Draft Vladimir Glebkin

Cultural-historical psychology and the cognitive view of metonymy and metaphor 1. Introduction

The problem of the cognitive basis of metonymy and the correct cognitive demarcation

between metonymy and metaphor is one of the most intriguing issues in contemporary

cognitive linguistics. Unlike the conceptual theory of metaphor, where a significant

number of researchers agree on the main postulates, not only the foundations of the

conceptual theory of metonymy, but also its exact definition, have been the subject of

heated debate (see, e.g., Kövecses and Radden 1998; Croft 2002; Peirsman and

Geeraerts 2006; Croft 2006; Peirsman and Geeraerts 2006a; Barcelona 2011). I would

therefore like to start with a cursory examination of the problem of definition.

First of all, the obvious: metonymy is neither a real object, like a tree or a house,

nor a fact of language, such as the word apple; it is a tool to describe a number of

language facts. In other words, it is a matter for linguists, but not ordinary speakers. A

definition of metonymy should therefore satisfy the following conditions: it should rest

on the prototypical language facts by which metonymy has been defined during a long

linguistic tradition dating back to antiquity, and it should not extend too far from these

prototypes.

Assuming this is correct, the following argument is hardly justified: “The very

nature of language is based on this metonymic principle, which Lakoff and Turner

describe as ‘words stand for the concepts they express’. Since we have no other means

expressing and communicating our concepts than by using forms, language as well as

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other communication systems are of necessity metonymic” (Kövecses and Radden

1999, p. 42). Do we really have sufficient grounds to speak of metonymy in this case?

To illustrate the doubtfulness of this I will take a very simple example. Let us compare

firstly the correlation between a numeral (e.g., 5) and its corresponding number, and

secondly between fire and Hephaestus. The latter is taken from the classic extract from

Homer, recognized as the model for metonymy in the ancient Greek rhetorical manuals

(Arata 2005: 59): “These they burned on billets of wood stripped of leaves, and the

inner parts they pierced with spits, and held them over the flame of Hephaestus”

(spl£gcna d' ¥r' ¢mpe…rantej Øpe…recon `Hfa…stoio) (Hom., Il., 2, 425-426, tr. by A.T.

Murray). We can also compare the further correlation and the correlation between a ham

sandwich and a customer from Lakoff’s classic example: “The ham sandwich is waiting

for his check” (Lakoff and Johnson 1980, p. 35). It seems that the numeral “5”

represents the number “five”, just as fire represents Hephaestus or the ham sandwich

represents the ordering person. However, unlike the numeral, the ham sandwich not

only has a particular shape, but also its own cultural meaning: we know that it is food,

which can be bought in particular places, that it can be bad for our health, and so on. In

other words, unlike the numeral, the ham sandwich has its own part in the scenario; it is

not only a means to reach another entity. In that, Kövecses and Radden’s interpretation

is revealed as an incorrect extension of the term.

This paper deals with common examples of metonymy, such as “The ham sandwich

is waiting for his check” or “He likes to read Dickens”, and the main issue is the

cognitive function of these and similar expressions. A common approach to this

problem is as follows: in metonymy one conceptual entity (or subdomain) provides

mental access to another conceptual entity (or subdomain) within the same domain (or

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domain matrix, or Idealized Cognitive Model) (Lakoff 1987; Langacker 1993; Kövecses

and Radden 1998; Croft 2002, etc.; cf. Barcelona 2011). Although each of these

versions has its own peculiarities, they are not crucial for the current discussion.

The above-mentioned approach does not provide us with an answer to the key

question about the cognitive reason for such a shift of reference. In the case of

conceptual metaphor we have two conceptual domains; the conceptual mapping of a

concrete domain onto an abstract one is believed to be the major way to perceive

abstract domain processes (Johnson 1987, p. 1−17; Lakoff, Johnson 1999, p. 3−7;

Kövecses 2005, p. 8−10; Gibbs 2005, p. 90−96). For instance, we cannot describe

thinking or cognition directly, beyond metaphorical mappings. In metonymy this is not

the case. We can directly name the customer without using the “ham sandwich” for that

purpose; we can also say, “He likes to read books by Dickens”, and point at the required

object without a metonymical shift. Among a great number of articles that discuss

various peculiar aspects of metonymy, there are likely to be only two attempts to reveal

the cognitive reasons for such a shift of reference. The first point is attracting our

attention on the major elements of the whole (“There are a lot of good heads in the

university” – intelligence which is associated with the head is the key element of

humans in this context (Lakoff and Johnson 1980, p. 36, cf. Gibbs 1994, p. 351-357));

the second is the provision of access to the less salient element by means of the more

salient (Feyaerts 2000, p. 74; cf. Lakoff 1987, p. 77). These ideas, no doubt, can cast

light on a number of particular cases, but they are unlikely to pose a general solution.

While a detailed analysis and critique would doubtless lead to a very long article, a

short illustration of the objections raised can certainly be given here. Let us consider, for

instance, at the following sentence: “Washington is insensitive to the needs of the

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people” (Lakoff and Johnson 1980, p. 38). It sounds strange to name the place as the

most important element of the construction “the US government” in this context, as well

as to suppose that such an indirect way of signifying the main object is more obvious

than signifying it directly.

In short, we have no convincing theory to explain the cognitive essence of

metonymy. However, a well-known psychological phenomenon – complex thinking – is

likely to be the pivot schema for such a theory, although, strangely enough, up to now it

has been beyond the interest of cognitive linguists. Let us now glance over the history

of the research in this field.

2. Complex thinking and metonymy

The first investigations we should address here were carried out by Lévy-Bruhl in the

early decades of the 20th century (Lévy-Bruhl 1978; Lévy-Bruhl 1979). He described in

his works a number of primitive views which appeared to contradict Aristotelian logic.

For instance, the Bororo tribe of northern Brazil boast that they are red araras

(parakeets), not merely signifying that they will become araras after their death, or that

the Bororos can metamorphose into araras, but that the Bororos are actually araras in the

present. Levi-Bruhl defined such an operation as the “law of participation”, and this

way of reasoning as “pre-logical thinking”.

Later, Russian psychologist Lev Vygotsky explained Lévy-Bruhl’s observations by

means of the notion of “complex thinking”. There is no need to discuss Vygotsky’s

points in detail – some of his individual suggestions seem rather simplistic now.

However, a few words can be said about the main idea. Vygotsky interpreted a

“complex” structure as one where there is some particular order within each small group

of elements, but where this order cannot be extended to all the elements. In other words,

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there is some principle of linking adjacent elements within this structure (appearing in a

particular context, shape, colour, function, etc.), but this principle differs from one

element (or group of elements) to another. “In a complex, the bonds between its

components are concrete and factual rather than abstract and logical, just as we do not

classify a person as belonging to the Petrov family because of any logical relation

between him and other bearers of the name. The question is settled for us by facts”

(Vygotsky 1986, p. 113).

Vygotsky illustrates his approach by the well-known Darwin example: “A child’s

use of ‘quah’ to designate first a duck swimming on the pond, then any liquid, including

the milk in his bottle; when he happens to see a coin with an eagle on it, the coin is also

called a ‘quah’, and then any round, coinlike object. This is typical of a chain complex –

each new object included has some attribute in common with another element, but the

attributes undergo endless changes” (Vygotsky 1986, p. 127).

Fig. 1. The structure of the complex “quah”

Vygotsky developed a typology of complex thinking and a model of its evolution,

mainly, for pre-school and primary school children, although he also applied the

category to particular situations beyond this scope, for instance, to Lévy-Bruhl’s

A duck swimming on the pond

A coin with an eagle on it

Any round, coinlike object

Any liquid, including the milk in the bottle

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observations. Nevertheless, further investigations in this direction have clearly indicated

the importance of his approach in general, both for ontogenesis and phylogenesis1.

Complex thinking turned out to characterize not only the thinking of hunter-gatherer

culture bearers (see, e.g., Cole and Scribner 1974; Luria 1976; Tulviste 1991; Wertsch

and Tulviste 1992; Cole et al. 2011), but also that of modern industrial culture in a great

number of everyday situations. The investigations of R. Frumkina and her colleagues

(Mikheev 1985; Frumkina and Mirkin 1986; Frumkina et al. 1991; Frumkina and

Mikheev 1996; Frumkina 2007) can clarify this issue. Let us examine one of her typical

experiments.

The participants, 25-35-year-old individuals with a university degree, were asked to

sort out a set of tableware objects (Frumkina et al. 1991, p. 64-74). They were not

limited in the number of groups or in the number of elements within each group. In

brief, the results were as follows: the participants did not employ a general principle to

classify all the elements, they applied a number of local principles, strictly correlated

with a set of particular practical situations. For instance, “vessels to drink alcohol”,

“objects to lay the table for tea (coffee)”, and so forth. All in all, their cognitive strategy

fell strictly within the domain of complex thinking, with only two notable remarks.

Firstly, the subjects could easily change their minds and suggest different principles of

classification according to the investigator’s requests. Secondly, they could precisely

explain each of the suggested variants. So, we can speak about the more visible

plasticity of their minds and the higher level of their reflections in comparison with

hunter-gatherer cultures.

To generalize this and similar results we should look at them from a wider

perspective. The school of cultural-historical psychology sets out “situational” thinking

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and “abstract” thinking as two basic types of mental functioning (Luria 1976, cf.

Tulviste 1991; Wertsch and Tulviste 1992; Cole et al. 2011; see also similar

dichotomies in other psychological schools, e.g., experience-based vs. rule-based

thinking (Norenzayan 1999), field-dependent vs. field-independent cognitive styles

(Witkin et al. 1962; Witkin 1967; Witkin, Berry 1975; Berry 1976; Witkin et al., 1977;

Markus, Kitayama 1991, p. 247; Nisbett et al. 2001, p. 293), etc.). The former is both a

product of adopting and a means for handling our personal day-to-day experience; we

exploit it when swimming, moving in space, dressing, etc. The latter has no direct

connection with our everyday life; it rests on a number of general logical operations and

prevails in science or similar forms of theoretical activity.

This dichotomy needs a more extended commentary. Indeed, “situational” thinking

may well deal with abstract matters such as love or money; meanwhile, people depend

in this case on their personal everyday experience, but not on a formal description.

Interesting examples of such approach are given in Selischev 1928. The author cites

there definitions which Soviet peasants give to some abstract concepts they face in a

new Soviet reality. In particular, they define conference (konferenciya) and political

meeting (miting) as ‘this give talks (eto rechi govoryat)’, Young Pioneers (pionery) as

‘this go with drum and sing (eto hodyat s barabanom i poyut)’ (ibid., p. 214-215); in

other words, they comprehend such concepts by means of a set of situations they

encounter in their everyday life; for them these concepts are concrete ones, they do not

deal with the abstract level of these concepts. At the same time, “abstract” thinking is

the mode of thinking dealing with general operations like Aristotle’s syllogism and/or

general statements which have no direct links with day-to-day experience of a particular

person.

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To be sure, our mental functioning is mostly a more or less complex blend of these

two types, but we can reveal “pure” cases in a number of situations. In the meantime,

preschool children and hunter-gatherer culture bearers exploit mainly the “situational”

mode of thinking (Luria 1976, Vygotsky 1986).

From such a perspective, complexes and concepts can be considered a result of

employing these types of thinking for object categorization. Importantly, concepts,

having a rigid frame, are stated as attributes of the language of science, whereas

complexes, having a flexible structure, correspond to words of everyday language. Such

words change their meaning in a similar vein to the “word” “quah” in Darvin’s example

above. The only difference is that the process which takes hours or days for the Darvin’s

child lasts decades or centuries in the case of commonly-accepted semantic shifts.

Let me illustrate this with an obvious example. The word “pressure” in physics is

defined as ‘the force exerted on a body by something in contact with it expressed as the

force per unit area exerted in a direction perpendicular to the body’s surface’. It is a

general definition which does not change in time in the scope of physical theory.

Meanwhile, according to the OED, “pressure” in English before the 18th century meant

‘pain, bodily discomfort’, which is situated far from both the meaning in physics and

from the spectrum of meanings in modern language. Such shifts of meaning

characterize, as it were, “situational” thinking, though not of a particular person, but of a

culture in general. A case study, illustrating this proposition, is implemented below.

Before we return to metonymy, we should comment on the obvious analogy

between complexes and Lakoff’s Idealized Cognitive Models (e.g., his description of

the concept “mother”, Lakoff 1987, p. 74-76). However, the similarity of the surface

structures conceals a number of notable mismatches in depth. In fact, Lakoff’s ICM

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falls precisely within the domain of language; it is a static construction which exists in

the air, in the idealized space, and has no visible connection with a socio-cultural

context. The structure of a concrete ICM is a postulate for Lakoff; he does not analyse

the reasons for this particular constellation within it or any vector of its possible

transformation. In contrast, a complex is a dynamic cognitive structure grounded on

socio-cultural experience.

Now, let us proceed with our discussion of metonymy. A close similarity between

shifts within complexes and shifts in metonymy seems evident. The hypothesis that

everyday words signify complexes with flexible boundaries2 casts fresh light on the

cognitive basis for metonymy. The waiter, who, in the situation, relates the ordered ham

sandwich to the customer, is not far from Darwin’s child associating the water in the

duck-pond with the milk in the bottle. Indeed, unlike the waiter’s action, the child’s

behaviour may seem inconsistent from the adult’s perspective, however, it is fairly

consistent from the child’s own perspective in accordance with his experience and his

view of the situation.

In order to make the similarity between the Darwin’s child and the Lakoff’s waiter

more graphic let us imagine that the "ham sandwich" customer is a married middle age

man interested in M. Heidegger’s philosophy and an hour later an awkward teenager, a

fun of heavy metal, ordering a ham sandwich, is given with the same nickname, and

another hour later the waiter gives this nickname an old women who claims

permanently to her neighbour that she hates ham sandwiches. We can see here the shift

of meaning consistent with the Darwin's example.

Significantly, the approach outlined seems quite productive in helping us to work

out why these particular connections are actualized in metonymy, but not a great

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number of other possibilities. It might be suggested that cognitive linguists consider this

issue as being beyond their competence (see, e.g., Croft 2006; Geeraerts and Peirsman

2006a). The postulate of the affective nature of thinking, which occupies a notable place

in the late works of Vygotsky (Vygotsky 1984 [1933/34]; Samuhin et al. 1981 [1934]),

seems the appropriate foundation stone for us in this context. The shift of reference that

entails the transformation of the complex structure depends here on which objects fall

within the focus of the child’s attention or, put another way, which event gives rise to

his/her interest. The key factor proves to be the contiguity of different objects in the

child’s particular experience rather than their true external contiguity. Similarly, in

Lakoff’s ham sandwich example, the waiter’s activity determines the focus of his

attention and brings about the metonymical shift, actualizing an extremely marginal

feature of the customer. Apparently, the waiter is not interested in the customer’s

education, his family status or hobby; he is merely interested in his order. In a more

complicated case, in metonymy we can reveal social or cultural interest, focusing the

attention of a cultural group or culture at large on a particular situation.

The issue I would like to address in this context is the problem of the cognitive

distinction between metonymy and metaphor. Probably the first systematic attempt to

account for this problem was undertaken within the scope of structuralism. It was

Roman Jacobson who interpreted metonymy and metaphor as general cognitive models,

connecting the first with the idea of contiguity and the second with that of similarity3.

However, in this case we encounter the methodological problem which we discussed

above in relation to Kövecses and Radden’s view of language as metonymy: the terms

prove to be too broad to allow us to work accurately with them. Here I can suggest a

different model, based on Vygotsky’s works and Lakoff and Johnson’s conceptual

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metaphor theory. Instead of attempting to generalize the prototypical meaning by

extending it to psychological phenomena, this model seeks a direct connection between

the prototypical meanings of metonymy and metaphor and fundamental psychological

processes. To reveal this connection in modern language is a rather complicated task;

therefore, in order to clarify the gist of the idea I would like to look at the issue

historically. From the historical perspective, conceptual metonymy (i.e. ‘natural

metonymy’ in our terms) can be connected with complex thinking and everyday speech,

while conceptual metaphor deals with the description of abstract domains in language.

To touch upon a cultural-historical typology, we can argue that metonymy is the basic

form of semantic evolution for pre-theoretical cultures, (e.g., hunter-gatherer cultures or

those of ancient Egypt or Babylon), whereas metaphor emerges alongside abstract

domains in language in theoretical cultures like ancient Greece.

This approach also opens a novel perspective for the demarcation of cognitive

metaphor and metonymy and for establishing the interaction between them (Goossens

1990; Feyaerts 2000; Radden 2000; Turner and Fauconnier 2000; Geeraerts 2002;

Deignan 2005, p. 59-71; Barcelona 2011, p. 36-48). In particular, K. Feyaerts (2000, p.

61-62) argues that the interpretation of such phrases as “I see what you mean” as

metaphor or metonymy depends on whether or not “visual perception” and “mental

perception” belong to the same domain matrix. My point is that this issue can be

clarified by revealing the socio-cultural basis of cognitive processes. The analysis of

such process images, formed in the culture in question, provides the clues. For instance,

Homer related seeing and thinking to breath and movement of particular fluids (Onians

1951, p. 66-84); we can speak here about a direct meaning or metonymy which was

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transformed into metaphor when the domain of thinking emerged as a special abstract

domain separated from the domain of seeing.

The last point needs more detailed commentary. Importantly, abstractness and

concreteness are hardly objective features of concepts; rather, they are characteristics of

the way these concepts are exploited by a particular person. The same concept can be an

abstract one for one person and a concrete one for another one. We mentioned this

above when quoting definitions of abstract concepts given by Soviet peasants. A

concept becomes abstract for the person, if it becomes an element of special abstract

space, which is organized according to a set of general rules and which has no

connections with personal day-to-day experience. In order to illustrate this let us take

the concept mother. There are some works revealing the great complexity of the

structure of this concept (see, e.g., Lakoff 1987, p. 74-76). At the same time, for a 3-4-

year-child mother is a person with a number of concrete characteristics (she cooks,

plays with child, sometimes swears etc.). The pathway from this image to a

sophisticated structure comprehended by adults is rather long and it demands

assimilation of special theoretical models (for understanding such constructions, as, say,

genetic mother).

This is correct not only for particular people, but also for cultures in general. The

necessary condition for conceptual metaphors to come about in the texts of a certain

culture is the existence of some abstract spaces in this culture. Such metaphors emerge

in the wake of cognitive development from personal experience to universal models4.

In the final part of this article I would like to illustrate these points by using the

example of the semantic evolution of the word Ûlh, the Latin analogue of which

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(materia) penetrated into the main European languages and became one of the key

categories for the Western philosophical tradition.

The semantic evolution of the word Ûlh

According to Liddell and Scott’s A Greek-English Lexicon, we can restore the

structure of the complex Ûlh, described in Fig. 2. We can see here both the clear

similarity with the structure of the complex “quah” in Fig. 1. and the important

difference, influenced by the emergence of the metaphorical component (Ûlh as a

philosophical category, as the material for literature treatises, and so on). To distinguish

metaphorical and metonymical shifts correctly we should address the diachronic

description of the word Ûlh, and move on from the dictionary information to a direct

text analysis.

Fig. 2. The structure of the complex Ûlh

Forest, woodland

Wood cut down

The stuff of which a thing is made, material

Matter, in philosophy (Arist.)

Matter for a poem or treatise Materia medica

Brushwood

Matter excreted from the human body

Sediment, mud, slime

Firewood, fuel

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We come across the earliest occurrences of the word Ûlh in Homer. In Iliad this

word and its derivates occur 39 times; in Odyssey, 23 times. The core meaning is forest,

woodland – 45 examples (72.6%) (e.g., “…but a sheer rock or a shadowy thicket

[d£skioj Ûlh] saveth him from them” [Il., 15, 273-274, tr. by A. Murray]); the next

meaning in frequency is firewood, fuel (mainly funereal fire) – 11 examples (17.7%)

(e.g., “…but in the morning rouse thou the folk, king of men Agamemnon, to bring wood

[Ûlhn], and to make ready all that it beseemeth a dead man to have, whenso he goeth

beneath the murky darkness” [ibid., 23, p. 49-51]). In three cases Ûlh means toponym,

the name of a particular place; in two cases, bushes; in one, the material to build a ship.

Herodotus uses the word eight times: in four cases it means forest, a group of trees;

in three cases, fuel; in one case, building material. Thucydides uses it nine times: in five

cases it means forest; in two cases, brushwood; in one case, dead-wood; and in one

case, bushes. Euripides uses it four times with the meaning forest, woodland.

These data, with all the necessary reservations, give an idea of both word usage in

language and the direction of metonymical shift. We can see that the shift of meaning

from forest to firewood seems to be the main vector here. This fact exactly correlates

with the core usage of wood in everyday life, in other words, with a focus of social

interest. We can also find, though not as frequently, the meaning of Ûlh as building

material, and this also directly reflects social practice. We find no metaphorical

meaning of Ûlh in these texts.

The picture starts to change in the works of Plato, who uses this word rarely. In all

his texts we find only 13 examples: in seven cases Ûlh means forest, woodland; in two

cases, fuel; in two cases, building material. Two cases demand particular attention. The

first is the following extract from Timaeus: “Seeing, then, that we have now lying before

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us and thoroughly sifted – like wood ready for the joiner – the various kinds of causes

(“Ot' oân d¾ t¦ nàn oŒa tšktosin ¹m‹n Ûlh par£keitai t¦ tîn a„t…wn gšnh

diulismšna), out of which the rest of our account must be woven” (Tim. 69a, tr. by W.

Lamb). We can see here the common example of conceptual metaphor: the work of

joiners falls into the source domain, whilst the building of an intellectual construction

falls into the target domain; Ûlh happens to be the material for such a construction.

Here, unlike all the texts analysed above, the author describes an abstract domain and

employs conceptual metaphor as an important tool to clarify the chain of his reasoning.

The second extract is from Philebus: “I say that drugs and all sorts of instruments and

materials (›neka f£rmak£ te kaˆ p£nta Ôrgana kaˆ p©san Ûlhn) are always

employed for the sake of production or generation, but that every instance of generation

is for the sake of some being or other, and generation in general is for the sake of being

in general” (Phil. 54c, tr. by H. Fowler). In this case we encounter the metaphorical

extension of the core meaning from the particular material, used in construction, to the

material in general, which means something that is to be transformed into another thing.

This step opens the way for further shifts of meaning in Aristotle.

We should first point out that Aristotle radically transforms the state of things in

this field. He employs the word Ûlh much more frequently than all previous authors

combined (over 570 examples). Furthermore, the core meaning (forest, woodland) is

situated on the periphery of his interest (12 examples, less than 2%). To give a

comprehensive analysis of all the philosophical issues connected with this word in

Aristotle’s treatises would require a book-length study (various aspects of this problem

are discussed, e.g., in Witt 1989, p. 63-142; Scaltsas 1994, p. 8-27, 97-120; Byrne 2001;

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Witt 2003, p. 17-58), but a number of remarks, connected with the subject in question,

should be included in the current debate.

Aristotle’s core idea here is to connect the semantic structure of Ûlh with the

concept of potentiality. One of a number of examples can illustrate this: “Now there is

one class of existent things which we call substance, including under the term, firstly,

matter, which in itself is not this or that [æj Ûlhn, Ö kaq' aØtÕ oÙk œsti tÒde ti];

secondly, shape or form, in virtue of which the term this or that is at once applied;

thirdly, the whole made up of matter and form. Matter is identical with potentiality [œsti

d' ¹ m�n Ûlh dÚnamij], form with actuality” (De anima, 412a7-12; tr. by R. Hicks).

We can see here that the secondary, not the basic, meaning of Ûlh – wooden

material for construction – emerged due to metonymy, became the subject of significant

generalization. It proves to be the source domain for the general conceptual metaphor

which renders the material of all things as “the thing potentially”. This metaphor, in

turn, yields a vast number of more particular metaphors, for instance, the metaphor of

primary matter as the potency for the four primary elements (earth, fire, water and air),

which is the total potentiality without any actual status. Other examples are matter as

the subject for a discourse (“our discussion will be adequate if it has as much clearness

as the subject-matter admits of, for precision is not to be sought for alike in all

discussions, any more than in all the products of the crafts” [Eth. Nicom. 1094b12-14;

tr. by W. Ross]); matter as the subject of judgement in logic (De caelo. 268а20-23), and

so on. In other words, the use of the conceptual metaphor by Aristotle is influenced here

by the theoretical problems that Aristotle encountered; put another way, it is influenced

by the necessity of finding a language to describe the abstract domains under

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investigation. Thanks to Aristotle, this metaphor becomes commonly used, and

gradually penetrates into literature and everyday language.

Conclusion

The results of this research allow the suggestion of some hypothesises that could be

pivot points for further discussion.

1. The structuralist view of metonymy and metaphor as general cognitive

operations is lacking; however, these tropes rest on an important cognitive basis. We

can conjecture that metonymy mostly corresponds to “complex” or “situational”

thinking, which governs our day-to-day experience, whereas conceptual metaphor is

connected with the sphere of “conceptual” or “abstract” thinking, bridging the gap

between everyday experience and various abstract domains.

2. Looking at this issue through the lens of cultural-historical theory, we can

hypothesize that conceptual metonymy is the basic means of semantic evolution in pre-

theoretical cultures (e.g., in hunter-gatherer cultures, ancient Egypt, ancient Babylon,

etc.), which are characterized by a lack of abstract cognitive domains (Luria 1976;

Glebkin 2011), whereas conceptual metaphor emerges in theoretical cultures, such as

the ancient Greece, in the wake of abstract cognitive domains to describe their structure.

3. In contrast to Lakoff and Johnson’s descriptions, primary conceptual

metaphors, at least, in some important cases, have individual biographies which turn out

to be rather bewildering. Sometimes metaphor has a concrete author. This author, facing

a particular theoretical problem, creates a metaphor as a tool for his goal. For readers,

the first usage of the metaphor by the author will sound incidental and will be perceived

as a feature of the author’s individual style. However, later, thanks to the authority of its

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creator, the shift of meaning can gain further adherents and, step by step, comes to be

commonly used, at least within a particular discourse. There are a number of impressive

cases of such evolution: not only Ûlh, but also eŒdoj and cèra in Plato, etc. In other

situations, the emergence of conceptual metaphor is connected with a more complicated

chain of reasons, and it can have several creators. The reconstruction of such

biographies of conceptual metaphors is a tantalizing puzzle in itself; however, it also

has an important methodological purpose, providing us with the material to construct

diachronic cognitive metaphor theory in general.

Notes

1 The similarity of Vygotsky’s complex and Wittgenstein’s language game should be noted. See, e.g.,

Glebkin 2012, p. 68-74.

2 Vygotsky mentioned the complex nature of everyday language (see, e.g., Vygotsky 1986, p. 131-132).

3 "The development of a discourse may take place along two different semantic lines: one topic may lead to another either through their similarity or through their contiguity. The metaphoric way would be the most appropriate term for the first case and the metonymic way for the second, since they find their most considered expression in metaphor and metonymy respectively" (Jacobson 2002 [1956], p. 42) 4 It is worth noting, that in theoretical cultures metonymy in some cases may deal with abstract objects, but it is a secondary phenomenon, demanding another paper for the investigation. Let me just illustrate this issue with a brief analysis of the sentence Washington is insensitive to the needs of the people. At first sight we encounter here a case of metonymy in an abstract domain (this sentence appears as metonymical transformation of the sentence The US government is insensitive to the needs of the people). However, the latter sentence contains a conceptual metaphor: the US government here is represented as a concrete person and Washington can be interpreted in this context as the person’s alias. So, metonymy Washington – the US government holds in the concrete domain linking concrete counterparts of the abstract objects.

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