructions be called "reflexive" or should the tern "reflexive" be reserved for only one of them, namely, the xoluntary one? DiiFFerent authors have trealted this problem in different ways (see e.g. the discussion in Dixon 197Q,b, 1977: 280). Im my view, however, whatever analysis may best fit this or that particular language, a universal definition of the notion "reflexive construction" should not take as its reference-point a semantic formula stipwiatinng

14. Transitivity and Reflexives 419

that the action must be voluntary (RX, as in SormuUa 57 below), but rather should remain neutral on this point (as in formula R, repeated below as 54): at some time, someone did something because of this something happened to the same person at the same time (57) (RVj at some time, someone did something becanase of thh something happened to the same person at the same time this pewon wanad this (to happen) (56) (R)

Formula R Is clearly more hiuitful as a basis for a universal definition because in most languages of the world so-called 'Veflexive constructions" (as described in the relevant literature) are not restricted to situations when the action is voluntary and the subject 'hcts upon itself ', and in Fact in many languages reflexive sentences can be ambiguous betwen a '"voluntary action'heading and an "accidental event'heading. For example, in Spanish, (58) Juan se math. Juan REFL killed

can m a n either that Juan killed himself voluntarily, or that he died by accident, as a result of his own action. Similarly, in Pollish,

(59) Jan mbii dq. John killed REFL can refer either to a suicide or to an accident. Even in English many reflexive sentences are similarlly ambiguous; for example,

(60) John injuredhumedrcut himself. 1 suggest, therefore, that the meaning commonly (though not univenaily)

grammaticallized in one way or another in different languages of the wodd in the f o m of some recognizable "reflexive" construction is the one psoposed here, R,rather than a more specific one, requiring the presence of a voluntary action, RY. WelFlexiw constructions difler i n this respect from ""tansitiw constructicms", whose semantic prototype refers indeed to a woounitary action. (See e.g. the data in Hopper and Thompson 1980, 1982; Blank 1984; Tsunoda 1981.) Although reflexive constructions in the sense defined in this chapter are very widespread, apparently they are not universai. For example, the Austronesian language Samoan appears to have no reflexive construction [Mosel forthcoming).

420 The Semantics of Grammar

5. Transitive Consltructions The distinction between intransitive and transitive construdions, though by no means sharp and clear-cot {see Hopper and Thompson 1980; Verhaar 195PlO), plays a fundamental role in most languages of the world. The current knowledge about the different ways in which this distinction can b manifested in different languages suggests a certain prototypical smnwrio;, or what Civdn (1990: 565) d l s "the prototypical transitive event"'. (3% also Slobin 1982.) According to Givhn, 'Three semantic dimensions arre central to the semantic definition of transitivity. Each corresponds to one central aspwt of the prototypical transitive event, thus also to one centrd feature of the prototypical transitive dause." GGivcin specifies these three: "dimensions" as follows: (a] Agent: The prototypical transitive clause involves a volitional, controlling, initiating, active agent, one that is responsible for the event, i.e. its salient cause. (b) Porient: The prototypical transitive event involves an inactive, non-volitional,

non-contralling patient, one Ithaid registers the changes-of-stake associated with the eremi, i.e. its scaSient e..ecr. (c) Verk The prototypicat tramsitive clause imvoives a compact @on-durati~e]~

bounded (nan-lingering), realis (morn-hypothetic@ verb and Itense-asp&modality. It thus represents an event that is fast-moving, completed, and real, i.e, perceptdiy and cogwitivefy ~aEfe11t.(Glv6n 19901: 565) In my terns, the prototypical transitive scenario can be represented as follows (see Wierzbicka 1988): (61) at some time, someone was doing (did) something to something because of this, something happened to this something at the same t h e this person wanted this (to happen)

Of course "transitive sentences" don't have to meet all the aspects of this scenario, but a departure from any of them is likely to lead to a decrease in syntactic transitivity [manifested in case assignment, passivimlrjllity, and so on). The evidence far this assertion cannot be surveyed here for resrslrns of space, but it can be easily found in the abundant literature on the s u b ject (in particular Hopper and Thompson 1980; Motavcsik 1978; Tsunoda 1981; see also Wierzbicka 1988). In an earlier work discussing the semantic basis of transitivity (Wierzbicka 1981) I proposed a somewhat different semantic formula, with a person or animal rather than an inanimate object as a prototypical patient. I was in two minds about it, however, and ileft the question open, adducing in fact a number of arguments in favour of my present position

14. Trawitivity and Reflexives 421

(that the prototypical patient is inanimate). As T argued at the time Wiembicka 191811: 37-81, \the fact that animate patients oken receive differential case marking (ACC#NOM) does not establish that clauses with mimate objects we mare highly transitive than those with inanimate ones. The matter is complicated because a highly transitive clause requires two clearly individuated arguments, and human obj~ectstend to be more highly individuated than inanimate ones. None the less the meaning encoded in a "cardinal transitive clause" (see Hopper and Thompson 1980) presupposes a maximum contrast between the two arguments, one active (a human agent) and one passive (an inanimate object purposefuliy acted upon). Givbn writes (1990: 630): "The prototypical transitive verb has an agent subject and patient direct-object. If reflexives and reciprocals were to apply b prototypical transitive verbs, they must be restricted to verbs that can take h m a n strbJiects." In reflexives, Givcin points oult, the object must also be human, if it is to be corererent with the subject. But the prototypical transitive object-patient is not human, but primarily a d w b inanimate. . . . Therefore, protrotypicai transitive verbs such as 'break', "build', 'make" "chop', 'destroy', 'hndYN etc. cannot undergo the reflexives or reciprocals-unless their meaning is metaplhorkally extended @way$+om the transitive prototype. (1990: 6301)

P entirely agree that the prototypical transitive object is a ' 3 m b inanimate" and that prototypical transitive verbs are physical action verbs such as break, chops buiId, or o p m . A prototypical transitive scenario celebrates, so to speak, purpseful human action, in the course of which a human being controls and &cts ""dlb objects": chops a tree, breaks a branch, makes a fire, roasts an animal, builds a shelter, and so on. Actions of this kind are so vital to human survival that one can hardly be surprised to see the basic scenario enacted in them to be encoded, almost universallly, in the grammar of human languages. Purposeful actions directed at other people are also important in human life, bur other people are potentiail agents themsellves and they are less likely to be cast in the role of completely passive patients. They are likely either to co-operate with our action or to resist it rather to remain pure "undergoers" of it. This is why, I ~thimnk,human undergoers are sometimes marked (for example, in Spanish) in the same way as recipients, beneficiaries, ""maleficiaries", or addressees (for discussion, see Wierzbicka 198E ). As for purposeful actions directed at oneselr (as a patient), they are hardly necessary for human survival. In faclt, they often havle selfdestruction as their goal (as in killing, hanging, drowning, shooting, or poisoning onese1Q. The whole idea of '"acting upon oneself" requires the ability, and the inclination, to look at oneself from outside, and to treat oneself as a person-in-the-wodd, on a par with other persons-in-the-worM-as

422

The Semantics of Gsammrar

pointed out by Haiman (1995), hardly a universal human proclivity. understandable, therefore, that human languages do not lcielebralte directed action on anything Bike the scale on which they celebrate pw ful action directed at ttne physical environment and "dumb ma ('"elf-directed"" actions such as eating or getting dressed are, of vital dbr survival, but these are normally viewed as 'Voing som rather than "doing something to oneself ". Even in English, "eating tinguished from "feeding oneself'".) On the other hand, the idea that by doing something I can cause so thing to happen to me (whether something I want or something I want) is important, because it encourages people to take care, so tha don't cut themselves, bmn themselves, injure themselves, and allso tha can, when necessary, hide themselves, cover themselves, warm themse wash themselves, and so on. The prototypical reflexive scenario differs, therefore, from a prototypi transitive scenario in several respects: it involves a person, rather th person and an object (DO versus DO TO), it involves the idea of " mess" ("something happened to the same person")), and it doesn" t( warily) involve the idea of purposeful action. The idea of ""smeness" is missing, I believe, from sentences such as Sentences of this kind are therefore not synonymous with their counterparts with a reflexive pronoun: (63) He washed/shave&dressed himself.

The situations described can, of course, be exactly the same, but the E: wptualization is different, and in some situations one construction m more appropriate than the other. In particular, if there is more emp on the details of the resulting state, the reflexive construction (64a and 6510 may be preferred to the non-reflexive one (64b and 65b): (64) (01 She washed herself with special care. (b) She washed with special care. (65)(~EI) She dresseld herself slowly, payirrg attention to every detail. (b) She dressed slowly, paying attention to every detail.

1t is internsling to note, therefore, that the simple and therefore attractive form something to mneself", which might be sumested as an alternative to -agent = patie fact culturally biased, as it implies the ""sir-aiienation'"discwssd by Haiman. Not the nunlner oFlanpuages into which this fornola could be translated is rather limited, On the other hand, the semantic fornula W proposed here is based on lexical and g r a m a t i d uoiwersals and can [I hypothesize] be translated into any human language.

bkm-reflexive sentences such as He washed or He dressed suggest a routine action, and they indicate that this action is seen as a unitary event, not decomposed, in the speaker's mind, into difffem;ent events involving "the same person". (For this reason, as pointed out by Faltz (1985: 7) one is also more likely to say The W S wmhed himself than The car wushed) Consider also the following contrasts: (66) Mary hid. (67) Mary hid herself. (6%)Mary was hiding in the shed. (69) *Mary was hiding herself in the shed.

The reason why 67 and 68 are acceptakale whereas 69 is not (in the appropriate sense) is essentially the same as the reason why in many languages (e.g. Romance languages) perfective .verbs are often reflexive where their imperfective counterparts are not: the reflexive marker indicates a conceptual split between an action and a resulting change of state. These examples highlight the danger involved in the common use of expressions such as "reflexive meaning" unaccompanied by precise d e h i tions: gammar encodes different types of conceptudizationi, not different types of sitmaition, and the same situation can be conceptualized in different ways. (See Langacker 1987.) The prototypical reflexive scenario is mot, then, a special case of the prototypical transitive scenario, with the additional condition that the "patient'3s coreferentiall with the "agent". ]It is a different scenario, overlapping with, rather than subsumed under, the prototypical scenario of transitivity. The idea that if I do something, something (wanted or unwanted) may happen to me does not require any "objectivization"' of oneself, but it does encourage foresight and care; and-judging by the evidence of human languages-it does play an important role in human conceptualization of the warldl and of our life in the world. It should be pointed out that in English, too, reflexive sentences are not atways transitive to ;;any extent. Using the co-ordination test again, we will note, for example, the following contrasts:

(70) He covere&defendedr'protected,shothimself and his child. (71) *He hid himself and his child. (72) *He warned himself acrid his child. (73) *Me seated himself and his child. (74) *He stretched himself and his child on the grass. (75) *He threw himself and his child om to the grass. Facts of this kind highlight the inadequacy of a semantic definition of reflexive constnuctions couched in terms of the notions "agent" and

424

The Semantics of Grammar

14. TransifMty and Reflexives 425

'"patient": the so-callled "patient'bay stand for diEerent semantic roles in sentences referring to oneself and those referring b another person. In the case of the sentence He covered hhseFair3$ his child with Q blanker English allows the speaker to treat the two "patients" in the same way, though many languages require here, too, conceptwiization in terns of two distinct roles. But in cases such as bodily movements even Esagllish makes a distinction between oneself and other people. The cover-all term '"patient" obscures such facts. The scope of transitive reflexive sentences is wider in (modern) English than in other European languages, and, perhaps, wider than in any ather language. This syntactic feature of(modean) English has an obvious semantic and cultural interpretation, of the kind suggested in H a b a n (1985, 1995: 22-41.Speaking of sentences such as (5b) I expat myself to win. (6b) I got myself up.

(his numbers] Haiman writes: My central claim in this essay is that the representatiom of reflexivity by a separate reflexive pronoun in sentences like (561 and (6b) iconically signals the recogaitian of not one but two participants, and thus implies same kinad OF d e ~ c h e n lfrom t the? self. . . . ordinary sentenoes like (7)

P (don't] like myself (63 He restrained himself with difficulty (t~)

. . . refleclt a degree d self-alienatiom which-unalike "reflexivizetion'Yin h e nmiddc voice . . .-is probalbiy far from universal. The evidence for this comles not adv From the large number of languages which have no reflexive pronoun at all . .

.

(199la: 16)

I believe tlaat H a k a n is essentially right and that he is saying something importmt. 1 would point out, however, that in addition to the presena or absence of a "reflexive pmnoun~",we must also pay attention to the transitive or intransitive character of the reflexive sentence. For example, Engllsh sentences such as (76) He hid himself. (77) He stretched himself on the grass. do contain a reflexilie pronoun, but, as pointed out earllier, they are not transitive (at least judging by the co-ordinatian test), and, I would argue, they do not show any '"elf-alienation'yunlike, for example, He restrained hfmseif wirh d@mEty or 1 don't like myse&). I agree with Waiman that the emergence m d current prevalence of the reflexive pronouns in English is itself a sign of semantic and cultural developments of the kind discussed in his paper. But on the level of individual

sentences there may be no semantic diflerenoes between those with a reflexive pronoun (as in English), those with a reflexhe dikic (as in French or Spanish), or those with a reflexive suffix (as in Russian or Dlyirbal], provided that all the sentences in question are intransitive. For example, 1 don't think there is neassarily any semantic difference 'between the folilowing three sentences, the first of which uses a reflexive pronoun the second, a reflexive cliliic (se), and the third a reflexive s u f h Q-QLS):

(78) He hid himself. (791 11 s'est mch8. [French) (80) On spq~atalsja. (Russian) On the other hand, a transitive reflexive sentence such as 81 may indeed differ in some aspects of its semantic structure from intransitive ones such as 82 and $3: ($1) He covered himself with a blanket. 482) I1 s'est enveloppb dans une couverture. ($33 On pokrylsja odejdom.

The fact that only 81 allows ~onj~ained direct ob~ects[He covered himself and his chiidJ does indeed point ta a different conceptualization. Once again, what matters is not just the number of ""grticipants"iin a given situation (because this depends on th~espeaker" point of view), and not even the number of "core arguments" in a given sentence (because two core arguments can be associated with different degrees d transiti~ty): only a reconstruction of the full semantic scenario, in terms of which the speaker conceptualizes the situation, can explain all the aspects of a sentence's grammar. (For full discussion, see Wierzbicka 1988, chs. 5 and 6.1

Typologists have often recogmized on a theoreliicai level that to compare languages (or anything else) we need a lertium ~ ~ t t ~ p ~ r a d f(See o n f Kibrik s. 1992: 1219-30.) For example, Faltz, in his cross-linguistic study of reflexives, writes: " " B f o t settling in to an examination of a phenomenon in many different languages, it is necessary to have some language-independent idea of what that phenomenon is, so libat we know what to begin to look for. The tern reflexhe must therefore be provided with some universal content" (Faltz 1985: 811. By using as its tools meaning-based categories such as '"noun", "nulmneral", '"plral", '"past"', "imperaltive", 'kcnditional", or "reflexive", linguistic typology has also mognlzed that in the case of language the necessary tmrim cosnparationh is provided by meaning. However, categories of this kind were usually not defined, or if they were

defined, their definitions were not adhered to, and in fact, whatever the definitions, the actual analysis was carried out on the basis of intuition and common seruse. The treatment of the category of c"reflexiws'~illustrated in this chapter is a good case in point. American structuralists such a3 Eeliig Harris and Charles Fries, who refrained from using any traditiomnal grammaticall labels and from referring to any traditional grammatical categories (e.g. Harris 1946, 1951; or Fries 19521, were therefore more consistent and more rigorous in their approach to linguistic analysis than either traditional grammarians or present-day typologists. They did not, however, develop linguistic typology. Languages differ in form and structure, but they all encode meaning. In their grammars Cust as in their lexicons) different languages encode different configurations of the same semantic primitives. Some configurations, however, appear to be very widespread, and to play an important role in the grammar of countless and most diverse languages of the world. I believe that recurring configurations of this kind represent meanings which am particularly important itll human conceptualization of the world. Bt is am important task of linguistics as a discipline to identify such meanings; by Sulfilling this task, linguistics can contribute in a significant way to the study of humankind, transcending th~eboundaries of academic disciplines, Among the meanings which linguistic investigations show to be grmmaticallized most widely in the languages of the world, mrt: can recognize certain scenarios such as the "ilransitive" soenario or the c'refle~ive'2 scenario; and we can see that large parts of grammars are organized around such scenarios, and can be described with reference to them. Other widely gramaticalized meanings are of a different nature. All types of meanings, however, can 'be rigorously described and insightfully compared in term of the same set of universal semantic primitives and of rhe metalanguage based on them. I believe thalt witlloul such a metaUang;wag, grammamid typology has no firm h s i s and no precise tools with which it could fully achieve its objectives.

15

Comparing Grammatical Categories across Languages: The Semantics of Evidentials

n this chapter I am going to illustrate and document the claim that gramar encodes meaning by andysing one area of grammar in a number of Eerenrt languages of the world: that area which is usually associated with he term ""evidenticulity"'. As the goal of this chapter is mainly theoretical, empirid, my data wilt be drawn exclusively from onle source: the voUentitled Ewidetatiar's'fy,edited by Wallace Chafe and Johanna Hichols 6). I will re-examine the data presented in some of the chapters of this wme by experts on a number of languages, and B will try to show how se data can be reanalysed in terms of universal semantic primitives, and OW in this way they can be made both more verifiable (that is, predictive) nd more comparable across language boundaries. AS it is, the contributors t0 the volume operate with analytical categories ch as "dirmt" (experience or evidence), '"ersonal", "innmediate", ""firstand'" c e w i t n e ~ ~ dand ' y , of course "indirectW/'non-hmedialte"y "secondd'" 'hot-witnessed", '7nfersed"~ndso on. The trouble is that labels of kind stand for different things in different Ilanguages; and that they ave very litltlle predictive value. For example, when we are told that a Uane distinguishes "direct evidenceq'frorm "'non-direct evidence", or ate evidenoe (or experience)" from '"on-immediate evidence", we e no idea exactly what these labels m a n with respect to this parnguage, nor how the categories in question are used in this Ianand if exactly the same labells are used with respect to another ge, we can by no means expect that they will be used in the same nse, nor that the categories bearing these labels in the second language ill correspond in use to those bearing the same labels in the first language. See Ki'bsik 1992: 43, 129-30.1 By contrast, if we rely on universal semantic primitives such as I, NOW, DO, THIS, and BECAUSE, SEE, or NEAR, we can posit inltuively clear categories such as Inow bemuse P see i t k r '1 know because did it" which will mean exactly the same with respect to any language for

-

"

which they are pstulated. FomuIae of this kind are intuitively veriffiabPe and they are empirically testable. They make dear predictions about the range of use of the categories which encode them, so that if we posit the same meaning for two categories in two different languages (e.g. 9 know it bemuse I did it'), we can expect that these two categories will have the same range of use (except for possible diflerences due to same specifiable cultural Factors)~.IF our predictions are not fulfilled, the formulae are proved inadequate, er inaccurate%and have to be revised or adjusted. Proceeding in this way, we can obtain an optimal fit between semantic formulae and language use. Whether this fit can be perfect and absolute is an open question. But it can certainly be better than the fit between traditional labels such as "immediate", c'fint-hand" and language use. "direct", ""pewondYa, The formulae propaved in the present chapter are meant, above all, to illustrate the proposed metlhodology. Since I have no knowledge d the lamgmages for which these formulae are proposed, I have to rely entirely on the information provided by the experts. But in many cases this infomatiom is se rich and so clearly presented that it provides a suficient basis far the Eorrnul~ationof semantic hypotheses. It would*of course, be ideal if, in the future, the experts tlhe~nselveswere to test these hypotheses against further data.

2. Kashaya Kashaya (of the Porno family of northern California) has a very rich systern of verbal sufixes indicating evidentiality-as Oswalt (1 986: 24) paints auk, one of thc most elaborate and discriminating in the world. What is parlicularly interesting about this system is that although it is so daborate it is also beautifully transparent in its semantics. Doing To begin with, Kashaya has two evidential suffixes (a perfective and an imperfective) which point to the speaker's personal experienoe as a selfexplanatory source of infaanation. QswalaEa calls these sufhes ""E"rformativen,and defines them as follows: 'The Perfornative sufBxes signify that the speaker knows af what he speaks because he is performing the act himself or has just performed itv'(1486: 34). ]In our terns the meaning of these suffixes can be represented very simply: -Gels (Performathe-Imperfective) I know h i s because ]I am doing it

-mda (Perfamative-Perfective] P know this because 3 did it a short time before now Oswdh%examples of the use of these suffixes include sentences 1, 2, and 6 (his numbers): (11) qowA.qtula. (Perfornative-]imperfective) (underlying form: qowaQq-kela) 2 turn packicing (a suitcase].' (23 qawhhmela. (perfornative-PerFectiwe) [iunderflyilvg am: qawaocp-mela) 'Ijust packed.' (Q m i 4 3a me-?&! p%kbm-mela. there-VISIBLE I your-ftutheranr. kill-PERFORM. 'Right there 1 killed your Father.'

Seeing h o t h e r pair of complementary suffixes, one imperfective and the other perfective, is what Oswalt calls the 'Tactual-Visual" pair, -$ti and y6. These suffixes "signify that the speaker knows of what he speaks because he sees, or saw, it." ln addition, "the Factual (not the Visual) also applies to classes of actions or states which have been observed enough by the speaker for him to generalize them as true, and to classes which may simply be common knowledge" (1986: 36). Clearily the meaning of the ""Visual (Perfective)'"uffix can be represented as follows:" -yi% (Visuali) I know this because I saw it

This mn be illustrated with Oswaltlt"ssentence 9: (91 qawahy. (Visualn) (underlying fom: qowaaq-y%) '(I just saw] be packed, I just saw him pack."

labels "VisuaLY and "Visud2'h& dlow axe mine. VClswaEt's labels sue "V13mL"and ' ". Strictly speaking, the fornula assigned to hhe "Specific ~lmperfecliive)'~emsa of the " s u f i should dleaw fear bath present and past events, extending over same time {cf. assigned ho sentence 13). Tlnis m l d be achieved as follows:

far some time I @odd say: 1see this b u s e of this, I can say: I know i t

The "Fac!.ual'buffim appears to have two distinct senses, one manifested in sentences referring to specific events, and another, in generic sentences. The specific sense of this suffix parallels that of the "Vi~uai~":

nolt see it" (1986: 371. Unlike the "Performative" and the "Visual" suffix, it is indifferent to aspectual distinctions. Oswalt's examplles include 14, 115, and 16:

-%%B (Wlsual~)

(14) mcP.dum. H(lmperfectiv$j

I know this because 1 see it

(underlying f o m : m ~ - ~ ~ d - ~ m n 2 i ) Imriheard someone running along.' (11 5) mamh.dn. (Perfective] (underlying fom: mo-ma%-qnn8) 'I just heard someone run in.' (161 hayu ckhno-n. (lmperfmtive)~ 'I hear a dog barking."

This is illustrated with Oswalt's sent~ence8: (8) qowB.qh. (Factual) (underlying form: qowaQpikk) '[I see) he is packing.'

The generic sense of the 'FactuaI' suffix is quite different. It can be represented as folllows:"

-M (Faclwal)~ everyone knows it This use oF 'FacturaP" can be illustrated with the generic interpretation of Oswalt's sentence 13: bird=~c.sum. sound-~acrv~n, 'Birds sing.'

The same sentence, however, can mceivc a dimerent, specific interpretation, which (unlike the generic one) implies visual evidence: (13) sihta=yachma cahno-w. b i r d = ~ ~ . s u esound-PACWAL ~, '(1 seehaw) birds arelwere singing.' It doesn't seem possible to reduce these two diflerent uses of "Factual" tta one; and it would perhaps be better to give the sufix in question two different labels: "VisuaBz" hit;the specific use and Tactual' for the generic use (at the same time renaming Oswalt's Yisual' as cVi~u~I1')~.

Hearing In addition to its two "'Visual" sufixes ("Visuall" and 'T"uriualzv')Kashaya also has an "Adltory'hsufix, -knnii, which "signifies that the speaker knows of what he speaks becalllse he heard the sound of the action, but did OswalY describes the use of the Factual suffix mot only in terns of "camera knowledge" but also of "cliusses 06adions or stales which bave been observed enough by the speaker for him ao generalize Ilhern as true" '1486: 36). but B think that both these uses can probably be subsumed under "common knowledge" and that the Fornula "everyame knows it'' captures wrrectily the semantic invariant of this sufix.

"

The meaning of the suffix in question seems quite clear: - h n l (Auditalryjr 1know this because I hear it Hearsay and Personal Experience Another sufix, which OlswaQtclassifies together with the "Perfornative", the "'Visual", the "FBctual" and the "Aladitary'hder the label "Direct Evidence", is -yo~w&,the suffix of "Personal Experience". in narratives, a11 the other evidentials described so far are replaced with this one suffix. This means that a radical simplification of the evidential system takes place, with all evidential distinctions replaced with just one: that between "Personal Experieni~e"and "Quoltative". The meaning of the "Quotalive" as such seems reasonably clear. It "is the one evidential for infarmation leaned from someone else, contrasted with the many for information learned through the speaker's awn emperience" "986: 41). An example is provided by: (27) mol =f-do-.

h a p cxihno-w. then = n s s - ~ a r o a - ~ o ~ -dog ~ m ~sound-ass ~t "Then, they say, the dog barked."

Presumably, here as elsewhere, the meaning of the "Quatative" can be represented as follows: -do (Quotative) I say this because someone else said this I don't say: I know it What is much harder to establish is the meaning of the "Personal Experience" suffix -yowti, which in narratives constitutes the only "'Direct Evidenoe" alternative to the "Quotative".

One possibility which comes to mind as a hypothetical meaning of -yaw6 is this: I know because I was there BUG this interpretation is undermined by the fact that -yaw$ can be used with respect lo "moving actions seen on television or in the movies" "986: 42). It is also hard to reconcile with the fact that what is lexperlenoad in dream, visions, and revelations is also reported with -yowd. In the case of ielevision and movies, it could be argued that the speaker "'was therdyin front of the screen); but in the case of dreams, visions, and revelationus (which may or may not reature tbc speaker himselfl such an irrterprelation makes even less sense: if H know something because I have seen it in a dream it is not my physical presence somewhere that matters but my psychological experience. It seems to me, therefore, that we should llook for a diflerent, more pllausible interpretation of the "Personal Experience"ss;uffix. The Fact that in narratives ali other devices are reduced to one-'Quetative"' versvlw ""Prsonal Experience", suggests the following interpretation for the latter:

(Personal Experience) I[ don" say this because semeone else said this I know if

-yowh

Compare this with the formlla for the ""Qotativee""suggested eadier: -do (Quotaailre) I say this kcxiuse someone else said this I don't say: I know it Oswalt (1486:40) comments: "The simplification in narratives of the elaborateness of the evidential sysltem is understandable-when one tdks of events that may have happened a considerable time previously, the precise type of evidence is less important and, indeed, is often not remembered by the speaker." Thus, the only question which redly arises with respect b narratives is this: does the speaker say this or that m the basis of bea~say or not? "Quotntive" signals hearsay; the sufix of "Personal Experience" siganajs no hearsay. Thus, the ' % e a r s a y Y ~ udoes f i not signal [by virtue of its meaning] an absence of 'Urect experience"",Rather, it is the so-called suffix of "Persand Experience" which signals (by virtue of its meaning) an absenoe of hearsay. The fact that it is common for a story to have tihe -do ('"uotative") su& "in almost every sentence" (1986: 44) lends, I think, support Ito this analysis: if most, or nearly all, sentemms in a story are marked as bawd on hearsay, it makes good sense for the speaker to mark those exoeptional anes which are not based on hearsay.

Inference The "Inferential I" suffix -qG 'barks an inference based on circumstances or evidence found apart, in space or time, From an actual event or state . . . To a certain extent -qG is a default category for evidence through senses other than those that have specific sensory suffixes (Visual or Auditory) . . . The Kashaya Inferential su@x implies no lack of oertainty, merely lack of higher ranking evidence" (OswaEt 1986: 38). These comments seem to suggest that the s u f k in question means:

P know this not because I see it not because I hear it But this is a very implausilbfe semantic formula. Consider, for example, sentence 20: (210) cuhai. mu?ia-qb, 'Bread has been eneoaked,'

uttered by somebody coming into a house and detecting an odour. The formula T know it not because I see i t k i g h t seem to fit this situation, but why should anyone want to say, in addition, 'not because I hear itY? Consider also sentence 24, when the same sufix is combinned with a future tenser rnu.kito biaqb=+li. (241 hdQ ya mihyild-khe-t%n=i-q-a. how we w i n - ~ v r-not =ASS-INF-NON-PIWAL him what=in. 'It appears we113 never be: able to beat him in anything.'

Here, the fomuila skeitched would make no sense: We'll never be able to beat him in anything I know this not because I see it not because I hear it We have to agree with Oswalt, therefore, that the sufix in question is 'YnFerentiaP''rathe~than '%sensory", levem though it "implies no lack of cer1 propose for this s u l k the tainty, merely Pack of higher ranking evidenoeySs following semantic fomular3 In his grammar of the Dagheatani languagiz, h M , Kibrik (19?Sn&) discusses similar phenomena under the heading "'zngLmosf"(~it,a naun meaning 'not in front of the eyes')^. He remarks that "the weaning ~F'urglazoost" is mwposed OF the meaning 'a participant in the speech event is present in the situation which is being desccri~~andl 'the binay meaning of negation"'" (319776: 543). The examples he omen, however [Kibrik 19770: 228-31), include same where lthe speaker is actuaiely present in the situation but far one reason or another rails to see some aspect of this situation. This suggests that Kilbrik's heading ("za$laznostd ")may actually be more awurate Ram a semantic point of view than the definition, and that the best

15. The Semantics of Evidentials 424

-mi 1 know this -shi someone else says this E don't say: I know it -chi I think this I don" know it

-q?l (Inferential 3) I know this because P know something else

Kashaya afso has another "'inferential'hsuffix, -bi, which 43swaIh labels 'Vnferential PI", and another "experientiall" s u f i , -miy6, which Olswalt labels "'Remob Past'" but not enough information is provided about these two suffures to enable us to sketch more than very tentative semantic formulae. Virtually all that Qswalt says about these suExes is that "RetnrDte Pasty"s a r e m t e past alllcrnadilvre to -yowd and that "'Inferential IP", in oombination with another suffix -w,Is close in meaning to the English "turn out'"e.g. Yt tuned out to be my husband'). As a starting-point for further testing we could propose, therefore, the following formulae: -miy& (Remote Past) E know this not because someone else said something it happened a long time before now -bi-w (Inferential 11) 1 know this now because I know something else now I didn't know it before now

Buit Weber argues that while kdelaar's definitioms may be appropriate for Tarma Quechua, they are not valid for the dialect that he has investigated himselt; namely for Huanuco Quechua. 'In Tarma Quechua, Weber says, -mi Is used not only for personal experience, but also to indicate conviction, whereas in Huanuco -mi is used only for personal expeaienm. Speaking of a number of Tarma texts that he had examined, Weber comments: ''In all Ignacio Zarate Mayma's texts in Adelaar (8977: 308-4107) and in Puente (l972), P have not found a single case of -ski. Even though much of the material is far beyond the realm of the teller" experience (including folktales about the fox and the condor), he uses -mi throughout. This is because he believes the stories he is telling . . These facts justify Adelaar" claims for TamaY"l986: 1142). But in Nuanuco Quechua, Weber tells us, the situation is diflerent. "To the Huanwco Quecltnna ear, Zarate's use of -mi seems exceedingly incautious with respect to the information he conveys"(l42). Weber" informant also mentions a manl referred to by his neighbours as "Iokr.c~",krazy', who constantly uses -mi. "No one believes what he says because he %always speaks as though he had witnessed what he is tellling about.' " Apparentlly, then, there is a difference between the Tanna sense of -mi and the Huanuco sense of -mkif in Tarma -mi means 'I know', or perhaps '1 can say: I know', in Humuco it musk mean something different. But what? W e k r glosses the Huanuco senses of -mi, -$hi, and -chi as "dimt" (~nw), "indirect" (IND), and "cc~njecture" [CNJ), respectively. We insists that in Huanuco, "-miand -ski are basically evidential: -mi means 'learned by direct experiencebnd -$hi means Yearned by indirect experienoe [Rearsayy " "(139). In particular, -mi is mot a "validational"' Q""ndicating commitment to the truth of the proposition"";(139), but an '"evidential" ("indicating the source of the information"). 'N vaiidaltionall interpretation for -mi is often appropriate because of the axiom that direct experience is reliable [and thus lone is convinced about it)" (IN).The basic meaning of -mi, however, is not "validatianaly~ut "evidential", like that of -shi: -$hi implies absence of direct experience, and -miyits presence. But what does it really mean thalt -misignals "'direct experienoe"? It could mean a number of things, such as the following:

.

David Weber (1986) begins his discussion of the three evidential suiffnrces, -mi, -$hi, and -chiyin Tanna Quechua (a language of central Peru), by referring to AdeIaar's f 1977: 79) statement that these wulfixes "indicate the validity of the information supplied by the speaker"".delaar assigns tci these three suffixes the following meanings: -mi "indicates that the speaker is convinced about what he is saying", -shi "indicates that the speaker has obtained the infomation that he is supplying through hearsay", -chi "'indicates bhrral: the speaker" statement is a conjecture". These definitions suggest the following semantic representation:

"

semantic fornula for the category in question [in Anchg may be know this not Ibemw I saw something'. This fornula seems to dso fit examples such as 'he didn't came' or 'he had no inteakion to work', when there was miual!y notauing €or I k speaker to see: 'l k m w this not beau% I saw something'. .]It would be good if this formula coluld also be tested for rategories such as the ''iderential" in Krrshaya and in the other laoguaps described in Chafe and Michds (1986).

434 The Semmaics of Grammar

(Il) I know this k a u s e I saw it (2) 1 kknw this because I heard it (3) I know this bemuse I perceived it (4) 1 know this because I did it (5) I know ehis because it happened Lo me (16) I know this because I was there (7) I know h i s not because someone said it

According to Weberysinformant, this sentence "'is natural with -shi but not with -mi,even if the speakcer is convinced that it Is true" "((11986:140). Weber explains this fact as folllows: "This is bemuse with -MIS it implies that the speaker has met his great grandfalther. What is basic for -miis the source of the information (direct experience), not commitment to the tmth of what his name was" (CPM). Weber also points out that '"he same result obtains dbr a sentence that the speaker does not believe, e.g. 'The moon is made of cheese.' According to TCV meber's informant] this is natural with -$hi, indicating that the speaker has been informed ]that the moon is made of cheese. With -mi, says TCV,it implies that the speaker has been to the moon" (ICLrO.0). But these comments take us back to the question: M a t does -mi really mean? The last two examples appear to suggest the foilowing interpretation: 'Iknow this because I was therey. But clearly, this cannot be the invariant of -mi, because this fomulla does not fit the case of the diviner, or, for that matter, the case of the person hit by someone. Et would be odd to say 'I know that you hit me because I was there'. k t us examine one Fwther example provided by Weber-sentence 2a3 uttered "in response to person(s) who hare expressed doubt as to the speallr~r'sability to make it (e.8. to the top of a mountain)" (139). Noqa -mi chaya-:-man apw-qa. I arrive-I-mm if:l:go-m~ 'lwwouldlt~10;ulEdJnnlght mive, if 1were to go."

Would any one of these diuerent possibilities cover the whole r a n g of use d -mfl Let us examine Weber's examples, with these questions in mind. Sentence Ila Weber" nuaImers] refers to a diviner who has chewed w a and predicts deatlx die-s~urr-~ur "t will die.' According to Weber, the "rhetorical force" of this utterance (in these particular circumstancres) would be '" assert that it d H die". T h s , the diviner doesnY mean 3 know because: I saw it', or 'I kknw because I h a r d it" or 'Iknow because I was there', and, cbarly, he doesn't mean 'I know bmuse I did itY,or 'I kknw because it happened to me', although he could conceirabjy mean 'I know because somehrring happened to me" and he miat mean 'I know, not because someone said something'. The same two possibilities would also h d d for sentence 3a: ( 3 4 Qam-pis maiqa-ma-shka-mki-mi. ~ Q U - ~ ~ S h&-IOBI-PERF-2 CJ

'Youalso hit me.'

Here, Weber provides the following additional gloss: "I sawifelt you hit me (and was consciou~'.En this situation, some of the other possibilities listed earlier would also be applicable: 'I know this because it happened to me', 9 know this because B perceived it', or know this because I saw it" But none of these formulae would fit the case of the diviner. k t us consider, h turn, the (ummbered) sentence glossed as:

"

'My mother" grandfather's name was John.'

Clearly, the speaker does not m a n here 'I h o w this because I was these'. Nor does he m a n 'I know this because I saw it*, or 'I know this because I did it', or 'I know this beeaplse it happened to me', or '1 know this because something happened to me'. It could be argued that in this case the speaker might mean P o w this because I fed sornething"(i.e. have a feeling that I mald do itY).But this interpretation would not fit the case of the greatgrandfather ('I know that my great-grandfather9 name was John, because I feel m me thing'). Wd, then, is the semantic invariant of -mR It seems to me that we are left with only one possibility which would fit all1 of Weber's exmp1es, namely, number 7: 'J know this, not because someone said something'. If tlhk k right then -mifunctions in Huanuca Quwhua as a marked categoryry, defined in opposition to the hearsay -#As':

"

:

-mi 1 say this

not becaum someone else said it I know it -shi H say this

"

438 The Semravzrim of Grammar because someone else said it I don't say: I know it It is not the case, then, that -shi indicates the absence of "direct e v i d e n ~ " ~ and -mi its presenoe. Rather, -,?hi indicates the presence of hearsay (as the basis of the speaker's statement) and -mi, its absence. OF course, a denid of hearsay could also be compdible with a conjmture and -mi is not compatible with conjectures. Bat this is accounted for by the component '1 knowhssiped here to -mj: mnjectures are not compatible with 'I know'. For the Huaanuco Quechua element -chi, which W e k r characterizes as "conjecture'" we can propose the same semantic formula which we have assigned to the T m a -ckl: -chi I think this I don't know it The contrast between the component 'I don" know ithassigned to -chi and the component don't say: I know ithassigned to -ski aoccrunts, I think, for the different '"alidationan"' force of these two elements. Weber's examples suggest that -ski can be used in cases where the speaker is not at 4 certain of the information conveyed, or ellen when he is highly sceptical (as in the case of the sentence "the moon is ma& of cheese"), but allso in cases when the speaker is convinced that the sentence is true (as in the case d the sentenoe ''my mother" grandfather's name was John"]. The mnzponent 'Idon't say: I know it' is compatible with both these types of situation. On the other hand, the component 'Idon't know itY,assigned to -chiysuggests a lack of confidence, and would not be compatilsle with situations wherv the speaker reports second-hand innfamation that he views as fairly reliable. Of course, in Western culture, second-hand information regarded as reliable is usuallly not distinguished from first-hand knowledge. But as Welaer points out, in Quechua culture "'(only) one's own experience is reliable'" (1986: E38), and the cultural norm is '"void unnecessary risk, as by assuming responsibility for information of which one: is not absolutely certain'" '(138). This explains, for example, why in a booklet on Peruvian history (discussed by Weber), sentences such as "Their tools and things are found throughout Peru" has -shi rather than -mi:as Weber points out, it is so ''because the author loouId not possibly have seen all those things found in all those places" (1411). Clearly, the author of the booklet dws noit wish to imply don't t o w ' . But the cautious component 'I don't say: I know it" does not imply lack of knowledge; it implies only an unwillingness to a s s m e penonall responsibility for the information provided. Such a cautious attitude might seem unnecessary, and even odd, from a Western point of view, bult it is understandable from the point of view of Qumhua culrUrR.

"

"

The analysis of Huanuco Quechua eviderutials proposed here explains, it seems to me, the fact that -mf-though labelled by Weber c ' d i r e ~ t " 4 0 e ~ not seem to k widely used in sentences based on the speaker" personal experience, and that many, perhap most, such sentences occur without any evideetlals. "For example, ATR [an informanntll, in telling of going to see a foothall game, did not use -mi in the parts describinng his getting to and from the garne (told in the first person), but he did use -mi in describing the events af other people (companions, players, referees)" (11986: 141). IF -mi meant something like 9 know this because I did ist'or 'I know this because it happened to me" this absence of -mi in most personal narratives woutd he puzzling. But if -mi signals that the account is not based on hearsay, this absence of -mf in most personal narratives is understandable: nomally, there is no need to say:

I did it I know this not because someone else told me If the speaker is not suffering from amnesia it would be assumed that he knows what he did without someone else telling him about it, Hut in the case of other people's actions, the report could well be based om hearsay, so if it isn't, it makes sense for the speaker to sigma1 this non-hearsay basis of the sentence by means of -mi. Huanuco Quechua differs in this respect from worn other languages (e.;g. Wintu) described in the same volume, which have markers (also labelled as "direct") signallling "personal experience" of soma sort in a positive way rather than "absence of hearsayan. U n d e n t a n d a b in these languages the marker in question is used more widely than -mi' is used in Hwanuco.

According to SchPichter [L9B6),Wintu, a language of northern Calihrnia, has four evidential sufikes, which she labels as "nonvisual sensorial", 'chearsay'3nccinferential"yand 'kxpectational". Here, as elsewhere, the labels at &st provide hints, not explanations: they cannot tell the reader what each of the sufixes in question really means and in what range of situations it can be used. Non-visual Sensorial T0 begin with, the suffix -nfluEr "is used if the speaker wishes to indicate that the statement he is making describes a fact known to him through one of his senses other than vision, i.e. his hearing, feeling, taste, smell, touch, or any kind of intellectual experience of 'sixth sense' " (1986: 4731.As a first

x-VI

€iP

T i i %p mm " r %*=

tj-T3

-ga %~$.-g

G o s Da g vl

I propose that the "sensory evidence", which is nomafly visual, cam be represented as follow^:^

personal responsibility ('I don't say: H know'). The phrase 9 think' dolesn't really fit myths very well. On the other hand, the fornula:

-re. (partial ierrpiitxtion)i I know something now "ecause I see something'

-ke. someone says this 1 don't say: I know it fits both myths and all the other sentences with the "heaysay" evidentid adduced by Schlichter. Furthemore, this last formula allows us to account for the difference between sentences with the "hearsay" evidential and those sentences with the "non-visual sensorial" evidential which report speech, such as 4 OF 7:

whereas the ""ife~ece", wwhh apparently has to concern a third person, can be represented as:

I think I can say something ahout someone because of thls It seems to me that these two components jointly fit all the examples adduoed earllier, as well as Schlichter's two additional examplles, 23 and 24:

44) He said "don't do it!'(We heard hirn say not to do it) (7) How did he instruct you (in your hearing)?

(233 Hida Faysaw. yo.! very hurry EX 'He must be in a great hurry (1 see him wn, I can't witch up with him)?" (24) NiiEay lewin sukese-.

Sentences such as 4 and 7 are consistent with the following intepretation: the speaker thinks 'that's what the other person said3eclause something happened to the speaker himself: the voice ueaching Ibis ears. I presume that the 'cnno-visual sensorial" evidential would nomalIy not be used in retelling a myth, because in this case it would make more sense for the speaker to wish to disclaim personal responsibility for the message Ch don't say: I know this') than to claim personal respondbility for it CI think". I conclude, therefore, that ithe most likely semantic structure of the evidential in Wintu is indeed this: 'someone says this; 1 don't say: I know itq.

nephew here stand 'My nephew must have been here (1 see tracks).' For example, in 23, what 'I know mnowr'is that 'he is running', and what 'I lthink I can say about someone because of this'is that %he is in a @eat hurry', Similarly, in 24, what 'I h o w nowy is that 'there are tracks here' and what 'I think E cam say about someone because of ahis' is that 'my nephew was here'.

Inferential The third Wintu evidential, -res, "'indicates that the speaker believes Itis stabmmnt to be true k a u s e of circumslantial sensory evidence. This evidenoe t m s out to be most often visual" (IScMichter 1986: 51). IIPwstuaIIive sentences are: (203 Heke ma.n hara.kire. m. samewhere EX go COM.DUU. 'He must haw gone somewhere (1 don't see him)." (21) Piya mtryto.n dekna.sto.n lpiya ma.n biyaEtirem. thaw feet steps )that EX be CQM.DUB. 'Those tracks of steps?That must have been hirn." (221 Hadi wintbh minelbirem. why! person die !u.~vs. 'Why, a person must have died ((1see or hear someone cry)!'

According to Schlichter (1486: 521, h e fourth Wintu evidential, -?el, "denotes that the speaker believes his proposition to be &mebecause of his experience with similar situations, regular patterns, or repeated circumstances c o m o n in human life". Schlichter's prime examples are (25) and (26): (25) Tima minel?ed, pira.Te'el

cold die: starve 'He might freeze b death, he might starve [it's cold and he%alone, helpless, sick)." ( 2 9 Tlsnltoa truqa.7eiF. berries ripe 'The berries must be ripe (it's that time of year)." But Schlicfster's data also include several examples where the same evidential is used to indicate hearsay, as jm 27 and 28, and she suspects that "his

Interestingiy, in scenknces of thls kind "the action referred to by the verb stem always, has a third person subject" "986: 511.

The question of whenher the component 'because I see sometlhing'can be regarded as part of the ~ermanticinvariant is a matter for further investigation. I

IS. The Semantic8 of Evldemtiais 447

may represent a semantic change toward a single evidential for indirect evidence which includes both hearsay and expectationm(1 986, 531: (27) Mo.nlukin ba.laheres winthu.tr biya-kija7aJ'leibasp'urit kwt. long ago myth people be cow they all 'ln the myths from long ago they [the animals) wre all people." ma-rrm piphrit Tuna suke-kjldel h0.nto.n ~inuM~u4ito.t pipkit. (28) TWni that way EX they so stand CON long ago people they 'That" the way it was among the peaple long ago.'

It seems to me, however, that both itbe "expectational" and the ''hearsay" use of the element in question can be accounted for in terms of a unitary semantic Ejomula:

-?el I think this I can%say: I know it This would apply to the 'kxpectational" examples as follows:

(25) 1 think: Yne will freeze to death, he will starve I can? say: I know it 426) 1 think: the berries are: ripe I can" say: I know it But the same formula would apply to the *%earsay'' sentences with the same s u f i : (27) 1 think: in the myths from long ago they (the animals) were all people E can't say: I h o w it (283 l think: that's the way it was among the people long ago l can't say: I know it

If this is correct, then there is a subtle difference in meaning between ""haway" sentences such as 10 to 84,with the suffix -ke, and "hearsayy' sentences s w h as 27 and 28, with the suffix -re!. This conclusion seems: to me quite consistent with the illlustrative sentenloes offered by ScEmichter, but: of course it needs to be checked against a more extensive range of data.

According to Gordon (19861, Maricopa has a number of sufixes which indicate the source of the infomation. Two of these sufixes, -(k)jPwb~, '"sight evidential'hand -(k)'n, "hearing and other nonvisual sensory evidential", indicate "first-hand knowledgege"' of the speaker. Thus, "-(kjPvsr is

found on the final main verb of a sentence in which h e speaker is asserting something which he or she kknws about on the basis of having directly seen the event expressed in b e sentence" (6;11986: 77). Gordon illlustrates the use of the "sight evidential"" with the following sentences (Gordonyssumbering): (43 M-iha-'guu. ~-~~c~-sEE=EY

'Yao dancled (I knaw because I saw it).' (53 Ika-'pu. dance-s~~=Ev 'He danulced (I know because I saw in].' (163 '-iima-k'yw. L-dlanw-k=s~~=~v Idwnad iffor sore, in the past]."

"

But the third of these examples presents a problem. Clearly, in this case the nice simple gloss 'I know because E saw ir-oes not fit, and has to be replaced with something else ("for sure, in the past")^. But if so, then what is the real invariant of the suffix in question? A similar problem arises in the case of the other sensory evidential, -(k)"r;rwhich is used 'Yo mark that the information in the sentenae is from the speaker's first-hand knowledge, though in this case the knowledge is gainled not by having seen the event, but by having otherwise sensed (usually heard] the event or stateY"(6ordon 1986;: 77). This is illlustrated with sentenws 7, 8, and 9: (73 M-ashvar-ha. ~-s~~~-HR=Ev

Tau sang (I know because I heard it].' (83 Ashvar-'a. s~~$-HR=EV

'We sang (I kmow because ]I heard ilt).' (9,

'-ashvar-k'a. I -sing-k=sn=ev 'I sang (for sure, in the: past; I hleiitdlfelt myself)!

But again, in sentence 9 the nice simple gloss 3 know because I heard it' does not fit, and has to be r e p l a d with samething else. Gordon C1986: 78) comments on kh difficulty as follows: "When these sulMixes are used on verbs which have a first person subject, the evidential sense Is less prominent and instead they convey a strong assertiveness about the actual1 occurrence of the event expressed by the semtenloe." But what does it mean that '"he evidential sense is less prominentv'? To say this is tie dodge the crucial issue of the semantic invariant: is the sense

E know this h a p p e d because I did it people codd see it

"

3 know this happened because I saw it' pc~stulatedas the invariant of the suffix -(k))uu or isn't it7 Similarly, is the semantic mmponent know this because I heard it'postgated as the semantic invariant of the s u f h -('k)"ss or isn't it? Sin% the% hypothetical conaponenJts clearly do mot fit sentences with first person subjects, they cannot oonstitute the:invariants d the sdk e s in question. The reason why those hypothetical components do not fit sentences with &st pewon subjects is quite clear. NomaBly, when we report our own activities we are certain that these activities have actually taken place because we know we have performed them, not because we have seen or heard ourseIIves performing them. Et would make sense, therefore, to say:

A similar analysis can be proposed for sentenoes with the "hearing evidentid", with two core c~mponentsassigned to all the occurrences of this evidential, anid witla one additional component provided by the gramatilcal context. C

I sang -(k)'a I sang I know this happened because I did it people could hear it

Third person sentences can be analysed as follows:

I danced ((I sang] I know this happened because I did it

He danced -i(k)l"u he danoed I h o w this happened people could see it

but hardly: I d a n d {I sang] I know this happened because I saw it (heard it)

One further minimal pair, 23 and 24, may be helpful here (ss stands for s m e subject):

But if rinse attribute these semantically plausible formulae to sentences with first person subjects we are left with no invariant. Can we find semantic compomnts which could fit all the uses of the *'sight evidential" ( h t is, both h t person and non-first person uses)? And can we find such invariant semntic components for the ""haring evidential'? If we can't do that, could we at least iind, for each s u f i , two different but related formulae? It seem to me that we can. As a first approximatiom, I propose the following:

(23) Nyaa 'awu '-mx-kc-'yun. I Set. 1-hurt-SS-SEE=EY 'I was sick.' (243 Pam-sh 'ajayu ray-'yuu. Pam-SJ s.t. hurt-sm=ev 'Pam was sick."

-(k)"uu I know this happened people could sm it -[k)'a 1know this happened people could bear it I am not suggesting that these components will always, in all gramaticd contexts, be interpreted in exactly the same way. It is possible, even likely, that in f i s t perperson voE3tional sentences the '1 know' component will be inteqmted as based on "internat evidence" rather than on visual evidence ('I know it happened because I did it'); but this is not incompatibie with the presence of a component appealing to other people's visual evidence ('people could sae it'). Thus, for first person volitional sentences I would propose the folbwing analysis:

I danced -[k)l"ymu I danced

Clearly, it makes more sense to posit for sentence 23 the following fornrwJla:&

I was sick I know this happened because it happened to me people could see it rather &an the ll~nnatural'Ceyewitnessreporta':

1

I was sick I know this happened bemuse I saw it people muld see it

For 24, we cowid propose the following fonndae: Thle glosses "11 was sick" and ""Pwas sick" may seem inwmpatible with, the mmponent Tt Rappznded', but ~ t hpressim b may be due Lo the English glows: in Maricopa, the ward referring to 'Xigsick" is a verb, and it probabny bas a more dynamic: meaning than the English adjeGtive sick.

15. The Semmfics ~$Eva'denthh 451

450 The Semantics of Grmmar

I

Pam was sick I know this happened people could see it It is one thing to assert that one has seen somebody dancing, and another, to assert that one has '"seen" that somebody was sick. The vaguer formula "eople could see it' sowds more appropriate in this w e than the explicit and specific claim '1 saw it'. I would propose then that the '"ight evidential'' -(k)'yuu in Maricopa has the invariant meaning 'Iknow this happened; people could set: it" and that a specific grammatical context can add to this core meaning a further cmplonent 'bcmm I dlid it' in the case of volitimal first person senltences and 'because it happened to m ' i n the case d non-volitional first person sentences. Similarly, I wvulld propose that the "hearing evidential" -(k,J'a has the invariant meaning 'I know this happened; people could hear itY. One question which should be clarified at this point conoems the possibility of the suffix -(k)'a applying to sensory evidence other than hearing. Gordon is not as clear on this point as one would wish. She mentions the possibility of evidence otlner than auditive ('Yn this case the knowledge is gained not by having seen the event, but by having otherwise sensed Woally heard) the event or state", 11986: 771, but all her examples refer to sounds (singing, crying, saying). She says explicitly that "possibly the mast typical placx for this fiis on verbs of" "saying' which report infomatiom addressed to the speaker" '(78). The only example when a sensory word other than hear appears in the gloss is 9: (9) 1 sang (For sure, in the pas[; I hesrdrXFelt myselo But the event referred to in this sentence is auditive, and it is likely that Gordon mentioned "fa1lngWas well as ""hearing" in her gloss only because she felt uncomfortable attributing to the speaker the idea that he kmew 1crF his own singing because he heard himself singing. It seems much more reasonable to suppose that the speaker knew of his singing because be did it (Ghat is, on internal grounds), nor because he could hear himself do it. This is not to deny the possibility of a language hawing a "sensory nonvisual evidential" with a broader range of use, and I do not exclude the possibility that Maricopa is such a language. But the evidence provided by Gordon seems to suggest that - ( k ) b is an "audltive", rathler than "sensory non-visual", evidential. In addidon to the two sensory evidentials, Maricopa also has a "hearsay evidential", consisting of a form of the verb 'ii-M,'say', --Iixh, followed by the "hearing evidentid'" This third evidentha '7s used to indicate overtly that the speaker does not vouch far the truth d the utterance, but instead is merely repeating something he or she has heard spoken of' (8986: 86). Sentence 32 is an example of this:

(32) Bonnie-sh chug-k-'ish-'a.

Bonnie-SJ marry-k-say+sh-HR=EV '(They said, E hear tdl) Bonnie got married.' (3%) Pam-sh Bonnie tpuy-m-Yish-'a. Pam-SJ Bonnie kifl-rn-say+sh-~~=~v 'Pam killed Bonnie hear tell].' The examples offered by Gordon suggest that the meaning of this evidential can be represented as folllows: -'ish-'a people say this I don't say: BE know it It is possible, however, that this fornula is too restrictive, and that the evidential in question can also be used for information repeated alfter one specific person someo one", rather than "peec~pb"").

Bulgarian and Macedonian have two past tenses, the so-called 'Vefinite past" and the "indefinite past'" As pointed out by Friedman [1986)),in the past these two categories have often been interpreted as evidentials, with the '"definite pastY'ssignalling"direct" infomation, and the "indeiinite past'" ccimdirect's,'Vistanced'" or "reported" hinrormation. But Friedman himself argues that these past amounts are "greatly oversinvpliYied and not, strictly speaking, accurate" "986: 168) and that in fact "the forms under consideration Q not mark the source of infamation or evidence, but rather the speaker's attitude toward ill'"l84-5). To show that the "deljinite past" cannor mean personal witn~essing, Friedman mentions the following k t : for example, a Bulgarian colleague of mime, diceussing which of his colleag~~es had attended a wnference in America which he had not been able to attemd, said dome of them: (1) &Be hmo.

"She) was these.' This despite the fact that his only source or information was a report. (171-2). What could this "definrite past" mean, then? Clearly, it Cillfunot mean "'I know because I saw", or 'I know because I was there" and it can't even mean 'I know, not because someone else said it" It would seem, then, that the only possible invariant which can be attributed to it (in addition to

452 The Semaratic8 of G r ~ m r m s

ccpastne~~'y, that is, %before now') is '1 know" This is consistent with ithe other examples cited by Friedman, such as 2 and 3 poi& Macedonimp: (2) No podMna se slueija raboti za

koi ne znaeu. but later happened things about which not (I) knew 'But later things happened [PAST DEP.] that I didn't kwow atPout."I(I know this] 43) Od najstarite vrerninja luketo veruvaa deka meshna From oldest times ;Ute-people believed DEF) that moon vliae V ~ Ziivotot na zemjata. influences on the-life an the-earth DEF.] that the moon hdln'Since most ancient times people have believed [PAST enrces life om earth.' (I know this)

The hypothesis advanced here is also consistent with the fact that the "definite past" cannot be used "in subordination to clauses which directly conrn tradict h e meaning of personall confirmation" "986: 1312), for example:

(411 *Toj ne vernva deka taa go napraruri toa.

QMracedonim]

*Toj ne jarva Ee

tja napravi m a . (Bulgarian) it he not believe that she it did *'He doesn't believe that she did [PAST DEE.] iX.'

"

If we explicate the "definite past"in terms of the suggeskd component 'I h o w ' we obtain a contradiction between 'I know' and don't believe" and this would aecount for the sentence%[emailprotected] the other hand, sentences such as:

I don't know who did [PASTDEF.]it are acceptable-presumabIy, bemuse there is no conflict between 'I don't know (who did itlhalvd 'I know that someone did it" The subordinate sentence does not identilfjr the person in question, so tkne component 'I know" carried by its definite p s t tense can only be linked with the presuppioition, 'someone did itY. The analysis proposed here is fully consistent with Friedman's assemtian that "uhe definite past is marked for the speaker's s o n 6 m t i o n of the informatian" "(11986: 1743; or at least with the spirit of this assertion. (Friedman's, examples repeated here make it clear that Ere doesn't really mean "con&mation" as opposed to "affirmation"; rather, he means a confident assertion, viewed by the speaker as knowledge.) On the other hand, Friedman's analysis of the Bulgarian and Macedonian "indehite p s t " as ""unmarked pastY'isharder to accept, givem the fact that this supposed;ly unmarked past "has also developed a chief oontextiual variant meaning of ncuncl~nffirmativity~ repoPtedness, or evidentiality" (134). Friedman attributes this apparent meaning of "nonconfimativity" to the contrast "with the markedly confirnative definite past" (174). But this explanation does not account for the implication of

"non-confirrolativity" in contexts when there is no wmbaast between "indefinite past" and "definite past". To take an example of an unmarked llexical category, the unmmrked English word dog can be interpreted as 'he dog'when it is used in contrast to the marked word bitch (e.g. "I have a bitch and a dog"") but when it is used on its o m [e.g. '%e have a dag""jrtlnere are no implic;smtions of maleness. Similarly, if the "indefinite past" was really unmarked we could expect it to imply ""nonr-conhativity" in those contexts where it is used in contrast to, or in combination with, the "mnfimatoryY"Uefinite past'" in other contexts, however, we would not exexpect it to carry such implicat'I ~ons. Why is it, then, that the "indefinite past" tends Ito imply "non-cofimativity" even in those icontexts where it is used on its own? Friedman himsellf states that "it will ordinarily be a s s u d that the speaker is using this f o m fix.the indefinite past] in order to avoid persoanal canfirnation of the inforhniation, e.g. due to its being based on a port" ((1741, But why should it be assumed to be so if the "indefinite p s t " was really unmarked? For example, why should it normally be assumed that in the sentence [?a) His father was [PAST INDEF.] very fond of flowers. '"he speaker was basing the statement on indirect infornationY"C1174) if there was nothing in the sentence itself to suggest such an interpretation? Friedman calls the "non-confrmativity" of the "indefinite past" its "contextual meaning"; but in the case of 74 no context is provided, so the "nonconfirmatory" reding of the ""ideffinite past" canrnot be attributed to the influence of the context. I conclude from this that the '"ndefinibe past" is not an unmarked category taut carries a meaning of its om--even though this meaning is hard to establish. Friedman's motivation for trenting the '"indefinite past'bs unmarked, despite its usual implication of "non-e~nfirmativity"~is quite clear. For example, he says: "As it is impossible to assign a single meaning which is present in dl uses of the indefinite past, i.e. as there: is no specific type of restriction on its occurrence as there is for the definite past, it must be treated as unmarked with respect to the definite pastl'"11173). But is it really impossible to assignn a single meaning to all the uses of the "indefinite past'? I Impn"t think it is; although H quite agree that traditional labds such as ""idirect narration"/""dlistanced narrationy', or "reparted imrfomationY'dcdlno1 capture the invariant of this category (if there is one). Let us consider Friedman's sentenms adduced to illustrate the unmarked, "non-evidential" use of the indefinite past (Macedonian examples): (6) Dosfla sme mboltele. enough [we) are worked

454

The Semantics af Grammar

15. The Semantics oJEvi&ntia&

'We've worked enough.' [One retired man commenting to another on thek right to a pension) [7)Tatkomi bil mnogumeraklijaza cvexa. father to-me was wry hmd for flowers 'My Father was very fond of flowers." ~ ( b Sum ) sltanal noRieska vo den. (1) am gob u~plast night at one 'I got up at one this morning.'

I can see why Friedman is reluctant to regard sentences such as these as based on "'indirecty' or ""reported" information. However, I submit that if we look in a different direction we can find an invariant-that is, a formula which fits both "'nron-evidential" uses such as Ithose in 6, 7, and 8, and "evidential" ones such as 7a. Essentially, I propose that the cwtrast bekwem the "definite past" and the '"indefinite past" is not that between 3 Hmw" and nothing, but that between kknow'and 'I think". Let us test this hypothesis against all of Friedman's Macedomian sentences with the "hdefinite past"".

"

(6) We've worked enough

+

kind of direct or indirect evidence, i.e. the statement was not based on e report or even a deductiom, but only on the speaker" assuamuptions and expectatians regarding the normal conduct of such matters. (1986: 175). It seems to me that this explanation c o n h s the analysis proposed as it shows dearly )that the statement was based on an 'I think' rather than an 'I know'. Let us consider, in tmn, Friedman's data on the Macedoniam and Bulgarian pluperfmt. Here, '"he equipolient sharpening of the confirmativdnonconhative apposition . . . results in a set of restrictions which are truly evidential in nature-witnessedi'nonwiLnessd in Macedonian and *mnfimative/nonwitnessed in Bulgarian" "(177-8). The: evidemce for this "equipollent sharpening of the opposition" is fouunld in the fact that "in Maedoniara the definite pluperfect a n n o t be subordinated to verbs of reporting, while the indefinite pluperfect cannot be subordinated to verbs of witnessing and direct perception brut can only be used for reports and, rarely, deductions and suppositions" "178).The illustrative sentences are 8 5 and 16 (Macedonlan): ja imaa srrJeao rabotata. he said that they it hadl finished the-job *'He said that they had finished [DEF.PLWPBRP.] the job.' (t&] *.Pas uridcw kakoSdeka tolj go imrd napraveno toru. I saw howlthat he it had done that "'1 saw howlthat he had done [INDEF. FLUPERF.] it.'

(15) *Toj r d e deka tie

I think we've worked enough

(71 My father was very fond ol Rowers 4 I llnink my father was wery fond of flowers [I remember him always buying Rowers lor ows house, even when we had very little: money) (8) I got up at one this morning 4 II think II got up at one this morauing (I didnt have a watch) ( 7 4 His father was very fond of flowers -+ P think his father was very fond of flowers (I remember him always buying flowers for heir house, evem when they had wry little money) 1 think that the proposed interpretation fits all these sentences. At first sight, It doesn't Fare quite a s weil when tested against Friedman's Bulgarian exalnples such as 9: (9) Sdo na sto bifi

pokanemi. (theyjwere invited 'Absolutdy, they were invited.' (1 think they were invited; "I certain of it.)

455

1OiPh

abscalu88y

But Friedman helpfully supplies a clarifying context for this sentence: it was uttered by a cotleague of mine in. Sofia during the course of a discussion as to whether a certain delegation had been invited to a oongcess. My colleague was convinced that they had been invited, although his conviction was not based on any

These facts can be easily amounted for on the basis of the fdlowing semsnX ~ CifaIXl3diW:

&$nSte pluperject [Macedonim) I know this not bemuse someone said somelltring ifldefimitepl/~perfecl(Macedonian) I think this because someone said something Friedman's idea of the "equipollent sharpening of the confirrnaltlve!noncanfurnative opposition" in the pluperfect is reflected here in the two symmetrical components: 'not because someone said something' and 'because someone said somethiang" but the contrast between '1 knowband 'I think' is preserved, and this amounts for the intuitive link between the 'Udenite past" and the "definite pluperfect"', as we11 as for that haween the "indafinite past'hnd the "indefinite pluperfect". (In Bulgarian, the situation is apparently more complex; and as Friedman mentions it only in passing, without any details, I will not attempt to capture it in semantic famulae.)

15. The Semantics of Ewidentiats 457 One final point which requires a comment is the reference to %saying% the formula assigned to the Macedonian "indefinite pluperfmt". .I think this bemuse someone said something.') Is this formula compatible wih suppositions and deductions? I believe it is, evlen though suppositions and deductions don't have to be (and usually are not] based on hearsay. The proposed formula does not read: T think this because someone else mid something', but 'I think this because someone said something'* Suppositions and deductions may well stare with our "saying somethingy' (not necessarily viva voce) along the Following lines: '"if we say that such and such, then we can think that swh and such". It would seem, then, that perhaps there was some truth in Jakobsonys (1957: 4) view that Maoedonian and BuEgarian have "true" evidential categories. IF the formulae assigned here to the Macedonian pluperkts are correct, then Macedonian does have categories encoding epistemological meanings such as 'I think . . . because' and 'I know . . . not be~ausa'.00n the otber hand, Friedman is probably right in implying that there are no . %because' components in the meaning of the Macedonian (or Bulgarian) "definite pasb'hnd "indehite past"". What is particularly satisfying is that we @am amount for both the ""eidentialr" nature of the pluperfects, and the "validational" nature! of the pasts, while respecting in our analysis the intuitive links between the piuperfects and the pasts; and refteclting them in the invariant componenb 'lknow' and thinky.

"

Meaning is encoded not only in words but also in grammatical categories. The meanings cncodcd in grammar-just like those encoded in the l e i con-are language-specificiCIf one attempts to identify the meanings encoded in different languages by means of the same, arbitrarily invented labels, such as, for example, "first-hand'' and ""second-hand", c h m e d i a ~ ' " and "'inferred", or "direct'bnd "indirect", one cap only conceal m d obfuscate the language-specific character of the categories to which they are attached. To be able to compare grammatical categories across hnp a g e boundaries we need some constant points off reference, whkh sllippery labels with shifting meanings cannot possibily provide. Universal semantic primitives can provide such constant and language-independent points of reference. They offer, therefore, a secure basis for a semantic typology of both lexicons and grammars. At tlhe same t h e , they orFger us convenient and reliable tools for investigating the universal and the language-splecidic aspects of human cognition and human conceptualization of the world.

8* A S u m a r y of the Formulae

4

Kashaya -ke8a (perfomatbe-Imperfective) I know this because I am doing it -mela (Perfornative-Perfective) I know this because I did it a short time before n m -# (Visual (Perfective)) "Visuali " I know this because H saw it -I% (Fa~tual(Imperfective;)) '6Visua12's I know this because I see it -44 (Factual-generic sense) 'Tactual" everyone k n o w it (Auditory) 1 know this bemuse I lnear it

-yow& (Personal Experience] I don't say this because someone dse said this I know it -do (Quotative) I say this because someone else said this I don3 say: 1know it -q?i flnferenliial 131 I know this because I know something else -bi -w (Inferential I1 -w) I know this now because H know something else now I didn" know it before now -miy8 (Remote Pasit) I know Ithis nor because someone else said something it happened a long time before now

Quechua H ~ a n u c oQluechcsa

-mi I say this not because someone else said it I know it -shi I say this tmause someone else said it I don't say: I know it chi I think this

-mi I know this -shi someone else says this I don3 say: H know it -chi I think this I don't t o w It

-nthEr (non-visual sensorial) I think this because something happens @appened] to me -kc- (hearsay] someone says this I don't say: I know if

-(k,l'yu~ (sight) 4 know this happened people could see It (first person volitional sentences) I know it happened because I did ir people could see this (first person non-vditional sentences] I know it happened because i t happened to me people could see this [non-first person subject) I know this happened people conlld sce it

(definite pas41 I know this (indefinite past) 1 think this

- r e [inferential) I know something now (because I see something) I think I can say something about someone because of this -?el (expectationat) I think this I can't say: I know it

-(kJb (hearing) I know this happened people could hear it (first person volitional sentences) I know it happened because I did it people could hear this (non first-person subject] I know this happened people could hear it -'idz-'a (hearsay) people say this I don't say: I know it

(def nite pfuper'eck) I know this not because someone said something (indefinite pluperfect) I think this because someone said something

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BE [THERE ESIARE] 124 bead 389 BECAUSE 69-70, 114, 837, 1164,4127; see abrp causality becbming 50 bee 208 BEFORE 567, 110, I14, 132 beg [for) 177 behauriouaism 3, 4, 5. 7, 19 behind 93 Bennett. David C.

AbeIson. R. P. 171 abn'Iity 260 ability 106 ABOVE 58. 59, 11% 1356 absolute predictability 379-80, 382-3 abstract wnceph 337; see &Q concepts A m h m 30-65 acquisition 213; of conoepts 18, 221; of b5nwge 16, ms411,.65, 78, 85 actton 35,54 122; amon mmplemeat l19 active imperative oon$m&ons 406 addressee I21 A d e b , W. F. H.434-5 adequacy 251 adjamcy 137 adjectives 3146 adjmct 112 adverb 146 advise 243 AFTER 56-7, 110, 114, 432, 187-8 agent 51, 122,416*42&U, 423 agentivity, hierarchy of 411 A p d , h a 23 Aikhenvald, A. 80, 328,331 aE&w 3 16; see also mhw alienable pswssion 61 ALIVE 86 ALL 46, 128, 193 all 210 allolexy 26, 33 allotnorphy U l4 alphabet af human thoughts 13, 119 Alpher, B. 94 amae 238-9; see elso motion mazemmt 179-80; see afso motion , h e k a , Felix 32, 34 h e r i m English 388. 390,39% see oSso ArrglwAmericen cwliure m o w 8 46 Anbarra 289 and 187 Andenan, E. S. 60 Anglhn, L ~ e m y2Y4,221 Pln~1o-hedcanculture 396 a n k S 3 5 M , 369,374 moilcrrce 2m m w e r 275-6 ant 231, 360-8 Antinumi 106 aoi 291, 300, 309, 31 1-13; see atso mlow onofo~be175

besf 275 betoiwy (beigep 326; see @Gocolow bilblical references: khsiasbes 88; St Bickerloru, W. 293 bicycle 373 Biemisch, M. 108 BIG 15, 5 4 5 , 131 biolo&all categories 365 bioi~gicatlkids 368; see a h KIND bipastik b d o n 385 bipartite smmw 385-5, 388,390, 396,401

l%r

arteikts 3704, human 384 arteractud k i d s 372; see o h super-caiqopi~s mR fjor,/ 177-8 aspect, imgerlectiw 488,423,428,41301; perfective 4118, 423,431 atomic pdicate 39 Atran, S. 63, 351-3.355, 3610-3,3634,367, 369-75 attributes 145 attributive linker 143 augmentor 73, 76, 129 Austin, 6.566 Austin, I. L. 67, 71, 105, 1741, 366 Australian AhoriginaO languages 14, 30, 32,411, 60,62, 74-5, 88, 94-5, 101, 151, 1186, 196, 2010,288,296,303, 305, 370, 414 Australian English 3W. 395 Austronesian U4, 84

back 93 BAD 51-3, 108, 13% 278-9, 291 Bain, M. 185-6, 189, 192, 198 Raker, E. 41 Baker, 6.158 Bandajalang 42 B a r a h k , Stamiskaw 215 barre8 174 BartleYt, E. 5. 300 basic ~ l l a n Items r 294; see also mlow basic sentences 112 bat 368 Bates. E. 86. 96

bird (55-6, 163-4, 174, 354, 356413, 362, 365, 366, 367,3618-9, 370, 373, 374,375, 390,402; birdmess, scale of 151 Im,IF. 288, 303,3061, 315 BitDer, M. 194-5, 206 Black, M. 167 b i d 3004, 303-4, 318; see aGrp macro-black btaskbe~ries362-3 Bhke. S. J. 41 Bloom, L. 59,66,TEO-1,7&9,94, g6, 213, 31012 BloomlieId, L 3-7, 9, 19, 338; Bloo~llfheldians5 bIue 2904,295, 29%300,309-13, 315, 332; see a h colour b f d e r 280 Boas, F. 37, 184, 214 297, 355,399, 402 boast 175,266 bwr 149 b d g pards 60, 218 Boguslawski, A. 13, 51, 66, 74, 110, 1122, 153, 154,2041,256,411 Bolinger, Ddghm 68 BoPle, Kees I5 QonsaC 367-8 b~rdowy324 see a h COEO'UT Barnstein, M.H. 293 Bornskin, W.K. 322 botsEe 373

Brazil 331 bread 225, 227-9 Itreedlove, D. 351, 353, 355, 358, 361-2, 374 Eretheaton, P. 86, 96 Bright, I. 0. 271, 343 Bright, W. 271,343 BrjAIey's Japanese-Bngr'ish DCfionory 238 Bdtish English 3910, 3W Bmdsky, Joseph 36 Brown, C.H.42, 60,63, 542, 316, 322, 331, 355, 357, 3654, 373-4 Brown, D. E. 44. 52 Bccwru, P. 93,95 brown 3 2 M Brumer. J. 5, 6, 8, 22. 42, 48, 50, 58, 366 bucker 1 N bug 358*374 374 Bugenhagen, R. D. 32. 135 Bukhad, D. 3 4 1 4 Bulgarian 451-2.4544 Burling, R. 226,229,231,298 bwh 3611-3, 367,369, 370,374-5 butterfly 357,359 Bybee, J. L. 56 Bystrow, I. S. I, 406 bJieitny 310 cabbage 164 CAM 67, 103-5, 140 canoaical sentences 30-1 Caramma, A. 362, 167 Carey, S. 41,63, 221 Carting, C. 290 Camap 251 Carni, E. 57, 59 carrods 364 Cartesian 12,418, 33,981, 125 HCastefieda, M. N. 38 cat 365 catagodes 151, 173, 363-4, 374, 380, 398,425, 456; biologb1, oolour 332, 365; ethmobiologiml 37% evidential 456; Folk 173; grammatical 381, 42-3,407, 4264,456; neural response 293; Inflectional 26; semantic 293, 381; see oIsa supercategories categorization: Aristotelian model of 380; folk biologid 3i"4;human 62, 370, 375; levels of 370. 372 causaity 69, 186,416; see o h BECAUSE causaticn 69L70 causafii~vec~nstructions408-9 Chare, W. 427,4341 Channdl, J. 286 chair 371, 373 Chappell, H.27, 32, 34, 53, 60-1 Chase, A. K. 194 chicken 356 Chierchia, G. 8, 21 3,2 14 child language: 58, 59, 92, 213 children's spewh 51, 55, 62,70 child's meaning 221; see a h meaning Chinese 27, 32, 138: Mandarin 14, 27, 32, 53;

chromatology 330; see elsol mlour circularity 48,274, 275,277, 283,394 Clarrcg, P. 64 Clark, E. V. 51, 59, 92, 125,221,230 Clark, H. H. 221, 230 Class-meanings 4; see ufm meaning, definition Classen, C. 81 classically definable 161 classification: elhnobiological 62; folk biological 351; scientific 62 classifier 401 clause adjuncts 144-5 clause operaton 039, 1415 climb 165-6 diGic 410, 413 Clone. G . L. 161 c!oed 220, 223 Cobuild 280, 28 1 COD (Conri~eOxford DisrSomry) 272, 274 aopieion 330; human 456 oognidve dinerenoes 184; domains 349-50, 370; grammar 401; mouroes 2051; mvolution 5, 6. 8 ~ d 221-3 d Cole, M. 205 Coleman, L. 152, 153 Coley, J. 63. 351, 352, 356 collective conoepts 155, 372; p1u;alia tanturn 386, 388: 389, 392, 393 oolour: baslc terns 294; t m s IlibiO, 287, 291, 322, 331; catqories 332; conceptw/.2atiorr 293; ma1 318-19: 321; foci 295; Pinguisaic mpnesentation of 332; mixed 325; neuml representaflion of 332; non-warm 324; perceplion 223; semantics 287; universals 28%;see ako concepts; categorization; and under specifrc colour n m e s combinatorial possibilities 114 command 177 committee 382 comparative 45, 54, 77, 90 comrphh 175, 265,268 complement 1112, 145; action 119; event 119; prepositional 145; psychological 119-20; quotatiye 145; speech 119 complex wncepls 21; see ofso concepts complex Entenas U 14 Comrie, 8. 4 k, 68, 408 unccpu: abscracc 337; ucquisllior~or 18, 221; oomplex 21; colie~tive155, 372; colaur 293; ooncrete 221, 255, 337; etnoEianaO 171, 178; folk 340, 342, 344, 347, 374; functional 157, 172,372; indetinabte 171,278, 281-2; innate 11, 17,253; invadanl 264-5, 268; Ianguiugelndegendenl 353; plugging concepts En 232; scientific 374; simple 213,237 conwpLua1izatlon 391, 393-5, 413,422, 423, 425,426; human 456 conditional 68, 103, 403,425 configuration 17 1 congrrrrehre 150 urnj~unctions 146 Conklin, W. G. 290. 295, 307-8, 318, 354 cannflaitrers 173 contextual meanine 453: w e QSSQ meani~ne

mnligmily 92 converses 108-1 0 Cook, S. 36-7 coal mlours 318-19, 321 COOS 320 co-ordinntlcn 423 Coaknt, G. 31 I , 397 mre arguments 425 oorelerence 41Y9110,4I1,414,4I6 couratabikity 129, 394, 401 counuble n o w 392; pseudo-countables 372 counterfactual 101-3 counting courage 240 EQUFQgr?oW2@-8 cow 365,369-70 ereodere 359 criticize L76 c r ~ r tW. , 408 Crowley, T.43 Cmse, D. A. 59, @ 110, 218,246, I , 284 cultural kinds 40, 131-2,225, 366,368, 3'73, 372 +. ., cultwall LnowUealge 348-9 cu8otlle 397; see d o separate leg garments r n 162 ~ ~ h r n o wT , . 102 cusferpl 373 czerw 314; see abo colour czerwony Rur 3 15; see ah0 colour czsrwo~~y 330; see &OJ W~QLI% da Yirrci, Leonard0 303 dark 301-3, 31 P -&a (quotatilre sunix] 432,457 Da~hesaani433 Dahl, 0.56 Daipenkan 238 D a h t a 51 Ddy, M.1. 86, 101, 104 Daud, 5. 30, 142 Dani 246-7, 3 18, 320, 330 Davis, 8. L. 289 De Jonge 153 definite past, see past deffinitiornr 183, 212,237, 253,259, 263,270; modcl of 283: rcrerenllivll 226: uniliivrv 419:. universal 419: verball 226 defy 263 Deibler, C. 2M deictic 42, 97 &m0nd 177, 178 dernonslrative 42 denororion 39 1, 394 dentist 262 Wregowski, J. B. 290 Descartes, R. 12, 204,211,276-7 deucriptons 35 destiny 275 determiners 35,42, 73-4, 126, 144, 146 dictionary definidims 250; see aiSro d&nitjan Biller, A. 37, 383 dLect evidence 427,431, 438

.

d i r ~experience t 428,435 direct objects 410, 421; see abo object direction 124 disappointm~nf17940 discreteness OF meantug 242, 267; see oSso meaning disrwce 89, 90, 109, 1134 distanced narrati~n453 distinctive featunes 366 dbrress 181, 152 Dimon, R. M. W. 41,79, 138, 246, 354,414, 4&6,418 1Xr 50, 1114, 122, 427 Dobsorn, 1. and Y. 88 dog 230, 3 5 W , 365, 373,453 2 1 Doi, T. a&, Dolehl, FFedric 246 &main specifn@ity351 Domenico, P. 1016 Donddsoa, Margaret 20-6 Dougherty, J. W. ID. 362 down 59 Dowty, David 8 d u d nouns 383,392 dual 402; see crbm number b p & , J . 164 dumtion 97-8, 109 Durie, M. 30, 142 Dyirbal 414, 425 mrs 289

easli 94 eat 232 hlesiastes 88 Edelman, 6. M. 21, 58 Ellen, R. F. 63 Einitsky, C. 1169, 243, 246, 270, 286, 356, 369 emotions 48, 161, 171, 178,214; lertms 24,32, 1801 m p ~ # l h y261 &cycEo$taedio Brirannica 337 encyclopnedic knowledge 335 endonyms 351 English: American, 388, 390, 395; Australian 390,395; British 39101 394; folk 355 Enffield, N. 122, 130 mviromrnenAa1 protodyp approacb 328 envy 161 Ernoul, A. 198 Eruin-Tripp, 3. %5 aspeckaISy 266, 267-8 essences, hidden 352; real 370, 371; underlying 2h7-8. 771

.- .-

.. -. .

ethnobiology 353; ethnobiological analysis 353; categorization 375; classification 62; universalla 351; see a h folk, bblogical Eurapean languages 3% evaluators 39, 130 Evans, J. 1103, 188 Evans, P1. 141-2, 186, 188, 196-7, 203,206 event complement 119 events 35. 40 evideniial categories 456; non-visual sensorial 439,444; hearing 446, 48-50; hearsay 439,

4434, 4416, 450; immediate evidence 427, 428; internal evidence 448 evidenaial markers: -?el[expctational) 445, 446, 458; -qcf (inferential) 433, 434, 457; -re Censory) 445, 458; -w [inferential) 434; -nlid [visual) 429, 430, 457; -*ek (performathe) 428, 457; yci; [visual) 429, 457; -yowri @rsolna11 experience) 431,432, 434, 457; ev~dentialliulrhes 428, 434, 439; Factual suthx 430-1; indirect evidence 441,427, 435, 454; inference 403, 4336, 439, 4461-5 ewideratialiry 82, 409,4274, 432, 435, 913941, 441, 443, 445,451; expechtiomsll 439,44%6 evolutionary sequence 321, 323 Ewe 14, 32, 281 ewire 331; see a h colou~ existence 83, 85-6, 125; see a h BE existential quantifier 75, 84; see d o quantifiers experhential suffix 434; see aEso s u f i ; evidential categories eyes 2 1'9,220

fare 275 FEEL 48,49, 119, 120, 243-4 feminine Eender 398; see ofso gender femhine names 398 FeWr, J. )11. 249 jewdifde 46 S ,I f-p 185 --Fillmore, C. 42, 149, 165-6, 171, 246 $re 221,223-41, 329 first-hand 423, 428 fish 354, 358, 359, 3 W 2 , 365,366 Fletcher, P. 1103 flower 271, 363,365, 367, 369 focal and marginal members 163 Fador, 1. A. 18, 23, 150, 169,211, 213-14, 241.253-5.257. 369 F O I ~w~aaPII1, ~ , ~ A: I 96 folk botany 361; dblk biojogy 351, 353, 374, see afso categories: folk categorization 173; conmplls 340,342, 344, 347, 374; English 355; g n a s 63, 339,342-3, 353,36e), 361, 364, 365-7,368, 370, 3734; l o ~ ~ ~ l l e d225, ge 337, 339, 348; psychology 48; taronomy 355, 359, 360, 361; aoalogy 358 food 262 forbid 175 forgive 261 Foss, M. A. 161 Fought 4 Frake, C. O. 351-4 Frawley, W. 348 F ~ n c h .L. A. 9, 14413, 45-7, 57, 59. 68-9, 99, 185-4, 193, 198, 386,390, 396,403, 425 Friedman, V.A. 4516 piend 244 Fries, C. C. 4, 4216

Kant 7Q 71, 93,226 Kashara 428,430, 433,434, 457 Katz, P1. 41 Ray, P. 152-5, 288,290, 292-5,305, 3101, 318-19, 322-8, 331-3, 334 Rayardlikl 14, 65, l41, 186, 188, 195, 203 -ke 4413-4, 445,457; see also &dentis1 categories Keenam, E. 408 Kmsing, R. M.56-5,97 Rei1, P. 63, 351, 367, 372-4 Reller, H.220-1 Ke&ywka 5. Mew Japme.si~-BngSbIrDic~ionnsy 238 kesolire 33 1; see oho colour Kibrik, A. 403,416,425,427,433-4 kf!! 211, 213 KIND 60,624, 352, 363; arffefaclual 372; biol a r @ ~3W; l cultural W, 171-2,225,366, 368, 371,373; natural lM,171-2,225, 335, 348-9, 368-9, 3714; living 337, 373; KIND OF 141 Kinnear, P. R. 290 Kir&ilz 209 Kleln, E. 306 h k n p 373 KNOW 48, 49, 119, 120, 093,201, 2M, 427, 4% Smowledlge, cultural 348-9; enqclopmtii 335; emnyday 338; folk 225,337, 339,348; linguistic 335, 349; non-linguistic 33% scientific 2!Xl, 338, 340* 374; tacit 2301 Koado, Do3-inne K.24 KIbplcke, K.-M. 155 koriErcPvyy' 298, 3110 k m i f u 255,256 krwnyj 297, 298; see aIsa wbm krmowy 326; see aha colour W p b , S. 164, 349, 352,367; 374 &onhaus, M. 153 Kuczaj 11, S. A. 86, I01, 1104 kwhi 199 Kushner, H.3. XI Swt$p 192 kuyu 339 kwadr 301, 308 Kwaio 56, 57. 97, 98 Kwpisz, Z. 411 -(kJ ')w 446-9.458; see al'so evidenflirl categories

S. 1. 250, 259, 280 Landman, J. 103 Langecker, R. 334 356, 37943, 391,401 language, acquisition 16, 20, 41, 65, 38, 85; simple 282; universals m;me 428 language-independent mnmprwaI rolplls 353 bangwage-spik meanin@ 391 Latin 26, 72,316

Tatup 306-8; see ofso colour

Laughren, N. 94,339 Lave. J. 205.2U0 l m 281 LDOCE (Lomgma~SPjcfirrrraryofe;bnrmprmy &gSish] 243, 261 LDO3;EL 49, 240,262-3,268,275, 283, 138, 345, 388 Le Pan, D. 5'7, 184-5 Leach, E. R. 356 Leavers, G. 89 left 93 !e,flovers 372 Cehrer, A. 110, 173, 156, 222,246, 248-9 Leibniz, 6.W. 18-P3, 19,28,32, 76, 82, 184, 2Q6-7, 211,2113, 237-18, 246 h o w 371 ilw 78 Lessard, A. 169,243,246, 270,286,356, 369 Levinson, S. 93, 95 U q - B m h l 62, 185, 194,205, 2107 Lewis, C. W. 258 lexical meaning 244 lexical universals 13,253 lexicography 233, 258; practical lexiagra~hy 286 lexicon 456 ilgas" 153,214 iie 152-3 Bfe 86-4;life ram 353, 358, 36043, 374 3M; momgeneric life farms 3644; poiytypic life fonn 365; quasi-life form 365; see etsa LIVING TNIWGS IJghr 301-3, 316. 320-1 Lightbow, P. 39 LIKE 711-2, 114, 143,2$9,352; like this 127 Mac 360, 362, 363 limited countability 393, 394 linguistic evidence 355 linguistic fonn 408 linguistic kknewldge 335. 349; see o h knowtedge linguistic labels 416 linguistic meaning 237; see aEso meanimg linguistic representation of colour 332; see a h colour linguistic ruler 380, 400 linguistic aypolagy 425,426 linkers 112, 145 &lie 16, 55; see aha SMALL; size LIVE 86. 88, 125; livesrock 356; Yving creatures 356; living k i d s 337, 373; LllYlhlG THING3 63, 356, 370 locstion 125 b c k e , J. 82, 212-13. 237,2911, 348. 370 Oocwtionaty topic U2 1 Oogioal ogrerator P7 long 91 LONG TIME 97, 98,133 Longacre, R. E. 55 b n g g u 14,635 ;look o f 252 hve 242 Lucy, JI. 333 Lwia, A. R. 2W-00

Lurifij~a 194, 303 Lu@ C. 24,2041 Lyons, I. 14, 110, 125, 246, 373, 403 Lyons, W. 40, 233

no%osox1i 394 Macedonian 4516; gluperfacts 456 McCawley, J. D. 33, 39,jr;?, 75, 86, 121, 148 McCloskey, M. 354 Mdonnell-Glnet, S. 8, 213, 214 McConvell, P. 189-90 McDmiel, C 292-4, 3015, 322-3, 332-3 McEmgor, w.60-1 Mackury, R. E. 290,301, 309, 3334 MxFrlamam, J o b 16,411 macro-black 318 macro-red 322-5 macro-white 318, 322 Mdhane, J. 41,78 mgpie 355 Malay 25, 32. 339 naofem%fj 115 mihevr 15 Malkiel, Y. 257 Malrhson, G. 41 MaEolM, E. 56 malowat' 255,256 Malt, B. @. 347 m m a l 359, 3601, 374 Mandarin, see Chioese Mandarin ManppMbuEa 1432, 138 Manning, C. 315 M A W 441. 128 mapEes 364 Marmtz, A. 414 M a r i m p 446,4419,490 I ~ ~ R 24, ~ W30;S nuarkerese 23 MaRithiyel 196, 197,228 Manhallese 103 Martin, Gottfried 13 M a r ~ uWangka 305 naot'teny 356 Matthews, Petar Hugm 4, 7 MAYBE 1103, 104, 039, 140 meaning 369, 391,426; and colour charts 294; see ah@m@I(Dlow; m d psychologid reality 297; and dentific Bmow1edge 2901; classmeanings .4; child's 2211; contextmall 453; deteminanacy oh 241; discreteness OF242, 267; iiwariant 148,4510; Ilanguapspenific 391; lexica1 2414; linguisflic 237; system af mwnmgs 404 Medim, D. L. 63, 352 Mixlbaru. B. 289. 296 Mcillet, A. 198 -mela 457 Mel'hk, 1. 3159,218,243, 246, 253, 258, 270, 286, 356,358, 369 mental dictionam 355 mental ptedicat& 35,48,78, 119 memKalisrn 3. 6. 19

mela-lan~uage426 mela-prdicale 64, 143, 145 -mi 434-9, 457 midari 31010, 312; Eee srba co1ours mipso wdowe 356 milir' 320, 3301; see aSsa mlour Milingimbi 289 Miller, E. A. 184, 254 Mirkin. B. O. 337 mistake 280 Misumalpan language 14 miyii 434, 457 Miyokawa, Y. 357 mfzu 229, 230 moEo 320, 330; see a!so slolowr mole 349 Mondey, A. 153 morrogeneric life forms 3611-1 Monlague grammar 8 Moore, T. 290 mmF 278; m w d rules 105 Moravcsil E. 393,4201 MORE 764,129 Morgm, E. 31 1 rnoupholoyEi4 struclum 356 morphn(;ypes 355 Marsbach, H. 238,396 Moscow semantic schooll U Masel, U. 84, W, 128,387, 416 Mass, A. E. 3111 moss 374 Moatavaja, A. D. 337 mother 154-5 rnowe 33949,355, 357; folk mice 340; rnoweeos 3441; mouse-salt 36a; mourehoie 344; mawetrap 3414 mousy 3414 m ~ u d219, 386 MOVE 82-3, 115, 124 MUCH 44; see a t . MAW muLarry 362-3 multiple entities 382; see also number multiplicity 390, 393, 394 mwhram 364, 367 name 3018; proper names 367 Wash, EE. 339 nature, hiddm 367-8, 370, 371-4; underlyimg 7L1

natural environment 21 8 Natural Semantic Metetalanguage 22-3,238. 282, 286, 408; NSM grammar 11 12, 1E4 natural kinds 1164, 171-2, 225, 335,348-9, 368-9, 3714 NEAR 89,90, QL, 92, h34 necessary and sufficient features 168 Needhanu, R. 204, 206-7 nestion 64-5, 139 Nelson, K. 9, 46-7, 57, 6 8 4 9 9 neura! representation of rnlour 332; see abo wlour neural response categories 293 neurophysiology of visian 320, 321 neuter, see gender

New Guinea 330 rrermi 357 Ngaanyaoj~arra '8 188 Ngandi 2W Ngachman 190 Edichols. J. 427, 434 Nida, E. A. 168, 227,246 nfebdesikf295, 300, 309, 315; see also colour niezdawolonp 435 n o n a m p i t h n a l semantic relirlionsbip 28-9, 71

no&nnha6ivimy453 non-direct evidence 427; see abo evidentiall artefiories cnora-evidential 4 5 3 4 see aha evidential categories non-immediate evidence 427; aee aSao widmkia11 categories mu-&&we senences 423 non-tanonomic solpercalegory 372 aon-visual wnwdal 439,444; see & evidential categories w o d m 394 norm 77 nose 219 NOT 6.4, 139; see a h megatian not-witnessed 427; see efso evidmtiaf mtcgorim noum 42% classes 3% mncrede 171; cwntabk 392; dual 383, 392; h a h t e 397; professionall activity moms 399 MOW 97,99, 1O(D NSM marural Smanllc MetalamguageJ 22 -n@Er 439,441, 442,457; see atso evidential categories number 4,454, 387, 392,425; dual 4612; multiple 382,390, 393, 394 numerals 44,425 Nunmubuylu 151 OAJD jOxford Amtrnlh h i o r Dtcabnaryp 260, 2624, 270,274, 278,283-5 mk 3624. 367,370 oars 3811, 382, 393, 394, 399, 401 object 112, 414 surlrace 411; underlyine abject 41 1; slee o h dirmt object obiigatory 282 OED f n e 0xfu1.dEflgSisL Dic~wnnry] 337, 345 @$ten 268,272 Ogden, C. K. 297 Oglloblin, A. K. 406 o b o 397 Ommura 198 ONE 44, 128, 129; sea atso number Onishi, M . 16, 53,229 OPD ( 8 g o r d Paperbrsck DLtfowry,I 242,251, 252,260, 265,266,268, 274,275, 276 oppasites 108-10 oipknol 282 or 267, 268 orange 326,329, 3310; see #EM colowr or&? 175, 177,272-3,274 Chtony, A. 161. 1163, 352

Olerson, D. 169 oslensian 226, 231, 369 Olstyn. F. 286 Osw~~lt, R. L. 428-34 OTHER 43,123 outside %

p m a 339 pmrs 382; see a!so separate leg garments pmta1'ota 390, 397; see aSso separate leg garments Penu 195 Paskes, C. 169, 21 1,257 parror 1174 PART &I, 142,363; PART OF 141; particles 146 pantonomy 35, 60,1141 parts-OF-speech 146 Pawl, B. 11-12,41,277 passive irrealis mnstm~tian406 pas@tense 432,404,4125,456; definite 451, 452,453,454,456; indetbik 4511,452,453, 454,456; remote 434 patient 51, 1115, 118, 122-3,416, 420,421,4234 PrawIey, A. 30, 201-2 pearls 389 pencil 371 PEOPLE 40,41,1116, 117,451 perfective 418. 423,431 perfornatives 1108,428-31 person 39: 1114 persona1 experience 431,432,439 personal evidemoe 427, 428: see &a evidentid categories personal pronouns 36,413 Pehu 438 petr$ed 2 16 pewny 405 ph0no9ogical rules 40na Piaeen, J . 197, 203 pimwf 330 pink 2997, 30r0, 326; see a!so colcur Pinker, S. 176 pfror 2411,317; see a h ccd80ur Pitjantjatjara 189, 192, 198, 229, 281 Plank, F. 419 phm 364,374 p1'm#icflowers 2711; see also flowers Plato 21 1, 240 precrS 1 7 ~ 8 plurality 4, 381, 3874,392,401-2, 1104,425; see abo number plumlia bantunu, see collective concepts P@%"] ookras~l255

polysemy 25, 26, 29, 33, 40,67, 185, 186, 188, 207,241, 242, 270 polylypk genera 358,362. 365; see also genus Romo 428 padse 365 Popper, K. 401 p a a n t e a u 27, 1127, 143 Posner, U. 147 possessive ccmstruuctions 61 possibility 101, EM-7, 139 Post-IBlmfieOdians 4 potential 1102 praise 176 pray 268,269 pwperatary stage 197 precision 246 p d i m k s 144 pdictilreness 380-1 pmfemntid fwttms 166 prepositions 14% primany lexmes 357, 361,374 primitive thought 184-5, 207 primikivm [semnticJ 11; new 73 principle of reductive paraphrase 244 pronouus 36, 146; see aEm persona0 proaom prototypes 148-9, 164, 245,352 prototypical trmsitive event 420 pmxhity 92; see also NEAR psedooomtables 372; see loha wmlable nouns, mmtability psychic unity or (h@rndlad 184, 205 psychalogical: cmplment 1119-20; object 116; realityq298, 370; salience 342; subjact 1k4, 119; topic 120, 121, 127 Puate, B. 435 p m p k h 355, 361,363 punhhmene 283-5 pturpde 326; see a h oolour Putnam. H.164, 66%.340, 349, 351,367, 369. pyj&

385; see also separate leg p m n t

-q# [inrerentiall] 433,434, 45R see a h evidential categories, evidential markers -re, (senso& 445, 458; see elso eerienth1 categories, Evidential markers qwdqped 23 I, 374 quantifiers 35, 44, 126, 1128-9; existential 75, 84; see aho number quasi-life from 365 Ipluechua 432,434-5,4374,4139,457

rabbis 357 mcmn 366 r d o 374 Rand11, R. 353, 355 Rappaport, 6.410, 413 ram? 308; see also colour rar 339 ~ffawen,P. 351, 353,355, 358, 361,362, 374 Read, K. E. 198

rebuke 175, 176 red 2990, 291,297, 3PE),314-16; SeC @&SO prusC60red reference point 128 mfimmtial definitions 226 reflexives 410124, 408-10, 414-19,4221&; affix 414, 425; clitics 425; marlcers 418, 423; pronoun 424-5 EEel&enbach, H. 37-8 relative terns 54 re&f 179-80 repepJy269 report 269 reported indbmatian 453-41 reprhmd 175, 176 repracrch 175 request 269 research methodology 408 resonance 33 rewage 285 Rey, A. 257 rhet~rica]devices 241 rhetcnical force 436 ribbon 2641, 270-2; Lair ribbon 272; iypewrth~ ribbon 271-2 rice 394 Richardsidls, I . A. 297 righa 93,281 Rips, L. J. 63, 352 Robinson. R. 259 Romance Uanguaples 418, 423 Rosaldo. M.Z. 24 rosary beads 389 Rouch,H. E. 148, 151-2, 141, 1E3, 1167,245-7, 314, 320, 330, 333, 352; Rowhian prototype model 380; see e h Heider, E. Rosch rose 355,362-4 Ross, II. R. 121 RaEhstein. R. A. 399 Rousseau, I.4. 290 Royce 64 R o m a n , A. P. 243,286 rozovyj 297, 298 Rudzka, B. 286 Russell, fP. 37, 222,225-6, 230,291-2, 300, 'ltiilh

saccharine 263 Sacks, Oliver 6;22 stfs 180-1 Sahaptin 207,208 St P a d 51 S d ~ n iZ. , 41 1 SAME 43, 72,I27 sonsego 412 sons@ 412 Samoan 04.65, 5151, 101,128 snmych 412 Sanskrit 15 Sapir, E. 3, l8,45, 53, 55, 297-8, 355 Saunders, B. A. C. 2951, 333-4

b u s m r e 28 Lw4 S. &4 SAY 5% 120 Sayers, 8. 185-6 scales 337, 389,390, 395,400-1, a p k oJ 0 set oJ 390; bathroom d e s 388, 389,395 sccaarias 171 Schank. R. C. 170 Schlicher. A. 439-46 ScUck, Work 68 Schuchandfi, H. Schwartz, S. P. 367, 371,373 scientific mice, see mouse scientific classification 62; see oEso classihation scjientific concepts 374; see aho concepts scientific howledge 338,366). 374; see also knowledge scissors 382,383, 392 m g e 258 scripts 171 scmlkize 250-3 sdroiarsi 418 sc 425 sea 329 Searb, 9. R. T I , 174 second-hand 427 secondary bxemcs 357,365 secret 264 sedere 418 serEersl 418 SEE 78%79.10, 1E9,287,427 Seiler, H.&O9 semantics 427; Fornab 8, 214; semantic atoms 221; semantic bridges 27& senramtic categories 293,381; campkxity 10, 232; condition 4616; countabiliLy 387; dimensiolns 420; distinctions 402; ffield 178; semamtic bomulae 428; invariant 24. 2 3 W & 265, 47-8; molecules 206, 221; prime8 9, 17,32; primitives 9, 14, 171,426; protoflype 416; range 433; ne0atbmhips 271; ooncompositional melationships 28-9, 33; rule# 379, 381,383. 3904,SW; m a n t i c theory Ma; theoq OF grammar 401; typology 456 senses; five senses 81 Scnnory cvEdence 433, 441. 445; oviJertdisU 447; sensory non-visual evidential 450; predieautes 82 sensuow 248,249 sentence 147 Yeparam leg garments 384. 396, sea also culotte, pantalon, shorts 383; trousers 382-3, 385, 392* 397, 401; underpants 383, 197

3ePbkCroatian 64 Sharp, D.W. 205

shirr 383 Shopen.T. E53 SI4ORT TIME 97, 98, 133 shorfs 383; see aka sparale k g gslments Shuswap 301, 301, 309 S h ~ e d e R. r ~ 39,205,2901, 333 SIDE 92, 136

sie 41 1,413-14 si~bie412-14 night widcnflisll 446, MR. 454; see 0ko ed6niGdal categories silky 248 sdEwer 329, 330 Si!verstein, M. 41 similarity 71. 72. 143; see oisa LIKE Simpson, 1. 298 sin 2801 singular 381, 383, 391, 392; see a h n u m k r s k g 291,309, 310, 311; see Q ~ dQ o u r uim 109; see also Sirsh; SMALL +ja 424 sky 220, 223, 329 Slavic languages 413 Sldd, J. 250 Slobin, D. 1. 17, 19*21, 24, 26, 57, 77, 79, 92-3, 96, 130, 132, 135, 420 SMALL 54,131 Smitb, E. 169 srnoarh 248 snaiE 360-1, 368 make 3 5 M , 366 snow 304 Snyder. L. 86,96 social cognition 41 social pules 11105 SOED (SSsbrfe~OxJor6 E&hh DkrionarprJ 228,263, 338 sofl 248 So1omoo Islands 56 SOME 74,76, I28 SOMEONE 38,39, 114, 116, 117, 192, 226. 45 1 SCUMETHMG 38,39, 114, 118, 226 SoI1 312 Smensen. N.3. 33-8 sound l a w 3801 Sovran. T. 71-2 space 15, 5&,89, 133 spacing 1147 smdwKKi 394 &&ieE 365 Spanish 3%, 419.421, 425 spedrrww 174, 367 spatial orientation 92; see also space speech Acr Verbs 33, 171, 174, 176, 178,269, 717

speech 35; commuraity 391; compbment 119; fomatae EO& spider 359-61, 366 spies 159, 160 Spiro, M. iE. 39 spokojnmy 405 spring 242, 243 squirre! 366, 368-9, 3711 standard 2M Slliclnkevit. N.Y. 406 Stanlaw, J. 333 store 252

subject 112,416, 421 subjunctive 408 ~ubsers.129 substandves 35, 114, 144, 146 mcceed 263 s u t b , experiential, factual 4310-1.434; i n f m t i d 46)3,439; quotative suffix 345, 432, 457; verbal 428; visual 429. 431 s d t 397 Sullivan, M.A. 205 man 21210*223, 329; sun-time vision 288 s u p r a t e g o r y 856,172, 372-3; artehtual 373; 0011-taxonomic 372; see eho categorimtion sure 260 surface properties 352 slursauce structures 411 1 mrprire 1741-801 Suzuki, T. 229 Swadcsb, M. 306,316, 321 swearwords 107 Smtser, E. E. 153 Swift, Jmatbam 2 w syntax, Formal 3, 7; oore arguments 410; see aSso subject, objecl; properties ob pronouns 413; syntax OF meaning 19, see o.&o meaniag; syntactic frames 176; spt;aoctic f ~ ~ e n t a l l i s8m system of meanings 404 szczfs'iFjwy 2 15 Suokr, S. 41 1 tacit knowledge 2301 T d e n a h Jopmae-EngIhh Dictfonary 235 relent 263 Talmy, L. 246 Tarians 306. 331 Tbuade 193, 194 taxonomy 35, 601,63, 141, 155, 172, 363 Taylor, 9. R. 513, 166 Kelevidon 374 fernperatwe 221 temporal liruk 416 lemporal notions 56 rempr 266, 28.54 tense, Maoedanian pluperfects 456; see olro past rer~$etf,terror 2 16-1 7 SdEa 356 Thai 14, 36, 37,3W, 313, 314, 339 thank 172 The M#cqwrie Dictionrary o,fAw!rallnn Bwg1i.d~ 228. The New EgIlsh B&!e, see biblical references theory of cultural scripts 34 theory of universal semantic primitives 352 THERE IIS 83, 85; see uEso BE rhirag 114, 118; see aEso living things THINK 26,48, 49, 112, 119, 120, 197,2034, 208, 456 thirst 264 THIS 42-3, 226, 427 Thompson, S. 41111.419-23

SSsrear, threoien 175, 260 Tien. 11. 138 tiger 368-89, 371 t h e 35, 56,97, 131; see ofso temporal notions fjinguru 190 T d a , T. 3 12 Tolai 84, 85 !QRUTdO 164 top 208 Toren, C. 223,2W toy 156, 372-3 lransitivity 4012, 410-12, 420-1, 4 2 1 6 , transiflive hierarchy of categories 374 ltnansitiw object 421; bansiliiw verbs 418, 421 Travis, Catherine 32, 33 free 355, 361-701, 362, 3 8 , 364, 365,366, 367, 368, 369, 370, 373-5 Treerat, W.37 Tdeu, 5. 170 drawers 382, 383, 385, 392, 397, MU; see also separafle leg garmeols ilrulh 25%6111,2&ll Tsohatzidis, S. L. 152 Tsunoda, T. 419-20 Turner, Y. W. 318 TWO 44, 128, 129; see @haplurality, duals Tyack, T). 96 Tyler, S. 230, 348. 362-3

fypic~fly272 typology 409,407-8 Tzeltal 93 urnad33liated generics 361, 368 uncle 1162-3 UNDER 58-9, 1110, 135, 136 umderlying. natures 352 undeslybg objects 41 1 undedying sWuc~tures41 1 w n & q a n ~ 383, 397; see atso separate leg Parrnents

m~erstflnd198 unSsappy 18011 unique beginners 359, 360, 364 lunitary definition 4 6 7 wifary hwes 325; see utso colour universal detinihn 419 universal grammatkal patterns 3 1, 112 universal quanlifier 47 unirenal semantic primitives 426-7.4156 universalism 14 universals of seeing 287-8; see afso SEE unmarked past 452; see uSso past

v 59

U p n ~ s h a d s306 Wses 182 urge 177 usra 386

v a I w y optbns 33, 21, 182-13, 129 valency or mantic primitives 1 13 wljdsrionnl eIEjdentLS~435,4156 value 109 Van Br&eU, J. 245-7, 288,290, 301,308-10, 324,334 wehicfe 3373 w'ehery 248 eni iron 356 Yenaman* T. 4010 verb 146, 420 verbal definitiorar 226 verbal mplanations 226 verbal srpffwres 4% see &Q suhk Vemors, J. B. 41 Vethaat, d. W. M. 84.420 Qer9cLuemm, 11. 149, 13,165,246 VERY 67,6B%,141 Vico 93 Vietnamese 4Q6 rime 361, 363. 374 risioru: nieurophysiology of 320,321; night-time 28% sun-time 288 visual evidence 441, $A& v i p l su& 429,431 - V d 430,4157 volitional mtemces 44% voluntary action 418-i9 Yon Stunner, J. R. 194 v&6s 29U, 317; see a h w l o w vrar' 153,2U4

warm &lour# 3118-19, 321, 324; see aim colovlr warn 32101,322-3 IvW 208 watch 250, 251 Mlarrer 225,229, 23P weopos 261, 373 Weber, a.J. 396.4349 Websrer's flew S c h d and Ofice Dictionary 240 Websrerk Mew WorM Dkldonary 249 Web~ter'sThird Mew ! ~ ~ e ~ o t b Dicrioaary na! oJ~.kt?Ern&& Lamgwgt? 162,263, 269 W&1, s i o n e 15 Weinmick, U,145,246 Weiskopf, S. 322 we& Nib; see &O wollour Wellmam, H.M. 48-9 Welsh 306, 302' wem 191 rest 94

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