The Language of Memory in a Crosslinguistic Perspective

The Language of Memory in a Crosslinguistic Perspective

Human Cognitive Processing (HCP) Human Cognitive Processing is a bookseries presenting interdisciplinary research on the cognitive structure and processing of language and its anchoring in the human cognitive or mental systems.

Editors Marcelo Dascal

Tel Aviv University

Raymond W. Jr. Gibbs

University of California at Santa Cruz

Editorial Advisory Board Melissa F. Bowerman

Eric Pederson

Wallace Chafe

François Recanati

Philip R. Cohen

Sally Rice

Antonio Damasio

Benny Shanon

Morton Ann Gernsbacher

Lokendra Shastri

David McNeill

Paul Thagard

Nijmegen

Santa Barbara, CA Portland, OR Iowa City, IA

Madison, WI Chicago, IL

Eugene, OR Paris

Edmonton, Alberta Jerusalem

Berkeley, CA

Waterloo, Ontario

Volume 21 The Language of Memory in a Crosslinguistic Perspective Edited by Mengistu Amberber

Jan Nuyts

University of Antwerp

The Language of Memory in a Crosslinguistic Perspective

Edited by

Mengistu Amberber University of New South Wales

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

8

TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The language of memory in a crosslinguistic perspective / edited by Mengistu Amberber. p. cm. (Human Cognitive Processing, issn 1387-6724 ; v. 21) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Psycholinguistics. 2. Memory. I. Amberber, Mengistu, 1961P37.5.M46L37

2007

401'.9--dc22

2007025378

isbn 978 90 272 2375 3 (Hb; alk. paper) © 2007 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

Table of contents Preface About the contributors

 

.

Introduction: The language of memory Mengistu Amberber



.

Is “remember” a universal human concept? “Memory” and culture Anna Wierzbicka

.

Language, memory, and concepts of memory: Semantic diversity and scientific psychology John Sutton

.

Standing up your mind: Remembering in Dalabon Nicholas Evans



.

The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian Anna A. Zalizniak



.

A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting Cliff Goddard



.

‘Memorisation’, learning and cultural cognition: The notion of bèi (‘auditory memorisation’) in the written Chinese tradition Zhengdao Ye

.

A corpus-based analysis of German (sich) erinnern Andrea C. Schalley and Sandra Kuhn

.

“Do you remember where you put the key?”: The Korean model of remembering Kyung-Joo Yoon





 



. The language of memory in East Cree Marie-Odile Junker



. Remember, remind, and forget in Amharic Mengistu Amberber



Author index



Language index



Subject index



Preface

The contributions to this volume are based mainly on papers presented at the Workshop on the Semantics of Memory in a Crosslinguistic Perspective, which was held at the University of New South Wales (Sydney, Australia) 22nd – 23rd November, 2003. I wish to thank Ludmila Stern (the co-organiser of the Workshop) and all the contributors for their support in the project and making this volume possible. I would also like to thank the anonymous reviewers who assisted in reviewing the papers. I am indebted to the reviewer commissioned by John Benjamins for helpful suggestions and criticisms that have undoubtedly improved the quality of the volume, even though, due to time constraints, we haven’t pursued all of these suggestions. Needless to say, the editor and the authors remain responsible for any remaining errors and shortcomings. My heartfelt thanks to Kees Vaes, the commisioning editor at John Benjamins, and Jan Nuyts, the co-editor of the Human Cognitive Processing Series, for their guidance and help. Special thanks are due to my colleague Debra Aarons for her very useful editorial suggestions and advice, and James Young for his technical assistance in preparing the final manuscript for publication. Mengistu Amberber Sydney, Australia August, 2007

About the contributors

Mengistu Amberber is Senior Lecturer in Linguistics in the School of Languages and Linguistics at the University of New South Wales (Sydney, Australia). His main research interests include lexical semantics, morphosyntactic theory, and the semantics-syntax interface. He is the co-editor of Language Universals and Variation (Praeger, 2002) and Competition and Variation in Natural Languages: the Case for Case (Elsevier, 2005). Nicholas Evans is Professor of Linguistics in the Department of Linguistics and Applied Linguistics at the University of Melbourne (Melbourne, Australia). He is interested in morphology, language typology, the morphology-syntax interface, pragmatics, semantic change, Australian historical linguistics, Macassan-Australian linguistic contacts, and the linguistic prehistory of Australia. He is the author and editor of numerous books including: A Grammar of Kayardild. (Mouton de Gruyter, 1995), Bininj Gun-wok: a pan-dialectal grammar of Mayali, Kunwinjku and Kune (2 volumes). (Pacific Linguistics, 2003). Cliff Goddard is Professor of Linguistics at the University of New England (Armidale, Australia). His main research interests are in semantic theory, lexical and grammatical semantics, language description and typology, and ethnopragmatics. He has published numerous articles in journals such as Journal of Pragmatics, Language Sciences, Culture & Psychology, Studies in Language, and Anthropological Linguistics. He is author of the textbooks Semantic Analysis (OUP, 1998) and The Languages of East and Southeast Asia (OUP, 2006). He is editor of Ethnopragmatics (Mouton de Gruyter, 2006). With Anna Wierzbicka, he is co-editor of the two-volume collection Meaning and Universal Grammar (Benjamins, 2002). Marie-Odile Junker is Professor of Linguistics in the School of Linguistics and Applied Language Studies, and in the Cognitive Science Institute, Carleton University (Ottawa, Canada). She is the editor-in chief of the East Cree-French Dictionary and co-created the East Cree language website . She is interested in cross-cultural communication, cognitive linguistics, the semantics and lexicology of aboriginal languages, and in how information technology can help the documentation and preservation of endangered languages. Sandra Kuhn is a researcher in Psychology and Computational Linguistics at Saarland University (Germany). Her main research interest is in bilingual language processing.



About the contributors

She is currently investigating the emotional involvement of late bilinguals when speaking their dominant language. Andrea Schalley is Australian Research Council Postdoctoral Fellow in the School of Languages, Cultures and Linguistics and Co-Director of the Language and Cognition Research Centre at the University of New England (Armidale, Australia). She works on natural language semantics and the relationship between language and cognition. She has developed the semantic representation framework ‘Unified Eventity Representation’ for verbal semantics. She is author of the monograph Cognitive Modeling and Verbal Semantics – A Representational Framework Based on UML (Mouton de Gruyter, 2004) and she co-edited the volume Ontolinguistics – How Ontological Status Shapes the Linguistic Coding of Concepts (Mouton de Gruyter, 2007). John Sutton is Associate Professor of Philosophy and Head of the Department of Philosophy, Macquarie University (Sydney, Australia). Dr Sutton works in philosophy of psychology and in the history of science. His main current research is on the interdisciplinary study of memory; he is also working on dynamical and distributed cognition, and on dreaming. He is the author of Philosophy and Memory Traces: Descartes to Connectionism (Cambridge, 1998), and he co-edited Descartes’ Natural Philosophy (Routledge, 2000). He has published recent articles on the development of autobiographical memory, and on cognitive science and media theory. Anna Wierzbicka is Professor of Linguistics in the School of Language Studies at the Australian National University (Canberra, Australia). Her research areas include semantics, syntax, pragmatics and the interrelation between language and culture. She has published numerous books, including Semantics: Primes and universals (OUP 1996), Understanding Cultures through their Key Words (OUP 1997), Emotions Across Languages and Cultures: Diversity and Universals (CUP 1999), What Did Jesus Mean? Explaining the Sermon on the Mount and the parables in simple and universal human concepts (OUP 2001) and English: Meaning and culture (OUP 2006). Her latest book, co-edited with Mary Besemeres, is Translating Lives: Living with two languages and cultures (UQP 2007). Zhengdao Ye obtained her PhD from the Australian National University, (Canberra, Australia) in 2007, where she is researching Chinese ethnopsychology from a semantic point of view. Her work on Chinese language, culture and cognition has appeared in refereed journals such as The Australian Journal of Linguistics, Culture and Psychology, Intercultural Pragmatics, Isegoría, and Pragmatics and Cognition, and in several edited books. Zhengdao also contributes to newspaper reviews and life writing. She has taught linguistics at the Australian National University, Monash University, the University of New England, and the Australian Linguistic Institute.

About the contributors

Kyung-Joo Yoon is a visiting fellow in the School of Language Studies at the Australian National University (Canberra, Australia) and a research fellow at the Hankuk University of Foreign Studies (Seoul, Korea). Her main research interests are in the areas of contrastive semantics, ethnopragmatics, language testing, and cultural issues in second language acquisition. She has worked on a number of research projects in these areas and published numerous articles and book chapters, including one on Korean cultural scripts as reflected through the use of honorification. She has taught courses in general linguistics, semantics, and cross-cultural communication at the Australian National University, University of New England, and Hankuk University of Foreign Studies. Anna Zalizniak is Senior Research Fellow at the Moscow Institute of Linguistics of the Russian Academy of Sciences (Moscow, Russia). Her research interests include semantics, lexicography and grammatical description. Her publications include three books (one single-authored and two co-authored) and over 60 other publications (journal articles and book chapters).



 

Introduction Mengistu Amberber This volume explores the language of memory in a cross-linguistic perspective. The term memory is to be understood broadly as the “capacity to encode, store, and retrieve information” (cf. Baddeley 1999), but also includes the inability to retrieve information (e.g. ‘to forget’). At the outset, the relationship between memory and language is intuitively clear in so far as language is one of the most efficient media for encoding experience. For example, psychologists have known that, controlling for ‘initial memorability’, talking about a past experience will significantly enhance the memory for that experience. There is a robust body of work in the psychological literature that bears on how memory and language are related (see Tulving and Craik 2000) with particular reference to the role of short-term and long-term memory in language processing and comprehension; there is even an academic journal – the Journal of Memory and Language – which is dedicated to this field. On the other hand, there are very few studies on how speakers themselves conceptualise memory as reflected through their use of language (but see Chafe 1973; Van Valin and Wilkins 1993; Schwartz 1999; Tao 2001, 2003). A central goal of this volume is to investigate the extent to which languages are similar or different in their expression of memory concepts. The volume addresses the following questions: i.

How do languages encode concepts equivalent to those encoded by the English ‘memorise’, ‘remember’, ‘remind’, ‘forget’? (see Van Valin and Wilkins 1993; Evans and Wilkins 2000) ii. Is there a semantic overlap between terms for memory and terms for perception and/or cognition (e.g. ‘memorise’/ ‘learn’; ‘remember’/ ‘think’)? iii. If concepts equivalent to the English ‘memorise’, ‘remember’, ‘remind’, ‘forget’ are complex, can they be decomposed into semantic/conceptual primitives within a decompositional approach to lexical semantics such as Natural Semantic Metalanguage (Goddard and Wierzbicka 2002, 2003) or Conceptual Semantics (Jackendoff 1990, 2002)? iv. Do all terms for memory belong to the same (ontological) category? The languages that are examined in detail in this volume include Amharic, Dalabon, East Cree, English, German, Korean, Mandarin Chinese, Polish, and Russian. It appears that different languages exhibit different patterns of polysemy with respect to the



Mengistu Amberber

lexicalisation of memory concepts. Thus, in many languages there is a systematic polysemy between perception verbs and verbs of memory and thinking. This is not surprising in the context of the so-called ‘folk model of the mind’ as in D’Andrade (1995, 2001). For D’Andrade (1995) remember is classified as a ‘perception’ verb – along with look, observe, watch, listen, touch, as opposed to forget which is classified as a ‘thought’ verb – along with understand, realise, and infer. However, it is not clear why remember is classified as a perception event when the intuitively related verb forget is classified as a thought event. At the outset, this seems to be counter-intuitive as remember is as much an internal state of thought as forget is. Nevertheless, the relationship between  and  is to be expected and languages seem to lexicalise an abstract concept from a less abstract one through pragmatic or metaphoric inferences as can be seen in the hear/think and see/think polysemy found in many languages (see Evans and Wilkins 2000, Fortescue 2001, Goddard 2003). There is some observation which suggests that when languages have more than one lexical item corresponding to the English verb ‘forget’, the distinction may not be an arbitrary one but rather a reflection of a deeper distinction in human psychology. For example, some languages like Amharic have two verbs that can be roughly translated into English as ‘forget’. A closer investigation reveals that one of the verbs is normally used in cases where there is a temporary loss of ‘concentration’ rather than a relatively more lasting loss of memory. It would be tempting to suggest that this linguistic phenomenon may reflect the independently motivated psychological distinction between ‘absent-mindedness’ and ‘transience’ (Schacter 2001). Several of the chapters address the issue of lexical decomposition by investigating whether complex concepts of memory can be decomposed into more ‘basic’ or ‘primitive’ ones. A case in point is the analysis of lexical items corresponding to the English verb ‘remind’. Paul Postal (1970) argued that X reminds me of Y is derived from a deep structure of “I perceive the similarity of X and Y”. In other words, in Postal’s analysis, the verb ‘remind’ consists of a perception component lexicalised in English by the verb ‘perceive’ (but see Wierzbicka 1972: 221ff). As far as I am aware, this is the first volume that provides an exclusive and in-depth examination of the language of memory from a crosslinguistic perspective. Although there are several publications on the language of thinking in general (Fortescue 2001; see also the special issue of Cognitive Linguistics, 14-2/3, 2003 and references therein) there is no single volume that exclusively investigates the language of memory from a cross-linguistic perspective.

Grammar and the lexical semantics of memory One of the earliest studies on the language of memory is Chafe (1973), which is an attempt to provide “linguistic evidence for three kinds of memory, called surface, shallow, and deep.” (Chafe 1973: 261). The main empirical evidence for Chafe’s study comes from the study of English temporal adverbs.

Chapter 1. Introduction

Chafe starts his discussion with the following exchange from Dennis the Menace, involving three characters, Dennis, his father, and his mother: Father: Hi, Dennis! What’s the news? Dennis: Somethin’ terrible! Did ya know Mr. Wilson broke his arm? Father: No! Mother: How awful! Dennis: He fell down his cellar stairs! Mother: The poor man! Father: When did this happen, Dennis? Dennis: When he was a little kid my age. He jus’ told me about it today!

As Chafe (1973: 263) points out, it’s obvious that the parents “were led to think that the event had taken place in the very recent past, and this belief of theirs was unexpectedly shattered by what Dennis said later.” Thus, Dennis has (unwittingly) flouted one of the norms of discourse with respect to the temporal location of past experiences. Chafe points out that under the particular circumstances, any of the following alternative statements would have been more felicitous: “When he was a little kid, Mr. Wilson broke his arm”, “A long time ago, Mr. Wilson broke his arm” or “Way back in 1930, Mr. Wilson broke his arm”. Without the adverbial expressions, the utterance “Mr. Wilson broke his arm”, communicates the idea that the event has taken place in the recent past. Chafe argues that sentences without explicit temporal adverbs are often used by the speaker when the information is regarded to be in what he calls ‘surface’ memory – overlapping with but not identical to ‘short-term’ memory. As a further piece of evidence for the linguistic relevance of surface memory, consider the following contrast from Chafe (ibid): (1)

a. b.

Steve fell in the  pool. Steve has fallen in the  pool.1

The sentence in (1b), in a non-generic interpretation, communicates that the knowledge of the event is still retained in the surface memory of the speaker. The main difference between (1a) and (1b) is that in the latter the speaker is “more concerned with the present consequence of the event – whatever that consequence may be” (Chafe 1973: 267). Chafe’s distinction between surface, shallow and deep memory and the corresponding linguistic devices can be summarised as follows: “material from deep memory must be reported with a strong adverb, that material from shallow memory may be reported with either a strong or a weak adverb, and that material from surface memory may be reported with a strong adverb, a weak adverb, or no adverb at all” (p. 271).

. The small capitals are used to indicate intonational ‘prominence’, i.e., “the stressed syllable of the capitalized word receives the highest pitch of the intonation unit within which it occurs.” (Chafe 1973: 263)





Mengistu Amberber

(2)

a.

b.

c.

From surface memory: Steve fell in the swimming pool. Steve fell in the swimming pool a couple of minutes ago. A couple of minutes ago, Steve fell in the swimming pool. From shallow memory: Steve fell in the  pool yesterday. Y, Steve fell in the  pool. From deep memory: Last C, Steve fell in the  pool.

Chafe’s study is significant not so much in terms of the ‘psychological reality’ of the classification he proposed, but rather in terms of the hypothesis that memory can be classified into linguistically relevant categories and grammatical evidence can be brought to bear on the legitimacy of such categories. In the case of English, for example, “speakers must have some cognitive basis for making the discrete choice between weak and strong temporal adverbs.” (p. 272) Notice that the lapse of time is an important element in the conceptualisation of memory. Gallistel (2006) points out that the “essential function of the memory is the carrying of information forward in time. It is the repository where information resides when it is not in use.” Interestingly, there is experimental evidence which suggests that even young children understand that the lapse of time is a key component of memory concepts. Lyon and Flavell (1994) show that “children first understand the prior knowledge components of the words ‘remember’ and ‘forget’ at about 4 years of age.” (p. 1370). Young children understand that “if one ‘remembers’ or ‘forgot’, one must have known at a prior time.” (p.1357). This temporal element has been recognised since at least as far back as Aristotle. “No one would say that he remembers the present, when it is present, e.g. a given white object at the moment when he sees it” (Aristotle ca. 350BC). Aristotle is quite clear about the temporal aspect of the conceptualisation of memory. He writes: “Whenever one actually remembers having seen or heard, or learned, something, he includes in this act . . . the consciousness of ‘formerly’; and the distinction of ‘former’ and ‘latter’ is a distinction in time.” The ‘lapse of time’ as an integral part of the conceptualisation of memory is also stressed in another important study in the language of memory – that of Van Valin and Wilkins (1993). The authors develop a decompositional analysis of the verb ‘remember’ with particular reference to English and the Australian language Mparntwe Arrente. They propose a lexical-decomposition-based analysis derived from a modification of Dowty (1979) in which lexical items are analysed in terms of atomic primitives and operators, including ,  and . Van Valin and Wilkins (1993: 511) start from the observation that English remember can have three different interpretations corresponding to three aspectual types (Dowty 1979; Vendler 1967)  (John suddenly remembered the faucet he left on),  (John consciously remembered the names of all of the linguists that he met at

Chapter 1. Introduction

the party) and  (John remembers his first day at school very vividly). Thus, they analyse the achievement sense of remember as: (3)

 think.again (x) about something.be.in.mind.from.before (y)

The  type of remember, which is lexicalised as remind in English, involves the causativisation of (3) through the introduction of the operator . A number of papers in this volume refer directly to the Van Valin and Wilkins decompositional analysis. In particular, see the chapters by Wierzbicka, Goddard, Schalley and Kuhn, and Evans for a critical appraisal of aspects of the decompositional analysis. See also Fanego (1996) for some criticisms of the Van Valin and Wilkins analysis. A key question the present volume hopes to answer partially, at least is: What are the universal components in the linguistic expression of memory? The corollary of this is the question regarding variation: What are the ways in which languages differ from one other in their expression of memory?

The chapters Since this book is about how different languages lexicalise the concept of memory, one of the issues it addresses is the question of how memory is conceptualised in folk psychology in so far as this is implicitly or explicitly represented in the everyday use of natural languages.2 The contributions to the volume reflect the authors’ commitment to a detailed, systematic, and empirically rich analysis of the language of memory within the context of different methodological approaches and theoretical frameworks. Thus, both ‘lexicalist’ and ‘constructionist’ approaches to the architecture of grammar are represented, and the examples employ both naturally occurring textual material and data obtained through traditional elicitation methods. Anna Wierzbicka begins her chapter Is “remember” a universal human concept? “Memory” and culture, with the controversial assumption that memory is not something that objectively exists, not “a distinct and clearly delimited aspect of human nature.” Wierzbicka asserts that “memory” is a construct intimately linked with the English word ‘memory’. In order for us to get an illuminating insight into the complex concept of memory, Wierzbicka argues that the concept needs to be decomposed into more primitive conceptual units. In order to set the stage for a decompositional analysis of the concept of ‘memory’, Wierzbicka observes that the scientific model of ‘memory’ (as defined in the literature e.g. in the Oxford Companion to the Mind)

. See Pederson and Nuyts (1997) for some relevant discussion on the relationship between language and conceptualisation.

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Mengistu Amberber

includes three main components: (a) personal experience (something happening to a person), (b) knowledge resulting from this experience, and (c) the ability to think about that knowledge some time later. The empirical evidence for the non-universality of the concept of ‘remembering’ comes from the fact that in a number of languages there are no verbs for remembering. For example, in the Australian Aboriginal language Pitjantjatjara (Goddard 1996, 2003), the expression pinangku kulini (literally ‘think with [one’s] ears)’ is translated into English as ‘reflect, think over, remember’. Thus, while the Pitjantjatjara expression can be used to translate the English word remember, it does not actually mean ‘remember’, as it lacks an obligatory reference to the past. Wierzbicka notes that one cannot accurately translate into Polish the English expressions ‘I recall’, or ‘as I recall’; instead, the closest functional counterpart of ‘as I recall’ would be ‘as far as I remember’. In addition, she shows that in Polish, a distinction between ‘voluntary memory’ and ‘involuntary memory’ seems to be expressed/encoded in the language. She notes, as well, that the meaning of the word “remember” in English has undergone historical change – from a more processual to a more static one: from ‘thinking again about something that happened a long time ago’ to “the capacity to retrieve some bits of knowledge from storage”. In addition to her discussion of general conceptual issues from a lexical semantic perspective, Wierzbicka also investigates the meaning of four Polish expressions of memory, which, apparently, have no counterparts in English. Thus, the Polish verb wspominać which can be translated as “remember, recall, or reminisce” does not match the meanings of English memory words. Wierzbicka’s study cautions us not to absolutise the notion of memory on the basis of language-specific English words such as remember, remind and memory. While not denying the possibility of postulating a universal ‘memory’ concept, Wierzbicka argues that the proper strategy in searching for such a universal should be based on empirically grounded conceptual primitives – such as , , , , , , etc. Wierzbicka’s paper raises a number of foundational issues that challenge not only the cross-linguistic investigation of the language of memory but also the broader enterprise of studying memory as a legitimate object. Some of these conceptual issues are directly addressed by John Sutton in his chapter Language, Memory and Concepts of Memory: semantic diversity and scientific psychology. Sutton observes that linguistics has not contributed fully to “the interdisciplinary study of diversity in ways of thinking about what happened before”. He argues that the conceptual and methodological tools of cross-linguistic semantics (including the Natural Semantic Metalanguage framework) can be deployed to contribute to this interdisciplinary study – the ‘comparative cognitive science of memory’. Thus, Sutton is sympathetic to the overall research agenda of cognitive semantics and NSM. Nevertheless, he takes issue with some of the more specific claims advanced by Wierzbicka, in particular the claim that “memory is not something that objectively exists.” He provides a strong defense of the scientific ‘objectivity’ of the concept drawing from philosophical and psychological studies of memory.

Chapter 1. Introduction

Sutton acknowledges fully the fact that terms such as “memory” in English or any other language are clearly semantically complex and may very well embody culturally motivated features. However, he argues that this “on its own is no bar to their legitimate and critical employment by both specialists and non-specialists”, just as we don’t question “the existence of blood or hearts, clouds or gases or molecules, amygdalas or synapses, and so on, just because the histories of the words we use to describe them are wrapped up with the idiosyncrasies of specific languages and specific culturallyembedded modes of enquiry.” Sutton makes the important point that the objectivity of ‘memory’ is entirely compatible with the variation in how the concept is put to use. Thus, he asserts that the empirical cross-linguistic inquiry into the language of memory – as undertaken by the contributors to the present volume – is “an essential part of a broader interdisciplinary enterprise of coming to understand thinking about what has happened before.” The chapter Conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian by Anna Zalizniak offers an in-depth analysis of memory concepts in Russian. First, Zalizniak states that there are at least four verbs which can correspond to the English “remember”. These four Russian verbs, however, differ in meaning from their English counterpart in several ways. Crucially, the Russian linguistic model of memory is based on a distinction between three ontological categories: state, process and event. The event category encodes the transition to another state, say from ‘not knowing’ to ‘knowing’ and from ‘know’ to ‘not know’ back to ‘know’ (roughly equivalent to ‘remember’ in English). Zalizniak discusses how Russian verbs of memory are related in non-trivial ways (for example, in their aspectual properties) to verbs of possession/loss. It appears that in the Russian folk model of the mind, ‘remembering’ and ‘forgetting’ are parallel to ‘possession’ and ‘loss’. This analogy between possession and memory is probably true for many other languages. For example, the French verb retenir ‘to keep in mind’ can also have the meanings ‘to keep’, ‘to retain’ – going back to the Latin tenere ‘keep in hands’. Amberber (this volume) discusses how the Amharic verb for ‘be lost’ can be used to express the memory concept of ‘forgetting’. The main Russian verb for memory, pomnit, is argued to be rather like a negation of ‘forget’, commonly glossed as ‘not to forget’ or ‘keep in mind’. Interestingly, the literal equivalent of ‘Did you remember to ring Bill?’ is not possible in Russian; one has to use the negation of ‘forget’, as in ‘Did you not forget to ring Bill?’ With respect to the conceptualisation of ‘forgetting’, Russian uses at least three different quasi-metaphorical expressions: (a) forgetting is when knowledge (content) goes out of the head (container) – “it flew out (jumped out) of my head”, (b) the gradual disappearance of memory impressions – as in the expression, “it went clean out of his head”, and (c) the blocking of images by something opaque. In Standing up your mind: remembering in Dalabon, by Nicholas Evans we see an intriguing and complex way of encoding memory concepts. Evans argues that the Australian language Dalabon has no expressions specifically dedicated to remembering. What Dalabon speakers do instead is employ expressions such as ‘cause to have in mind

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now’, ‘have in mind now’, and ‘carry along in one’s mind’ which all could mean ‘remember’ in appropriate contexts. However, the same expressions could also have a non-memory meaning corresponding roughly to English know, realise, attend to, think, and decide. A characteristic property of cognitive verbs in Dalabon is the interplay between verbal aspect/tense and lexical semantics. For example, the verb warhwan in the present and the past imperfective, means ‘be ignorant, unaware of, not know’, whereas in the past perfective means ‘forget’ – ‘come to be in a state of not knowing.’ Evans analyses the basic meaning of this verb as ‘not have in mind’ – abstracting away from the tense/aspect induced specific meanings. According to Evans the most important lexical root employed in Dalabon expressions referring to the cognitive domain is the bound verb beng. This verb root can be translated into English as ‘mind’ – both in its conscious and unconscious aspects. In terms of grammatical structure, memory verbs come in two transitivity frames: transitive, if memory is maintained for a long period of time, but intransitive, if memory is held in attention for a shorter period of time. In most cases the experiencer of memory (the ‘rememberer’) is the subject of the clause. Some of the most significant points to emerge in the study of the language of memory in Dalabon are that there is no lexicalised verb for ‘remember’; there is a distinction between ‘internally’ triggered and ‘externally’ caused memory, as well as a distinction between conscious and unconscious recall; furthermore there is a distinction between memory maintained for a longer period of time as opposed to memory promoted for a short time into consciousness; additionally Dalabon has a lexicalised verb for an emotionally coloured memory, such as to ‘feel nostalgic’. Evans concludes, “Given that the fragile languages many linguists work with only continue to exist thanks to the exceptional memories of their teachers, who have succeeded in holding them in their minds despite years of neglect and mainstream cultural encroachment, the question of how they conceptualise the memory that permits their survival deserves more of our attention”. Most of the chapters in this volume deal with memory in the context of the spoken language. A notable exception is the paper by Zhengdao Ye, entitled ‘Memorisation’, learning, and cultural cognition: the notion of bèi (‘auditory memorisation’) in the written Chinese tradition. The main aim of the chapter is to investigate the cultureinternal aspects of bèi – auditory memorisation and how this relates to other expressions of cognition in Chinese. As a starting point towards a detailed investigation of the practice of ‘rote memorisation’, Zhengdao argues that the form bèi is polysemous: bèi1 focuses on the mental process itself whereas bèi2 refers to the outcome or state that results from the process. Zhengdao presents a range of syntactic evidence to support the polysemous nature of bèi. It is interesting to note that bèi is polysemous: bèi1 is different from memorisationrelated concepts in English such as memorise and learn by heart. These memorisationrelated expressions appear to focus on different aspects of the ‘remembering’ process. Importantly, neither memorise nor learn by heart implicate the modality of the

Chapter 1. Introduction

memorisation process – for example ‘reading-aloud’. This is in marked contrast to bèi where the auditory modality is an integral part of the memorisation process. In Korean, the equivalent of ‘remember’ can be expressed by at least three different words. As Kyung-Joo Yoon demonstrates in the chapter “Do you remember where you put the key?”: The Korean model of remembering, the English construction ‘Do you remember where you put your key?’ can be translated into Korean through the use of three different memory words: sayngkakna- ‘come to think’, kiekna- ‘memory comes’, and kiekha- ‘remember, memorise’. Thus, with sayngkakna- ‘come to think’, the Korean construction is roughly equivalent to the English “Does a thought about where you put your key come to you?” The three verbs are based on the root morphemes of sayngkak ‘thought’ and kiek ‘memory’. It appears that the difference between the two verbs in the minimal pair kiekna and kiekha is transitivity – generally, – na ending verbs are intransitive whereas –ha ending verbs are transitive. Yoon argues that the semantic explication of “I remember Y” (Kiekha) crucially involves a temporal component – “I knew these things some time before, because I thought about it at that time”, whereas “I remember Y” (sayngkakna-) does not, although they both are treated as translational equivalents of ‘remember’. Yoon points out that the temporal phrase understood as ‘some time before’ should be taken as marking a kind of vague past tense. Yoon also shows that the grammatical encoding of remembering in Korean makes a distinction between spontaneous memory and volitional memory, that is, whether or not the retrieving of information occurs spontaneously or as a result of deliberate effort on the part of the experiencer (see also the chapter by Amberber for a similar dichotomy in Amharic). While most of the chapters in this volume focus on the information retrieving side of memory (‘remember’), the intuitively opposite process of ‘fail to recall to mind’ (‘forget’) is also explored. In particular, the chapter A “Lexicographic Portrait” of forgetting by Cliff Goddard is specifically devoted to the analysis of the English verb forget. In the tradition of the Moscow School of semantic analysis (Apresjan 2000), presenting a lexicographic portrait involves providing an “exhaustive account of all the linguistically relevant properties of a lexeme.” Drawing on the COBUILD corpus of data, Goddard attempts to provide a detailed analysis of three main clausal complement types in which the English ‘forget’ occurs. These are (a) to-complement (I forgot to lock the door), (b) that-complement (I forgot that the door was locked), and (c) whcomplement (I forgot where I put the key). Goddard shows that these three construction types are associated with different meanings. For example, the to-complement construction involves the semantic components  and , while the thatcomplement construction involves . Thus, “the complement ‘to forget that Z’ means to know that Z, but not to think about it at the designated time.” (Goddard, this volume). On the other hand, NP complements of forget appear to collapse a wide range of semantic patterns. Thus, for example, the sentences I forgot my keys, I forgot my stroll, and I forgot my past, are syntactically similar – in so far as all occur with NP complements – and yet are demonstrably different in their semantics.

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While English makes a distinction between the verbs remember, remind, recall, and recollect, it appears that all these can be translated by the single German verb (sich) erinnern. A detailed investigation of this German verb is provided by Andrea Schalley and Sandra Kuhn in the chapter A corpus-based analysis of German (sich) erinnern. One of the characteristic features of this study is that the data are entirely drawn from a corpus of written language. Schalley and Kuhn extracted 2,000 examples of (sich) erinnern from a total of 133,000 occurrences of the lemma (sich) erinnern in the COSMAS II corpus of the Institut für Deutsche Sprache (IDS) in Mannheim. The theoretical framework employed in this study is that of the U E R (UER), as developed in Schalley (2004). Schalley and Kuhn claim that ‘remember’ does not involve (conscious) thinking and thus there is no need to assume that the semantic prime  is needed to compose ‘remember’. Thus, unlike van Valin and Wilkins (1993), Schalley and Kuhn reject the idea that remember is hyponymically related to  – i.e. it should be possible to replace remember with think (e.g. He remembered his mother, He thought about his mother). Thus, it is not possible to reduce He remembered his mother to He thought about his mother as the experiencer can undergo the state of remembering without the involvement of thinking, via what Schalley and Kuhn call ‘cognitive perception’ (for example, remembering through smell). In the Algonquian language East Cree, a single word can be translated into English as ‘memory’, ‘intelligence’, ‘thought’, and ‘mind’ as shown in detail by Marie-Odile Junker in the chapter The language of memory in East Cree. One of the key memory words in Cree is mituneyihchikan, which can be further decomposed into: mitun ‘whole’, the root eyi- and the noun final element hchikan. The bound root eyi- is found in a range of cognition words that implicate some kind of mental activity. For example, it is the root for words and constructions with translations such as ‘meditation’, ‘thought’, ‘good mind’ (‘thinking good thoughts’) and ‘bad mind’ (‘thinking bad thoughts’). Cree also has another abstract root, chischisi-, which is used to form a range of memory words including those translated as ‘remember’, ‘forget’, and ‘remind’. All constructions derived from this root take some kind of clausal complement (e.g. ‘she remembers when they used to play’) and never a nominal complement. Interestingly, in Cree the concept of ‘good’ memory is associated with ‘long’ memory. Another interesting feature of Cree is the existence of a special verb to encode memory ‘evoked by resemblance’. Notice that the English verb remind can be used in two different senses: (a) ‘cause to remember’ – Mary reminded John to shut the door, and (b) ‘perceive similarity’ – Harry reminds me of Fred Astaire (Postal 1970: 38). In Cree, on the other hand, the concept of ‘perceive similarity’ is encoded by a special transitive verb aaunuweu, which occurs in constructions equivalent to ‘He reminds her of her son.’ The two senses of the verb ‘remind’ are also encoded by the same verb in Amharic as discussed in the chapter Remember, Remind and Forget in Amharic, by Mengistu Amberber. The main verb that lexicalises the concept of ‘remember’, ‘recall’, ‘remind’ is morphologically complex, composed of the causative prefix, the passive-reflexive prefix and a bound root – a root that does not occur independently of the prefixes.

Chapter 1. Introduction

One characteristic feature of the language of memory in Amharic is the grammatical distinction between ‘recall’ and ‘remember’. There is a grammatical construction that encodes the remembering of something when it occurs without the conscious effort of the experiencer. I trust this volume will be of interest to researchers in cognitive science, general linguistics, typology, psycholinguistics, anthropological linguistics, lexicography and ethnic studies. It is also hoped that the conceptual questions framed in this volume will spawn further fine-grained encyclopaedic investigation of individual languages in order to disentangle the language-specific phenomena from the more universal ones.

References Apresjan, J. 2000. Systematic Lexicography [translated by K. Windle]. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Aristotle. c. 350 BC. On Memory and Reminiscence [translated by J.I. Beare]. In The Works of Aristotle (vol. 3), W.D. Ross. (ed), 1930. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Baddeley, A. 1999. Memory. In The MIT Encyclopedia of the Cognitive Sciences, R.A. Wilson and F.C. Keil (eds), 514–517. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Chafe, W. 1973. Language and Memory. Language 49(2): 261–281. D’Andrade, R. 1995. The Development of Cognitive Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. D’Andrade, R. 2001. A cognitivist’s view of the units debate in cultural anthropology. CrossCultural Research 35(2): 242–257. Dowty, D. 1979. Word Meaning and Montague Grammar. Dordrecht: Reidel. Evans, N. and Wilkins, D. 2000. In the mind’s ear: the semantic extension of perception verbs in Australian languages. Language 76: 546–592. Fanego, T. 1996. English remember and Role and Reference Grammar: On Van Valin and Wilkins (1993). Lingua 99: 1–10. Fortescue, M. 2001. Thoughts about thought. Cognitive Linguistics 12(1):15–45. Gallistel, C.R. 2006. The nature of learning and the functional architecture of the brain. In Psychological Science Around the World, vol 1. Neural, Cognitive and Developmental Issues, Q. Jing, et al (eds), 63–71. Sussex: Psychology Press. Goddard, C. 1996. Pitjantjatjara/Yankunytjatjara to English Dictionary. [Revised 2nd. edition]. Alice Springs: IAD Press. Goddard, C. 2003. Thinking across languages and cultures: Six dimensions of variation. Cognitive Linguistics 14(2/3): 109–140. Goddard, C. and Wierzbicka, A. (eds). 2002. Meaning and Universal Grammar. Vols I and II. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Goddard, C. and Wierzbicka, A. 2003. Semantics and Cognition. In Encyclopaedia of Cognitive Science, 1096–1102. Basingstoke, England: Macmillan. Jackendoff, R. 1990. Semantic Structures. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Jackendoff, R. 2002. Foundations of Language: Brain, Meaning, Grammar, Evolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Mengistu Amberber Lyon, T.D. and Flavell, J.H. 1994. Young children’s understanding of “Remember” and “Forget”. Child Development 65(5): 1357–1371. Pederson, E. and Nuyts, J. 1997. Overview: on the relationship between language and conceptualisation. In Language and Conceptualizaion, J. Nuyts and E. Pederson (eds), 1–12. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Postal, P. 1970. On the surface verb Remind. Linguistic Inquiry 1: 37–120. Schacter, D. 2001. The Seven Sins of Memory: How the Mind Forgets and Remembers. Boston/New York: Houghton Mifflin. Schalley, A.C. 2004. Cognitive Modeling and Verbal Semantics. A Representational Framework Based on UML [Trends in Lingusitics: Studies and Monographs 154]. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Schwartz, B. L. 1999. Sparkling at the end of the tongue: The etiology of tip-of-the-tongue phenomenology. Psychonomic Bulletin and Review 6: 379–93. Tao, H. 2001. Discovering the usual with corpora: the case of Remember. In Corpus Linguistics in North America, R.C. Simpson and J.M. Swales (eds), 116–144. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Tao, H. 2003. A usage-based approach to argument structure: ‘Remember’ and ‘forget’ in spoken English. International Journal of Corpus Linguistics 8 (1): 75–95. Tulving, E. and Craik, F.I.M. (eds). 2000. The Oxford Handbook of Memory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Valin, R.D. and Wilkins, D. 1993. Predicting syntactic structure from semantic representations: Remember in English and its equivalents in Mparntwe Arrernte. In Studies in Role and Reference Grammar, R.D. Van Valin (ed), 499–534. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Vendler, Z. 1967. Linguistics in Philosophy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1972. Semantic Primitives. Frankfurt: Athenäum.

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Is “remember” a universal human concept? “Memory” and culture* Anna Wierzbicka Speaking of “elementary notions, common to everyone in the human race, that can be expressed in all languages”, Umberto Eco (2000: 87–88) states: “Most certainly, every man has a notion of what it means to (. . .) to remember”. This paper argues that Eco is mistaken and that ‘remembering’ is not a universal human concept but a cultural construct, shared by some languages but not others. It also shows that culture-specific concepts like ‘remember’ and ‘memory’ can be explained and compared through genuinely elementary and universal notions such as ,  and  (that is, through ‘’). To illustrate these general themes, the paper offers a detailed analysis of the Polish field of ‘memory’, linking Polish semantics with Polish history and culture.

. “Memory” as a psychological construct In his book Flesh in the Age of Reason historian Roy Porter gently mocks the eighteenth-century invention of something called a person’s [physical] ‘constitution’, which must be maintained (Porter 2003). Future historians will be able to similarly mock various twentieth-century inventions, such as, for example, “self ”, “emotion”1 and the topic of this paper: “memory”. This is not to say that either “constitution” or “memory” are simply fictions without any basis in reality. The eighteenth-century notion of “constitution” was grounded in the reality of the human body, and the twentieth-century notion of “memory” is grounded in the reality of human thinking and knowing (linked, of course, with the human brain). The point is that both “constitution” and “memory” are constructs – culturally

* I acknowledge with gratitude that this paper owes a great deal to many extensive discussions with Cliff Goddard. . “Today there is a thriving emotions industry’ to which philosophers, psychologists and neuroscientists are contributing. Yet until two centuries ago ‘the emotions’ did not exist” (Thomas Dixon 2003, Publisher’s introduction).

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determined ways of looking at human beings, rather than scientifically determined ways of cutting nature at its joints. “Memory”, which is our primary concern here, is not something that objectively exists – a “thing”, or a distinct and clearly delimited aspect of human nature. It is a construct, linked with the current meaning of the English word memory – a construct that many psychologists and cognitive scientists tend to reify by treating it as something that “exists” independently of the English language. In the current psychological literature, “memory” is often discussed in terms of two metaphors: that of “records in the brain” and that of “storage of information”. For example, in The Oxford Companion to the Mind (Gregory 1987: 455) we read: Memory. When we learn something there must be change in the brain, but no one knows what the change is. Until quite recently the concept of memory was used only in mentalistic contexts. Few dictionaries contain any reference to memory as a feature of a physical system, though we now have the language of computer scientists to help us in thinking about our own memories, as physical records in the brain.

The note of disdain in the sentence “until quite recently the concept of memory was used only in mentalistic contexts” is unmistakable. Really, it is implied, “memory [is] a feature of a physical system”; and luckily, “we now have the language of computer scientists to help us thinking of our own memories as physical records in the brain”. But is it really so helpful to think of “memory” in physical rather than “mentalistic” terms? In ordinary language “memory” is a “mentalistic” term; and if we want to understand the concept encoded in this term, the language of “mentalistic” concepts like THINK and KNOW will surely be more useful than that of “physical records in the brain”. The explanatory power of the metaphors drawn from the language of computer science is also far from clear. In a recent book entitled The Search for Mind. A new foundation for cognitive science (O’Nualláin 2002: 70) we read: When viewing memory as a store, a computational metaphor is extremely useful. In computing, we make a distinction between storage media which are potentially removable from the machine like floppy disks, RAM (random access memory) which is the primary workspace of the computer and ROM (read only memory) which contains a few commands without which operation of the computer is impossible (COPY, DIR, etc). Similarly we make a distinction in human memory between long-term memory, conceived of as back-up storage, and short-term memory, which is a workspace. In the meantime, certain ROM commands remain continually present (e.g. don’t fall off heights; nothing can be in two places at the same time).

Explanations of this kind can be confusing rather than illuminating. Since the concept encoded in the word memory is quite complex, to explain it we need to decompose it into terms which are much simpler and which in fact can be regarded as self-explanatory. Once we have done this we will have a much better idea of what

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

exactly we are talking about when we discuss “memory”; and we will be in a better position to ask about the bodily (physical) correlates of the mental phenomena that this semantically complex English word stands for. In fact, at times the discussion of “memory” in The Search for Mind moves closer to such a perspective, abandoning for a while the physicalist and computational language. To my mind, when the author speaks of “our past experience”, of “our lived experiences”, and of “how an experience is conditioned by our memory of past events” (p.71), this may actually be a more helpful, and a more illuminating starting point than the references to RAM and ROM. The same applies to the studies of the biochemistry, anatomy and cell biology of memory, discussed, for example, in the entry on “memory” in The Oxford Companion to the Mind. Having discussed the recent studies of the “hippocampal potentialisation” and other biochemical mechanisms as in vitro analogues of memory processes, the authors write (p.460): All this may seem a long way from Marcel Proust’s evocation of youthful memory, Á la recherche du temps perdu, with its sense imagery. Are young chicks, sea slugs, or slices of brain tissue really going to reveal the molecular mechanisms of such a durable if elusive property of the human brain? It is an act of faith perhaps, to claim that they are. Complex phenomena are not merely the result of the additive properties of simpler ones, because as systems increase in complexity, their properties change qualitatively (. . .). Nevertheless, the general principles of organization that underlie these brain systems are similar.

But there is no reason why “memory” should be studied either introspectively, à la Marcel Proust, or objectively, from a biochemical point of view. Depending on what one wants to discover, both perspectives are obviously legitimate and appropriate. Arguably, however, conceptual analysis should come first. We cannot take for granted English words like memory, remember, recall, retrieve, forget, and so on; rather, we need to start an inquiry into “memory” and related phenomena by elucidating the meaning of such words. Without such a preliminary semantic inquiry scholarly articles on “memory” are often sorely lacking in clarity. The following passage from The Oxford Companion to the Mind (p.458) is a good case in point (the asterisks refer to separate entries): . . .. memory is a portmanteau expression which includes within itself two processes and, by hypothesis, a thing. The processes are the *learning of some new skill, behaviour pattern, or piece of information (sometimes called the acquisition of memory) and, at some later time, the recall and re-expression of the skill or information (sometimes called retrieval). The thing that connects the two processes of learning and recall is a change in the properties of the brain system so as to store the new information which the learning represents, in such a form that it can subsequently, in response to appropriate cues, be searched for and retrieved. This change is known as the memory trace, or *engram. The relationship between

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Anna Wierzbicka

the language used to discuss these phenomena in the brain and that used in the description of the properties of computers and their memory stores is not accidental, for much of our present-day thinking about biological memory is directed – and constrained – by a framework of analogies from computer technology and *information theory.

While this passage purports to define “memory” (“memory is a portmanteau expression which includes within itself two processes and a thing”) it is extremely difficult to see what this definition actually means. Two processes and a thing? What thing? Why isn’t the “change in the properties of the brain system” also a process? Or a state resulting from a process? On the face of it, it would seem that only the brain, not a change occurring in the brain, is a thing. It is also hard to see if there is any unitary generalisation behind the two “processes” in question; or what exactly is meant by “recall and re-expression”. The word recall is not obviously simpler and clearer than the word memory itself, and the word re-expression appears to refer to an earlier process or event of “expression”. But how is this earlier “expression” related to the “learning of some new skill”? Finally, it is not clear what is meant by “biological memory”. If what is meant is the biological basis of memory then why not say so? Since, however, it appears to be implied that everything that the term memory stands for can be reduced to some “phenomenon in the brain” there is hardly any room left for any “mentalistic” memory which could have a biological basis. Thus, the passage as a whole obfuscates rather that clarifies the phenomenon which it is trying to explain. Again and again, the current literature on “memory” emphasises the (perceived) need to move away from phenomenological and philosophical approaches to neurobiological and computational ones, and from “the mind” to the brain. For example: For experimental science, the question is how far memory and its brain representation are amenable to experimental analysis rather than to logical and philosophical enquiry. Over recent decades, this has been one of the central problem areas for psychology and neurobiology. (The Oxford Companion to the Mind, p.458)

But how can “memory” be amenable to experimental analysis if we don’t explain first what we mean by the word memory? Seeking to understand what The Oxford Companion to the Mind (TOCM) is actually trying to say about “memory” in the passage quoted above, I would propose the following paraphrase of this passage: a scientific model of “memory” (TOCM) a. something happened to a person at some time b. because of this, this person knew something (Z) about something (X) c. because of this, something happened to a part of this person’s body [brain] d. because of this, after this this part of the body was not like it was before this thing happened e. because of this, if this person thinks about X now this person can know the same thing (Z) about X

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

This formula may seem more complex than necessary in so far as it refers to both “knowing” and “thinking”. It might seem sufficient, and therefore preferable, to limit it to some permutations of “knowing”, along the following lines: a. b. c.

some time before now something happened to person X because of this, X knew something about something (at that time) because X knew it then, X knows it now

In fact, however, the literature on “memory” such as the article in The Oxford Companion to the Mind usually does refer, however indirectly, to thinking as well as knowing. The very notion that the relevant information “can subsequently, in response to appropriate cues, be searched for and retrieved” (p.456) involves thinking; for what else could that “searching” and “retrieving” be if not thinking? Consider also formulations like the following ones (p.464): We do not perceive or remember in a vacuum. The context within which we experience an event will determine how that event is encoded and hence retained. What we have learned, we are not always able to call to mind, particularly if we try to recall it when our internal or external environment is dramatically different from the conditions during learning.

It seems clear that the expression call to mind refers to thinking, and that so does the word recall. Thus, even in the scientific model presented, for example, in the article in The Oxford Companion to the Mind, the concept of ‘memory’ includes three main components: 1. personal experience (something happening to a person), 2. knowledge resulting from this experience, and 3. the ability to think about that knowledge some time later. While the folk concept of ‘memory’, that is, the concept encoded in the English word memory as it is used in ordinary language, does not involve any references to the brain, this concept, too, involves the same three vital components of “personal experience”, knowledge and thinking; plus of course the temporal dimension: before and after, and also, for some time. So here is a proposed explication of the word memory, used as a singulare tantum, that is, in sentences like “he has a good memory”, or “after the accident, he lost his memory”, that is, “memory” conceived of as a capacity: a person’s memory (a folk model) a. everyone knows: b. if a person knows something at one time this person can know the same thing for some time afterwards because of this c. because of this, a person can think about many things like this: “I know it because I knew it before” d. at the same time everyone knows: if a person knows something at one time some time afterwards this person can not know this thing anymore

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Anna Wierzbicka

Memory in the sense of “capacity” has no plural and thus is very different grammatically from countable memories. The two are also very different semantically. For example, a “good memory” does not imply that one has “good memories”. Roughly speaking, memories have to do with lived experience. A computer may have a “memory” (though not a “good” memory, only a “large” one), but it cannot have any “memories”. Memory can be purely factual, memories are inherently experiential. To fully understand the differences between the two it will be helpful to explore first the meaning, or meanings, of the verb remember.

.

The Natural Semantic Metalanguage (“NSM”)

The “natural semantic metalanguage” (“NSM”), in which the scientific model of memory was re-cast, is the outcome of empirical and conceptual investigations carried out over more than three decades within the framework of “NSM” semantic theory. This theory is based on two fundamental assumptions: that every language has an irreducible core in terms of which the speakers can understand all complex thoughts and utterances; and that the irreducible cores of all natural languages match one another, reflecting the irreducible core of human thought. The research done within the NSM approach has tested the validity of these two assumptions, and their utility in describing and comparing languages and cultures. The justification for the approach lies, therefore, in the large body of work produced using this methodology (see the references listed in Goddard and Wierzbicka eds. 1994 and 2002; see also the NSM homepage). Cross-linguistic empirical research undertaken within the NSM framework suggests that there are sixty or so universal conceptual primes, each with its own set of universal syntactic frames. Using their English exponents, we can present them as follows (for equivalent tables in other languages, see Goddard and Wierzbicka eds. 2002): Table of universal conceptual primes (English version) Substantives Determiners Quantifiers Attributes Mental predicates Speech Actions, events, movement Location, existence, possession specification Life and death Logical concepts

, , ,  (), ,  ,  ,  , , , /,  , , ,  , , , , ,  , ,  , ,   (), /,   (/) ,  , , , , 

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

Time Space Intensifier, augmentor Taxonomy, partonomy Similarity

 (), , , ,   ,   ,   ,   (), , , , , , , ,  () ,   ,    (, )

Exponents of primes may be words, bound morphemes, or phrasemes. They can be formally, i.e. morphologically, complex. They can have different morphosyntactic properties (including word-class) in different languages. They can have combinatorial variants (allolexes). Each semantic prime has a well-specified set of grammatical (combinatorial) properties.

The great majority of words and grammatical constructions in any language are language-specific in their meaning, and cannot be matched exactly across languages. But evidence suggests that the sixty or so words listed as conceptual primes do match in meaning across languages, and can be used as a conceptual lingua franca which allows us to explain meanings and ideas “from a native’s point of view” while making them intelligible to cultural outsiders. It would be impossible to investigate human psychology across languages and cultures if no psychological terms were shared by all languages. Fortunately (for any such projects) there are psychological concepts which all languages do share. As the table given above shows, these concepts include , ,  and . In the past, it was sometimes claimed that there are “primitive” languages which do not have lexical (or lexico-grammatical) exponents for the concepts  and . For example, the anthropologist Hallpike, in his Foundations of Primitive Thought (1979) claimed that “primitive” peoples confuse thinking with speaking and hearing and that they have no concept of purely cognitive processes and states such as those linked in English with the words think and know: This inability to analyse private experience, as opposed to social behaviour, the paradigm of the knowable, is well illustrated by ethnographic evidence from the Ommura, of the Eastern Highlands Province of Papua New Guinea. Like many primitive peoples in New Guinea and elsewhere, the Ommura use the same verb (iero) for ‘understanding’ or ‘comprehending’, and the ‘hearing’ of a sound etc. (pp.393–4)

Hallpike also quoted with approval Read’s (1955) statement about the Papuan people Gahuku-Gama: The Gahuku-Gama do not ascribe any importance to the brain, nor have they any conception of its function. Cognitive processes are associated with the organ of hearing. To ‘know’ or to ‘think’ is to ‘hear’ (gelenove); ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t understand’ is ‘I do not hear’ or ‘I have not heard’ (gelemuve). (p.265 n.)

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It has now been established, however, that claims of this kind are groundless, and that they are due to a failure to recognise the polysemy of certain words which can be established on language-internal grounds (Wierzbicka 1996, Chapter 6; Goddard 1998). The empirical work done within the NSM framework (cf. Goddard and Wierzbicka eds. 2002) shows that all languages have identifiable exponents for the concepts  and  (as well as  and ). This fact is crucial for any attempt to investigate, cross-linguistically, complex and culture-specific psychological phenomena such as that identified in English by the word memory: they provide us with basic analytical tools without which cross-linguistic comparisons in this area would not be possible at all (cf. Palmer, Goddard and Lee eds. 2003, and especially Goddard 2003).

. “Memory” as a cultural construct Is “remembering” a human universal? And if so, then in what sense? Is it a universal human assumption that people remember things? Or is “remembering” a cultural construct, that is, a culture-specific interpretation imposed on human experience by some languages – notably, those which have words comparable to the English word remember? But don’t all languages have some words comparable to the English word remember? Umberto Eco, for one, is convinced that “remembering” is indeed a human universal, and that all languages must have a word for it. Speaking of “elementary notions, common to everyone in the human race, that can be expressed in all languages” he writes (Eco 2000: 87–88): “Most certainly every man has a notion of what it means to perceive, to remember, to feel desire, fear, sadness or relief, pleasure or pain, and to emit sounds that express these sensations”. Extensive cross-linguistic investigations conducted within the NSM framework have led to somewhat different conclusions. Thus, it is not “perceive” which is universal but ,  and ; not “feel desire” but  and ; not “pleasure” and “pain” but   and  . The claim about the universality of “remember” is also not quite right. Whether or not remembering (in some sense) is a human universal, the concept of ‘remembering’ is most certainly neither elementary nor universal. In Australia, one doesn’t have to look far to establish that many languages don’t have a word comparable to remember at all. It is enough to consult the most reliable dictionaries of Australian Aboriginal languages to see that in many of these languages, “remembering” as we know it is not distinguished lexically from mental activities such as “reflecting” or “thinking something over”. For example, in Cliff Goddard’s (1992) dictionary of Pitjantjatjara/Yankunytjatjara the word remember in the English word-finder leads us only to the expression pinangku kulini (lit. ‘think with [one’s] ears’), glossed as ‘reflect, think over, remember’. Similarly, in the Pintupi/Luritja Dictionary by K.C. and L.E. Hansen (1992), the word wurrkulinu is glossed as “v.worried; preoccupied; remembered the past; to be preoccupied about some possible happening”; and in

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

R.M.W. Dixon’s 1991 dictionary of Yidiny the word binanga is glossed as ‘hear, listen to; think about, remember’. What these glosses (and the accompanying examples) suggest is that while the words in question can be used to translate the English word remember, they do not actually mean ‘remember’ but rather, something like ‘think about something for some time’ (without any obligatory reference to the past). It might seem that denying the existence of a distinct concept of ‘remember’ in Australian languages is implying that they lack something essential and thus comes close to Hallpike’s assertions about “primitive languages”. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. A language which would lack a concept of  or  would indeed be lacking something essential because these concepts could not be built out of any other, more elementary ones. On the other hand, ‘remember’ is a complex concept, which stands for a language-specific configuration of simpler concepts (including  and ). If a language has  and , it has the conceptual and linguistic resources with which to build other, more complex, psychological concepts. Australian languages, too, have complex psychological concepts for which English has no exact equivalents. The Pintupi concept of ‘wurrkulinu’ is a good case in point, as is also the Pintupi concept of watjilpa, discussed in Myers (1979: 362). Nonetheless, these concepts, too, can be explained (explicated) in English on the basis of shared simple concepts, such as, above all,  and . (See, e.g., the explications of watjilpa in Wierzbicka (1992: 164). To study the semantic field of “memory” across languages and cultures, we need workable analytical tools.  and  are among such indispensable tools. Turning now to my native Polish, and comparing it with English, I also find remarkable differences. It is true that the verb remember does seem to have an exact semantic equivalent in the Polish verb pamiętać, and memory, in the Polish noun pamięć. Nonetheless, many other words belonging to the same semantic and lexical field don’t have exact equivalents in Polish, and indeed the whole model underlying this field appears to be significantly different. Consider, for example, an English expression like memories of childhood. The closest Polish counterpart of this phrase would be wspomnienia dzieciństwa, but the two phrases, the English and the Polish one, do not mean the same. The English phrase implies that the memories in question “are there”, as it were stored in a person’s head. It thus implies something similar to the scientist’s “engrams”, that is, those “memory traces” (in the brain) that we have encountered in the passage from The Oxford Companion to the Mind. The Polish phrase (which is comparable to the French phrase souvenirs d’enfance) does not have such implications. Rather, it implies that certain images and experiences can be “brought back” by thinking – by something like a process of recollection. They are not retrieved from some mental archive where they have been stored but are as it were brought back from the past (by thinking). This image of bringing something back from the past has its parallels in English sentences like it’s coming back to me or indeed it brings back memories (of childhood, etc). But the fact remains that the meaning of a phrase like memories of childhood or my earliest memory cannot be rendered exactly in Polish. And conversely, a Polish phrase

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like wspomnienia dzieciństwa or wspomnienia wojenne (“war memories”) cannot be rendered exactly in English. Similarly, one cannot accurately translate into Polish the English expressions I recall and as I recall, which imply a certain control over one’s knowledge of the past, as one has experienced it. The closest functional counterpart of as I recall would be o ile pamiętam ‘as far as I remember’, but that doesn’t mean the same as I recall. The most common Polish ways of speaking about something like “recalling” include przypominam sobie and przypomina mi się, which don’t have exact equivalents in English. Anticipating further more detailed discussion of these expressions I will note that przypominam sobie, which appears to be similar in meaning to the French expression je me rapelle, implies that when I think about it, some knowledge (of something experienced in the past) “comes back to me”. Przypomina mi się is an impersonal expression, comparable, from a syntactic point of view, to the English expression it occurs to me, but again, referring to something from a person’s (experienced) past, something that is not under the person’s “control”. It refers to thoughts which as it were come back of their own accord; and not from some personal archive but “from the past”. The English expression memories to take away, too, conjures up the image of something stored in a person’s head – in a kind of a mental archive to which this person has a key and over which they can exercise some control. The Polish word wspomnienia cannot be used in this way, because wspomnienia are the result of the process of wspominać (roughly, ‘reminiscing’), that is, re-creating some aspects of the past by thinking about them rather than retrieving them from storage. In the past, the words remembrance and recollection were used in English in ways closer to the Polish wspomnienia and wspominać. Indeed, as I will discuss more fully below, the verb remember could also be used in a more dynamic way in English, implying a mental process rather than storage. But the static image of storage, too, goes far back in the history of the English language. Some examples (from Stevenson 1958): 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

‘Tis in my memory lock’d, And you yourself shall keep the key of it. (Shakespeare, Hamlet) Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records. (Shakespeare, Hamlet) Storehouse of the mind, garner of parts and fancies. (M.F. Tupper, “Of memory”; 19th century) Long, long be my heart with such memories fill’d! (Thomas Moore, “Farewell”; 19th century) And, when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left, Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory, images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed. (William Wordsworth, 18th–19th centuries).

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

The key words in these examples are locked, keep, records, storehouse, filled, and deposited: they all suggest some things “kept” in a person’s head, like mental possessions (often, “treasures”). They are “private” – as if “owned” by the person who has experienced some events. The experiencer has privileged access to them – other people don’t. Of course other people can know (often better than I) what happened to me when I was a child; and they may remember it better than I can. Yet they don’t have access to the perspective which I can have on those events, because these things are as it were part of my life: they are therefore not merely things that happened to me but things that I have experienced and which I can think of as part of my life. Phrases like memories of childhood, which are common in contemporary English, are consistent with such imagery and phraseology. They appear to imply a model of human life which can be spelled out along the following lines: Someone’s memories (of childhood, etc.) a. everyone knows: b. a person lives for some time c. during this time many things happen to this person d. after these things have happened, this person can think about these things like this: “I know what these things were like because they happened to me” e. a long time after these things have happened this person can think about them in the same way if this person wants to f. other people can’t think about these things in the same way

As this explication shows, in the English folk model “memories” are a kind of personal knowledge which a person can access at will. This knowledge is based on past experience. It is not always thought about, but it is, in principle, available for thinking about; potentially at least, it is at the person’s disposal. The concept of ‘memories’ is closely related to the concept of ‘remembering’. Roughly speaking, one might say that one’s memories of childhood represent what one remembers of one’s childhood. There are, however, some significant differences between the two words. First of all, remember does not imply “private ownership” (privileged access), as the word memories does. As already mentioned, other people may “remember” things that happened to me better than I can. Further, not everything that can be remembered can count as “a memory”. For example, one can say: “I remember my PIN number”, but not “I have a memory of my PIN number”. Remember implies knowledge which has its source in personal experience, but it doesn’t have to be knowledge of something that “happened to me”: what happened to me is the source of the knowledge, not its content. In the case of memories, however, it is both the source and the content. Furthermore, the verb remember, as it is currently used, implies also a possibility of loss: the personal knowledge based on one’s own experience could have gotten

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lost but has not; it is still “in the person’s head”. At the same time, remember does not seem to emphasise the permanent availability of a given piece of knowledge. If I “remember” something now then I can “retrieve” a certain piece of knowledge now – there is no implication that I will be able to retrieve it at a later time. The word memories, on the other hand, seems to refer to some pieces of experiential knowledge stored in my mind in a way which makes it possible for me to retrieve them at different times at will. Taking all these points into account we can explicate remember (in its experiential uses) in the following way: I remember that song a. I can think about this song like this: “I know what it is like” b. I can think about it like this now because I could think about it like this before c. I could think about it like this before because at some time before, something happened to me: I heard it d. someone can think that I can’t think about it like this anymore e. it is not like this f. I can think about it in the same way now

It goes without saying that what applies to hearing applies also to seeing and feeling. Sentences like “I remember that feeling” or “I remember those flowers” are no less experiential than “I remember that song”, and can be explicated along the same lines. For example: I remember that feeling a. I can think about that feeling like this: “I know what it is like” b. I can think about it like this now because I could think about it like this before c. I could think about it like this before because at some time before something happened to me: I felt it d. someone can think that I can’t think about it like this anymore e. it is not like this f. I can think about it in the same way now

In addition to “experiential” uses, remember has also “factual” uses. Here, too, some current knowledge is based on past knowledge. In this case, however, the source of that past knowledge remains unspecified: there is no implication that that knowledge was based on personal experience. For example: I remember why she did it. a. I can think about it like this: “I know why she did it” b. I can think about it like this now because I could think about it like this before c. someone can think that I can’t think about it like this anymore d. it is not like this e. I can think about it in the same way now

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

Can computers “remember” anything? Presumably not (in ordinary language). The noun memory has developed a technical meaning which makes it applicable to computers, but the verb remember has not.

. “Voluntary memory” and “involuntary memory” In his memoir Heading South, Looking North – A bilingual journey, the Latin American writer Ariel Dorfman (1999: 117) speaks of his own “Proustian struggle to recapture the past”. The phrase to recapture the past highlights an aspect of “remembering” that often gets lost sight of in the scientific literature which relies largely on computational metaphors. Computers have a “memory” but they don’t struggle to recapture the past. Polish words like wspominać and wspomnienia, or the corresponding Russian words vspominat’ and vospominanija, suggest a perspective closer to the Proustian one, and so did, to some extent, the English word remember in its older, dynamic sense. Contemporary English, however, does not focus on “recapturing the past”. One word which could be mentioned in this context is recollections, which does suggest some effort to “re-collect” (gather again) some bits of the past. But the word recollections does not suggest the idea of knowing (again) what something was like – it seems to imply factual rather than “experiential” knowledge of the past. Another perspective on “memory” which seems to be discouraged by the computational metaphors is that of the past spontaneously “coming back” to a person’s mind. Proust (1987) comments explicitly on the difference between the “memoire volontaire, memoire d’intelligence” (“voluntary memory, the memory of intelligence”), which “gives information about the past without conserving anything of that past” (“renseignements qu’elle-donne sur le passé ne conservent rien de lui”, p.57) and involuntary memory, capable of awakening the past which is hidden outside the domain of the intelligence and which can “come back to live with us”. In the recent Penguin translation (Davis 2003) this passage reads as follows: I find the Celtic belief very reasonable, that the souls of those we have lost are held captive in some inferior creature, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate thing, effectively lost to us until the day, which for many never comes, when we happen to pass close to the tree, come into possession of the object that is their prison. Then they quiver, they call out to us, and as soon as we have recognised them, the spell is broken. Delivered by us, they have overcome death and they return to live with us. It is the same with our past. It is a waste of effort for us to try to summon it, all the exertions of our intelligence are useless. The past is hidden outside the realm of our intelligence and beyond its reach, in some material object (in the sensation that this material object would give us) which we do not suspect. It depends on chance whether we encounter this object before we die, or do not encounter it.

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Proust speaks sometimes of such involuntary memories using the untranslatable phrase il me souvient (as it were, ‘it remembers itself to me’), as well as expressions like le souvenir m’est venu and le souvenir m’est apparu (usually rendered in the English translations of Proust as “the memory came to me” or “the memory appeared”). While such expressions are not common in colloquial present-day French, the basic French verbs se souvenir and se rappeller (both of them reflexive) are less active and “controlled” than the English verb recall. (Of the two, se rappeler is closer to recall in so far as it, too, implies a single act and is restricted to facts.) Similarly, the reflexive German verb sich erinnern is less active and implies less control over the situation than the English recall. In fact, in situations in which in English one might say “I don’t recall” in both French and German one would usually say, colloquially, the literary equivalent of “I don’t know any more”: je ne sais plus and ich weiss nicht mehr. The involuntary aspect of the mental processes in question is highlighted even more than in French or German in languages like Polish or Russian, which use for this purpose a combination of a reflexive verb with an impersonal construction and a dative subject. (See Section 6.) But in contemporary English, it is difficult to speak of “memory”, colloquially, in this way. The verb to recall implies a degree of control and initiative, and so do words like recollections and reminiscences. All these words seem closer in their implications to Proust’s “voluntary memory, memory of the intelligence” than to the idea of the past “coming back” as it were of its own accord – and not just as “information” but as sensory experience. In a letter written in exile, the Russian poet Marina Tsvetaeva has written: “mne vspomnilas’ Moskva – sady”, ‘there came back to me Moscow – its gardens’. The word vspomnilas’ is a reflexive, impersonal form of the verb vspomnit’, roughly, ‘remember’, but the implication of an involuntary, spontaneous mental event cannot really be rendered by means of the word remember (as it is used in contemporary English). The closest translation might be “I was reminded of Moscow – of its gardens”. But remind is a transitive verb, with a syntactic slot for a specifiable causer or cause (“X reminded me of Y”, “I was reminded of Y by X”). As a result, even a passive form like I was reminded implies a trigger. By contrast, the phrase mne vspomnilas’ has no such slot, and neither does the Polish phrase przypomniała mi się. Tsvetaeva’s sentence suggests nostalgia. The “involuntary spontaneous” expressions of Polish and Russian readily lend themselves to such a “nostalgic” reading. English words like recall suggest a different perspective, more compatible with the metaphors of storage, records, and retrieval, and with a focus on resources, capabilities, control, learning and problem-solving.

. “Remember” – the change in meaning As mentioned earlier, the meaning of the word remember has changed, from a more processual to a more static one. In the earlier usage, remember was close to “think again

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

about something that happened a long time ago”; it implied going over, in one’s mind, one’s past experiences. In the later usage, the focus is not on thinking about (and as it were re-living) some past experiences, but rather, on the capacity to retrieve some bits of knowledge from storage. For example, when Thomas Fuller (17th/18th century) wrote: “That which is bitter to endure may be sweet to remember” (Stevenson 1958), he clearly didn’t mean the capacity to retrieve some past event but the actual process of thinking about it again. Fuller’s saying derives from Seneca’s words “Quae fuit durum pati, meminisse dulce est” (‘What was difficult to bear is sweet to “remember”’). As this quote from Seneca shows, the Latin verb meminisse referred, or could refer, to a mental process rather than a mental capacity. The same processual character of meminisse is clear in the following quote from Ovid: “Namque est meminisse voluptas” (‘for it is a pleasure, too, to “remember”’). There are many similar examples preserved in older English, by no means only in translations or paraphrases. For example (also from Stevenson 1958): “Sorrow remembered sweetens present joy” (Robert Pollock, early 19th century) and John Masefield (early 20th century): Only stay quiet while my mind remembers the beauty of fire from the beauty of embers.

The English noun remembrance, now archaic, was clearly based on the processual meaning of the verb remember. Two examples from Shakespeare: a. b.

Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.

This older, processual meaning of remember implied actually doing something in one’s mind rather than being able to do something, as in the current meaning. In contrast to many other European languages, modern English doesn’t seem to have a word which would correspond, even roughly, to the Latin word meminisse. A sentence like “it is sweet (or it is a pleasure) to remember these things now” does not sound quite right in contemporary English, and the idea behind it is difficult to express in a fully idiomatic way. The expression “to go over in one’s mind” may seem to come close but it doesn’t suggest any considerable distance in time, and it could refer to something that happened earlier on the same day. In addition to the more processual, dynamic character of remember in the older meaning, it appears that that older meaning did not include any reference to the possibility of forgetting. The modern emphasis on being able to do something in one’s mind seems to be related to the assumption that, at some time in the future, one may not be able to do so any more. When, however, remember referred to the actual process of “thinking back” rather than to the capacity to “think back”, the alternative “can I” or

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“can’t I” did not seem to arise. There is no reason, therefore, to include the component “someone can think that I can’t think about it like this anymore” in the explication of the older meaning of remember. This leads us to the following explication of that older meaning: I remember (e.g. the beauty of fire) a. I’m thinking about something (Z) now b. I can think about it like this: “I know what it is like: it is like this” c. I can think about it like this now because I could think about it like this some time before d. I could think about it like this some time before because some time before something was happening to me (e.g. I was seeing Z) e. when I think about it now I can think about it in the same way f. I want to think about it in this way now

As this explication shows, the older meaning of remember included two “active” components (a. and f.), which are not present in the more recent meaning: “I’m thinking about it now” and “I want to think about it now”, that is, two components of deliberate thinking about the past. It also included a vivid “re-play” of some past experience (component b.): not only “I know what it is like”, but also “it is like this”, where “this” refers to something “seen in one’s mind’s eye”. At the same time, this explication shows that the older meaning of remember did not include the expectation of loss: “someone can think that I can’t think about it like this anymore” and the reaffirmation of one’s control over the past knowledge: “it is not like this”. The active, processual character of the verb remember in its older meaning makes it comparable to the modern verb reminisce, but the two are by no means identical in meaning. First of all, reminisce is a speech act verb, whereas remember was a mental verb: when one reminisces, one says something (if only to oneself), whereas remembering (in the older sense of the word) implied thinking rather than speaking. The very fact that (as pointed out to me by Cliff Goddard, p.c.) one can “reminisce with” someone else but not “remember with” someone else demonstrates the more public (spoken) character of the former and the more private (mental) character of the latter. Second, one cannot “reminisce songs (flowers)”, as one can (and could) “remember songs (flowers)”, one can only “reminisce about songs (flowers)” – a syntactic fact which highlights a difference in meaning. Reminiscing about something implies talking about something, and does not imply that one necessarily sees or hears this something in one’s mind (although one is very likely to do so). The shift from remembering as “going over some past (remote) events in one’s mind” to remembering “as being able to retrieve accumulated knowledge” suggests a shift in cultural emphasis and cultural values – a shift from a focus on re-living, and perhaps savouring, one’s past experience to using that experience instrumentally. The modern English verb to recall may be another manifestation of that shift. Unlike the modern remember, recall is active, but it doesn’t suggest re-living (in one’s mind)

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

one’s past experience. Rather, it suggests a certain control over one’s knowledge of the past, as one has once experienced it. Many other languages, including Polish, have no word comparable to recall – no word implying that, to some extent at least, one can “control” one’s knowledge based on past experience. In the age of computers, the tendency to view human “memory” instrumentally, as comparable to the “memory” of a computer, is no doubt more pronounced than ever, but the shift from the “art of remembrance” to the “capacity of memory” clearly started much earlier. Computers don’t practise “remembrance” and don’t dwell on the past. They don’t have lived memories based on personal experience. They have storage space which can be used as the programmer wants to use it. (As The Oxford Companion to the Mind puts it, “in computer language the memory is an instrument in which is placed a store of whatever information is to be used for calculation”, p.455.) One is tempted to speculate that in modern Anglo culture, the practice of “dwelling on the past” and re-living in thought past experiences, images and emotions has gradually given way, in some measure, to a more procedural attitude to knowledge based on experience. At any rate, this is what the semantic change in the field under discussion appears to suggest. The notion of “memory” as it is used in contemporary psychological literature is consistent with this new attitude. For example, laboratory studies of “bilingual memory” often treat the “bilingual memory” as a repository of words from two languages. They often discuss the issue of how these words are accessed or retrieved, but seldom question the validity of the underlying model as such.

.

The meaning of some Polish words related to “memory”

As mentioned earlier, Polish does have a noun semantically close in meaning, if not fully equivalent, to memory: pamięć, and a verb close in meaning, if not fully equivalent, to remember: pamiętać. In addition, however, it has some culturally salient words and expressions which have no counterparts in English. Apart from przypominać sobie and przypomina mi się, which were mentioned earlier, they include wspomnienia, wspominać, pamiątka, pamiętnik, and zapomnienie, which I will now discuss one by one.

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Wspomnienia

As noted earlier, in some ways the Polish word wspomnienia can be compared to the English reminiscences; in other ways, however, it is closer to memories. For example, phrases like wspomnienia dzieciństwa (‘childhood memories’) or wspomnienia rodzinne (‘family memories’) could not be adequately translated into English as reminiscences because reminiscences imply talking about a past experience rather than reliving it in one’s mind. Wspomnienia, like memories, implies something that one has

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lived through, and it suggests feelings and images as much as thoughts. In contrast to memories, however, it doesn’t imply “storage” and “retrieval”. The verb wspominać (always imperfective) is glossed in Polish-English dictionaries as remember, recall, or reminisce, but it differs in meaning from all these words. It is an imperfective verb which refers to an on-going mental activity of thinking (for some time) about some events from the remote past, and re-living them in one’s mind. It is not a verb of ability (like remember, in its current meaning), it is not a verb of speech (like reminisce), and it is not a verb referring to a single mental act of “recall” (like recall). Above all, wspominać – like memories – refers to something that is seen as a part of one’s life. Loosely, it could even be glossed as “to engage in the activity of bringing some memories to the surface of one’s consciousness”. But there is no word for memories in Polish and the concept of ‘wspominać’ does not include the concept of ‘memories’ but rather reflects an alternative way of thinking about things that have happened earlier on in one’s life. It is a concept which implies that by thinking about one’s past life one can bring some things to light that were hidden before; and these things are not “memories” (stored in the mind) but as it were past events themselves. To put it another way, the activity of “wspominać” seems to be able to create new knowledge (new awareness), rather than merely activate knowledge previously stored in the mind. Above all, memories is something that one “has”, whereas wspomnienia is something that one “does”: the usual phrase is oddawać się wspomnieniom, literally, “to give oneself to wspomnienia”, that is, “to give oneself to the activity of wspominać”. Thus, wspominać implies a form of life (in Wittgenstein’s sense) which is not lexically recognised in English and which is evidently not as salient in contemporary Anglo culture as it is in Polish culture. The salience of this “form of life” in Polish culture is also reflected in the noun wspomnienia (plural), which often features in the titles of literary works and which can translate the English word memoirs, as well as memories. Unlike memoirs, however, wspomnienia is a colloquial, homely word, often used in the collocation wspomnienia rodzinne ‘family memories/memoirs’. Anybody who can write at all could write their “wspomnienia rodzinne”, and those who can’t write could also snuć (“weave”, “spin”) wspomnienia – either orally or simply in their heads. Both the verb wspominać and the noun wspomnienia imply an interest in dwelling in thought on the past that one has lived through. Often, this past is not a purely private past but has a historical dimension and refers to experiences which were once shared by many people and which can now be of interest to many people. Presumably for this reason, the noun wspomnienia can also translate the English word memoirs, which inherently implies a potential public interest (and a written form). At the same time, however, it also translates the English word memories, which is inherently private (and mental, rather than either oral or written). The literary genre of “wspomnienia” is highly popular in Poland, as reflected in the high frequency of this word in the titles of various publications, and also, in the existence of the derived adjective wspomnieniowy(-a) and of the common collocation literatura wspomnieniowa; and one is tempted to speculate that both the popularity of

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

this genre and the very meaning of the word reflect some aspects of Polish history – a history of partitions, deprivation of national independence, threat to national identity, uprisings, exile, mass deportations, forced emigration, and throughout all that, a cultivation of national memory. The name of the present-day institution “Instytut Pamięci Narodowej”(‘the Institute of National Memory’), which collects and sieves through both private and public documents of the past, is just one characteristic example, among many, and a good illustration of what the writer Eva Hoffman, the author of After Such Knowledge – Memory, history and the legacy of the Holocaust (2004: 41), describes as “the intense cult of memory in that country [Poland]”. Needless to say, the fact that the Polish word wspomnienia has no exact semantic equivalent in English doesn’t establish that the concept encoded in it is unique to Polish. In fact, the German word Erinnerungen and the Russian word vospominanija come fairly close in meaning to wspomnienia. Yet the semantic field as a whole is in each case different. For example, German doesn’t have a verb equivalent to wspominać that is, one meaning “to engage for some time in Erinnerungen”, and the noun Erinnerungen is seldom used to refer to published recollections or memoirs: it is not an established literary genre as the Polish wspomnienia is.2 Russian does have a verb comparable to wspominać, namely vspominat’, but it does not have an adjective corresponding to wspomnieniowy. So here is a tentative explication of wspomnienia: wspomnienia (cf. wspominać) a. everyone knows: b. a person lives for some time c. during this time many things happen to this person d. after these things happened this person can think about these things like this: “I know what these things were like because they happened to me” e. a long time after these things happened this person can think about some of these things in the same way f. other people can’t think about these things in the same way g. X is thinking about some things in this way now h. X is doing it because X wants to do it i. X wants to do it for some time j. when X thinks about these things X thinks about some of these things like this: “it was like this” k. when X thinks about these things in this way X feels something because of this

. Langenscheidt’s (1993) standard German dictionary glosses both Gedächtnis ‘memory’ and one meaning of Erinnerung (in the singular) as “eine Art Speicher im Gehirn, in dem Informationen bewahrt werden”, ‘a kind of storage in the brain, where information is kept’. The Polish word wspomnienie could never be used in a similar sense.

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The last five components of this explication have been highlighted because they show most clearly the differences between wspomnienia and memories. Components (g), (h), and (i) show that wspomnienia is dynamic, voluntary, and refers to an activity; (j) shows that the experience is being re-lived in one’s mind, and (k), that the thoughts and images are accompanied by some feelings.

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Pamiątka3 (lit. ‘little memory’)

Another Polish word which deserves attention in the present context is pamiątka (formally, a diminutive of pamięć memory’), glossed in the Kościuszko Polish-English Dictionary (1967) as “souvenir; token, keepsake, memento”, and in the phrase pamiątki przeszłości glossed as ‘relics of the past’. None of these glosses do justice to the common Polish expression pamiątki rodzinne, which might be better approximated as ‘family heirlooms’. Unlike heirlooms, however, pamiątki rodzinne are above all things of great sentimental value, and may have no material value whatsoever. They may consist of old letters, photos, notes, or drawings, as well as wedding rings or other items of jewellery. The concept of ‘pamiątki rodzinne’, which has no equivalent in, for example, English, German, French or Russian, has a great salience in Polish culture. Again, the salience of this concept in Polish culture will be understandable to anyone familiar with Poland’s history; and so will be the salience of the concept of pamiątka in general. For example, during World War II Warsaw was reduced to rubble by the Germans, with ninety percent of its buildings in ruins, and after the war it was rebuilt and its historic Old Town meticulously reconstructed. During the Warsaw Uprising of 1944, 200 000 inhabitants were killed, and those who were forced to leave the burning city left, in most cases, with little more than their family photos and other “pamiątki”. Arguably, the word pamiątka reflects historical experiences of this kind and implies an attitude of treasuring the past and wanting to keep it firmly in one’s memory. It also

. One concept from a distant culture which can be usefully compared with the Polish ‘pamiątka’ is that of ‘sawo’ for ‘memori’ in the Melanesian language Rawa of North-Easter Papua New Guinea, which according to Dalton (2001) is a central cultural key concept. ‘Memori are small items, usually souvenirs or images that bring up feelings about departed loved ones.” (Dalton 2001:106). When Rawa speakers use this term sawo (or, in Neo-Melanesian, memori) “they mean by this an object or image left behind or produced by someone absent, departed, or deceased – sometimes literally a photograph or perhaps a small item such as a light or small ornament that has no exchange or economic value. These items serve only to remind the recipient of the person who left it behind and the fact that this person gave it. One could say, such objects entail a poignant ‘present absence’ of the person of who it serves as a ‘memory’.” (p.125). Undoubtedly, ‘memori’ is analogous, in some ways, to ‘pamiątka’; but there are also differences. Dalton links ‘memori’ with the culturally central “necessity of giving”. The Polish ‘pamiątka’, on the other hand, is not inherently linked with giving. It is associated, more generally, with what is “left after” other people – often, those who perished in wars, uprisings and other historical cataclysms.

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

seems to suggest an appreciation that the framework of one’s life can be destroyed, that the continuity of this framework cannot be taken for granted, and that since the material links between the present and the past are likely to be fragile and limited, they should be an object of special care and devotion (almost veneration, like relics). The most frequent collocations with ‘pamiątka’ include pamiątki rodzinne (‘family pamiątki’), pamiątki przeszłości (‘pamiątki of the past’), and pamiątki narodowe (‘national pamiątki’). As these observations indicate, the Polish concept of ‘pamiątka’ is very different from the Anglo/English concept of ‘souvenir’, with its connotations of travel, sight-seeing, tourism, and the implied wish to remember some distant places which one has visited. Pamiątka has to do, primarily, with history, souvenir with geography. Souvenir evokes freedom of movement and facility of travel, whereas pamiątka evokes transience of life, loss, and destructibility of the past. Souvenir brings to mind, primarily, enjoyment, whereas pamiątka suggests, above all, nostalgia and devotion. Some of these dimensions link pamiątka more closely with keepsake and memento, but one could not speak of keepsakes of the past or mementos of the past, as one speaks of pamiątki przeszłości, ‘pamiątki of the past’, or pamiątki narodowe, ‘national pamiątki’. Above all, neither keepsake nor memento have the implications of something of great emotional value, as pamiątka inherently has. The importance of the concept of ‘pamiątka’ in Polish culture is reflected in the existence, and wide range of use, of the derived adjective pamiątkowy. While collocations referring to official commemorative affairs such as księga pamiątkowa (‘visitors’ book’) or tablica pamiątkowa (‘memorial plaque’) can sometimes be rendered in English with the adjectives memorial or commemorative, common collocations with pamiątkowy referring to private “relics” cannot be glossed in this way. For example, a pamiątkowy pierścionek (ring) – most likely, a ring which has once belonged to someone like one’s grandmother – is not a “memorial ring” or a “commemorative ring”. The basic syntactic frame for the word (noun) pamiątka is pamiątka po (kimś), that is, ‘pamiątka after (someone)’. As this frame suggests, pamiątka is thought of as a thing which has remained after a person. At the same time, the word is inherently relational: it is someone’s pamiątka after someone else. The person to whom the object in question belongs has had it for a long time and wants to have it for a long time, because this object reminds them of the other person. The other person is very dear to the owner of the pamiątka, and so is the pamiątka itself – not because of any material value attached to it but because it is “like a part” of the other person. So here is an NSM explication of this key Polish word: pamiątka a. someone (X) thinks about this thing like this: b. “I have this thing now c. I have had this thing for a long time before d. I want to have this thing for a long time after e. a long time ago this thing was like a part of another person

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f. g. h. i. j. k.

I thought about this person a long time before I want to think about this person a long time after this person is like a part of me when I think about this person I feel something good when I see this thing I can think about this person because of this when I think about this thing I feel something good”

As this explication shows, a pamiątka is an object which links the present with the past, and which enables the past to live on in people’s thoughts and emotions. Normally, it is a link between people: a person and this person’s parents, grandparents, great grandparents, or other dead or lost relatives or friends whom this person cannot see now but who are still “like a part of this person”. The owner of the pamiątka cherishes it because it once was like a part of a person whom they cherish and identify with, and about whom they want to continue to think. The word pamiątka can be extended to beloved places, and also to objects linking generations rather than individuals. In particular, the plural phrases pamiątki rodzinne ‘family pamiątki’ and pamiątki narodowe ‘national pamiątki’ imply such links between groups of people rather than individuals. Nonetheless, the prototype is, I think, the one spelled out in the proposed explication. Pamiątka can also be used to refer to a new object, such as a special photo made to commemorate a child’s first communion, which would often bear the inscription “Pamiątka Pierwszej Komunii Świętej” ‘the pamiątka of the first holy communion’. In this case, the idea is that the object in question will become a “pamiątka” in the future. The phrase na pamiątkę ‘to be a pamiątka of ’ is often used in this way (for example, in dedications), to commemorate special events, in particular, times spent together. But a book or a photo given someone “na pamiątkę” (as a memento) is not necessarily thought of as a “pamiątka”. Pamiątka as a fully inflected noun has a specific meaning – the one spelled out in the proposed explication. I will illustrate the significance of “pamiątki” in Polish culture with one example – a story concerning the Polish poet Konstanty Ildefons Gałczyński and a little prayer book given to him in his childhood by his mother, “na pamiątkę jego pierwszej komunii”, that is, in memory of his first communion. As reported recently by the poet’s daughter, it was a gift which Gałczyński (not a Christian) . . . kept with him throughout his life, which travelled with him through all his successive abodes in so many different cities, which survived the war together with him from Anin, near Warsaw, via the Polish eastern border post at Hankiewicz, through Kozielsk [a Soviet camp where thousands of Polish officers were murdered by the NKVD – A.W.], through German Stalags, penal battalions, field hospitals, DP camps, post-war migrations of the displaced across Holland, Belgium, France, through countless places and situations, through parties and moments of solitude, despondency and timid, incipient hope. That small children’s prayer book accompanied him everywhere. Unlike

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

so many other objects which he also regarded as important, he never lost or forgot about it. That most treasured of all his possessions returned all the way with him to his beloved native-land.

The little book is for Gałczyński a priceless “pamiątka” – and so is his mother’s hairpin, which he has kept all his life among this book’s pages, and to which he devoted a moving poem. Kira Gałczyńska explicitly comments on the typicality of her father’s veneration of his “pamiątki” – relics – “po mamie” (literally ‘after mother’): This is the first time I have related this story. Up till now I had lacked the courage to make it generally known. But of course I realise that for the current generation of Gałczyński’s readers, for all those who see his poem as being about their mother, the story of the hairpin rescued from all the lesser and greater tempests, the cataclysms and migrations of displaced populations that the twentieth century brought in such abundance, ascends to the status of a national and not just a poetic symbol.

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Pamiętnik

Another Polish word derived from pamięć ‘memory’ is pamiętnik. The word has two meanings. One of these meanings is particularly salient in (but not restricted to) the context of school life. As I recall from my own school days, in my school (a girls’ school) every girl had a special pamiętnik (decorative bound notebook) for her classmates to write or draw something in, “for memory” (see also Hoffman 1989:78). The most common introductory formulae in such inscriptions were ku pamięci, ‘for memory’ and na pamiątkę ‘to be a pamiątka’. The other meaning of pamiętnik is usually rendered in English as diary. But Polish has another word for diary – dziennik, and it draws a distinction between dziennik (from dzień ‘day’) and a pamiętnik (from pamięć ‘memory’). A dziennik, like a diary, tends to include events and experiences which seem to be of interest at the time. A pamiętnik, on the other hand, which can also be written contemporaneously with the events recorded, tends to select events and experiences which one wants to remember later and which are seen, at the time of writing, as of more than passing interest. A pamiętnik, therefore, is more selective, and more reflexive, than a diary. A dziennik (‘diary’) aims at capturing the raw experience, whereas a pamiętnik sieves through the experience and aims at recording what can be seen as memorable. Consequently, a dziennik tends to be also more private than a pamiętnik: what is seen as memorable is also more likely to be of interest to other people. Consider, for example, a short story from the canon of Polish literature: Henryk Sienkiewicz’s “Z pamiętnika poznańskiego nauczyciela”, ‘From the pamiętnik of a Poznań teacher’. As the title of this story suggests, the narrator’s notes are presented not as a record of purely private experiences but rather as a source of insight into the life of a Poznań teacher, and into the life of the Poznań region of Poland at the

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time (in an epoch when this region was under German rule and subjected to heavy germanisation policies). Similarly, Miron Białoszewski’s (1970) “Pamiętnik z Powstania Warszawskiego”, a ‘Pamiętnik of the Warsaw Uprising’, assumes that any authentic record of one’s experiences from that time will be of wide interest. This potential for public interest, linked with any pamiętnik, becomes explicit in the case of pamiętniki (the plural form), a word usually translated as memoirs but in fact much closer in meaning to pamiętnik. The word pamiętniki implies that one has lived, in one’s own estimation, in interesting times or circumstances, and that one is trying to record some events which one has witnessed and which can be of more general interest. Memoirs are written post hoc, from memory, and so are pamiętniki (in contrast to pamiętnik in the singular). In addition, the word memoirs implies that the author is a public figure, whose recollections are likely to be of public interest. The word pamiętniki does not seem to require that: anyone who has lived a reasonably long and eventful life could write their pamiętniki, though probably not their memoirs. In Polish literature, the most popular pamiętniki were written by soldiers-adventurers (from the gentry), and the great century of pamiętnikarze (writers of pamiętniki) and pamiętnikarstwo (pamiętniki-writing) was the seventeenth century, a century replete with all kinds of ventures and adventures. More recently, as noted by Miłosz (1969:427), Polish sociologists have gathered “Pamiętniki emigrantów” (memoirs of Polish workers in France and Latin America) and “Pamiętniki chłopów” (memoirs of peasants). In more recent times, however, there has arisen another genre no less (and perhaps even more) popular than pamiętniki: wspomnienia. As mentioned earlier, when it is used as a title, the word wspomnienia is also translated into English as memoirs. But the word wspomnienia implies an emphasis on personal experience and on re-living the past, rather than on any narration of “interesting” events (that one has witnessed) as the word pamiętniki does.

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Zapomnienie

Another important Polish word is zapomnienie – roughly, ‘oblivion’, but unlike oblivion, a fully colloquial word with a wide range of use. According to the Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary (1991), oblivion means ‘the state of having been forgotten or of no longer being considered important’. By contrast, zapomnienie has nothing to do with having once been considered important. It can refer to anything and anyone that has been forgotten and, in the speaker’s view, should not have been forgotten. A typical example is “Żył w nędzy i zapomnieniu” (SJP): ‘he lived in great poverty and ‘forgottenness’’. One couldn’t say in English: ‘he lived in oblivion’. In a famous poem by Gałczyński the poet enumerates all the things about his wife and his life with her that he would like to “rescue from forgottenness” (ocalić od zapomnienia). These things include her hands, the snow in her hair, and the “glow of our lamp” – not the kind of thing worthy of the English word oblivion.

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept?

Apart from ocalić od zapomnienia ‘to rescue from oblivion’, and żyć w zapomnieniu ‘to live forgotten’, the rich phraseology of zapomnienie includes pójść w zapomnienie ‘to go into forgottenness’, and wydobyć z zapomnienia ‘to bring out of forgottenness’. The past participle zapomniany ‘forgotten’ is also a common Polish word, whose meaning is not rendered accurately by the English forgotten. Zapomniany implies sadness and as it were reproach. For example, zapomniany poeta ‘a forgotten poet’ implies that the poet in question should not have been forgotten. The same component of, roughly speaking, sadness and reproach is present in the noun zapomnienie ‘the state of having been, sadly and wrongly, forgotten’. The opposite of zapomniany, niezapomniany (where nie- means ‘not’), is also of interest, as its range of use is wider than that of the English unforgettable. For example, Kira Gałczyńska (2003: 123), in her memoir quoted earlier, writes about her mother as “moja niezapomniana matka”, ‘my impossible-to-forget mother’. In English, unforgettable can be used about events and experiences, but normally not about beloved people (?my unforgettable mother). It is interesting to note that Russian has no (colloquial) counterparts of the Polish words zapomnienie and zapomniany. This is another indication that these words reflect some specific aspects of Polish culture (and history) – the same which is reflected in the meanings of specifically Polish words like pamiątka and pamiętnik and expressions like literatura wspomnieniowa.

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Polish “memory words” – an overview

Needless to say, I do not claim that Polish has more words in the area of memory than English, but rather, that most Polish words in this area do not match the meanings of English “memory words”. I have also suggested that the differences in question are culturally significant, as they appear to reflect different attitudes to the past, and also, different perspectives on one’s own mental life. The presence of the impersonal expression przypomina mi się (‘it comes back to me’) and the absence of an active verb like recall, appear to imply a view of “memory” as less subject to one’s control and more open to spontaneous, involuntary, inexplicable processes and events than that reflected in contemporary English. The presence of the imperfective verb wspominać and the noun wspomnienia implies an interest in dwelling on the past and re-living the past. The presence of the word pamiątka (plural pamiątki) implies an attitude of treasuring the past (the link with which is always under threat and can be lost). The presence of the word pamiętnik implies an interest in preserving a record of the present time for the future, so that it can be remembered later; and the presence of the colloquial word zapomnienie reflects the value placed on remembering and cherishing the past. Taken together, all these facts corroborate Eva Hoffman’s observation about “the intense memory, cult of ” in Poland and throw light on some of the most salient forms that this cult takes.

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Conclusion

When one reads statements like Umberto Eco’s: “Most certainly every man has a notion of what it means (. . .) to remember” one is inclined, on intuitive grounds, to agree. When one considers, however, how complex the concept of ‘remembering’ really is (that is, the concept encoded in the English word remember), the natural inclination to agree with Eco must weaken. On the basis of empirical research, we can say that most certainly, every man (and every woman) has a notion of what it means to think and to know – but we don’t have any grounds for affirming that they all have a notion of what it means to remember. On the contrary, linguistic evidence indicates that while ‘think’ and ‘know’ are indeed universal human concepts, ‘remember’ is not. Further, when one looks at the closest counterparts of the English word remember (and its close relatives) in other languages, one realises that the semantic fields to which these words belong can be structured very differently. When one considers further that the meaning of the word remember has changed over the last century or two, one will be even more careful not to absolutise the concept encoded in its current meaning as an indispensable human universal. This is not to say that there are no human universals in the area which can be linked with the English words remember and memory. Rather, our preliminary conclusion must be that if there are some human universals in this area they remain to be identified. To try to identify them in terms of language-specific English words like remember, remind, memory, or mind would defeat the purpose. One cannot capture any human universals in terms of culture-specific English concepts, but only in terms of universal, that is, shared, concepts like , , , , , , etc. Of course it makes sense to say that (apart from illness etc.) all people remember, as all people think, feel, want and know. We cannot say, however, that they all have a notion of what it means to remember. People think about life, other people, and themselves in many different ways; and no ways of thinking encoded in contemporary English should be assumed, without investigation, to represent ways which must be familiar to all people (see Wierzbicka 2006). What applies to the ways of thinking encoded in key English words like mind, emotion, or self applies also to the English words memory and remember. The fact that the word memory has become an important technical word in modern science and technology should not mislead us in this respect. In the end, we need to bear in mind that the concept of ‘science’ itself is a cultural artefact of the English language. We must remember that – and at the same time, continue to search for genuine human universals.

References Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary. 1991. London: Harper Collins. Dalton, D. 2001. Memory, power, and loss in Rawa discourse. In Cultural Memory: Reconfiguring History and Identity in the Postcolonial Pacific, J.M. Mageo, (ed), 105–129. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.

Chapter 2. Is “remember” a universal human concept? Dixon. R.M.W. 1991. Words of Our Country: Stories, Place-names, and Vocabulary in Yidiny, the Aboriginal Language of the Cairns-Yarrabah Region. Queensland: University of Queensland Press. Dixon, T. 2003. From Passions to Emotions – The Creation of a Secular Psychological Category. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dorfman, A. 1999. Heading South, Looking North: A Bilingual Journey. London: Penguin. Eco, U. 2000. Ethics are born in the presence of the other. In Belief and Nonbelief: A Confrontation, U. Eco and C. Martini, 85–98. London: Continuum. Gałczyńska, K. 2003. Posłowie. In Wiersze z Prania, K.I. Gałczyński. Warszaw: Iskry. Goddard, C. 1992. Pitjantjatjara/Yankunytjatjara to English Dictionary. 2nd. ed. Alice Springs: Institute for Aboriginal Development. Goddard, C. 1998. Semantic Analysis: A Practical Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Goddard, C. 2003. Thinking across languages and cultures: Six dimensions of variation. Cognitive Linguistics 14: 109–140. Goddard, C and Wierzbicka, A. (eds). 1994. Semantics and Lexical Universals: Theory and Empirical Findings. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Goddard, C. and Wierzbicka, A. (eds). 2002. Meaning and Universal Grammar: Theory and Empirical Findings Vols I and II. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Gregory, R.L. (ed). 1987. The Oxford Companion to the Mind. Oxford: Oxford University Press Hallpike, C.R. 1979. The Foundations of Primitive Thought. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hansen, K.C. & L.E. 1992. Pintupi/Luritja dictionary. 3rd edition. Alice Springs, NT: Institute of Aboriginal Development. Hoffman, E. 1989. Lost in Translation – A Life in a New Language. New York: Dutton. Hoffman, E. 2004. After Such Knowledge – Memory, history and the legacy of the Holocaust. New York: Public Affairs. Langenscheidt. 1993. Langenscheidt’s pocket German dictionary. New York: Langenscheidt. Miłosz, C. 1969. The History of Polish Literature. United States of America: The Macmillan Company. Myers, F.R. 1979. Emotions and the self. Ethos 7: 343–370. O’Nualláin, S. 2002. The Search for Mind. A New Foundation for Cognitive Science. Bristol: Intellect Books. Palmer, G., Goddard, C. and Lee, P. (eds). 2003. Talking about Thinking Across Languages. Cognitive Linguistics.14 (2/3). Porter, R. 2003. Flesh in the Age of Reason. London: Allen Lane. Proust, M. 1987. À la recherche du temps perdu, vol.1. Paris: Robert Laffont. Proust, M. 2003. In search of lost time, vol.1, The way of the Swann’s [translated by L. Davis]. London: Penguin. Read, K.E. 1955. Morality and the concept of the person among the Gahuku-Gama. Oceania 25: 233–282. SJP. 1958–69. Słownik Języka Polskiego (Dictionary of the Polish Language). Edited by W. Doroszewski, 11 vols. Warsaw: PWN. Stevenson, B. 1958. Stevenson’s Book of Quotations, Classical and Modern. London: Cassell. The Kościuszko Foundation. 1967. The Kościuszko Foundation Dictionary English-Polish Polish-English. New York: Kościuszko. Wierzbicka, A. 1992. Semantics, Culture, and Cognition : Universal Human Concepts in CultureSpecific Configurations. New York: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1996. Semantics: Primes and Universals. New York: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 2006. English Meaning and Culture. New York: Oxford University Press.

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Language, memory, and concepts of memory Semantic diversity and scientific psychology* John Sutton In a theoretical commentary on the Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM) approach to the semantics of memory and remembering, this paper argues that evidence of rich cross-linguistic diversity in this domain is entirely compatible with the best interpretations of our interdisciplinary cognitive sciences. In particular, it responds to Anna Wierzbicka’s critique of contemporary psychology, suggests some specific modifications to her proposed explications of some ways of talking about what happened before, and questions her claim that certain historically contingent features of modern Western views of memory are built in to the semantics of English terms. The paper concludes by suggesting a different approach to semantic diversity and the study of memory, and a more positive vision of a culturallysensitive interdisciplinary science.

.

The interdisciplinary study of memory and remembering

There are many different ways to think about what has happened before. I think about my own recent actions, and about what happened to me a long time ago; I can think about times before I lived. I know many things about the past, and about what has happened because people did things before now, or because some good or bad things happened to me.

* My heartfelt thanks to Mengistu Amberber for organizing such a wonderful workshop, for his enthusiasm about inviting a philosopher to talk to linguists in the first place, for his ongoing assistance in helping me start to get a grip on the field, and for his remarkable editorial patience. I am extremely grateful to Anna Wierzbicka and to Cliff Goddard for a number of stimulating and intense conversations on thinking about what happened before, and for their help in explaining the background to the Natural Semantic Metalanguage framework. Discussions at the workshop with Nick Evans, Andrea Schalley, Zhengdao Ye, and KyungJoo Yoon were also very useful, as were later communications with John Joseph, Nigel Love, and Lesley Stirling. However, in dealing with a field and an approach to memory quite outside my own expertise, I want very strongly to make the point that all remaining misunderstandings and errors are my own.

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These very basic observations about ordinary activities and capacities capture parts of the basic semantic fields of “memory” and “remembering”. In selecting terms to use in these descriptions, I stick fairly close to the English exponents of the conceptual primes postulated in the Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM) approach (Goddard and Wierzbicka 2002). For now, in advance of a discussion below of some specific NSM explications within these semantic fields, I will use the phrase ‘thinking about what happened before’ as an incomplete and temporary label for my topic: I assume neither that this is at all complete as an explication of any particular meanings, nor that it is equivalent to the English word remembering, but only that it orients us, within an NSM framework, to one important and recognizable range of phenomena which are, in Anna Wierzbicka’s phrase, ‘grounded in the reality of human thinking and knowing’ (this volume). Such basic descriptions of ways in which I can and do think about what happened before are everyday platitudes, part of our common knowledge about ourselves and each other: but like many such platitudes, of course, they do not much advance our understanding of the phenomena in question. We easily interpret and respond to each other in terms of this shared background understanding: you are saying this or feeling like that, I may think, because you are thinking about what happened before. But on its own the successful use of such common knowledge in our ordinary practice does not require or rely on any particular views about the nature or causes or idiosyncratic characteristics of these particular kinds of thinking, or about what exactly differentiates them from other kinds of thinking, or about how many forms thinking about what happened before can take. Such further issues are the legitimate object of many different kinds of enquiry, and some are taken up with great success in the treatments of these semantic fields by other authors in this volume. They are not necessarily the province only of specialised or esoteric enquiry, for they can crop up in or emerge from our more basic shared understanding, especially when we are confronted with circumstances in which that common knowledge breaks down or is extended or challenged. In modern Western culture, for example, the nature of memory and remembering is notoriously an issue of great public interest and concern, well beyond the English-speaking world, as well as a topic of intense specialist study. We worry about memory loss and memory enhancement, memory distortion and memory construction, recovered memory and false memory; about how eyewitnesses remember and misremember, how we remember trauma and are haunted by reminiscences; about national memory and cultural memory as well as personal memory; about politicians’ truths and lies about the past; about mementos, memorials, monuments, and other objects that trigger memory retrieval: the ‘memory boom’ (Winter 2000) spreads across a whole host of issues dear to the heart of writers and artists, lawyers and therapists, scientists and doctors, friends and lovers, activists and authorities. An accurate survey of the current state of interdisciplinary studies of the kinds of thinking in question would have to acknowledge their extraordinary diversity of

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methods, expertise, and scope. Of course it may be that there is little or no unity to this daunting array of topics and disciplines: it may just be a historical and semantic accident that some languages tie them together under the same semantic label. It is, many may suspect, unlikely that there’s any substantial sense in which theorists of “memory” – from neurobiologists to narrative theorists, from the developmental to the postcolonial, from the computational to the cross-cultural – are studying the same phenomena. There are, it’s true, calls for genuine – integrative, detailed, constructive – interdisciplinary theory-construction in these domains.1 But, for both principled and pragmatic reasons, profound gulfs between these different kinds of enquiry remain. Such divisions are built in to our educational systems, and with intensifying specialisation it seems likely that students of memory and remembering in the humanities, the social sciences, the cognitive sciences, and the biological sciences respectively will remain relatively insulated from each others’ assumptions, methods, and results. One of the deepest obstacles to any change in this state of affairs is a widespread feeling that built in to the different disciplines are profoundly different attitudes towards any substantial historical, cultural, or indeed semantic variation in the phenomena being studied. Many think that the brain sciences and the psychological sciences deny or neglect evidence of such diversity, and that as a result it’s natural for their practitioners to display either respectful and disinterested neutrality or active disdain for historical, cultural, and linguistic studies. And in turn, many think that historians, social scientists, and linguists who focus on this diversity deny or neglect psychological levels of enquiry into thinking about what happened before, and that as a result it’s natural for them to treat the cognitive sciences either as important but irrelevant, or as irretrievably marred by individualism and by universalistic scientism. Although I’m here stating these assumptions about the methodological and philosophical differences across styles of enquiry at a crude and general level, I think that in some recognizable form they are shared by theorists on both ‘sides’ of the gulfs in question. By putting them in such a blunt and unsophisticated manner, and by citing literature which bridges or at least challenges these gulfs, I hope to elicit either more principled defences of the idea that certain disciplines and levels of explanation in the study of memory should remain insulated and autonomous, or – instead and more optimistically – help in forging the elusive connections which might begin to break down both the theoretical divides and the mutual misunderstandings, and to develop better ways to study language, history, culture, cognition, and brains all at once. One crucial step towards this task would be to show that many strands within the many subdisciplines of the current psychological sciences of memory and remembering already essentially incorporate attention to factors outside the individual, factors which can and do significantly shape or alter the very nature of remembering, and so

. See for example Bloch 1997; Nelson 2003; Olick 1999; Siegel 2001; Sutton 2004a; Welzer and Markowitsch 2005.

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that at least these currents in the cognitive sciences do not inevitably reduce remembering to an activity of isolated brains or of serial digital computers.2 A second step would be to specify just what kinds of historical, cultural, and semantic factors are potentially relevant and to develop richer narratives and descriptions of the kinds of change that might matter for our broader interdisciplinary theorising. We’re not only interested, for example, in studies by historians of ideas of different explicit ideas about or theories of how people think about what happened before.3 We also want to know, more ambitiously, how culture, concepts, and cognition interact in more practical ways, to understand diversity not only in theories but in practices and activities, not just in how people think about thinking about what happened before, but in how they think about what happened before, and in what they do when they do it: in different ways in which thinking about the past or remembering was or might be embedded in the weave of a life or a form of life. Increasingly, detailed case studies of such cultural and historical diversity in memory practices, and frameworks for interpreting them, have been offered by historians, anthropologists, and sociologists of memory.4 Not all of these writers see their work as easily compatible with the psychology of memory, but they all think that more attention needs to be given to the relations between the projects: the attempt to do so can be labelled, if necessary, as psychological anthropology or as the comparative and ‘historical cognitive science’ of memory (Richardson 2001; Sutton 2000, 2002a, 2008) as appropriate. As yet, and notwithstanding the scholarly traditions drawn on so fruitfully by the contributors to this volume, linguistics has not contributed so fully to the interdisciplinary study of diversity in ways of thinking about what happened before. This is, no doubt, due in part to particular features of the history of the discipline which have led, at least until recently, to the relative neglect of semantics: but it is particularly unfortunate, for the sophisticated methods of cognitive semantics could clearly be of enormous value here, both in their own right and in order to feed in to the broader integrative programme I’ve sketched. The Natural Semantic Metalanguage approach, in particular, has much to offer the interdisciplinary study of memory and remembering. Those papers in this volume which employ the NSM framework demonstrate that it is already issuing in rich language-specific and comparative studies of semantic fields related to thinking about

. Recent integrative works which explicitly allow for substantive culturally-shaped diversity of various kinds in the phenomena of memory include, in psychology, Engel 1999; Middleton and Brown 2005; Pillemer 1998; Rubin 1995; Schacter 1996: and in philosophy Auyang 2001: 283–306; Campbell 2003; Rowlands 1999: 119–147; Sutton 2003; Wilson 2005. . For which see, for example, Coleman 1992; Draaisma 2000; Krell 1990; Sutton 1998. . Bloch 1997:67–130; Bowker 2005; Carruthers 1990, 1998; Connerton 1989; Fentress and Wickham 1992; Misztal 2003; Rowlands 1993; Small 1997; Tonkin 1991.

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what happened before. So, putting aside for the moment the wider and wilder, hopelessly ambitious schemes I’ve outlined so far, I examine the NSM approach to thinking about what happened before. Cross-disciplinary understanding on topics of such formidable difficulty is hard to achieve, and I hope that my external perspective on the challenging and powerful NSM tradition does not lead to dramatic mischaracterisations. Focussing on Anna Wierzbicka’s account (this volume), I develop further two strands of the positive NSM agenda as applied to memory by putting them into contact with independent lines of research in the philosophy and the cognitive and developmental psychology of memory: I examine in turn the conceptual analysis or explication of core meanings of memory-related terms, and the initial investigations of significant cultural variability in this semantic domain. By the end I hope to have identified a range of challenges to and possibilities for integration between the contemporary sciences of memory and the NSM approach to thinking about what happened before. But before that optimistic synthetic project can get underway, I have to explain why it doesn’t fall foul of Wierzbicka’s criticisms of the contemporary sciences of memory: so I need first to respond to the negative strand of the NSM approach to the phenomena of memory, and to query the need for certain kinds of theoretical and methodological dichotomies.

.

The psychology of memory: science, history, and linguocentrism

Anna Wierzbicka argues that “memory” is ‘not something that objectively exists’, that it is a ‘construct’. Thus she looks forward to the time when future historians can mock “memory” as a ‘twentieth-century invention’ (this volume). Wierzbicka does distinguish questions about remembering from questions about ‘the concept of remembering’; and she accepts that ‘(apart from illness etc.) all people remember, as all people think, feel, want and know’ even though they do not all ‘have a notion of what it means to remember’. So one way to interpret Wierzbicka’s position would be to see her as arguing that psychological investigations into memory and remembering (within or across cultures) are legitimate, but inevitably distinct from semantic and cross-linguistic investigations into concepts related to “memory” and “remembering”. But there is good reason to think that this is not Wierzbicka’s intended view. Much of her richest work – both in this paper and in her remarkable body of research over the years – aims precisely to tease out subtle interactions between semantics and psychology, within and across cultures. The NSM framework is meant to incorporate ‘semantics, culture, and cognition’ (Wierzbicka 1992, my italics), and to identify ways in which the specific lexicon of any language has deep cognitive influence. So it would be wholly against the spirit of her project to treat cognition as a realm which could be safely studied by psychologists while semanticists proceeded quite independently: language and thought are too tightly interwoven for that. And Wierzbicka’s trenchantly

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critical treatment of the modern cognitive sciences reveals a clear anti-psychological edge to her understanding of the relationship of language and thought. The cognitive study of memory, in particular, should be incorporated or subsumed into cognitive semantics, undertaken within the NSM framework: ‘we can only reach thoughts through words (no one has yet invented another way)’ (1997a: 23). Nick Enfield thus seems right to characterise Wierzbicka’s position as resting on ‘the notion that language provides us not only with the most reliable window on human culture and thought, but the only reliable one’ (2000: 136, my emphasis). For Wierzbicka, the current sciences of memory are illegitimate for two related reasons: they are unwittingly linguocentric in that they mistakenly assume that the English word memory refers to ‘something that “exists” independently of the English language’ (this volume); and they simply ignore the ‘remarkable differences’ across languages in the semantic and lexical field of ‘memory’ and ‘remember’, in particular remaining blind to the fact that ‘many languages don’t have a word comparable to remember at all’. It’s not altogether straightforward to identify the target of these charges: the views being rejected don’t all naturally sit together. Among the apparent targets are the ideas that memory is a thing; that it is unitary; that it is ‘a distinct and clearly delimited aspect of human nature’; that it is historically and culturally invariant, or ‘universal’; that it is done by, or is reducible to, brain processes; that it is a computational process. By taking The Oxford Companion to the Mind as her guide to ‘the current psychological literature’, Wierzbicka risks missing strands of that literature for which she might have more sympathy. Indeed among the domains of mainstream cognitive psychology, the history of the sciences of memory over the last 25 years arguably offers the sharpest contrast and corrective to the stereotyped image of cognitive science as a scientistic quest to reduce human thinking and feeling to the dull mechanism of digital computers: memory research was one of the first areas to be taken out of the lab in the 1980s and 1990s, as psychologists sought to address the kinds of memory that matter in everyday life, and to find ecologically valid methods of studying such memories outside artificial isolated situations (Neisser 1997). Wierzbicka’s initial complaint that ‘many psychologists and cognitive scientists tend to reify’ the construct of “memory” into a monolithic single thing does not hit home against mainstream cognitivism, in which the multiplicity of memory is widely accepted. Wierzbicka may have other criticisms of particular ways in which different theorists identify and characterise the variety of forms of memory,5 or of the reductionism with which the idea of multiple forms of memory is sometimes – although by no means inevitably – coupled. Wierzbicka’s reasons for thinking that it’s a mistake to treat all forms of “memory” as essentially identical, a unified object for scientific study,

. See Toth and Hunt (1999) and Tulving (2002) for clear statements of two opposing views on this topic.

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

or a natural kind, are of course entirely different from those given by these writers, who motivate the recommended dissolution of the category from within the relevant cognitive sciences: Patricia Churchland, for example, suggests that our successors will see no more unity to all the varieties of phenomena loosely labelled “memory” and “remembering” than to the categories of archaic scholastic physics, so that ‘remembering stands to go the way of impetus’ (1986: 373; compare Churchland 1983 on “consciousness”). Wierzbicka’s case, in contrast, rests on the evidence for semantic and cultural diversity which is the core concern of her paper, and on which I also want to focus: but on the straight question of the difference between varieties of remembering, such as between ‘experiential’ uses and ‘factual’ uses (Section 3 below), her framework is not necessarily in conflict with the cognitive and psychological sciences. But Wierzbicka’s criticisms of scientific psychology do find better parallels in a distinct literature on memory within science studies and the history of psychology. In these areas, a number of writers have used evidence of historical variation in the constitution of ‘memory’ to argue that memory is not a natural object or a natural kind, in just the same way that Wierzbicka uses cross-linguistic evidence. I suggest that, despite differences in the positive approaches in these distinct traditions, they share a key assumption which should be rejected. In a series of studies, for example, Kurt Danziger has offered a rich history of the complex 19th-century debates around whether or not memory could and should be incorporated into the new institutions and theoretical frameworks of the emerging, self-defining discipline of scientific psychology. His rich historical narratives could be usefully compared with Wierzbicka’s more general sketch of a change in the meaning of the English word remember. But what’s relevant here about this historical evidence is its intended scope, covering not just ideas about remembering, but the putative activities of remembering themselves. This is why Danziger sees his historical work as threatening what he takes to be core presuppositions of mainstream psychology of memory. For Danziger, mainstream psychology has ‘too easily assumed that psychological objects, like memory for example, have essential qualities forever fixed by nature’: this assumption is incompatible with evidence of historical change in meaning, because ‘regarded as a natural object memory has no history’ (2001: 7, 2002: 1). Danziger thinks, in contrast, that sophisticated historical analysis ‘shows that, contrary to the inspiration that drives much modern theorising, memory has no natural essence’ (2002: 9). On similar grounds, Roger Smith has recently argued (in a paper titled ‘The history of psychological categories’ which builds directly on Danziger’s work) that ‘basic psychological categories refer to historical and social entities, and not to natural kinds’ (2005: 55; and see especially pp.81–85 on memory). These claims are, I suggest, very close to Wierzbicka’s position, that “memory” is a ‘construct’, and is ‘not something that objectively exists’ (this volume). Like Wierzbicka, these historians are not merely making a point about changes in theories of memory, or ideas about memory, or concepts of memory: as Danziger puts it, ‘the very objects of psychological discourse, and not just opinions about them, have changed

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radically in the course of history’ (1990: 336, also quoted by Smith 2005: 58). The historical evidence of diversity generated by these writers in support of such claims is theoretically analogous to Wierzbicka’s semantic and cross-linguistic evidence, and like it must be taken seriously. But I want to query the metatheoretical lessons drawn from such evidence both by Wierzbicka and by Danziger and Smith, in particular their reliance on dichotomies between nature and discourse, and between science and history. Danziger argues that, whereas the objects studied in mainstream psychology were ‘never understood as discursive objects but as natural objects’, in fact whatever historical continuity can be traced in theorising about memory is ‘a discursive continuity, not a continuity of natural objects, like rocks or organisms’ (2001: 3, 2002: 8). Nothing, in other words, could be both discursive and natural, both constructed and psychological, both historical and scientific. Thus when we discuss the meaning of concepts like “memory” and “remember”, for Danziger, ‘the targets of our conceptual analysis are discursive, rather than natural objects’ (2001: 4, 8). Wierzbicka, in similar vein, also takes it that historical, linguistic, or cultural variability rules out certain kinds of scientific investigation. Only thus can we understand her claim that “memory” is one of many ‘culturally determined ways of looking at human beings, rather than scientifically determined ways of cutting nature at its joints’ (this volume, my italics). But we can and should reject this assumption, which is, I submit, quite unnecessary for us to appreciate and utilise cross-linguistic, cross-cultural, or historical evidence of substantial diversity. There is no reason to accept dichotomies between science and change, or psychology and history, or to think that only static features of reality, with their essential qualities forever fixed, could be amenable to scientific investigation. The worry here, then, is that these criticisms of scientific psychology themselves rely on an overly stringent picture of what the objects of a truly scientific psychology would have to be. Historical and cross-linguistic investigations can play vital roles within a science in showing that current classifications and categories are not the only ones available, or that specific concepts which seem simple or inevitable (to monolingual English speakers, for example) may in fact be overinclusive or underdescribed in unnoticed ways. Much work within the NSM framework can contribute to these goals. But the appropriate response is not – at least not always – the rejection of the relevant conceptual scheme and theoretical framework, but its revision or differentiation or gradual fine-tuning to incorporate new evidence from many sources. Even if the proper objects of scientific psychology did have to be natural kinds – not by any means an inevitable presupposition of most activity in that field – they don’t thereby need to be either eternally unchanging and invariant across context, or already perfectly clearly delineated to be successfully studied. On a more plausible philosophy of science, most concepts integral to psychological theorising will be cluster concepts, which play roles in a great many generalisations or theoretical contexts, no single one of which is essential or definitional on its own: as a result, their scope and the putative kinds

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

to which they are connected by background theories can both shift over time as different features of those theories change (Bermudez 2005: 6–13; Griffiths 2004: 235–8). This allows us both to take seriously the investigation of ways in which our linguistic models and conceptual frameworks affect the world and the forms of our thinking (compare Griffiths 1997: 196–201), and to embrace wholeheartedly the central role given by Wierzbicka to the conceptual analysis of our terms, while nonetheless seeing such conceptual analysis as potentially compatible with scientific psychology, and as potentially informed by and responsive to empirical investigation. There’s no doubt that in many domains, such a ‘preliminary semantic enquiry’ (Wierzbicka, this volume) has been neglected or poorly conducted, or suffers from Anglophone bias: Wierzbicka has convincingly shown this, for example, in the case of the underanalysed use of words like ‘altruism’ and ‘selfishness’ in some strands of current evolutionary psychology and cognitive ethology (2004), as she had earlier for ‘mind’ (1992, especially pp.40–47). But this is done on a case-by-case basis, and in part by engaging in detail with the overarching theoretical frameworks and particular explanatory projects of the sciences in question. Here my point is that no general argument against scientific psychology and its terms (such as ‘memory’) goes through simply on the basis of evidence from historical and cross-linguistic variation. So we can agree with Wierzbicka that ‘conceptual analysis should come first’ (this volume), without thinking that it should exhaust the interdisciplinary enterprise. A second general argument against the cognitive psychology of memory remains, resting on the charge of linguocentrism: for Wierzbicka, recall, cognitive scientists are misguided to treat the construct “memory” as ‘something that “exists” independently of the English language’. Certainly, cross-linguistic data must be useful for scientists in many fields, particularly when the concepts in question span specialist and common usage in complex ways: it would be good for all of us to know more languages. But Wierzbicka doesn’t explain what it would take for something to “exist” independently of a particular language. From this context alone, it’s not completely clear whether her point is that there are some natural kinds but that memory isn’t one of them, or that there are no natural kinds at all. In the next section I examine some of her suggested explications of language-specific ways of thinking and talking about thinking about what happened before. Here again I address the more general attack by proponents of NSM on the ‘terminological ethnocentrism’ (Goddard, this volume) allegedly exhibited in the use of unanalysed English terms in scientific psychology. My concern on this point is that, if justified, it would prove too much, and would rule out on a priori grounds much more than such an argument should. Concepts employed in non-psychological sciences – such as geology, physiology, meteorology, chemistry, or neuroanatomy – are not illegitimate if or just because they have been developed gradually by refining the terms of a single language, whether English or, say, Greek. Each term in these sciences has a complex history, and there is no guarantee that other languages have words comparable to the English terms in these sciences. We should not question the existence of blood or hearts, clouds or gases

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or molecules, amygdalas or synapses, and so on, just because the histories of the words we use to describe them are wrapped up with the idiosyncrasies of specific languages and specific culturally-embedded modes of enquiry. The obvious semantic complexity of these terms on its own is no bar to their legitimate and critical employment by both specialists and non-specialists, and is no reason to doubt the independent reality of the things to which they refer. We rightly continue to use these terms whether or not they have been subjected to rigorous cross-linguistic comparison, and despite the fact that equivalent terms cannot be found in every human language. And, crucially, when other terms with equally or more complex histories – such as ether, phlogiston, and animal spirit – have been discarded, and others significantly revised, it has not been solely for linguistic reasons. If it was not possible for a science’s proprietary array of concepts to be sometimes provisionally supported, and sometimes radically challenged, without cross-linguistic comparison, then many contemporary sciences which are much more firmly established than psychology would have to be rejected, and there would be no specific threat to psychology alone. One natural response to this objection is to suggest that there’s some key difference between these examples and the case of the psychological sciences in general, or memory in particular. Maybe there are other reliable ways of getting access to features of the world other than human culture and thought. Perhaps it’s possible to test our conceptual schemes and models more directly against the world in domains which don’t exhibit the striking historicity and cultural embeddedness of the ‘mental predicates’. But perhaps not: it’s interesting that this is one of the dimensions on which Cliff Goddard sees Wierzbicka as diverging sharply from Whorf. Whereas ‘Whorf ’s instinct was to look outside language for some kind of common measure’, either in ‘objective reality’ or in ‘our perceptual systems’, Wierzbicka, on Goddard’s reading, denies the general possibility of testing conceptual meaning against any ‘non-symbolic realm’ (Goddard 2003: 405). In any case, within the NSM framework there seem only three options on this issue. The bullet could be bitten, and the legitimacy of all scientific terms which derive from a single language and have not been tested against all languages could be challenged; or clearer reasons should be given for thinking that the charge of linguocentrism applies only to the terms of the psychological sciences; or, finally, it could be accepted that there are also other means of testing, criticising, revising, provisionally supporting, or eliminating concepts across the range of sciences. On this last view, which I recommend, we should certainly be wary of taking English terms for granted, of simply assuming that “memory”, for example, is free from any language specificity or cultural presuppositions: among a wide array of ongoing approaches to memory and remembering across the disciplines, we should actively seek historical and cross-linguistic evidence for patterns of diversity and similarity in meanings and use. But this requires engaging in detail with the existing theoretical frameworks of the psychological sciences, in order to see how the cross-linguistic evidence might apply or threaten these frameworks in specific ways.

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

.

Conceptual analysis, experiential remembering, semantics, and cultural elaboration

I turn now to Wierzbicka’s proposed explications of some relevant English terms. To students of memory inexperienced in semantic analysis, these should be highly productive new ways of getting at both familiar and unfamiliar phenomena. Given my wishful synthetic urge to integrate cognitive and cross-linguistic semantics with other sciences of memory, a number of general issues arise about the NSM’s set of universal conceptual primes, including the key mental predicates and time concepts which lie at the heart of the semantic field we’re interested in here: we need to know more, for example, about what the proposed explications imply about speakers’ actual knowledge of the meanings of their terms, and about the relation between these explications and any possible causal accounts of how thoughts and communicative utterances are produced. These issues, however, arise for any attempt to capture common sense or folk understandings of thinking, knowing, and so on, across all traditions of ethnopsychology (compare for example Lillard 1998): and for present purposes I won’t address them directly in this context, operating for now on Wierzbicka’s cautious but optimistic suggestion that NSM ‘scripts written in lexical universals . . . may not only be useful theoretical constructs but also have genuine psychological reality’ (1994: 83, quoted by Enfield 2000: 139). Wierzbicka uses the English phrase memories of childhood to show how the concept of (countable) ‘memories’ implicates a particular ‘model of human life’ (this volume): Someone’s memories (of childhood, etc.) a. everyone knows: b. a person lives for some time c. during this time many things happen to this person d. after these things have happened, this person can think about these things like this: “I know what these things were like because they happened to me” e. a long time after these things have happened this person can think about them in the same way if this person wants to f. other people can’t think about these things in the same way

Such memories, then, are of something that “happened to me”. The concept of a (countable) memory is thus aligned in some respects with what Wierzbicka calls the ‘experiential’ use of the word remember. In the case of remember, her useful distinction between ‘experiential’ and ‘factual’ uses is also explicitly defended by the majority of philosophers and psychologists: I can factually remember many things (including things that happened to me, as well as many other things) which I cannot experientially

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remember (Sutton 2003).6 Wierzbicka makes the extremely interesting claim that the word memory cannot be used in the ‘factual’ sense, which if true is something that some philosophers and psychologists have missed. She argues that ‘one can say: “I remember my PIN number”, but not “I have a memory of my PIN number”’.7 One ordinary grammatical marker of factual remembering, the use of a “that” complement as in “I remember that my parents went to college in Omaha” is at best non-standard with the word memory in its countable experiential sense. I have found two instances of this non-standard use in recent academic work, but it’s telling that both are in philosophical works in which the experiential/ factual distinction is precisely at issue, and Wierzbicka may well be right that in ordinary English usage it’s illegitimate to refer to “my memory that the cake at the party was chocolate” (Senor 2005, Section 3) or “my memory that my parents went to college in Omaha” (Copenhaver 2006: 182). Here no doubt the established corpus analytic methods of cognitive semanticists can help. But Wierzbicka’s proposed asymmetry between memory and remembering – that remembering has both experiential and factual uses, whereas memory has only experiential uses – seems right, and might be better supported if her explication of memory was tightened a little, as I now suggest. The explications of remember in its experiential use and of (countable) memories, as Wierzbicka will be aware, are in certain respects related in both aim and substance to the conceptual analysis of these terms developed in 20th-century analytic philosophy. In the influential analysis offered by C.B. Martin and Max Deutscher (1966), and in its subsequent elaboration and critical development, especially in Deutscher’s own intriguing return to the argument in ‘Remembering “Remembering”’ (Deutscher 1989), we can find one element which is absent in Wierzbicka’s explication of the English ‘folk model’ of memories, which is arguably thus too weak in one key respect. Martin and Deutscher’s analysis incorporated a stronger causal criterion which, in their view, is built in to the ordinary model. The problem in Wierzbicka’s explication arises between steps d) and e). Clause d) rightly requires that a person’s ability to think about things which have happened to her is due to them having happened to her: I can think about being stung by a bee in the garden, and I know what these things were like, because I was stung by a bee in the garden. So far so good: but clause e), which notes

. There is an abundance of terminology for this distinction around in the literature, but Wierzbicka’s ‘experiential’ vs ‘factual’ is perhaps the most straightforward: to call experiential remembering ‘personal’ remembering may work, but the equally common labels ‘episodic’ and ‘autobiographical’ remembering are perhaps unnecessarily technical and can lead to misunderstandings, as can the common psychologists’ label ‘semantic’ for factual remembering. . Note though that this would not rule out the use of labels like ‘semantic memory’ or ‘factual memory’, which are common across the psychological disciplines in the “capacity” sense (Wierzbicka, this volume): it rules out only the use of phrases like ‘factual memories’ or ‘semantic memories’, which are not in widespread usage.

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

that on subsequent occasions I can still think about those things, does not require that this subsequent ability is itself due in the right way to the original experiences. But consider the possibility that the bee sting which I could once think about may later be forgotten completely. Nevertheless I may later be told convincingly by authoritative informants – my parents, for example – that at a certain age I was stung by a bee, so that now again I can think about being stung by a bee. But this ability in the present is due now not to the original experience, or not in the right way, but instead to a more indirect or deviant causal chain. And in ordinary usage, we would accept that in this case I can now think about what happened, and even that I know that I was stung by a bee: but not, I suggest following Martin and Deutscher, that I still have a memory of being stung by a bee. In some contexts like this it’s fine to say that I (factually) remember that I was stung, but not that I (experientially) remember being stung. Martin and Deutscher dealt with this by requiring, at a first pass, that the experience must have been ‘operative in producing a state or successive states [which are] finally operative’ in producing or grounding the present memory and the present ability to remember (1966: 173–177). The spirit of this proposal is met successfully, in fact, in Wierzbicka’s explications of the experiential use of remember, where the causal link between original experience and present thinking is present (in clauses b) and c) of the explication, for example, of I remember that feeling): something like it needs to be introduced into clause e) of the explication of Someone’s memories (of childhood) too. Martin and Deutscher went on to argue that this causal criterion, embedded in ordinary English usage, itself implies and can be analysed in terms of ‘the idea of a memory trace’, which they claimed is ‘an indispensable part of our idea of memory’ (1966: 186–191). The idea was of course not that, to have a memory or to think about memory, I must have any knowledge at all of neurophysiological theory, but only that I am committed to the existence of some causally connected set of states which underlies my ongoing ability to think about what happened to me before (see also Warnock 1987, Sutton 1998: 298–316). This claim, which met and continues to meet with enormous resistance from other philosophers (Squires 1969, Hamilton 1998), is relevant in our present context because it seems to support Wierzbicka’s fascinating suggestions about the culturally-specific assumptions built in to the English folk model of “memories”, as well as her concerns about the linguocentric universalising and overgeneralising of such assumptions. However I want to respond to Wierzbicka on this point by suggesting that her explications are in certain different respects too strong, in going beyond the basic semantics of the English terms by building in too much idiosyncratic metaphysical baggage. The modern English folk model, Wierzbicka suggests, includes four strong and tightly connected implications which are not present in the related semantic fields in other languages, and which should thus not be unproblematically assumed within theoretical and scientific treatments of memory and remembering. Firstly, in English phrases like memories of childhood there’s an implication of internal storage which is absent in, for example, Polish and French (this volume). Secondly, and as a consequence,

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in English memories are taken to be static, fixed items and ‘accumulated knowledge’ to be extracted rather than dynamic, living experiences; and the modern English word remember has lost an ‘older, processual meaning’ which implied a dynamic activity. Thirdly, and as a consequence, this semantic field in English incorporates assumptions about ‘a certain control over one’s knowledge of the past, as one has experienced it’, with key English words implying ‘a degree of control and initiative’, thus driving a focus on voluntary memory and the unfortunate ‘tendency to view human “memory” instrumentally’. Finally, there’s a strong assumption of ‘privileged access’ built in to some of the English key words which is absent in most other languages: I have a special ‘private ownership’ of the memories I keep in my head, ‘like mental possessions (often, “treasures”)’ (this volume). I share and applaud Wierzbicka’s uneasiness about these implications or assumptions. But I think her diagnosis of their source and history needs some amendment, and I don’t think she is right to identify them so closely with and in the models available either in the contemporary cognitive sciences, or in modern English usage. I have already said enough about the current psychology of memory. There certainly have been theories of memory which embody, in different ways, these four assumptions. Such archival or localist models in which memories are thought of as independent items each kept in a distinct place, to be pulled out of cold storage only by some executive or controller, do indeed now seem to project onto the mind the quite different properties of digital computers; and as has often been pointed out, such models thus neglect or deny some of the most crucial dynamics of human remembering, such as its creative tendencies to blend, associate, and generalise, its deep context-sensitivity, and its intrinsic and open-ended activity. So those research programmes which do argue for, embody, or impose these assumptions have naturally been subject to sharp criticism (Bartlett 1932; Clark 1989: 83–106; McClelland 1995; Stern 1991; Sutton 1998). But, to reiterate, dominant views across the disciplines now specifically reject exactly the idea of static items being held fixed in an internal storehouse which is under the control of an active subject who has special private access to them. While it’s misleading to remain at the level of broad metaphors in characterising the wide range of alternative views available in philosophy, cognitive and developmental psychology, and computational neuropsychology, it’s safe to say that constructive, dynamic, or reconstructive remembering is instead at the heart of many of them. Secondly, Wierzbicka’s intriguing narrative about the roots of the specific historical and cultural contingency of these four assumptions needs to be amended and weakened in at least two ways. I agree that the real grip which these assumptions have indeed had at some periods and in some contexts has been connected in complex ways to the broader historical and cultural shifts which we can label as the rise of possessive individualism or the invention of autonomy (Schneewind 1997, especially pp.1–11); and my own grand narrative of the decline of dynamics in the history of theories of memory also locates key developments in specifically English Enlightenment ideals about morality and control of the personal past (Sutton 1998). But Wierzbicka sees these

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

‘storage-and-control’ assumptions about remembering as essentially and uniquely or primarily modern – the legacy, perhaps, of new dualisms of body and intellect, reason and emotion which took hold of the English language at some point in the early modern period (Wierzbicka 1992: 44–47, 59–63) – whereas in my narrative they are historically more diffuse and culturally more contingent. I also argue (Sutton 1998) that the rise of these fundamentally moral assumptions about memory was independent, both conceptually and historically, of the kind of mechanistic approach with which Wierzbicka associates them. The localist urge to think and talk of memories as independent manageable items separately stored in cells or on coils or etched on wax tablets of the mind is an ancient one, has recurred in various forms across the entire history of Western ideas about and practices of memory, and has never been restricted to the Anglophone world.8 Even in the history of modern institutionalised psychology, the different phases in which these assumptions have held more sway – such as in Ebbinghaus’s work in the late 19th century, and in classical Artificial Intelligence in the 1960s and 1970s – each have quite different sociocultural contexts and different critics and competitors. Thirdly, and closest to the heart of Wierzbicka’s case, I am suspicious of the idea that these four assumptions about storage and control are built in to the English terms as strongly or as essentially as she suggests, or that there is such a clear and specific ‘model of human life’ implicit in English phrases about memory and remembering. I’m not at all denying either that concepts can be culture-specific, or that such concepts can influence thinking in ways which are not obvious to speakers. My argument is about the particular nature of these English terms and the extent and nature of metaphysical baggage which they carry. I suggest that in this context we should distinguish a more basic semantics (and psychology) from a range of possible cultural elaborations. My case is exactly parallel to an argument against Whorf ’s view of ‘Hopi time’ made by Cliff Goddard (2003: 420–7, drawing on Keesing 1994). Return first to clause e) of Wierzbicka’s explication of the phrase memories of childhood: e.

a long time after these things have happened this person can think about them in the same way if this person wants to

Wierzbicka makes this clause carry the weight of the assumptions about internal storage and about control and ‘voluntary memory’ which she imputes to ‘the English folk model’: ‘the English phrase implies that the memories in question “are there”, as it were stored in a person’s head’ (this volume). The fact that such a phrase cannot be rendered precisely in Polish, for example, suggests to her that for Polish speakers and

. See especially Krell (1990) and Draaisma (2000) for brilliant historical accounts of diverse static models of memory.

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thinkers there is no such implication that images or experiences are ‘retrieved from some mental archive where they have been stored’: instead, relevant Polish phrases imply that they ‘are as it were brought back from the past (by thinking)’. As philosophers might say, Polish speakers are thus to be understood as direct realists, assuming that we are in direct contact with the past in remembering, as the things brought to light ‘in thinking about one’s past life’ are ‘not “memories” (stored in the mind) but as it were past events themselves’ (this volume; for one direct realist theory of memory see Wilcox and Katz 1981); whereas English speakers are indirect realists, doomed to make contact with the past only through a mediating realm or veil of representations and traces (for this dispute see my sceptical attempt to dissolve it in Sutton 2003). But English phrases like this do not carry this degree of metaphysical weight. Rather, in both languages there are certain ways for capturing the point that I can think about many things that happened before even though I am not now currently thinking about them. My (countable) memories are just whatever I can thus remember, in what in more technical language we could call a dispositional sense of remember, as opposed to its occurrent sense: my (countable) memories are what I can remember, not what I am remembering. Of course there’s much more to say about this barer dispositional use of memories, and cross-linguistic analysis will of course be fascinating on this point: I hope here merely to have shown that phrases like memories of childhood do not carry such a strong implication of some distinct archival form of inner storage. While I’m not qualified to comment for sure, Wierzbicka’s discussion of some Polish words related to “memory” does not seem to rule out the idea that this barer dispositional use is present in Polish too, to mark the difference between what I’m (occurrently) remembering now and what I can remember. I’m not sure whether the conclusion to draw from this discussion is that the relevant clause of Wierzbicka’s explication should be altered, or merely that we should reject the strong lessons she draws from it. She herself is aware of the danger of building too much in to this clause: in the original version of her paper, as presented at the Workshop on the Semantics of Memory in November 2003, there were two slightly different clauses in place of the version of clause (e) quoted above from the final paper: e. f.

a long time after these things happened this person can think about some of these things in the same way if this person wants to think about some of these things in this way this person can always think about them in this way

As well as usefully simplifying and condensing these two clauses in the final version, Wierzbicka has rightly if slightly weakened the extra metaphysical implication of storage and control by dropping the word ‘always’ from the replacement clause. This is probably enough, so that our disagreement about the implications of the English model would have to be resolved by other means. The second respect in which I don’t see that an English folk model intrinsically incorporates such strong metaphysical assumptions is in relation to privacy and

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

privileged access. The explication of memories of childhood includes reference to what has happened uniquely to me, which as Wierzbicka rightly says marks the point that what happened to me ‘is both the source and the content’ of my relevant memories; and it includes the clause ‘(f). other people can’t think about these things in the same way’, which rightly marks the requirement for experiential memory that I have a unique point of view or perspective on what I remember when I remember it. Perhaps I’m not clear on what Wierzbicka means by phrases like ‘private ownership’ and ‘privileged access’: perhaps these notions are only intended to mark this relatively innocent notion of subjective point of view in personal memory, which is after all pretty much definitional of or essential to this kind of experiential memory, according both to Wierzbicka and to psychologists like Tulving (2002). This interpretation seems strengthened when we find that the explication of relevant Polish terms includes the same clauses. What then is the stronger sense of privileged access and metaphysical privacy which Wierzbicka nonetheless thinks is unique to modern English? If the basic semantics of words like memories doesn’t show it up, how can we identify its presence and effects? The distinction I’ve suggested in this context between basic semantics and cultural elaboration, in relation to thinking about what happened before, isn’t hard and fast: what will count as elaboration will depend largely on the grain of one’s interests, and on the kind of evidence being adduced. But just because there’s a spectrum, rather than a sharp distinction, between what’s basic and what’s not in this realm, we can expect a more-or-less metaphysically neutral set of ordinary assumptions about activities relating to the past to be apparent in at least most languages even if the relevant words are not themselves primitive. In Nick Evans’s chapter (this volume, conclusion), indeed, Dalabon is precisely one such language: ‘a language that offers a number of distinct ways of talking about remembering – and which appears to conceptualise the dimensions of memory in a way that is reassuringly familiar and unexotic to English speakers – but without having any lexicalised verb for “remember”’.

.

Semantic diversity and the study of memory: some questions and challenges

After I worked so hard, in Section 1 above, to make room for integrating studies of language, of culture, and of cognition in relation to thinking about what happened before, it may seem odd for me thus to be questioning Wierzbicka’s intriguing suggestions. I hope it’s apparent that there is much common ground, and that many of the methods and contributions of the NSM approach, and of cognitive semantics more generally, would greatly benefit a range of areas within the psychology and philosophy of memory. The challenges here go both ways. Can the cognitive sciences genuinely be opened up to become more historically, cross-culturally, and cross-linguistically sensitive? And can proponents of the NSM approach find ways of diluting their natural

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suspicion of the cognitive sciences, and of seeking allies as well as foes in the crossdisciplinary enterprise? So in what I hope is a constructive spirit I want to conclude by identifying a number of questions for future research and topics on which some mutual accommodation may be possible. Firstly, stressing that my specific criticisms of this account of ‘the English folk model’ are meant to embrace rather than rule out the general form of this enquiry into different cultural models, let me pick up on a couple of features of Wierzbicka’s approach through a discussion of her treatment of one of the key Polish words related to “memory”. In Polish, a pamiątka is ‘an object which links the present with the past, and which enables the past to live on in people’s thoughts and emotions’ (Wierzbicka, this volume). Examples include a grandmother’s ring, or a special photo, or a prayer book or a mother’s hairpin which survived the war. Whether such an object has been explicitly designed for this purpose, or whether (as more commonly) it comes to have this role for quite other reasons, it carries an intense emotional value. Whereas sociologists and historians have long studied more public monuments and memorials, and there has been some relevant attention to mementos, the crucially personal and relational role of a pamiątka puts it in a different category. I can get at the integrative opportunities and questions by way of some remarks about this word pamiątka. Wierzbicka is not arguing that no such objects exist in Anglophone culture, nor that English speakers are incapable of understanding the role and nature of such objects, and acting on the basis of that understanding, but that the absence of a straightforward translation suggests something subtle about the relative cultural importance of such objects. I don’t have the right kind of culturally-situated evidence with which to evaluate the claim that such objects, evoking ‘transience of life, loss, and destructibility of the past’ as well as ‘nostalgia and devotion’ (Wierzbicka, this volume) are not in general so heavily valued in contemporary Anglophone culture. I am, however, certain that Anglophone academic scholarship, at least, has for some years now been addressing exactly these kinds of object, the practices and discourses and habits of remembering in which they are entwined, and especially the key idea that ‘the material links between the present and the past are likely to be fragile and limited’. This is a notably interdisciplinary interest, spanning (to take just a few examples) anthropology, cognitive archaeology, philosophical ethics, and art history.9 Now this is of course not to suggest that what these studies address matches exactly the specific inflection given to the relevant Polish practices and models by the notion of pamiątka, and indeed critics of the attempt to link the study of memory with emotional objects and material culture have attacked this Anglophone scholarship as exhibiting a spurious sentimentality and overblown religiosity (Klein 2000). Here I’m interested

. See Knappett 2005, Kwint 1999, Margalit 2003, Parkin 1999, Renfrew and Scarre 1998, Rowlands 1993.

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

not so much in how accurately this literature does really reflect Anglophone cultural practices as in the fact that there must be room for an overarching theoretical framework for studying memory and material culture, a framework which can include but is not exhausted by semantic analysis, and which can incorporate both this Anglophone work and the Polish concept pamiątka. In particular, both can be understood in terms of the more dynamic picture of cognitive processes which I sketched in Section 1 above, based on the related ‘distributed cognition’ framework (Hutchins 1996) and ‘extended mind hypothesis’ (Clark 1997). These frameworks are entirely compatible with (and indeed predict) the existence of dramatic cultural and historical variation in concepts as well as practices of remembering, even if it’s true that so far much work under these labels has been insufficiently attentive to issues about language and culture. The reason that these frameworks are particularly relevant for thinking about pamiątka is that they see remembering as a complex process which spans brain, body, and the social and material world. In coupling with external symbol systems or objects and with other people in particular contexts, we form temporarily broader or ‘distributed’ remembering systems (Donald 1991, 2000; Sutton 2004b; Wilson 2004, 2005). So from this perspective, objects which have particular emotional significance over long periods of time, like the grandmother’s ring and the treasured prayer-book, don’t need to be seen merely as external triggers for remembering: rather they are themselves part of an ongoing extended remembering system. So far does this perspective depart from the notions of inner storage, executive control, and privileged access that the external objects can themselves be understood as (countable) memories or parts of (countable) memories. Arguably this may more accurately reflect the emotional experience of people whose values are so bound up with objects like this. But whether or not we take this extra step, there’s no doubt that these frameworks in general call out for more sophisticated methods of cross-cultural and cross-linguistic analysis, so that there is a real possibility for mutually beneficial interaction between these strands of research in cognitive science and in linguistics. Wierzbicka is also not suggesting that either Polish or Anglo culture is homogenous in the significance attributed to such objects: even though culture, like language, is heterogeneous and changeable, there can still be a real and describable core of conceptions and attitudes (Wierzbicka 1997a: 17–22). So these claims about semantic and cultural differences are entirely compatible with the existence of significant individual differences within a culture (and across cultures). I wonder, then, whether there are any resources within the NSM framework which could help in the study of individual differences, in (for example) making sense of which people or which kinds of people have specific views about or strong emotional investment in the cultural model implicated in the word pamiątka, or about the relations between cultural and individual differences on these dimensions. These are great challenges for any form of ethnopsychology, of course: my query is about whether such questions should legitimately be left to other disciplines, or whether cognitive semantics could be expected to contribute.

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I noted above that there’s no obvious source of evidence for evaluating claims about the kind of deep differences between Polish and English attitudes to the past, such as those which Wierzbicka makes on the basis of her treatment of the word pamiątka. It seems entirely plausible in general that the in-depth analysis of meanings, along with related methods like studies of word frequency, can reflect much not only about cultural preoccupations and values but also about the mental world and about ways of thinking. But because Wierzbicka, as I noted earlier, sees language as the only reliable route to thought, we can legitimately ask what kind of evidence could support or challenge, confirm or refute, any particular claims made about thought on the basis of semantic analysis. Elsewhere she does claim that one characteristic generalisation made on the basis of semantic analysis about the common core of Russian culture and Anglo culture respectively ‘is entirely consistent with generalisations made independently, on the basis of nonquantitative data’ (1997a: 12). How exactly might such independent evidence be found for culturally significant ‘different attitudes to the past’ in, say, English and Polish culture? Can semantic analysis be supplemented here by, for example, sociological studies of the use and emotional role of particular kinds of object, or psychological studies of different ways of thinking about the past? Or does semantic analysis in principle subsume and trump such alternative approaches? Wierzbicka’s paper points towards the most fruitful way forward on this point in her attempt strongly to delineate relevant dimensions, in relation to thinking about what happened before, on which both individuals and cultures might differ or not differ. My last request for further information or clarification presses again on the question of whether there is anything in Wierzbicka’s treatment of cultural differences which rules out the methods, models, and theoretical frameworks of the current scientific psychology of memory, properly understood. In repeating her complaint that contemporary psychology often unwittingly universalises attitudes to memory which are in fact specific to very recent Anglo culture, Wierzbicka notes in passing that ‘laboratory studies of “bilingual memory”’ exemplify this fault: they treat the “bilingual memory” merely ‘as a repository of words from two languages’, without questioning underlying attitudes and models of memory which they have unwittingly adopted from modern Anglo culture (this volume). Wierzbicka’s wonderful sensitivity to bilingual experiences and ways of life, and her remarkable eye for telling anecdotes and insights drawn from memoirs and other writings by bilingual authors, are among the great strengths of her work (Wierzbicka 1997b). Presumably she draws more on literary and autobiographical sources than on any psychological studies of bilingualism when she seeks to identify representative features of cultural and bicultural experience and thought just because she thinks that scientific research on (for example) “bilingual memory” is thus tarred with misleadingly narrow preconceptions. Now perhaps Wierzbicka has a very restricted group of ‘laboratory studies’ in mind, but I don’t see that the contemporary cognitive psychology of bilingual memory either must by its very nature or actually does in practice suffer from such

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory

conceptual myopia. Obviously this is an incredibly difficult research area which needs all the interdisciplinary expertise it can get, and for which the methods of semantic analysis pioneered within the NSM framework may be extremely helpful. Certainly there are a large number of studies in which attention is restricted primarily to the mechanisms by which words from two languages ‘are accessed or retrieved’ from one or two ‘repositories’, studies which are aimed at ‘understanding general language and memory mechanisms’ (French and Jacquet 2004), and these studies may seem remote from the broader experiential and ethnopsychological concerns which animate Wierzbicka’s work. But that kind of work is to some extent continuous with research which addresses dimensions of bilingual and bicultural experience much closer to those which she discusses: some dimensions of language-dependent remembering and thinking explored in just a couple of recent studies, for example, are issues about self-orientation and control of the personal past, the emotional tone and valence of attitudes to the personal past, self-esteem, individualism, and narrative style (Marian and Neisser 2000; Ross, Xun, and Wilson 2002; Marian and Kaushanskaya 2005). These dimensions, usefully, can be studied in relation to individual differences and, for example, gender differences, as well as on the larger cross-cultural scale. This research on memory and the bilingual self thus also makes contact with an existing and robust body of empirical work in the developmental psychology of personal or experiential remembering, with which, again, I think semantic analysis should be compatible rather than in competition. Not only does the flourishing ‘socialinteractionist’ tradition in this area of developmental psychology allow for and investigate very specific cross-cultural and intra-cultural differences in early talk and thought about the past, differences which can be systematically related to differences in local narrative environments (Wang 2001; Brockmeier and Wang 2002; Leichtman, Wang, and Pillemer 2003); it also offers us some important ideas about the various ways in which language shapes and sculpts early remembering activities (Sutton 2002b; Nelson and Fivush 2004). Ongoing longitudinal research addresses longer-lasting influences of language, and seeks to tease apart features of our temporal thinking and practices which remain fairly constant across cultures from those which are more easily and more deeply fashioned by language-specific characteristics of memory concepts (Reese 2002). This last example of an active existing psychological research programme again, in my view, holds out hope for exciting collaborations with comparative cognitive semantics. Conceptual analysis and empirical semantic inquiry can thus be an essential part of a broader interdisciplinary enterprise of coming to understand thinking about what happened before.

References Auyang, S. 2001. Mind in Everyday Life and Cognitive Science. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Bartlett, F.C. 1932. Remembering: a Study in Experimental and Social Psychology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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John Sutton Bermudez, J.L. 2005. Philosophy of Psychology: a Contemporary Introduction. London: Routledge. Bloch, M. 1997. How We Think They Think: Anthropological Approaches to Cognition, Memory, and Literacy. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Bowker, G.C. 2005. Memory Practices in the Sciences. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Brockmeier, J. and Wang, Q. 2002. Where does my past begin? Lessons from recent cross-cultural studies of autobiographical memory. III Conference for Sociocultural Research. Campbell, S. 2003. Relational Remembering: rethinking the memory wars. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Carruthers, M. 1990. The Book of Memory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carruthers, M. 1998. The Craft of Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Churchland, P.S. 1983. Consciousness: the transmutation of a concept. Pacific Philosophical Quarterly 64: 80–95. Churchland, P.S. 1986. Neurophilosophy. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Clark, A. 1989. Microcognition: Philosophy, Cognitive Science, and Parallel Distributed Processing. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Clark, A. 1997. Being There: putting brain, body, and world together again. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press Coleman, J. 1992. Ancient and Medieval Memories. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Connerton, P. 1989. How Societies Remember. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Copenhaver, R. 2006. Thomas Reid’s theory of memory. History of Philosophy Quarterly 23: 171–188. Danziger, K. 1990. Generative metaphor and the history of psychological discourse. In Metaphors in the History of Psychology, D.E. Leary (ed), 331–356. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Danziger, K. 2001. Whither the golden oldies of ESHHS: the historiography of psychological objects. Address at the 20th annual meeting of the European Society for the History of the Human Sciences, Amsterdam, August 15, 2001. http: //psychology.dur.ac.uk/eshhs/ newsletter/danziger.htm (accessed July 29, 2005). Danziger, K. 2002. How old is psychology, particularly concepts of memory? History & Philosophy of Psychology 4, 1–12. Deutscher, M. 1989. Remembering “Remembering”. In Cause, Mind, and Reality, J. Heil (ed), 53–72. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Donald, M. 1991. Origins of the Modern Mind. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Donald, M. 2000. The central role of culture in cognitive evolution: a reflection on the myth of the “isolated mind”. In Culture, Thought, and Development, L. Nucci, G. Saxe, and E. Turiel (eds), 19–38. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Draaisma, D. 2000. Metaphors of Memory: a history of ideas about the mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Enfield, N.J. 2000. On linguocentrism. In Explorations in Linguistic Relativity, M. Putz and M.H. Verspoor (eds), 125–157. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Engel, S. 1999. Context is Everything: the nature of memory. New York: W.H. Freeman. Fentress, J. and Wickham, C. 1992. Social Memory. Oxford: Blackwell. French, R.M. and Jacquet, M. 2004. Understanding bilingual memory: models and data. Trends in Cognitive Sciences 8: 87–93. Goddard, C. 2003. Whorf meets Wierzbicka: variation and universals in language and thinking. Language Sciences 25: 393–432.

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory Goddard, C. 2007. A Lexicographic Portrait of forgetting. In this volume. Goddard, C. and Wierzbicka, A. (eds). 2002. Meaning and Universal Grammar: theory and empirical findings (2 volumes). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Griffiths, P.E. 1997. What Emotions Really Are. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Griffiths, P.E. 2004. Is emotion a natural kind? In Thinking about Feeling: Contemporary Philosophers on Emotions, R.C. Solomon (ed), 233–249. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hamilton, A. 1998. False memory syndrome and the authority of personal memory-claims: a philosophical perspective. Philosophy, Psychiatry, & Psychology 5, 283–297. Hutchins, E. 1996. Cognition in the Wild. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Keesing, R. 1994. Radical cultural difference: anthropology’s myth? In Language Contact and Language Conflict, M. Putz (ed), 3–23. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Klein, K.L. 2000. On the emergence of memory in historical discourse. Representations 69: 127–150. Knappett, C. 2005. Thinking through Material Culture: an Interdisciplinary Perspective. Philadephia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Krell, D.F. 1990. Of Memory, Reminiscence, and Writing: on the Verge. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Kwint, M. 1999. Introduction: the physical past. In Material Memories, M. Kwint, C. Breward and J. Aynsley (eds), 1–16. Oxford: Berg. Leichtman, M., Wang, Q. and Pillemer, D. 2003. Cultural variations in interdependence and autobiographical memory: lessons from Korea, China, India, and the United States. In Autobiographical Memory and the Construction of a Narrative Self: Developmental and Cultural Perspectives, Fivush, R. and Haden, C. (eds), 73–98. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Lillard, A. 1998. Ethnopsychologies: cultural variations in theories of mind. Psychological Bulletin 123, 3–32. Margalit, A. 2003. The Ethics of Memory. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Marian, V. and Kaushanskaya, M. 2005. Autobiographical memory and language in bicultural bilinguals. ISB4: Proceedings of the 4th International Symposium on Bilingualism, 1478–1486. Marian, V. and Neisser, Ulric. 2000. Language-dependent recall of autobiographical memories. Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 129: 361–8. Martin, C.B. and Deutscher, M. 1966. Remembering. Philosophical Review 75: 161–196. McClelland, J.L. 1995. Constructive memory and memory distortions: a parallel distributed processing approach. In Memory Distortion: how Minds, Brains, and Societies Reconstruct the Past, D.L. Schacter (ed), 69–90. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Middleton, D. and Brown, S.D. 2005. The Social Psychology of Experience: Studies in Remembering and Forgetting. London: Sage. Misztal, B. 2003. Theories of Social Remembering. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Neisser, U. 1997. The ecological study of memory. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. B: Biological Sciences 352: 1697–1701. Nelson, K. 2003. Self and social functions: individual autobiographical memory and collective narrative. Memory 11: 125–136. Nelson, K. and Fivush, R. 2004. The emergence of autobiographical memory: a social cultural developmental theory. Psychological Review 111: 486–511. Olick, J. 1999. Collective memory: the two cultures. Sociological Theory 17: 333–348. Parkin, D. 1999. Mementoes as transitional objects in human displacement. Journal of Material Culture 4: 303–320.

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John Sutton Pillemer, D. 1998. Momentous Events, Vivid Memories. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Renfrew, C. and Scarre, C. (eds). 1998. Cognition and Material Culture. Cambridge: Macdonald Institute. Reese, E. 2002. Social factors in the development of autobiographical memory: the state of the art. Social Development 11: 124–142. Richardson, A. 2001. British Romanticism and the Science of Mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ross, M., Xun, W.Q.E. and Wilson, A.E. 2002. Language and the bicultural self. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin 28: 1040–1050. Rowlands, M. 1999. The Body in Mind: Understanding Cognitive Processes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rowlands, M. 1993. The role of memory in the transmission of culture. World Archaeology 25: 141–151. Rubin, D.C. 1995. Memory in Oral Traditions: the Cognitive Psychology of Epic, Ballads, and Countingout Rhymes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schacter, D.L. 1996. Searching for Memory: the Brain, the Mind, and the Past. New York: Basic Books. Schneewind, J.B. 1997. The Invention of Autonomy: a History of Modern Moral Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Senor, T.D. 2005. Epistemological problems of memory. In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2005 Edition), E.N. Zalta (ed), http: //plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2005/entries/ memory-episprob/. Siegel, D.J. 2001. Memory: an overview, with emphasis on developmental, interpersonal, and neurobiological aspects. Journal of the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry 40: 997–1011. Small, J.P. 1997. Wax Tablets of the Mind: Cognitive Studies of Memory and Literacy in Classical Antiquity. London: Routledge. Smith, R. 2005. The History of Psychological Categories. Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences 36: 55–94. Squires, R. 1969. Memory Unchained. Philosophical Review 78: 178–196. Stern, D.G. 1991. Models of Memory: Wittgenstein and cognitive science. Philosophical Psychology 4: 203–218. Sutton, J. 1998. Philosophy and Memory Traces: Descartes to Connectionism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sutton, J. 2000. Body, mind, and order: local memory and the control of mental representations in medieval and Renaissance sciences of self. In 1543 And All That: Word and Image in the Proto-scientific Revolution, G. Freeland and A. Corones (eds), 117–150. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Sutton, J. 2002a. Porous memory and the cognitive life of things. In Prefiguring Cyberculture: an Intellectual History, D. Tofts, A. Jonson, and A. Cavallaro (eds), 130–141. Sydney and Cambridge, MA: Power Publications and MIT Press. Sutton, J. 2002b. Cognitive conceptions of language and the development of autobiographical memory. Language and Communication 22: 375–390. Sutton, J. 2003. Memory. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2003 Edition), E.N. Zalta (ed), http: //plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2003/entries/memory/. Sutton, J. 2004a. Representation, reduction, and interdisciplinarity in the sciences of memory. In Representation in Mind, H. Clapin, P. Staines, and P. Slezak (eds), 187–216. London: Elsevier.

Chapter 3. Language, memory, and concepts of memory Sutton, J. 2004b. Representation, levels, and context in integrational linguistics and distributed cognition. Language Sciences 26: 503–524. Sutton, J. 2008. Exograms and interdisciplinarity: history, the extended mind, and the civilizing process. In The Extended Mind, R. Menary (ed). Aldershot: Ashgate. Tonkin, E. 1991. Narrating our Pasts: the Social Construction of Oral History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Toth, J.P. and Hunt, R.R. 1999. Not one versus many; but zero versus any: structure and function in the context of the multiple memory systems debate. In Memory: Systems, Process, or Function?, J.K. Foster and M. Jelicic (eds), 232–272. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tulving, E. 2002. Episodic memory: from mind to brain. Annual Review of Psychology 53: 1–25. Wang, Q. 2001. Cultural effects on adults’ earliest childhood recollection and self-description: implications for the relation between memory and the self. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 81: 220–233. Warnock, M. 1987. Memory. London: Faber. Welzer, H. and Markowitsch, H.J. 2005. Towards a bio-psycho-social model of autobiographical memory. Memory 13: 63–78. Wierzbicka, A. 1992. Semantics, Culture and Cognition: Universal Human Concepts in Culture-specific Configurations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1994. Cultural Scripts: a new approach to the study of cross-cultural communication. In Language Contact and Language Conflict, M. Putz (ed), 67–87. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Wierzbicka, A. 1997a. Understanding Cultures through their Key Words. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1997b. The double life of a bilingual: a cross-cultural perspective. In Working at the Interface of Culture: Eighteen Lives in Social Science, M. Bond (ed), 113–125. London: Routledge. Wierzbicka, A. 2004. Conceptual primes in human languages and their analogues in animal communication and cognition. Language Sciences 26: 413–441. Wierzbicka, A. 2007. Is “remember” a universal human concept? “Memory” and culture. In this volume. Wierzbicka, A. and Harkins, J. 2001. Introduction. In Emotions in Cross-Linguistic Perspective, J. Harkins and A. Wierzbicka (eds), 1–34. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Wilcox, S. and Katz, S. 1981. A direct realist alternative to the traditional conception of memory. Behaviorism 9: 227–239. Wilson, R.A. 2004. Boundaries of the Mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilson, R.A. 2005. Collective memory, group minds, and the extended mind thesis. Cognitive Processing 6 (4): 227–236. Winter, J. 2000. The generation of memory: reflections on the memory boom in contemporary historical studies. Bulletin of the German Historical Institute 27: 69–92.

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 

Standing up your mind Remembering in Dalabon* Nicholas Evans Sans mémoire et sans project, il n’y a tout simplement de savoir Auroux 1989:134 Traditionally, cognitive psychology has contributed little to explaining the difference between knowing, thinking and remembering. Perner 1991:3 This paper explores the vocabulary of mental states, knowing, thinking and remembering in Dalabon, an Australian Aboriginal language. Though Dalabon has a rich vocabulary for the overall semantic domain of attention, thought, memory and forgetting, there are no expressions specifically dedicated to remembering. Rather, the ontology of cognitive states and processes is categorized into shortterm vs long-term mental states and events. Aspectual choices are used to express transitions into mental states and events (‘remembering’ is ‘coming to have in mind’, and ‘forgetting’ is ‘coming to not have in mind’), without the entailments found in English, which distinguishes previously experienced mental states (‘remember’, ‘remind’) or mental states experienced for the first time (‘get the idea that’, ‘realize’).

.

Introduction

In this paper I discuss the semantics of expressions for remembering in Dalabon, a Gunwinyguan language of Central Arnhem Land, Australia, now spoken fluently by fewer than a dozen people. * A version of this paper was presented at the Workshop on the semantics of memory in crosslinguistic perspective held at the School of Modern Language Studies, University of NSW, on 22–23 November, 2003. I thank Mengistu Amberber and Ludmila Stern for organizing that workshop, the workshop participants for the challenging discussion there, and two anonymous reviewers and Mengistu Amberber for their critical comments on a draft of this paper, some of which I have not followed, at my peril. My work on Dalabon over the years has been supported by a number of sources, gratefully acknowledged here, most importantly the Australian Research



Nicholas Evans

Though the overall semantic domain of words for attention, thought, memory, and forgetting is a rich one in Dalabon, there are no expressions specifically dedicated to remembering. Rather, the ontology of mental states and processes is carved up on the basis of short-term vs long-term mental states and events, together with the use of tense/ aspect to manage transitions into mental states, without entailments about whether the mental state has been previously experienced (as in the case of English ‘remember’, ‘remind’) or is now being experienced for the first time (as with ‘get the idea that’, ‘realise’, ‘think of ’ etc.). Verbs best translated as ‘cause to have in mind now’, ‘have in mind now’, and ‘carry along in one’s mind’ can all mean ‘remember’ in some contexts, in which similar prior mental states are implicated. But they can also have non-memory meanings (know, realise, attend to, think, decide) in other contexts, where there is no evidence for the relevant mental state having previously been experienced. Note that the references to ‘mind’ in the above characterisations, as we will show below, use ‘mind’ as a translation of the Dalabon root beng, to be discussed in §2.1, and are not to be taken as simple imports from the metalanguage of cognitive science as carried out largely in English. The implications of this for semantic analyses, such as the Natural Semantic Metalanguage tradition, that assume ‘mind’ to be a secondary concept ultimately derivable from ‘think’, are discussed separately in Appendix 1, where I argue that, in Dalabon, there is no evidence for a direct equivalent of ‘think’ but that instead beng is the relevant primitive, from which a range of cognitive expressions can then be built up. The structure of the paper is as follows. In §2 we examine some basic parameters that must be understood before we can tackle the meaning of the Dalabon verbs we will be focussing on: in §2.1 we illustrate the structure of the Dalabon verb, in §2.2 we show how the interpretation of cognitive verbs interacts with aspect, and in §2.3 we look at some key entities in the Dalabon folk model of the mind. In §3 we look at the range of stimulus sources – both internally-generated and external – that appear in Dalabon discussions of memory, and find a range broadly comparable to English in the admissibility of internal and external stimuli, and differing degrees of control over the memory process; we also discuss some cultural mechanisms for ‘managing’ memory

Council (Grants: Non-Pama-Nyungan languages of northern Australia: descriptive, grammatical, comparative and sociolinguistic investigations; Polysemy and Semantic Change in Australian languages; Intonation and Prosody in Australian Aboriginal languages; Reciprocals Across Languages) and the Bawinanga Aboriginal Corporation through a Language Access Initiative Grant from ATSIC. Conversations with fellow fieldworkers Francesca Merlan and Murray Garde have greatly sharpened my understanding of Dalabon semantics. Most importantly I thank my Dalabon teachers, many unfortunately no longer with us, particularly †David Karlbuma, Peter Mandeberru, †Jack Chadum, †Alice Boehm and especially Maggie Tukumba. It is only thanks to their determination to keep Dalabon alive in their minds, and ours, that we can know anything today about their remarkable language.

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

through a range of customs that control various types of external stimulus. In §4 we return in more detail to the question of how distinct Dalabon expressions of memory are from those for thought, attention and knowledge. Before passing on to the main paper, it is worth commenting briefly on how the data for this paper was gathered. The fragile status of Dalabon, as a language with fewer than a dozen fluent speakers and rather limited documentation to date,1 places limits on the size of our corpus which entails that our treatment here is necessarily provisional. The material and examples discussed here have two main sources: a.

b.

general grammatical and lexicographic work (much in collaboration with Francesca Merlan) since June 91, with the eventual goal of producing a grammar, dictionary and text collection; an initial dictionary of some three and a half thousand entries, with exemplifying sentences, has recently appeared (Evans, Merlan & Tukumba 2004). This dictionary draws on material recorded by either Francesca Merlan or myself from around half a dozen speakers, many now deceased, most importantly Maggie Tukumba, †Jack Chadum, †David Karlbuma, Peter Mandeberru, †Alice Boehm, Lily Bennet, and †Daisy Borduk. Though the topic of memory was not specifically targetted by this general campaign of linguistic documentation, the general field setting, namely the recording of an endangered language and the quest to ‘bring back out’ forgotten language expressions, as well as the return of older materials (tapes, photographs) as stimuli to discussions, and the speakers’ wish to maintain or revive old customs, naturally created a context where memory and forgetting arose spontaneously as topics. the material gathered under (a) was supplemented by targetted questions and translations in this semantic domain on a field trip by Evans in July 2003, working predominantly with Maggie Tukumba. Among other elicitation materials, I endeavoured to get the Dalabon equivalents of most of the examples in the important paper by Van Valin & Wilkins (1993).2

None of our Dalabon informants spoke fluent standard English. Material was gathered though a mixture of English (as used by Evans and Merlan), Kriol (the regional lingua franca) and Mayali/Kunwinjku (Bininj Gun-wok), the most widely spoken traditional

. See the introduction to Evans, Merlan and Tukumba (2004) for a summary of previous research on the language. . The timing of the dictionary publication cycle meant that the material gathered on this field trip, and the definitions resulting from it, could not be incorporated in the Dalabon dictionary. Regarding the Arrernte sentences in Van Valin & Wilkins (1993), an important part of their paper is devoted to the syntax of expressions for remembering (e.g. the use of purpose clauses after ‘remember to’), but we do not explore that issue systematically here, our focus being on other issues.

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Nicholas Evans

language of the area. So it has not been possible to check the finer nuances of meaning through translation, though textual context is often helpful. As the analysis proceeded, the crucial role of Dalabon aspect became more and more apparent, and although aspect was systematically varied in some examples it has not yet been possible to gather a full set of contextualised aspectual forms for every lexeme discussed here.

. Memory and the Dalabon language: some basic parameters .

A note on verb structure

Dalabon is a polysynthetic verb with a complex verb structure (see Evans, Brown & Corbett 2001, Evans & Merlan 2003), prefixed for subject and object, as well as for various applicative-type relations (benefactive and comitative being the most important), incorporating nominal roots, taking a range of adverbial prefixes, with optional derivational suffixation for reflexive/reciprocal, and obligatory inflectional suffixation for a range of Tense/Aspect/Mood categories, as shown in Figure 1. Most relevant to the present paper are the aspectual choices, available only in the past tense, which distinguish past perfective, past imperfective, and past customary.3 Mood choice

Irrealis Realis: tense choice Past: aspect

Past perfective

Past imperfective

Present

Future

Past customary

Figure 1. Tense / aspect /mood categories in verbal inflectional suffixes

. I use the gloss ‘past customary’ rather than the more general ‘past habitual’ because the past customary is primarily used for reporting on customary, i.e. traditional, activities such as hunting or traditional crafts, rather than events that are merely habitual.

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

An important feature of the verb lexicon, shared with other languages of the Gunwinyguan family, is the make-up of verbal stems, which may be either simple or complex. Examples of simple stems4 are wan5 ‘follow’ and bon ‘go’; there are fewer than twenty simple verbal stems in the language. Complex stems comprise a ‘prepound’ plus a ‘thematic’. Some thematics also occur as simple roots: the root wan ‘follow’, for example, recurs as a thematic in the stem warhwan ‘not know/be aware of, lack or lose consciousness of ’ (see below on this verb’s semantics). Others only occur bound, in complex stems: the formative -mû, found in such stems as dudjmû ‘return’, is an example. There is a further possibility of incorporating objects or intransitive subjects immediately before the verb stem (e.g. kurnh-warhwan [country/place-not.know] ‘not know a place, be a stranger or newcomer to a place’, yolh-wehmûn [feelings-become. bad] ‘feel bad, upset, angry or unhappy’). Though in principle this is structurally distinguishable from noun-verb compounding by various tests,6 frequent phraseologisation makes it a fruitful source of new complex verbal expressions that leads, as in these cases, to the combination of a verbal root or thematic with what are historically two (or more) nominal or adjective roots – a closer ‘prepound’, such as warh or weh in the above examples, and a less close ‘incorporated nominal’, such as kurnh or yolh here. Many prepounds double as ideophones or nominal roots, and the compounding of nominal roots with verb stems is a productive source of verb lexemes, while other prepounds only occur in verbal compounds. For roots that are used both as nominal roots and in compound verbs, the proportion of nominal to verbal uses may range widely, as may the availability for plain (uncompounded) as opposed to compounded nominal use. The root √kodj ‘head’, for example, occurs either as a simple root (though suffixed for possessor, e.g. kodjngan ‘my head’, kodjno ‘his/her/its head, head’7), in a wide range of nominal compounds (e.g. kodjbulu ‘white haired person’, kodjmono ‘skull of head’) and a number of compound verbs, e.g. kodjdi ‘be tall’ (lit. head-stand), kodjrung ‘have a headache’ (lit. head-burn). The root √men, by contrast, which refers to an individual’s capacity for social responsibility and self-regulation (roughly ‘social conscience, social . Strictly speaking, the stem in its citation form, which includes the present tense suffix. The stems here are wa and bo: the final -n in each case is the present tense suffix. . The Dalabon practical orthography is used here. Non-obvious symbols are h = glottal stop, nj = lamino-palatal nasal, rd, rn, rl = retroflex stop, nasal and lateral, rr = apico-alveolar trill/ tap, ngH = voiceless velar nasal, doubled letters for consonant length. There is no voicing contrast; voiced symbols are used for all stops except the velar, represented by k. û represents a high central vowel, though some speakers have merged this with u, or do so sporadically, and in such cases the vowel is written here as heard. . Most importantly, the possibility of an agnate unincorporated construction in the case of incorporation, but not of compounding. See Evans (2003) for an elaboration of these tests for the closely related language Bininj Gun-wok. .

The -no suffixed form is used as the citation form.

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Nicholas Evans

awareness, social intention’), has yet to be attested in a non-compounded form (one would expect a form men-no ‘his/her social conscience’). But it occurs compounded or incorporated in a wide range of expressions: as the adjective men-djabalarrk ‘obedient, well-behaved’ (e.g. of a dog), in the adverb menmungu ‘accidentally’ (etymologically: ‘with random/unordered self-regulation’), and in such compound verbs as menbon [~-go] ‘be smart, obedient, well-behaved’, menbun [~-hit] ‘strike someone on the ear, to bring them back from imminent craziness’, menmennan [~-REDUP-see] ‘protect through appropriate cultural behaviour, watch out for, watch over’, menwurdurdmû [~-child-VBLZR] ‘be childish, immature, irresponsible’ and menni [~-sit] ‘consider, think about; have aspirations for social status (e.g. as a ceremonial leader)’. The prepound √beng, of central concern in this paper, hardly ever occurs outside verbal formations. The main use of this word as a free form is with the specialised meaning ‘(taboo on) (a man) swearing at, concerning or in presence of sister’ (for some anthropological discussion of this custom, see Maddock 1970). A related example of it occurring as a nominal root (suffixed with the third singular possessor suffix -no, plus the comitative suffix -dorrûng), is the following: (1)

Yibung mahki mak dja-darnh-marnu-da-ngiyan, 3sg maybe  3/2-close--stand- redj-ngu-kah beng-no-dorrung. side-2Poss- mind-3Poss- ‘But he can’t stand close to you, at your side, (the one) who knows.’

It occurs in so many verbal combinations, however, and not just in the prepound position but also in the incorporated nominal slot, that we can postulate a ‘mind’ meaning for it with some confidence; its semantics are discussed in detail in §2.3. The major expressions in which √beng occurs are shown in Figure 2. Additionally, there are some devices for causativising verbs (e.g. bengdi > bengdayhka ‘cause to bengdi’), for forming causative / decausative pairs, e.g. yibka ‘sink (tr.)’ / yibmû ‘sink (intr.)’, and for forming inceptives by partial left-reduplication, with inceptive effect: bengkan ‘keep in mind’ > benghbengkan ‘recognise, identify’. An analytic point that must be mentioned here is the status of the past perfective form bengdayhminj. Formally this looks like a decausative form of bengdayhka ‘remind, cause to bengdi’. Paradigmatically, however, it appears to be a semi-suppletive past perfective form of bengdi. The three reasons for thinking this are: i. only the form bengdayhminj is attested, and formally this is a past perfective, ii. for the verb bengdi, all TAM values are attested except for the past perfective. iii. the ‘stand’ verb in Gunwinyguan languages (Alpher, Evans & Harvey 2003) tends to merge past perfective and past imperfective forms, to show suppletion or neutralisation, and then to recruit new forms to recreate the distinction. Treating bengdayhminj as the past perfective form allows us to avoid the untidy situation of having two complementary defective paradigms: one for bengdi, with all TAM

causative

PP bengdayhminj ‘come to have in mind at a particular moment, come to have uppermost in one’s mind; begin to think about, attend to, or remember’’

bengdi: ‘have in mind at a particular moment, have uppermost in one’s mind; think, attend to, remember’ di ‘stand’

suppletive pst prf form

bengbadjdjing ‘drive crazy, make s/o lose their mind’ < badjdjing ‘hit, strike’ bengngayawkmibun ‘whisper /speak in someone’s ear’ bengbun ‘deafen, be too loud for; intrude on or bother’ < √bun ‘hit’ bengdung ‘make someone understand about appropriate behaviour,, teach definitively about’ beneng) followed by loss of intervocalic n and merger of the two vowels. At present we do not have example of etyma undergoing a parallel sound-change, so this etymology must be regarded as speculative at this point. . It is worth noting, incidentally, that the word for ‘ear’ (and its various extensions) in the local variety of Kriol is irriwul, from English ‘ear-hole’. This usage is also recorded in Sandefur & Sandefur (1979). . Semanticists using the English word ‘mind’ as part of their definitions are not always explicit about which sense of ‘mind’ they intend. For example, the otherwise very insightful treatment of Arrernte expressions for remembering by Van Valin & Wilkins (1993): uses the semantic representation be.in.mind, on my understanding with the sense ‘be in conscious mind’, in their explication of ‘remember’, but without specifying exactly what they mean by ‘mind’: (conscious) mind-processor, (unconscious) mind-container, or both.

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

openness/hiddenness are used to modulate the perspective on the mind and its contents, as one brings them out, up or standing (in western terms, into consciousness), in expressions like bengdi ‘think about, have thoughts or attention focussed on’, lit. ‘beng-stand’, as opposed to having them ‘down’, i.e. buried sealed off or hidden, as in bengmukmû ‘have forgotten, not be able to recall, have inaccessible to attention’, lit. beng-be.hidden/buried. Other combinations, such as bengkan ‘carry in mind – know, think about, remember’, embrace the whole range from ‘working mind’ to ‘contents of memory’. These different selections are illustrated in Figure 3.

mind as container / unconscious

bengmukmû ‘beng-be.buried /covered,

bengdi ‘beng-stand’

mind beng

mind as processor / consciousness / attention

bengkan ‘bengcarry’

Figure 3. Levels of mind/√beng in Dalabon verbal expressions

Aspectual inflections, as we sketched for warhwan in §2.2 and will examine more thoroughly in §3, are used to signal the transition from one region of focus to another, as when, in recall, a representation is raised or ‘stood’ from the ‘lower’ part of the mind to the ‘upper’ part in one sense of the verb bengdi ‘recall, bring into consciousness or to one’s attention’. Three other terms for entities in the broad cognitive domain deserve briefer discussion. Firstly, kodj-no, whose basic meaning is ‘head’, can also be used in the sense of ‘mind, thoughts’. This extension is not common – most expressions based on kodj refer to the physical head or metaphorical extensions based on physical similarity, such as ‘thundercloud, stormcloud’. However, there are four expressions where it extends to cover cognition: kodjdhumdhumkarrûn ‘think about all the time, be obsessed with, do all the time’, kodj-mayahmû ‘be confused, be lost, mixed up’, kodjngandarrkyi ‘counsel given to one’s family, in case of dispute’ and kodj-wokarrûn ‘reckon to oneself ’. An example of the nominal root being used to denote ‘mind, thoughts’ (and in which the trope is directly translatable into English) is (8); see also (13; 22–24) for further examples with incorporated kodj. (8)

Mumunjengu-walung ngah-dokka-ng ngah-lng-bengda-nginj, sleep- 1-get.up- 1--have.in.mind- mumunjengu-walung kanunh nga-ye-dokkang, sleep-  1--get.up- ngah-njengu-yu-kuno, bah dulu-no kanunh 1-sleep-lie- but song-3Poss that

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ngah-lng-yidjnja-n kodj-ngan-kah, 1--have- head-1sgPoss- bulah-marnû-wayirninj wahdu kah-ngabbo-ng 3pl/1--sing- spirit 3/1-give- ba ngahlng-karru-yidjnjan. so.that 1--song-hold- ‘I woke from sleep last night, I was suddenly experiencing15 a song as I woke from sleep, now I’ll keep it in my head, they sang it to me and gave it to me in my dream, the spirits, and now I’ll hold the song.’

Secondly, kanûmno ‘ear’, though again used primarily to denote the physical organ without cognitive implications, is used in a few expressions with the sense of ‘memory, mind’ that appears to be synonymous with beng: derivatives of beng are much more common among verbs, but the use of kanûmno is favoured in nominal expressions16 Where necessary I shall refer to this as kanûmno2. An indication that the extensions of kanûmno have reached the cognitive level, to the point of being freed from particular assumptions regarding sensory modality, comes from the fact that the recollections in these expressions don’t need to be oral/acoustic, but can be in other modalities as well. Two examples are (9) and (10); see also (13), which includes both kodjno and kanûmno in addition to expressions based on √beng. In the appendix, where I propose a Dalabon definition of bengdi, I shall use kanûmno in the definition in contexts where √beng is combinatorially disallowed. (9)

(10)

Ngah-dja-yidjnja-n bulu-ngan dje-no kanûm-ngan-kah. 1-just-have- father-1sgPoss face-3sgPoss ear-1sgPoss- ‘I still have my father’s face in my memory / in my mind.’ (Lit. ‘I still hold my father’s face in my ear.’) Nunh ngah-dja-bengka-n, mak nga-bengmukm-iyan,  1-just-keep.in.mind-  1-forget-

. Note that, in the Dalabon view of how new songs come into existence: akin to how Tartini is supposed to have had the ‘Devil’s Trill Sonata’ revealed to him, the song comes to someone in their dream; if they listen carefully, they can then hold it in their memory. . It is likely that there is a semantic recapitulation in process here: if beng originally meant ‘ear’, but has now become restricted entirely to the cognitive domain, kanûmno presumably replaced it at some point in its basic physical and sensory senses, and is now recapitulating the same process of extension into the cognitive domain. Note also that there are other parallels in Gunwinyguan languages where there has been a restriction of original nominal roots to the incorporated noun position (and possibly additionally in N-Adj compounds), with a distinct root used in other nominal-type constructions: this frequently happens with roots for ‘water, liquid’, e.g. Dalabon kolh- ‘water, liquid’ (incorporated noun form), bo- ‘water, liquid’ (unncorporated, uncompounded form).

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

mak nga-bengmukm-û, ngah-dja-yidjnja-n kanum-ngan-kah  1-forget- 1/3-just-have- ear-1sgPoss- ‘I still know that, I haven’t forgotten, I still hold it in my memory / in my mind.’ (lit. ‘in my ear’).

Thirdly, menno primarily denotes ‘mind, judgment, social conscience, ambition, attitude’ – a range of mental states and attributes having to do with self-regulation through social conscience. A list of verbs containing this formative was given in §2.1. So far we have no examples of this root denoting any physical organ or sensory faculty, though, in addition to the verbs of social (self-)regulation given in §2.1, there are two verbs describing states of feeling bad or good: menmenwehmû [~-REDUP-become. bad] ‘feel bad, feel sick’ and menmonmû ‘get better, feel better’.

.

Memory and stimulus source

The range of usage for Dalabon expressions of memory takes both internally-generated and externally-prompted stimuli, with different degrees of conscious control over the memory process. In most expressions for memory resulting from internal stimuli the rememberer is the subject of the verb – transitive for memory maintained over a long period, intransitive for memories held in attention for a shorter period – though there is one construction (comparable to English ‘it’ll come back to me’) in which the memory is the subject and the rememberer the (derived) indirect object. All expressions in which the stimulus is externally prompted have the stimulus as subject and the rememberer as object. To begin with memories that are maintained internally over a long period: the verb bengkan [beng-carry], which can refer to stably-maintained knowledge and skills (see Examples (10), (33) and (38–47)), can also be used of what might be called ‘maintained memory’: (11)

Mak nga-bengmukm-i yabok-ngan-kun ngah-dja-bengka-ng,  1-forget- sister-1sgPoss- 1/3-just-keep.in.mind- kah-burlhm-inj, kah-marnu-burlhm-inj wadda-kah. 3-appear- 3/1--appear- place- ‘I didn’t forget about my sister, I remembered [i.e. I held/kept it in my thoughts] that she was coming, that she was coming to my place.’

For such long-term maintenance of memory the verb bengkan [beng-carry] is used; as we will see in §4, this is best translated as ‘to have continually in one’s mind’, and can variously be used of maintained knowledge, sustained thought, or lasting memory. A different verb, bengdi [beng-stand], is used for memories that are internallymaintained for a shorter period, through being held in short-term memory, for example (12), or where the focus is on bringing them up from one’s unconscious memory into immediate attention (13) – successfully or otherwise. As we will show in

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§4.2, this verb is best translated as ‘have temporarily in mind, have at the top of one’s mind’ with contextual translations that include ‘attend to’, ‘direct one’s thoughts to’, in addition to ‘remember’.17 (12)

Manj ngah-dja-bengdi, ... wait 1-just-have.in.mind bah kenbo kodj-ngan-kah ngah-yung, Conj then head-1sgPoss- 1/3-put kodj-ngan-kah nunh kodj-ngan, head-1sgPoss-  head-1sgPoss kanum-ngan-kah kenbo ngah-yu-ng manj kanum-ngan-kah, ear-1sgPoss- then 1/3-put- wait ear-1sgPoss- ngah-dja-bengdi nunh kanh ngey-no kanh 1-just-have.in.mind   name-3Poss  nga-ye-ngalk-iyan nunh ngah-lng-ngiy-m-iyan 1--find-F  1--name-get-F kodj-ngan-kah, kanum-ngan-kah. head-1sgPoss- ear-1sgPoss- ‘Hang on, I’ll keep that (telephone number) in my mind and then I’ll put it into my head, into my “ear” (memory), it’ll still be in my “ear”, I’ll just hold that number in my mind, which I’ll then be able to find, I’ll be able to get the name, in my head, in my ear.’

(13)

Manj ngah-mumu-mukmu ngah-bengdi wait 1-eye-be.buried 1/3-have.in.mind kanunh kirdikird dje-no. that woman face-3Poss ‘Hang on, I can’t remember her face, I’m trying to remember/trying to think of that girl’s face.’

The same verb, in the past perfective, may also be used of events where a memory is internally resuscitated, but without being the result of conscious monitoring. In the past perfective the verb may denote either consciously-driven or unintentional recall,

. Most verbs in Dalabon are unambiguously either intransitive or transitive, and require the addition of valence-changing morphology to alter their transitivity (i.e. applicatives to increase it, or reflexive/reciprocal to decrease it). The verb bengdi, however, appears to be undergoing reanalysis from an original intransitive verb to one where it is also able to take as object the thing attended to, thought about or remembered. Owing to the fact that some prefixes are noncommittal about transitivity (such as nga-, which can either be ‘1sg intransitive subject’ or ‘1sg transitive subject acting on third singular object), establishing transitivity in given cases is not always straightforward (combinations with second singular subjects or plural subjects reliably distinguish the two). In what follows, my glosses reflect the most likely analysis in my view, but some need further checking by permuting the person and/or number of the subject.

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

with only the context making it clear which is meant; in many cases either reading is possible. (14)

Ngah-bengdayhm-inj nahda ngah-bo-ng bubalayh-walung 1-have.in.mind- there 1-go- somewhere- ngah-bengdayhm-inj, djenj-ngan ngah-warhwa-nj karndinj. 1- have.in.mind- fish-1sgPoss 1/3-not.have.in.mind- barramundi ‘I had been meaning (to pick up frozen fish) for the journey; I only remembered when I was already halfway along the road, I had forgotten my barramundi / left it behind.’18

(15)

Ngah-bengdayhm-inj kardu 1- have.in.mind- maybe yabok-ngan kah-burlhm-iyan derrhno sister-1sgPoss 3-arrive- tomorrow ‘I just remembered that my sister is supposed to be coming tomorrow.’

(16)

Bulu-ngan kah-bengdayhm-inj, father-1sgPoss 3-have.in.mind- ngarrHngarr ngah-warhwa-nj mimal-kah, long.yam 1/3-not.have.in.mind- fire- kenbo kah-yawoyh-bengdayhm-inj then 3-again- have.in.mind- wurra mey ngah-wahwa-nj ngarrHngarr ! hey veg.food 1/3-forget- long.yam ‘My dad remembered, I had forgotten the yam on the fire, then he suddenly remembered, hey!, I’d forgotten to take the yam out of the fire.’

(17)

Wurdurdwurd djehneng bukah-wehkunhdu-ngi yabok-no, child  3/3h-swear.at- sister-3Poss bah korre kah-bengdayhm-inj but quickly 3-have.in.mind- mak bukah-lng-wehkunhdu-ngi.  3/3h--swear.at- ‘That kid was about to swear at his sister, but just in time he remembered not to swear.’

So far all expressions have involved the rememberer as subject. We now pass to constructions in which the stimulus is subject, and the rememberer is either indirect object or object.

. Ironically, almost the first thing said to me on turning up for the fieldtrip on which I was to focus on verbs of memory was a reminder that I had forgotten a gift of barramundi that Maggie Tukumba had wanted to send with me on my previous trip; sentence (14) was what I was told I should say in the context.

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For internally-generated stimuli over which the speaker has no conscious control at all – and where this lack of control is being emphasised – a derived semi-transitive construction is employed, in which the stimulus is subject, and the rememberer the (derived) indirect object (added to an intransitive verb by the use of the benefactive applicative). Note that, as part of a general pattern found with derived semi-transitive diatheses, the subject nominal may incorporate, as with the nominal root ngey in this example, based on the intransitive verb dudjmû ‘return’.19 (18)

Kenbo kah-marnû-ngey-dudjmu kodj-ngan-kah. later 3--name-return head-1sgPoss- ‘The name’ll come back to me in a while.’

For external stimuli, a transitive construction is employed, with the stimulus as subject and the rememberer as object. Examples are kodj-dokkeyhwan ‘[SUBJ: stimulus] awaken [OBJ’s] memories’, lit. ‘wake up OBJ’s head’ (19) and bengdayhka ‘[SUBJ: stimulus] remind [OBJ] (e.g. that it is time to carry out a seasonal activity)’ (20). (19)

Ngah-balan-bengmukmu bah ngah-na-n, 1-almost-forget but 1/3-see- ngah-yawoyh-beng-brimu kah-yawoyh-kodj-dokkeyhwa-n. 1-again-mind-?: 3/1-again-head-awaken- ‘I had nearly forgotten about it, but when I see the place I remember it again, it awakens my memories.’20

(20)

Dewdew nunh kanh wah kah-wudjmu rainbird   rain 3-finish yilah-na-n kah-worrbo-n nunh kanh 1pl/3-see- 3-go.around-   njel kah-bengdayhka kanunh wah kah-lng-wudjmu 1plO 3-cause.to.have.in.mind  rain 3--finish mak ka-yaka kanunh kanh dewdew.  3-fall   rainbird ‘The rainbird, we see the rain is finishing, when we see the rainbird going around it reminds us / lets us know the rain is finished, it won’t rain, that rainbird.’

A somewhat more involved use of the latter verb, augmented by the benefactive prefix, is the following example concerning the loss of memory for a long-dead ancestor: the

. To get something like the transitive meaning of ‘return’, it is necessary to use the comitative applicative: ye-dudjmû [COM-return] ‘return with’, ‘come back with’. . A couple of elements in this example need further checking: the verb brimû ~ birmû is not otherwise attested (though it may be a variant form of the bûrhmû ‘breathe’, and the verb dokkeyhwan may in fact be dokkeyhwon, which would be the expected causative form of dokkan ‘get up, arise’ (incorporated into won ‘give’, which then functions as a causative).

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

final clause is to be understood as ‘there is noone [OBJ] (left) whom (anything: SUBJ) can remind of him [I.OBJ]’, i.e. there is no-one left who remembers him. (21)

Babino kah-moyh-yo kah-bengmukm-inj, biy-dih, long.ago 3-sick-lie 3-forget- person- mak nabikeninj bûkah-marne-bengdayhke-y.  someone 3/3h--cause.to.have.in.mind- ‘He died and passed away from our memories long ago, he has been forgotten, there’s noone, there’s no one left who remembers him.’

In the above Examples (19–21), the whole event sequence, from external stimulus to mental process, is represented by a single verb. However, it is also possible to represent similar scenarios with a biclausal structure, with the prompting event represented by a verb of perception like ‘see’ (22), or of olfactory stimulation like bobmû ‘(emit/there be a) smell’ (23), followed by an intransitive verb representing the resultant change in mental state, such as kodj-yurdmû ‘have one’s thoughts run to’ (22) or kodj-lorrHmû ‘feel nostalgic’ (23). (22)

Kanunh bulu-no da-ye-bim-n-iyan,  father-3Poss 2/3--picture-see- nunh djah-lng-kodj-yurdm-iyan , djah-kodj-yurdm-iyan nidjarra  2--head-run- 2-head-run- this.way kanunh wurdurd kanh nga-ye-yaw-yidjnja-n.  child  1/3--child-have- ‘When you see a picture of her father, your thoughts will immediately run to her (i.e. you’ll immediately be reminded of her), that daughter of his who I have been bringing up (after he died).’

(23)

Karddulungh-no kah-karddulungh-bobmu, ngah-kodj-lorrHm-inj. smell.of.rain-3Poss 3-smell.of.rain-smell 1-head-be.nostalgic- ‘There’s a smell of rain coming up; I’ve started feeling nostalgic.’

It is also possible just to have the intransitive mental-state verb, leaving the imputation of causal stimulus to context, as in (24). (24)

[After listening to a tape of old people singing:] Ngah-kodj-lorrHmu, nunh kanunh nayungHyungki 1-head-be.nostalgic   old.people bal-e-wayirni-njyi. 3pl--sing- ‘I’m feeling nostalgic for that time when the old people used to sing.’

To close this section, it is worth noting that Dalabon culture gives wide recognition and systematisation to the role of ‘external memory’ in maintaining behaviour that is appropriate to the cycles of the seasons, on the one hand, and the cycles of life and death on the other. There is a complex system of ‘calendar metonymies’ (Evans 1997:146), which use clues such as the flowering of plants or the calling out of certain birds or

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insects to keep track of when particular seasonal activities of hunting, gathering and burning should take place. The verb bengdayhka – exemplified above in Example (20) – is normally used to report such connections, with the external stimulus as subject and the human rememberer as object. In the social realm, the posting and rescinding of name taboos after death remove and restore verbal stimuli prompting the memory of the departed. There are also physical reminders of bereavement periods, such as ceremonial necklaces (madjadj or manguyadj) worn by the bereaved spouse for some time after the death of their wife or husband, and whose ceremonial removal at a designated time signals their reintegration from mourning into normal life. The traditional customs of moving camp following a death, and of ‘smoking’ objects associated with a dead person (partly to remove any ‘smell’ of the dead person) also function to remove external stimuli to painful memories. The role of smell in prompting memories is particularly recognised by the central role assigned to the rains of the wet season which, by washing away any smells or detritus associated with the departed person, form a recognised watershed, as it were, for the passage from bereavement to the resumption of normal life.

.

How distinct are expressions of memory from those for other cognitive activity?

Now that we have investigated the conditions of use for expressions of memory in some detail, it is time to return to the question of what these verbs really mean: are they specialised for talking about memory, or do translations with English verbs for expressing memory emerge as particular contextual readings, especially through interaction with the aspectual system? The two verbs that most often get translated by English ‘remember’ – most commonly bengdi (with its semi-suppletive past perfective form bengdayhminj) but also bengkan (e.g. (10,11)) – are each used with a broad range of translation equivalents in particular contexts, that for bengdi includes ‘think’, ‘remember’, ‘attend to’ and ‘put one’s mind to, decide’ and for bengkan includes ‘know’, ‘think’ and ‘remember’. One analytic option would be to treat each as polysemous, with a chained set of senses spanning the above meanings. A more parsimonious alternative, which I will now argue for, is to try and capture a single meaning for each, from which the various contextual readings emerge from interactions with other grammatical elements in the verb (particularly the tense, aspect and mood inflections) and from other aspects of context.21 . A more complete version of my argument would address the issue of factivity, one of the key semantic parameters distinguishing ‘think’ or ‘believe’ from ‘know’. On the basis of our data so far, it appears that the Dalabon verbs both implicate rather than entail factivity, with the implicature cancellable by counterfactual particles or other modal devices in complement clauses, but the issue requires further investigation.

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

(Of course there are other intermediate positions, recognising a small number of senses plus contextual variants). We now consider each of these verbs in detail, after which we will look at the related causative verb bengdayhka (§4.3).

.

bengdi

The verb bengdi, etymologically, means ‘mind-stand’ as we saw in §2. This is used for a range of situations all characterised by conscious attention, of having a thought or experience termporarily in one’s conscious mind, or ‘at the top of one’s mind’. Used in the aspects that do not emphasise state transitions, such as the present or the past imperfective, this covers situations where the subject is attending or directing their thoughts to a goal over a short period (e.g. listening on the phone for an interlocutor in (25)) or placing a thought or a preoccupation at the centre of their thoughts or preoccupations, as in (26) where the subject is ‘standing by’ for news of a death. Other examples that we have seen above include (8), where the subject wakes up with a new song in their head – experiencing it for the first time – and (11), where they are holding a telephone number in their mind while memorising it. (25)

Djah-bengda-nginj. 2-have.in.mind- ‘You were listening out (on the phone, but nobody talked on the other end).’

(26)

Ngah-marnu-bengdi 1/3--have.in.mind nah-ngan kah-moyh-boyenj, kardu dawo mother-1sgPoss 3-sick-big maybe news kah-marnu-dudjm-iyan kardu kah-wahwiyan ngorrng. 3/1--return- maybe 3-depart.from- 12pl ‘I’m thinking about my mother, she’s really sick, word might come back to us any time that she has passed away from us.’

In non-transition aspects, this verb can also be used to denote situations of ‘deciding, putting one’s mind to’, as in: (27)

Ngah-bengda-nginj kinikin-kah kah-bo-ng 1-have.in.mind- other- 3-go- ngey-karn ngah-dudjm-inj. 1sg- 1-return- ‘I decided (had it in mind) to go to another place, where he had gone, but I came back.’

In addition to the above uses, none of which pertain to memory, this verb can be used for ‘remember’ in the sense of ‘return (thought, representation etc.) to conscious

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awareness’. In aspects not representing a state-transition, such as the present or future, it suggests ‘recall’ (28) or ‘try to remember’ (12): (28)

Bad kardu mak nga-bengka-n, manjyelek, money maybe  1/3-keep.in.mind- wait.now ngah-dja-bengda-ngiyan, ngah-kodj-da-ngiyan, 1/3-just-have.in.mind- 1-head-stand- wohkardu marruh nga-yu-nj, or.maybe somewhere 1/3-put- kardu bu kenbo ngah-dja-ngalk-iyan. maybe  later 1/3-just-find- ‘I can’t think right now where the money is, but in a while I’ll remember/recall where it is, it’ll come back to me, where I put it, and then maybe I’ll find it.’

This verb is often used in its past perfective form, which focusses on the transition from one mental state (not having in mind) to another (having in mind), to mean ‘remember’, in the sense of remembered information becoming accessible again.22 Many examples of this have already been given (see Examples 14–17 above); two further ones are: (29)

Ngah-bengdayhm-inj ngey-no manjh. 1/3-have.in.mind- name-3Poss animal ‘I remembered the animal’s name.’

(30)

Ngah-bengdayhm-inj ngah-yerrkk-iyan yilk-no-walung. 1-have.in.mind- 1/3-take.out- fire-3Poss- ‘I remembered to take it out of the fire.’

.

bengkan

This verb, etymologically ‘mind-carry’, emphasises the persistence of thoughts, knowledge and memories through time: perhaps the closest we can come to a single invariant meaning is ‘have continually in one’s mind’. In many contexts the best English translation is ‘know’ which, as a stative verb, naturally aligns with constancy of representation.23 Among the many examples of such uses are: (31)

Ngurrah-yawoyh-dulu-djerrngu-hm-iyan, 12pl/3-Ass-again-song-new-- ngurrah-karru-djerrngu-hm-iyan, 12pl/3-Ass-again-song-new--

. So far the past perfective form of this verb is only attested with ‘remember’ meanings – not for example, with other state-transition meanings like ‘come to think of X’, ‘begin to think of X’, ‘begin to pay attention to X (which one hadn’t been paying attention to before)’. The analysis advanced here predicts that such meanings should be possible; more research is needed to check this. . So far we do not have examples of the inceptive use of ‘know’, as in ‘at that moment I knew she was going to leave’, paraphrasable by ‘realise’. One would expect bengdayhminj, the past perfective form of the verb bengdi, to be used in these contexts, but this needs checking.

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

ba wurdurd bulah-dulu-won-iyan, bulah-lng-bengk-iyan. so child 3pl/3-language-hear- 3pl/3-Ass-Seq-keep.in.mind- ‘We’re going to renew that song/word/culture, so they’ll hear that language again, so they’ ll know it.’ (32)

Law ngey-kûn law ngah-dja-bengka-n, law 1sg- law 1/3-Ass-just-keep.in.mind- Mardayin Yaburdurrwa and whiteman law ngah-dja-bengka-n. [ceremony] [ceremony] 1/3-just-keep.in.mind- Warhdû-kûn ngah-bengka-n rowk. white.person- 1/3-Ass-keep.in.mind- all ‘I know my law, I know Mardayin, Yaburdurrwa and whiteman’s law, I know all that whitefeller stuff.’

(33)

Korrehkûn kurnh-no ngah-bengka-n. long.time country-3Poss 1/3-Ass- keep.in.mind- ‘I’ve known the country for a long time (lit. I know the country since a long time).’

(34)

Kanihdja-kah nga-ye-bo-ng, there- 1--go- kanihdja ngah-kurnh-na-ng, ngah-kurnh-bengka-n. there 1/3-country-see- 1/3-country-keep.in.mind- ‘That’s where I went, I know that country now.’

(35)

Biy ngorr kah-marnû-burlhm-inj man 12 3/1--appear- kardu nulah-bengka-n korrehkun, maybe 2pl-keep.in.mind- before wohkardu Balang kardu bukah-bengka-n. or.else Balang maybe 3/3h-keep.in.mind- ‘The man who has come to us, maybe you know him from before, or maybe Balang knows him.’

(36)

Barrah-bomung mak nunh keninjh burra-bengka-n 3du-be.ignorant   what 3du/3-keep.in.mind- barrah-bomung, burrah-karrû-warhwa-n. 3du-be.ignorant 3du/3-culture-not.have.in.mind- ‘They’re ignorant, they don’t know anything, they are forgetting their culture.’

In certain contexts this verb can be used to represent situations translatable by ‘remember’ in English. Firstly, it can be used in negative contexts where the lack of memory persists through time; English allows either ‘don’t remember’ or ‘don’t know’ to be used virtually interchangeably here: (37)

Kardu mak nga-bengka-n kanunh kirdikird dje-no maybe  1/3-keep.in.mind- that girl face-3Poss ‘I can’t remember what that girl looks like (anymore). / I don’t know what that girl looks like (anymore).’

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Nicholas Evans

Secondly, it may be used in contexts where persistence of memory is emphasised (often against a negated ‘forget’ (38, 39, 40)), or with a span established by a phrase like ‘from before’, as in (41), or where memories keep recurring (here allowing either ‘keep remembering’ or ‘keep thinking about’ in English) (42). (38)

Nidjarra bulu-ngan ngah-yo bukorrûhkun like.this father-1sgPoss 1-sleep long.time.ago bah ngah-dje-wara-waral-na-n, ngah-dja-bengka-n, mak nga-bengmuk. but 1/3-face--spirit-see- 1/3-just-keep.in.mind-  1-forget Dorrung-no ngah-bengka-n, dje-no ngah-bengkan. body-3sgPoss 1/3-keep.in.mind- face-3sgPoss 1/3-keep.in.mind- ‘I saw my father’s ghost from long before while I was asleep, I can still remember his face, I haven’t forgotten, I can still remember his body, and his face.’

(39)

Nidjarra biyi kah-burlhm-inj ngah-dorrung-bengka-n this.way man 3-arrive- 1/3-body-keep.in.mind- korrehkun ngah-dorrung-na-ninj. from.before 1/3-body-see- ‘The man who arrived, I recognise him, I know/remember him from having seen him before.’

(40)

Mak yala-bengmuk, yilah-dja-bengka-n walu-no  1pl-forget 1pl/3-just-keep.in.mind- law-3Poss daworro-bulng yilah-dja-bengka-n. clan-3plPoss 1pl/3-just-keep.in.mind- ‘We don’t forget, we still know/remember the law, we still know/remember the clans.’

(41)

Nunh ngah-dja-bengka-n, mak nga-bengmukm-iyan,  1/3-just-keep.in.mind-  1/3-forget- mak nga-bengmukm-û.  1/3-forget- ‘I still remember his face, I’ll never forget it.’

(42)

Ngah-dje-bukirribo-ng bah kodj-ngan-kah 1/3-face-dream- but head-1sgPoss- ngah-dja-bengka-n mak nga-kodj-mukmu. 1/3-just-keep.in.mind-  1-head-be.buried ‘I saw a face when I woke up and I keep thinking about it / I keep remembering it, I can’t forget the face.’

In some examples, bengkan is used of unfolding memories where one would expect bengdi to be used; it is likely that this emphasises the on-going nature of the memoryderived sensation. The only two examples of this so far are: (43)

Nga-balan-bo-ng 1-almost-go-

bulu-ngan dje-no ngah-bengka-ng father-1sgPoss face-3Poss 1/3-keep.in.mind-

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

medmu-no-dorrung kah-marnu-dje-buyhwo-rr-inj, face.to.face-3Poss- 3/1--face-show-- ngah-dje-waral-na-ng. 1/3-face-spirit-see- ‘I was walking around and suddenly I saw my father’s remembered face (in front of me), I saw the face of his spirit.’ (44)

.

Kah-yawoyh-marnû-dudjm-inj kanûm-ngan-kah, 3-again--return- ear-1sgPoss- ngah-dje-bengka-n dorrng-no-dorrûngh ka-ye-bobo-n. 1/3-face-keep.in.mind- body-3Poss- 3--walk- ‘It’s starting to come back to me again, I’m remembering her face, and her body, how she walked.’

bengdayhka

Though this verb is formally the causative of bengdi, the verb bengkan lacks a corresponding causative, and in terms of its semantics bengdayhka is best seen as the causative form of both of these verbs, with a neutralisation of the ‘have in mind’ vs ‘keep in mind’ distinction made in the non-causative forms. In many cases the best translation is ‘remind’ – i.e. ‘cause to have (temporarily, or currently in conscious) mind’; Examples are (45) and (46) as well as (20) above, with (21) above an example where it means ‘cause to (continue to) have in mind’. In each of these cases the corresponding non-causative verb would be bengdi But it can also mean ‘make understand, teach, put into a state where one knows about something’ (47), in which case the corresponding non-causative verb would be bengkan. This is not the normal word for ‘teach’, however, which is buyhwon ‘show; teach’. (45)

Nunh kanh tape ngah-wona-ng, yang-walûng,   1/3-Ass-listen- language- kah-lng-bengdayhka-ng kah-dulu-wona-ng, 3/1-Ass--cause.to.have.in.mind- 3/3-song-listen- kanh Dalabon ka-ye-yenjdju-ng Dalabon-walûng.  Dalabon 3--speak- Dalabon- ‘That tape I listened to, in language, it reminded me, as she listened to the song, how she speaks Dalabon.’

(46)

Djah-bengdayhk-iyan, k(an)unh kah-marnu-bawo-yan tape, 1/2-cause.to.have.in.mind-  2/1--leave- tape kuhdu wudji-kodj-muk, mak wuda-lng-bengka-n, thus 2-head-be.buried  2/3--keep.in.mind- kanunh korre dja-bengdayhka ngey-yih.  before 1/2-cause.to.have.in.mind 1sg- ‘I’ll remind you to leave me the tape, in case you forget, in case you don’t manage to remember, I’ll remind you beforehand.’

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Nicholas Evans

(47)

.

Bulah-bengdayhka-nj ngorr wurrhwurrungu-yih. 3pl/1-Ass-cause.to.have.in.mind- 12pl old.people- ‘The old people made us understand / taught us.’

Conclusion

Dalabon is an interesting example of a language that offers a number of distinct ways of talking about remembering – and which appears to conceptualise the dimensions of memory in a way that is reassuringly familiar and unexotic to English speakers – but without having any lexicalised verb for ‘remember’. Expressions exist that distinguish whether the stimulus is internal or external, whether the recall process is under conscious control or not, whether the memory is only promoted for a short time into consciousness or is held there longer, and whether the memory is additionally tinged with feeling and regret (kodj-lorrhmû ‘feel nostalgic’), but only in the last case is there a dedicated lexical item. Everywhere else, the verbs used to describe memory have a range of other cognitive meanings – predominantly ‘think’, ‘know’, and ‘attend’ – that interact with the aspectual system to give memory senses in contexts where the aspect – particularly the past perfective – signals a state transition (i.e. begin to attend to, begin to think about). But where continuous or persistent memory is at issue, memory readings are also available with other aspectual values (e.g. ‘I still remember his face’). Though the main focus of this paper has been on memory rather than forgetting, it is worth pointing out that one of the two main Dalabon verbs for ‘forgetting’ – warhwan (§2.1) exhibits a similar interaction between a broader cognitive meaning (roughly: ‘not have in mind’) and aspect, yielding the ‘forget’ meaning primarily in the aspect most amenable to memory readings – the past perfective – and elsewhere meaning ‘be ignorant of, not know about’. The other forget verb, bengmukmû, however, is so far only attested with the ‘forget’ meaning, perhaps because its focus is on the unconscious ‘mind as container’ being covered over or blocked.24 The conclusions in this paper are necessarily tentative and restricted, because of our limited knowledge of Dalabon, but nonetheless show the interest of cross-linguistic studies of lexemes in the cognitive domain (Fortescue 2001, Goddard 2003). This domain has received less than its due attention in semantic typology, and is not simple to investigate because of its non-ostensible denotations, and because – as we have seen here for Dalabon – it can exhibit subtle interactions with aspect25 and other inflectional categories.26 Given that the fragile languages many linguists work with only . Conceivably it could also be used in situations where the subject is unable to come up with e.g. a solution or some other novel thought not dependent on memory, but based on the contents of the mind in some sense. .

Cf Bulygina & Shmelev (1989) for related problems in Russian.

. Volitionality/intentionality would presumably also interact in a major way in languages that grammaticalise this.

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

continue to exist thanks to the exceptional memories of their teachers, who have succeeded in holding them in their minds despite years of neglect and mainstream cultural encroachment, the question of how they conceptualise the memory that permits their survival deserves more of our attention.

Appendix: on definition constructions and primitives In the very lively discussion with Anna Wierzbicka and Cliff Goddard that followed the original presentation of this talk, where they disagreed with my use of beng/mind without definition, and my position that neither ‘think’ nor ‘know’ should be treated as semantic primitives in Dalabon, some differences of analysis emerged which it may be useful to recapitulate briefly here. My overall position – which reflects a skepticism that exact exponents for all putative ‘semantic primitives’ can be found in all languages – is that different languages may use different basic building blocks to construct (semantically) more complex expressions which may then be intertranslatable, cross-linguistically, at a higher level. In other words, I think one should be careful to keep distinct the two fundamental assumptions of the NSM school of semantics, namely that: (a)

each language can be used as its own metalanguage, eventually leading (if one enforces non-circular definitions) to an undefinable basic set of ‘semantic primitives’ when one carries out far-reaching and rigorous definitional research in a given language (b) the set of ‘semantic primitives’ yielded by (a) in each language is isomorphic and directly intertranslateable., reflecting what Leibniz called ‘the alphabet of human thought’, a metaphor frequently cited in the writings of Wierzbicka, Goddard and others working within this tradition.

Given that different languages represent different sociohistorical solutions to the problem of constructing a way of talking about the world, one can hold (a) to be true (though perhaps only after a certain amount of metalinguistic cultivation has taken place) without necessarily holding (b): there are different pathways to the same overall goal. Particularly in the case of mental predicates, I would hold, where the shared ostension between speakers is far from obvious due to the non-inspectability of mental states, and where it is not clear that the different types of mental phenomenon illustrate criterion-clustering in the way that, say, natural species do, one can expect a good deal of cross-linguistic variation. I will now illustrate this issue with a definition of bengdi that treats it as non-primitive, constructed from other elements.1 Now from the English angle, one could certainly define √beng in terms of ‘know’ and ‘think’, in much the same way that Goddard & Wierzbicka (2003:1100) define . I should emphasise that this definition is constructed by the author and that I have not yet had an opportunity to check it with speakers.

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Nicholas Evans

English ‘mind’ as ‘one of two parts of a person . . . because of this part, a person can think; because of this part, a person can know’. √beng / √kanûm2 could be defined in the following way (with a couple of slight changes – localising it in the ear, where Dalabon speakers believe it to be, and being non-committal about the number of parts altogether): √beng / √kanûm22 one of the parts of a person people cannot see this part this part is inside a person’s ear because of this part (having this part?), a person can think and know because of this part, a person can say: this thing happened to me

But though this definition works for English, thanks to the existence of ‘think’ and ‘know’ as primitives,3 it will not work in Dalabon if, as I have argued in this paper, there are no verbs that exactly represent ‘think’ or ‘know’. In Dalabon, I argue, the chain of definition proceeds in the other direction: if we take √beng as a primitive, we can then use it to define bengdi (and also bengkan, though I do not focus on this here).4 Here is a possible definition of bengdi along these lines. Note that, to avoid the artificiality of defining a bound stem in isolation (at this stage of metalinguistic discussion in Dalabon) I furnish the definition for a verb in the first person singular (present assertive form), with the bracketed ngey ngah- indicating ‘I, 1st singular assertive-’. Note also that, because of the apparent combinatorial restrictions on beng, I use the second, cognitive sense of kanûm ‘ear’ as an ‘allolex’ of beng in the definition to give greater combinatorial flexibility, allowing combination with nominal possessives etc..

.

The √ indicates that this lexeme only occurs as a bound morpheme.

. This it not to say I accept theirs as the only analysis for English. The philosophical tradition that treats knowing as ‘properly caused true belief ’ (cf Perner 1991:266) suggests a fruitful line for explicating ‘know’ in languages like English. .

A possible definition of bengkan might be the following: Ngahdjayidjnjan manjkerninj kanûmngankah munguyh Kanunhyih ngahwernhbengdi Kanunhyih, bu ngayedjare, ngahwernhwonawonan wohkardu ngahwernhyin menmunguhdjam I keep something in my kanûm (=beng) for a long time Because of this I can “bengdi” properly Because of this, when I want to, I can experience things properly or I can do all sorts of things properly

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

Definition of bengdi [Dalabon] (ngey ngah-)bengdi 1. Dubmi-yah manjh-kerninjh kah-burlhmû kanûm-ngan-kah 2. Wohkardû kahnûnda ngah-burlhka, wohkardû kah-dja-marnû-burlhmû 3. Ngah-wonan manjhkeninjh (kodj-ngan-kah) kanunhyih. [Free English translation] (ngey ngah-)bengdi At this time something is happening in my beng/kanûm (I can make this something happen, or it can just happen to me) I am seeing or hearing or feeling something (in my head) because of that Interlinear version of Dalabon definition5 1. Dubmi-yah manjh-kerninjh kah-burlhmû kanûm-ngan-kah now-just something 3-Ass-come.up ear/mind-1sgPoss-

. Notes on Dalabon definition

Line 1. In our dictionary (Evans, Merlan & Tukumba 2004) we don’t list a word for ‘happen’, but in fact burlhmû ‘come up, arrive, appear’ appears a reasonable candidate, though I need to check this out. It’s hard to get a perfect translation for ‘something’, but manjhkerninjh looks like the best at this stage. A related word, kerninjhbi, which I’ve translated as ‘whatsitsname’ in the dictionary, may in fact work better. Line 2. There is no synthetic causative, but many verbs have intransitive / transitive pairs, with the final portion taking the form -mû in the intransitive and -ka in the transitive, which has a causal sense. Hence burlhka, lit. ‘bring up, cause to emerge’ for ‘make happen’. The dja- prefix and the benefactive applicative on burlhmû in the last line, convey the sense of ‘just happen to me’ (without my volition). Line 3.

(a)

(b)

I’m not sure whether it would be better to give a disjunctive list of verbs (ngahnan, ngahwonan) to include seeing, hearing and feeling. However, in line with what David Wilkins and I talk about in our Mind’s Ear paper (Evans & Wilkins 2000), you can use wonan, literally ‘hear’, for ‘feel’ as well, and since we wrote that paper I’ve also recorded an example where it is extended to ‘noticing of a visual cue’ (seeing a green ant nest in a tree for the first time), so the single verb wonan can cover all three of these senses, with a range closer to the English verb ‘sense’. the instrumental suffix can be used with the sense ‘because of, owing to’, hence its combination with kanunh ‘this’ here.

The bracketed phrase ‘inside my head’ may be unnecessary, but see Examples 8, 12 and 22–24 for illustrations of it being used in the relevant sense.

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Nicholas Evans

2.

3.

Kardû kahnûnda ngah-burlhka, maybe this 1/3-bring.up kardû kah-dja-marnû-burlhmû maybe 3sg-just-BEN-come.up Ngah-wonan manjhkeninjh (1/3-sense- something (kodj-ngan-kah) kanunh-yih. (head-1sgPoss-) this-

Abbreviations in glosses ABL APPR As BEN COM CONTRFAC DEM EMPH ERG F FAC GEN h INSTR ITER LOC NEG PCUST PI Poss PP PR PURP RR SEQ sg SUB TEMP 1/3, etc. 3/3h 12

ablative apprehensive assertative benefactive (applicative) comitative counterfactual demonstrative emphatic ergative future factitive genitive (also covers purposive uses) higher animate (object, only with 3sg subject) instrumental iterative locative negative past customary past imperfective possessed noun, e.g. 1sg Poss ‘noun possessed by first person singular’ past perfective present purposive reflexive/reciprocal sequential singular subordinate temporal 1st person singular subject acting on third person singular object, etc. 3rd person singular subject acting on third person higher animate 1st person inclusive (first plus second person)

Chapter 4. Standing up your mind

References Alpher, B., Evans, N. and Harvey, M. 2003. Proto-Gunwinyguan verb suffixes. In The NonPama-Nyungan Languages of Northern Australia: Comparative Studies of the Continent’s Most Linguistically Complex Region, N. Evans (ed), 305–352. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics. Auroux, S. 1989. Histoire des idées linguistiques. I. La naissance des metalangages en Orient et en Occident. Liège & Sprimont: Mordage. Bulygina, T.V. and Shmelev, A.L. 1989. Mental’nye predikaty v aspekte aspektologii. Logicheskij analiz jazyka. Problemy intensional’nyx i pragmaticheskix kontekstov. Moscow. D’Andrade, R. 1987. The folk model of the mind. In Cultural Models in Language and Thought, D. Holland and N. Quinn (eds). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. D’Andrade, R. 1995. The Development of Cognitive Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Evans, N. 1997. Sign metonymies and the problem of flora-fauna polysemy in Australian linguistics. In Boundary Rider. Essays in Honour of Geoffrey O’Grady, D. Tryon and M. Walsh (eds). Canberra: Pacific Linguistics. C-136. Evans, N. 2003. Bininj Gun-wok: a Pan-dialectal Grammar of Mayali, Kunwinjku and Kune (2 vols). Canberra: Pacific Linguistics. Evans, N, Brown, D. and Corbett, G. 2001. Dalabon pronominal prefixes and the typology of syncretism: a Network Morphology analysis. Yearbook of Morphology 2000, 187–231. Evans, N., Merlan, F. and Tukumba, M. 2004. A First Dictionary of Dalabon. Maningrida: Bawinanga Aboriginal Corporation. Evans, N. and Merlan, F. 2003. Dalabon verb conjugations. In The Non-Pama-Nyungan Languages of Northern Australia: Comparative Studies of the Continent’s most Linguistically Complex Region, N. Evans (ed), 269–283. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics. Evans, N. and Wilkins, D. 2000. In the mind’s ear: the semantic extension of perception verbs in Australian languages. Language 76: 546–592. Fortescue, M. 2001. Thoughts about thought. Cognitive Linguistics 12 (1): 15–46. Goddard, C. 2003. Thinking across languages and cultures: six dimensions of variation. Cognitive Linguistics 14 (2–3): 109–140. Goddard, C and Wierzbicka, A. 2003. Semantics and cognition. In Encyclopaedia of Cognitive Science. Basingstoke, England: Macmillan. 1096–1102. Maddock, K. 1970. A structural interpretation of the Mirriri. Oceania 40: 165–76. Perner, J. 1991. Understanding the Representational Mind. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press. Sandefur, J.R. and J.L. 1979. Beginnings of a Ngukurr-Bamyili Creole Dictionary. Darwin: SILAAB, Work Papers of SIL-AAB, Series B, Volume 4. Sweetser, E. 1990. From Etymology to Pragmatics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Van Valin, R.D. and Wilkins, D. 1993. Predicting syntactic structure from semantic representations: Remember in English and its equivalents in Mparntwe Arrernte. In Studies in Role and Reference Grammar, R.D. Van Valin (ed). Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

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 

The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian* Anna A. Zalizniak The paper deals with the reconstruction of the Russian linguistic model of the memory by means of semantic analysis of Russian verbs denoting mental states of remembering and forgetting. In general, the semantics of Russian remembering/ forgetting verbs is structured by the analogy with the sphere of posessing/losing. In particular, the semantic analysis of Russian memory verbs provides evidence for differentiation of experiential and informational memory. The Russian verb zabyt’ (‘to forget’) demonstrates some striking peculiarities of aspectual behaviour which result from its semantics. In Russian there are at least three different ways of conceptualization of forgetting, the main of them being “the covering with something like mist, which gradually becomes more and more opaque”, which is present in the verb zabyt’ itself.

.

Introduction

The aim of this paper is to describe a fragment of the Russian linguistic model of memory, which can be reconstructed by means of the semantic analysis of Russian verbs that denote mental states of remembering (pomnit’, vspomnit’, vspominat’, zapomnit’) and forgetting (zabyt’, zabyvat’, zapamjatovat’). I will call these verbs ‘memory verbs’. Apart from the above-mentioned four verbs meaning ‘to remember’ and three verbs meaning ‘to forget’, in Russian a series of speech act verbs exist that derive from the basic meaning ‘to remember’: napomnit’ and napominat’ (‘to remind’ <something to somebody>), upominat’ and upomjanut’ (‘to mention’), and pomjanut’ (‘to remember’ <someone dead>). The impersonal verbs (vspomnit’sja, vspominat’sja) and impersonal constructions (with pomnitsja) will also be taken into consideration. In my analysis I will concentrate on some problems of special interest for myself, namely, on the aspectual semantics of Russian memory verbs and on the implications of their inner

* This work was supported by RFBR, grant no. 03-06-80133a and no. 05-06-80063a. The examples taken from the National Corpus of Russian have the reference sign [ruscorpora].



Anna A. Zalizniak

form, that is, the semantics of the word formation model used in them. Linguistic properties of the substantive pamjat’ (‘memory’), as well as different types of memory important from psychological and cultural points of view will not be discussed here (see, Dmitrovskaja 1991, Kubrjakova 1991, Uryson 2003: 37–41, Bragina 2003). In Russian there are at least four verbs corresponding to the English to remember – pomnit’, vspomnit’, vspominat’, zapomnit’ – which differ in their meaning and belong to different ontological categories. The verb vspominat’ can also be translated as ‘to recall’ and ‘to recollect’, while zapomnit’ has the additional meaning ‘to memorise’.1 One of the most important peculiarities of the Russian linguistic model of memory results from the existence of an opposition between a state, described in the imperfective verb pomnit’, and a process, encoded in another imperfective verb vspominat’. The perfective verbs zapomnit’ and vspomnit’ represent a third ontological category: an event, i.e., the transition to another state, roughly from ‘not remember’ to ‘remember’ in the case of zapomnit’ or from ‘remember’ to ‘not remember’ to ‘remember’ again in the case of vspomnit’. Turovskij (1991) demonstrates that there is a striking analogy between a series of Russian memory verbs and verbs of possession/loss with respect to several linguistic properties. According to Turovskij, this analogy is due to the fact that the concept of remembering/forgetting is constructed in Russian on the basis of the concept of possession/loss: pomnit’ corresponds to imet’ (‘to possess’), zabyt’ to poterjat’ (‘to lose’), vspomnit’ to najti (‘to find’), vspominat’1 to naxodit’ (‘to find’ in iterative contexts), vspominat’2 to iskat’ (‘to search’).2 It is noteworthy that the object of all these operations is not the information itself, but its address, the path which leads to its location in the storage of memory. Indeed, Ja zabyl ego familiju (‘I forgot his name’) is said when we cannot remember it now: not merely when the information has left the memory forever, but – and perhaps more frequently – when it has simply escaped from the memory at the moment of speaking. In the same way we say Ja poterjal ètu knigu (‘I have lost this book’) when it cannot be found – perhaps we will find it later and say našel ‘I found it’ or, in the case of a forgotten name, vspomnil ‘I remembered it’. Although some qualifications are necessary, the analogy between these two series of verbs is convincing. I would suggest the addition of one more pair of verbs which have similar linguistic properties: zabyvat’ – terjat’. If we consider the analogy ‘to possess’ ~ ‘to remember’ from the general cognitive point of view, we should recall the French verb retenir, which has the meaning ‘to keep,

. Cf. also possible English periphrases, e.g., to bear in mind for the verb pomnit’; to call to mind for vspomnit’; to commit to memory for zapomnit’. . Vspominat’1 is an imperfective correlate for vspomnit’ in the meaning of a non-controllable event; vspominat’2 correlates with vspomnit’ in the meaning of a purposeful mental activity and has its own conative meaning ‘try to remember’ (see Bulygina and Shmelev 1989); the problem will be discussed in more detail in Section 2.3.

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian

to retain’ as well as ‘to keep in mind’ (and which, incidentally, derives from the Latin tenere ‘keep in hands’).

. .

The conceptualisation of remembering To remember and to know

The main Russian memory verb pomnit’, according to the Dictionary of Contemporary Russian Language, means ‘to keep in mind, not to forget’. So, pomnju (‘I remember’) means ‘I still have not forgotten (though I could have)’; hence, zabyt’ appears to be semantically simpler than pomnit’. A similar analysis has been proposed by Anna Wierzbicka for the English remember, which “seems to be something very much like a negated forget. In some uses it seems to be a negated forget.” (Wierzbicka 1972: 230). Cf. (1) and (2) which are synonymous. (1)

Did you remember to ring Bill?

(2)

Did you not forget to ring Bill?

It is noteworthy that in Russian it’s impossible to say the literal equivalent of (1). Such a meaning can be expressed only by a sentence containing a semantic decomposition, corresponding to the English sentence (2), cf. (3)

Ty ne zabyl pozvonit’ Billu?

I propose the following explanation: one cannot say in Russian I remembered to ring Bill because in Russian there is no appropriate verb of remembering. Not one of the four above-mentioned verbs of remembering can be used in this context. The verbs pomnit’ and vspominat’ do not fit because they are imperfective (and in this sentence, only a perfective verb can be used). But neither can the perfective verbs vspomnit’ or zapomnit’ fit: vspomnit’ implies that the object was forgotten for a certain period of time (a semantic component which is absent in I remembered to ring Bill), while zapomnit’ fits neither semantically (meaning roughly ‘to begin to remember’) nor syntactically (it cannot take a subordinate infinitive). Hence the only possible way of rendering the meaning of the English sentence I remembered to ring Bill is Ja ne zabyl pozvonit’ Billu. The semantic analysis of verbs meaning ‘remember’ and ‘forget’ has a rather long history (see its short overview in Wierzbicka 1972: 228, Apresjan 2003: 15). One of the main problems here is whether both verbs include the semantic primitive ‘to know’. Anna Wierzbicka (1972) proposes explications for five different uses of the English verb remember.3 Two of them do include the semantic primitive ‘to know’ (John remembers . Two of them – “I’ve just remembered what Mary’s maiden name was” and “At that moment John remembered his umbrella” – correspond to the Russian verb vspomnit’, and not pomnit’.



 Anna A. Zalizniak

Mary’s name and I’ve just remembered what Mary’s maiden name was); others do not, having the components ‘imagine’ or ‘think ’ in its stead. In her newest work, Anna Wierzbicka provides an explication for the English remember which does not include the semantic primitive ‘to know’ and is based instead on the component ‘think ’ (Wierzbicka 2007); the same solution is chosen by Van Valin and Wilkins (1993). There are, however, also convincing arguments for including the meaning ‘know’ into the semantic decomposition of ‘remember’. A principal reason rests on the fact that according to a linguistic, as well as a scientific view of the world, memory represents a depository of knowledge. Actually in some contexts the expression X remembers P implies that X knows P and X has forgotten P implies that (at that moment) X does not know P, both expressions still have the presupposition that ‘X knew P at some earlier time’.4 Apresjan (2001) therefore proposes the following formulae for the Russian verbs pomnit’ and zabyt’ (which are not, however, real definitions). (4)

A person pomnit P (someone’s address, telephone number etc.) if at a certain moment in the past this person had known P, such knowledge could have fallen from memory but did not, and it is present at the moment of observation.

(5)

A person zabyl P, if at a certain moment in the past this person had known P, such knowledge has fallen from memory and he does not know it at the moment of observation (and he or another observer knows this).

The argument in favour of an analysis of ‘remember’ incorporating the sense of ‘knowing’ is also present in German, where, in some contexts, the most idiomatic way to express the idea ‘I remember’ is ich weiss noch (literally I still know). Cf. the following Russian sentence (6a) and its German translation (6b). (6)

a. b.

Ved’ bylo vremja, Nikolaj Alekseevič, kogda ja vas Nikolen’koj zvala, a vy menja – pomnite kak? (Bunin. Temnye allei). Gab es doch eine Zeit, Nikolaj Alexeevitsch, da habe ich Sie Nikolenka genannt, und Sie nannten mich – wissen Sie noch, wie?5

Russian linguistic data do not, however, confirm such a semantic decomposition. If the meaning ‘remember’ includes the meaning ‘know’, one should expect that the

. So, when asked to continue a quotation, one can reply I do not remember instead of I do not know in order to conceal the fact that he or she has never heard it before. . Cf. the possible German equivalent for ja zabyl (‘I forgot’) – ich weiss nicht mehr <wie er heisst>, literally, ‘I do not know any more ’ and for Ja vspomnil (‘I have remembered’) – jetzt weiss ich wieder <wie er heisst>, literally, ‘I know once again ’.

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

meaning of a sentence with the verb pomnit’ includes the meaning of the same sentence with znat’. This, however, is not the case. In the majority of cases the substitution of znat’ for pomnit’ is impossible, i.e., it results in an anomalous sentence, cf. Examples (7)–(8). (7)

Ja pomnju (*znaju) čudnoe mgnoven’e: / Peredo mnoj javilas’ ty, / Kak mimoletnoe viden’e, / Kak genij čistoj krasoty ‘I remember (*know) the wonderful moment / When you appeared before me / As a fleeting phantom, / As a ghost of pure beauty’ (Puskin)6

(8)

Pomnju (*znaju) ja, kak naši obe golovy vdrug očutilis’ v dušnoj, poluprozračnoj, paxučej mgle, kak v ètoj mgle blizko i mjagko svetilis’ ee glaza i gorjačo dyšali raskrytye guby . . . ‘I remember (*know), how both our heads suddenly plunged into a stuffy, translucent haze, how closely and softly glowed her eyes and hotly breathed her opened lips. . .’ (Turgenev. First Love)

There are other contexts where such a substitution is possible, cf. (9)

a. b.

(10)

a. b.

(11)

a. b.

Ja pomnju tablicu umnoženija (pervyj zakon N’jutona) ‘I remember the multiplication table (Newton’s first law)’ Ja znaju tablicu umnoženija (pervyj zakon N’jutona) ‘I remember the multiplication table (Newton’s first law)’ Ja pomnju, kogda proizošlo sraženie pri Vaterloo ‘I remember when the battle of Waterloo took place’ Ja znaju, kogda proizošlo sraženie pri Vaterloo ‘I know when the battle of Waterloo took place’ Ja pomnju ego babušku ‘I remember his grandmother’ Ja znaju ego babušku ‘I know his grandmother’

In these examples, however, the meaning of the sentence with znat’ does not always constitute a part of the meaning of the sentence with pomnit’: it does in (9) and (10) but not in (11). The sentence with znat’ often includes some additional semantic components in comparison with the same sentence with pomnit’. So, when the verb znat’ is used with a complement referring to a person, it means ‘to be acquainted with somebody’ and it requires, so to speak, an “existential agreement”: if the person in question is dead, the verb to know, as well as to love, to hate and other verbs of emotional attitude must be used in the past tense. It means that knowledge is considered in the Russian language as a kind of mutual relation which ends with the death of

. Example from Turovskij (1991). The author explains the impossibility of znat’ in such contexts by the fact that one cannot know an image.

 Anna A. Zalizniak

each participant.7 However, the verb pomnit’ does not have such a requirement. This is why sentence (11a) does not include the meaning of (11b): in (11b) only a living person can be referred to. So, three types of cases should be distinguished here. Those in which: (i) the substitution of pomnit’ with znat’ is impossible; (ii) the substitution is possible, and the meaning of the sentence with znat’ is included in that with pomnit’; (iii) the substitution is possible, but the meaning of the sentence with znat’ has some additional semantic components. These divergences are related to the fact that the verb pomnit’ can designate two different types of memory, which we shall call experiential memory and informational memory, respectively. Experiential memory consists in the preservation of an impression, a fragment of personal experience; informational memory represents the preservation of knowledge, of information about some fact, which usually is received by the person from some external informational source.8 The substitution of znat’ for pomnit’, without the appearance of any additional semantic component (case (ii)) is possible only when pomnit’ describes informational memory – because this type of memory presupposes knowledge. Indeed, if someone remembers his school teacher’s name or the date of the battle of Waterloo, it is also true that he or she knows it. But if a person remembers, for example, his meeting with a woman (that is, preserves his own impression of it) one could not say that this person knows it (cf. Examples (7) and (8)). In the domain of experiential memory, we can examine two sets of contexts. In one, the substitution of pomnit’ with znat’ is impossible (case (i)): one cannot know one’s meeting with somebody, one’s trip to Crimea and so on. In the other, substitution is possible, but with a certain semantic shift (case (iii)). Actually, one can know a city, a person, and even a feeling or sensation (cf. Example (14b) below), but here we are obviously dealing with another type of knowledge: not the knowledge of information (of the multiplication table, of the date of the battle of Waterloo etc.), but experiential knowledge or acquaintance with a person or thing. Experiential knowledge, furthermore, differs considerably from experiential memory: this is why in such contexts the verb pomnit’ cannot be replaced by znat’. The difference results from the fact that the object of experiential memory is a single situation in the past, as in Examples (12) and (13a). But such a single situation cannot be the object of experiential knowledge, because experiential knowledge includes generalisation as a necessary element, cf. (14a) and (14b).

. I would say that this contradicts our “extra-linguistic” model of the world, according to which we do not stop loving and surely do not stop knowing someone because of his or her death. . One of the possible sources of knowledge is one’s own personal experience; this type of knowledge also can be the object of informational memory, see Section 2.2.

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

(12)

Pomnju trojku udaluju, / Vspyški dal’nix zarnic, / Vašu pozu ustaluju, / Ten’ ot dlinnyx resnic ‘I remember a daring trojka, / The flashes of remote lightning, / Your tired posture, / The shade of your long eyelashes’.

(13)

a.

(14)

a. ??Ja znaju kak trudno mne bylo otkazat’sja ‘I know how difficult it was for me to refuse’ b. Ja znaju, kak trudno byvaet v takix sučajax otkazat’sja ‘I know how difficult it is to refuse in such situations’

Ja pomnju, kak trudno mne bylo otkazatjsja ‘I remember how difficult it was for me to refuse’. b. ??Ja pomnju, kak trudno byvaet v takix slučajax otkazyvat’sja ‘I remember how difficult it is to refuse in such situations’

Thus, the difference in the restrictions imposed upon the referential status of the subordinate proposition is the reason that it is impossible to substitute znat’ for pomnit’ in the case of experiential memory. For non-propositional objects such differences do not exist (the concrete referential status of the complement is acceptable for both verbs), and therefore the substitution is possible. In sentences with the verb znat’ additional components appear, because, unlike informational memory which is secondary with respect to knowledge (one can only remember the information one knows), experiential memory is, in a way, predominant with respect to the corresponding kind of knowledge, which is based upon experiential memory and includes an additional component of generalisation. These considerations concerning the use of the Russian verbs pomnit’ and znat’ have to be accounted for when creating the lexicographic explication of the verb pomnit’ (which is not my task here). The best solution, I believe, is that proposed for the English verb remember by Wierzbicka (1972), in which several meanings are distinguished, and the semantic primitive ‘know’ is included only in those which correspond to informational memory.

.

Experiential and informational memory: syntactic evidence

Evidence for the opposition of experiential and informational memory is also found in Russian syntax. In Russian, there are two main syntactic means by which the verb pomnit’ may introduce the subordinate proposition: using the subordinating conjunctions čto (‘that’) and kak (‘how’, ‘as’).9

. Here we speak about the subordinative conjunction kak. In sentences like Ty pomniš’, kak peč’ jabločnyj pirog; kak rešat’ takie zadači (‘You remember how to make an apple cake, how to solve such problems’) etc. another kak occurs – a manner adverb (in English it is rendered by how to). In such cases pomnit’ refers to informational memory: hence the possibility of its substitution with znat’, cf. I know how to make an apple cake etc.

 Anna A. Zalizniak

Compare the following: (15)

a.

b.

Ja pomnju, čto letom 1990 goda my s synom putešestvovali po Krymu ‘I remember, that in the Summer of 1990 I travelled around the Crimea with my son’ Ja pomnju, kak letom 1990 goda my s synom putešestvovali po Krymu ‘I remember travelling around the Crimea with my son in the Summer of 1990’.

These sentences are semantically very close, but not identical; the difference between them consists in the opposition of informational memory rendered by the construction pomnit’ čto (15a) and experiential memory rendered by pomnit’ kak (15b).10 It seems likely that the same difference exists between the English constructions I remember switching off the light and I remember that I switched off the light, described by the oppositions “experiential vs. non-experiential point of view” (Lyons 1982) and “remember that (factual) vs. remember doing (experiential)” (Goddard 2007). Experiential memory refers to past events in which the remembering person participated – at least, as a witness. Informational memory does not have such restrictions; the phrase pomnit’ čto can introduce any kind of proposition: a general proposition, an evaluative proposition, a proposition referring to the future, and so on. For example, (16)

a. b. c. d.

Ty pomniš’, čto zavtra my idem na den’ roždenija k Ivanu? ‘Do you remember that tomorrow we shall go to Ivan’s birthday party?’ Ty pomniš’, čto Ivan – genial’nyj poet? ‘Do you remember that Ivan is a great poet?’ On pomnil, čto nikogda ne nado otčaivat’sja ‘He remembered that one should never despair’; Iz geometrii on pomnil tol’ko, čto gipotenuza bol’še kateta ‘From geometry he remembered only that the hypotenuse is longer than the cathetus’.

So, usually a sentence with pomnit’ čto describes the preservation of information which has been received from an outside source (books, mass media, other people etc.). On the other hand, a sentence with pomnit’ kak introduces a fragment of one’s own personal experience. (17)

a. b.

Ja pomnju, čto v 5 let on ubežal iz doma ‘I remember that he ran away from home when he was 5 years old’. Ja pomnju, kak v 5 let on ubežal iz doma ‘I remember how he ran away from home when he was 5 years old’.

Sentence (17a) could be a memorised fact from the biography of a political figure, whereas sentence (17b) is a fragment of the subject’s own memory referring to someone he or she knows personally. . The subordinate clause introduced with kak refers to a situation, whereas the clause introduced with čto refers to a fact, according to Arutjunova (1985); cf. also Padučeva (1986: 26).

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

The opposition in question is somewhat obscured in the case when the source of information is neither other people nor the mass media, but the mental processing of one’s own experience – which is the case for sentence (15a). So, in the case of experiential memory about oneself the meaning of the phrase Ja pomnju, čto includes that of the phrase Ja pomnju, kak: ‘I remember my doing it, therefore I conclude that I have done it, and I remember this fact’.11 It should be noted that statistically the verb pomnit’ appears more frequently without any subordinating conjunction. And, what is even more important, neither čto nor kak can be inserted into sentences such as the following: (18)

Pomniš’, byl u nas v gruppe takoj Vasja Ivanov? – Net, ne pomnju takogo. ‘Do you remember there was Vasja Ivanov in our group? – No, I don’t remember’.

(19)

Ty že pomniš’, on rabotaet so mnoj redaktorom, v odnoj komnate ‘You remember, he works as editor with me, in the same room’. [ruscorpora].

(20)

Pomnju, den’ byl rozovyj, tol’ko kogda solnce zaxodilo za tučku, vsjo stanovilos’ kak-to surovee i xolodnee, kak vsegda vesnoj ‘I remember, the day was pink, and only when the sun hid itself behind a cloud all became more severe and cold, as always happens in Spring’. [ruscorpora].

This construction without a subordinating conjunction has its own semantics (cf. Wierzbicka 2003), which is eventually determined by the fact that without a subordinating conjunction the former dependent clause acquires a higher communicative status: it becomes more independent, and the relation to the verb pomnit’, (as well as the opposition of the two types of memory depending on the content of the former subordinate clause), becomes more vague.

.

Pomnit’ and vspominat’

As noted earlier, the conceptualisation of memory in Russian is determined by the opposition of a state described by the verb pomnit’ and a process, described by the verb vspominat’. Such an opposition does not exist in English, German and French, for instance. The Russian verb vspominat’ has three aspectually different meanings: the eventive one, which is semantically equal to its perfective counterpart vspomnit’ (i tut ja vnezapno vspominaju. . . ‘and suddenly I remember. . .’), the meaning of a telic process resulting in the event ‘vspomnit’’ (cf. dolgo vspominal ‘tried to remember for a long time’); and the meaning of an atelic process (my vspominali studenčeskie gody ‘we thought and/or spoke about our student years’).

. Cf. the analysis of the proposed by Wierzbicka (1969: 70) for sentences like Widzę, że niema tu Jonesa (‘I see that John is not here’) = ‘On the grounds of what I see I conclude that John is not here.

 Anna A. Zalizniak

Consider this third meaning: that of an atelic process. It is revealed most clearly in a context when the process vspominat’ takes place simultaneously with other processes (to think, to go about one’s room, etc.), cf.: (21)

Lužin žil, kak na železnyx kačeljax: dumat’ i vspominat’ uspeval tol’ko noč’ju, v uzkom zakute, gde paxlo ryboj i nečistymi noskami. Vspominal on čašče vsego kabinet v Peterburgskom dome [. . .] – i ženu svoju, Lenu, o kotoroj pjat’ let ničego ne znal. ‘Luzin lived on a kind of steel seesaw: he had time [to think and] to reminisce only at night, in a narrow nook that smelled of fish and dirty socks. His most frequent recollections were of a house in St. Petersburg, of his study there [. . .], and of his wife Lena of whom he had had no news for five years’. (V. Nabokov. A Matter of Chance).

(22)

I vospominanija razgoralis’ vsjo sil’nee. Donosilis’ li v večernej tišine v ego kabinet golosa detej, prigotovljavšix uroki, slyšal li on romans ili organ v restorane, ili zavyvala v kamine metel’, kak vdrug voskresalo v pamjati vsjo: i to, čto bylo na molu, i rannee utro s tumanom na gorax, i paroxod iz Feodosii, i pocelui. On dolgo xodil po komnate, i vspominal, i ulybalsja, i potom vospominanija perexodili v mecty, i prošedšee v voobrazenii mešalos’ s tem, čto budet. ‘And his memories glowed more and more vividly. When in the evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children, preparing their lessons, or when he listened to a song or the organ at the restaurant, or the storm howled in the chimney, suddenly everything would rise up in his memory: what happened on the groyne, and the early morning with the mist on the mountains, and the streamer coming from Theodosia, and the kisses. He would pace a long time about his room, remembering it all and smiling; then memories passed into dreams, and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come’ (A. Čekhov. The Lady with the Lap Dog).12

The process of remembering can be interpreted as a “gathering of memories” (note that the Engl. re-collect has a similar inner form, but apparently not the same meaning). (23)

I ešče on dumal o tom, čto ego polnost’ju ocenjat, kogda on umret, i vspominal, sobiral v kučku krupicy poxval, slyšannyx im za poslednee vremja.

(24)

‘And he also told himself that he would be fully recognised after his death, and he recollected, he gathered up in a tiny heap, all the crumbs of praise he had received lately’. (V. Nabokov. Lips to Lips)

The processual meaning also becomes more perceptible when used in the presence of adverbs like often, seldom, always, each time, cf.

.

This example is the continuation of the text cited in (37) below.

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

(24)

On sperva vspominal ee často, potom – redko, potom – vsjo čašče i čašče. ‘At first he recalled her often, then rarely, then again more and more often’. (V. Nabokov. The Doorbell)

Without contextual support the processual meaning is weakened, and the verb vspominat’ becomes more similar to pomnit’. It is impossible to replace vspominat’ with pomnit’ in (21)–(24), but in (25) and (26) both verbs are possible cf.:13 (25)

a. b.

(26)

a. b.

Ja vspominaju, kak my katalis’ po lesu na velosipede ‘I recall how we cycled in the forest’ Ja pomnju, kak my katalis’ po lesu na velosipede ‘I remember how we cycled in the forest’ Ja vspominaju ego studentom ‘I recall him as a student’ Ja pomnju ego studentom ‘I remember him as a student’

Nevertheless, a distinct difference remains between the two verbs in question. The verb pomnit’ represents the state of mind of the subject, which is defined by the presence of some information in “storage” (actually, in an “accessible” zone); vspominat’, on the other hand, points to the fact that certain actions are being performed with this information: the subject takes units from storage one after another and makes use of them. The difference can be described in another way: the verb vspominat’, so to speak, starts a film which runs before our eyes, as opposed to the verb pomnit’, which summons up a picture. The opposition between pomnit’ and vspominat’, which is obvious in the case of Russian, does not seem to be expressed in English, French and German – in fact, there is no verb in these languages that corresponds to the processual vspominat’.

.

Remembering in impersonal constructions

The abundance of impersonal constructions is one of the well known peculiarities of Russian syntax. As Anna Wierzbicka has pointed out, it reflects the special phenomenological orientation of Russian, namely, its emphasis on the idea of “not being in control”, or that “things happen to me” (Wierzbicka 1992: 413). The Russian impersonal dative construction (cf. Mne udalos’) “absolves the person involved from any responsibility whatsoever (good or bad things happen to us; they are not caused by what we do)” (Wierzbicka 1992: 430).

. In these pairs of examples the opposition in question can be rendered in English with the opposition recall vs. remember, but it does not mean that there is such a correspondence in general between the two Russian verbs in question and the English recall and remember.

 Anna A. Zalizniak

The Russian verb pomnit’ has an impersonal use with a dative subject (usually the 1st person subject): mne pomnitsja, cf., (27)

Mne pomnitsja, let desjat’ nazad, pered vojnoj, vy ezdili v Moskvu s moej zapiskoj v isvestnyj vam institut ‘[It remembers itself to me], ten years ago, before the war you went to your famous institute in Moscow with my letter. (V.Dudincev, White Clothes)

This dative subject can be omitted (and very often is). (28)

Ja rassmatrival, pomnitsja, psixologičeskoe sostojanie prestupnika v prodolženie vsego xoda prestuplenija ‘I have considered, [it remembers], the psychological state of the murderer continuing throughout the entire course of the crime’. (Dostoevskij, Crime and punishment)

(29)

Ja, pomnitsja, obeščal vam, čto v ètoj knižke budet i moja skazka ‘I, [it remembers], have promised to you, that this book will also contain my tale’. (Gogol, Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka)

(30)

Pomnitsja, mne togda očen’ ne ponravilis’ ego slova, no ja sam ne znaju, počemu ‘[It remembers], I didn’t like what he had said then, but I myself don’t know why’) (F.Iskander, Sandro from Čegem)

Wierzbicka [1992: 427] proposes the following definition for the Russian pomnitsja: (31)

Ja pomnju = ‘I remember’ Mne pomnitsja (lit. ‘It remembers itself to me’) = something in me says ‘I remember it’, but not because I wanted to and I do not want to say ‘I remember it’.

Indeed, according to the general semantics of impersonal constructions, the main difference of the impersonal pomnitsja in opposition to the agentive pomnit’ consists in the elimination of a responsible subject. The next step is the elimination of subject altogether – hence the frequent omission of the dative subject of pomnitsja. Another striking peculiarity of the impersonal pomnitsja is the absence of the subordinating conjunction: in the National Corpus of Russian, the subordinating conjunction after pomnitsja is used in only 10% of cases. Usually the impersonal pomnitsja introduces a proposition concerning some individual experience of the speaker, cf. Examples (27)–(30). A sentence like (32) sounds a little strange; one would be better off saying naskol’ko ja pomnju (literally, ‘as far I remember’): (32)

Sraženie pri Waterloo, pomnitsja, proizošlo 18 ijunja 1815 goda ‘The battle of Waterloo, [it remembers], took place on 18 June 1815’.

Consider, however, the following: (33)

Naša knjaginja Ol’ga za ubijstvo muža, pomnitsja, potrebovala dan’ ot drevljan – po golubju s doma. ‘Our princess Olga for the murder of her husband, [it remembers], demanded from the Drevljans a tribute: one pigeon from every family’. [ruscorpora]

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

Such examples do not contradict the assertion made above: though the proposition cannot be a part of the speaker’s own experience, it is in a certain sense considered to be so, it is “appropriated” by the speaker (cf. “our princess Olga”). In one way or another, the impersonal pomnitsja always introduces an element of individual experience. The Russian pomnitsja has no equivalent in English, German or French. In translations the same linguistic means are used for pomnit’ and pomnit’sja. For example, in Turgenev’s story, “First Love” the word pomnitsja is used 8 times; in German and French translations available to me it is rendered 7 times as: Fr. Je me souviens; Germ. Ich erinnere mich (i.e., pomnitsja is rendered by the same word as the agentive pomnit’). In one case, impersonal constructions which are peripheral for either language are used in translation: Fr. il m’en souvient; Germ. wie mir erinnerlich. Alongside the impersonal verb pomnitsja, there exists in Russian a rarely used passive (reflexive) form pomnit’sja which is of no particular interest (cf. Takie avtory nedolgo pomnjatsja ‘Such authors are not remembered for long’). However, another reflexive verb vspomnit’sja (imperfecive vspominat’sja) is undoubtedly interesting in that it belongs to the language-specific units which shape the Russian model of memory. Specifically, the verb vspomnit’sja (which has no equivalent in English, cf. the translations of the Examples (34)–(36) below) describes an event of involuntary, uncontrollable actualisation of some image of the past in the subject’s mind. X-u vspomnilsja Y is a construction of involuntary memory, according to Wierzbicka (2007). In using vspomnit’sja, two formally different constructions are possible: with a formal subject in the nominative (Mne vspomnilas’ prošlogodnjaja poezdka na Bajkal ‘Our trip last year to Baykal [has remembered itself] to me’, cf. also Examples (34), (35)), and a properly impersonal construction in which the subject position is occupied by a subordinate clause (usually introduced by kak, cf. Example (36)). (34)

Vdrug vspomnilas’ Krymovu letnjaja noč’ – bol’šie temnye glaza molodoj kazački, ee žarkij šepot ‘Suddenly Krymov remembered a summer night – the large, dark eyes of the young Cossack woman, her hot whisper’. [ruscorpora]

(35)

Opjat’ kraska styda pokryla ee lico, vspomnilos’ ego spokojstvie, i čuvstvo dosady k nemu zastavilo ee razorvat’ na melkie kločki listok s napisannoju frazoj. ‘Again a flush of shame covered her face. She remembered his calm, and a feeling of vexation with him made her tear the sheet with the written phrase into little shreds’ (L.Tolstoy. Anna Karenina).14

(36)

I vdrug emu vspomnilos’, kak oni det’mi vmeste ložilis’ spat’ i ždali tol’ko togo, čtoby Fedor Bogdanyč vyšel za dver’, čtoby kidat’ drug v druga poduškami i xoxotat’. ‘And he suddenly remembered how as children they had gone to bed at the same time and had only waited for Fyodor Bogdanych to leave before they started throwing pillows at each other and laughing. . .’ (L.Tolstoy. Anna Karenina)

. The translations for Examples (35) and (36) are taken from: Leo Tolstoj. Anna Karenina. Translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. Penguin Classics, 2001.

 Anna A. Zalizniak

It is typical for vspomnilos’ to co-occur with the word vdrug, which accentuates the idea of the unpredictability of the world, of man’s inability to control events happening to him, cf. Examples (34), (36).15

. The conceptualisation of forgetting In Russian there are at least three different ways forgetting is conceptualised: 1) the metaphor of a momentary dropping out of an object: u menja èto vyletelo (vyskočilo) iz golovy (literally, ‘it flew out (jumped out) from my head’); 2) a gradual disappearance of “signs” of the life experiences “written down” in the mind (cf. sterlos’ iz pamjati, načisto zabyl ‘it went clean out of his head’);16 3) the covering with something like mist, which gradually becomes more and more difficult to penetrate. All the three metaphors reflect relevant features of different types of forgetting. We will discuss only the third here.

.

The inner form of the verb zabyt’

The metaphor of gradual covering with mist is present, for example, in the following example. (37)

Projdet kakoj-nibud’ mesjac, i Anna Sergeevna, kazalos’ emu, pokroetsja v pamjati tumanom i tol’ko izredka budet snit’sja s trogatel’noj ulybkoj, kak snilis’ drugie. No prošlo bol’še mesjaca, nastupila glubokaja zima, a v pamjati vsjo bylo jasno, točno rasstalsja on s Annoj Sergeevnoj tol’ko včera. ‘In another month, he fancied, the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be shrouded in a mist in his memory, and only from time to time would visit him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did. But more than a month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day before’. (A. Čekhov. The Lady with the Lap Dog).

It is noteworthy that the same metaphor is used in the verb zabyt’ itself. The verb zabyt’ is usually considered as morphologically not motivated (see, for example, the Dictionary of Russian Word Formation (Tikhonov 1985)). I would claim that this is not entirely correct. Zabyt’ undoubtedly does lend itself to a morphological analysis, specifically, it is built according to the word-formation model of the prefix za-, which is illustrated by the Examples in (38b): (38)

a. b.

‘to annihilate an object while realising the process designated by the verbal stem’ zasypat’ <jamu peskom> (‘fill up, cover ’); zaštopat’ (‘to darn ’);

. On the word vdrug and its place in the Russian linguistic picture of the world see Bulygina, Smelev (1998). .

Cf. the metaphor of tabula rasa.

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

c. d.

zamolit’ (‘to receive forgiveness by praying’); zapit’ (‘to forget one’s grief while drinking alcohol’) zabyt’ (‘to forget’) = za + ‘to be’: ‘by being (=living), to cover and to hide (=annihilate) ’ zapamjatovat’ (‘to forget’) = za + ‘to remember’: ‘by remembering to cover and to hide (=annihilate) ’

The semantics of the word-formation model in question could be accounted for by the formula in (38a) (cf. Zalizniak 199517). So, the verb za-byt’ (za + ‘to be’) means ‘by being (= living), to cover and hide (= annihilate) ’.18 It is significant that the same model with the prefix za- which is used in the verb zabyt’ is also present in another Russian verb of forgetting: zapamjatovat’. This verb derives from the verb pamjatovat’ (somewhat out of date) meaning ‘to remember’. So, the inner form of this verb appears quite clear: zapamjatovat’ (za + ‘to remember’) = ‘by remembering to cover and hide (= annihilate) ’. Note that in Russian the verb zapomnit’ has the same formal structure (the prefix za + verbal stem meaning ‘to remember’). But, in contrast, this verb means quite the opposite of zapamjatovat’, namely, ‘to memorise’. To complete the picture it is necessary to note that in Polish, on the contrary, the verb zapomnieć means ‘to forget’ and the verb zapamiętač means ‘to remember’ (or rather ‘to commit to memory’). How is this possible? The explanation is quite simple. The Russian verbs zapomnit’ and zapamjatovat’ are composed from identical parts (prefix za- + verbal stem ‘to remember’), but they realise two different word-formation models, with different semantics. The verb zapamjatovat’ (‘to forget’), as I have said, realises the model (38a). In contrast, the verb zapomnit’ (‘to remember’) is built according to another word-formation model with the prefix za-, namely (39a).This pattern is shown, e.g., in the verbs listed in (39b). (39)

a. b.

c.

‘to fix an object by the action designated by the verbal stem’ zapisat’ <nomer telefona> (‘to write down ’); zasnjat’ (‘to make a photo’); zarisovat’ (‘to sketch ’); zabronirovat’, zarezervirovat’ <mesto v gostinice, bilet na samolet> (‘to make a rezervation ’),; zapomnit’(‘to remember’) = ‘to fix an object by remembering it’.

. The idea of such damaging (of different kinds) can also be expressed in Russian by means of other prefixes, each using its own spatial metaphor (see Janda 1986). . I should note that there is another “annihilation verb” with the stem byt’: izbyt’ ‘by being (= living) to cause not to be’ (usually, a tormenting feeling: a grief, an offence). Here another metaphor of expulsion is used, which is enclosed in the prefix iz-.

 Anna A. Zalizniak

In Soviet Russian there was a verb zavesit’ (vesit’ = ‘to weigh’ ). Because the cash desk was situated apart from the counter bearing the actual products, everyone had to fix his piece before paying for it – by asking the seller to weigh the chosen piece of cheese, to write its price on it and to put it aside, so that nobody else could buy it. This was called zavesit’ (= ‘to fix by weighing’). Thus, the verb zapomnit’ conceptualises remembering as the fixing of an image in the mind: in order not to lose information, we can write it down (zapisat’) or sketch it (zarisovat’), or make a photo (zasnjat’) – or fix it by mind (zapomnit’). The same metaphor is present in the phraseological unit zarubi sebe na nosu = ‘remember it!’ (literally, ‘Make a mark on your nose’). Let us now return to the “inner form” of the verb zabyt’. In Russian, there is a phraseological unit which reflects a similar way of conceptualising forgetting which can be reconstructed by analysis of the “inner form” of the verb zabyt’: forgetting as covering and hiding (= annihilating) a certain experience by subsequent experiences, by the process of being or living: (40)

Bylo, da byl’em poroslo = ‘it’s all gone and forgotten’, literally, ‘it was, but now is covered by grass which grew upon it’.

Consider the semantic history of the word byl’e. This word derives from the verb byt’ ‘to be’ in its ancient meaning ‘to grow’ (cf. Greek fuo, with one of its meanings being ‘to grow’ ), and it is used to mean ‘grass’, i.e., ‘something that grows’. The word byl’e in its original meaning is out of date in contemporary Russian (and the verb byt’ no longer means ‘to grow’). But there are, in Russian, several words deriving from the verb byt’ ‘to be’, namely, byl’ – ‘a fact, something that was’ – in opposition to nebyl’, nebylica – cock-and-bull story, ‘something that was not’. There is also in Russian the word byt’e, which is used in the phrase žit’e-byt’e, and means something like ‘everyday life’. So, in the phraseological unit (40) the word byl’e has acquired the meaning ‘life, life experience’ which follows from the analysis of actual use of this expression, for example (note that both byloe and byl’e are translated by the word past): (41)

Gor’kij v to vremja proizvodil tščatel’nuju rabotu osvoboždenija svoej pamjati ot ogromnogo gruza byl’ja. Odna za drugoj vyxodili ego knigi s rasskazami o bylom, vospominanijami, zametkami iz dnevnikov. ‘At that time Gorky was carefully trying to rid his memory of a huge burden of the past (byl’e). One after the next, his books were coming out. They contained stories about his past (byloe), memoirs and diary entries’. (K. Fedin. Gorky Among Us)

So, bylo, da byl’em poroslo means: ‘is covered and hidden by subsequent life experience, is annihilated by it’. It is exactly the same conception of oblivion as that conveyed by the verb zabyt’. In Russian there are phraseological units describing grass which grows on a grave and symbolises oblivion: travoj poroslo/zaroslo (‘gone and forgotten’); Vsjakaja mogila

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

travoj porastaet (‘Every grave becomes overgrown with the grass’) (Mixel’son: II, 382); cf. also Example (42). (42)

Veličava naša razluka, ibo navsegda rasstaemsja. Smolkaet citra. Navsegda – ne slovo, a vpravdu cifra, čji nuli, kogda my zarastem travoju, perekrojut èpoxu i vek s lixvoju. ‘Our parting is solemn, lofty, since it is forever. The zither’s silent. Forever is not a word, but a number whose unending zeroes, when grass grows above us, will stretch out beyond our small time, our epoch’. (J. Brodskij. Adieu, Mademoiselle Veronique)19

Indeed, when the grass grows upon the grave it covers and hides (= annihilates) the grave. Cf. a metaphoric construction with genitive porosti moxom zabvenija (‘to be overgrown with moss of oblivion’) (Melerovič, Mokienko 1997: 93), trava zabvenija (‘grass of oblivion’) in Puškin’s “Ruslan and Ludmila”; cf. also the title of a novel by V.Kataev.

.

Zabyt’ and zabyvat’: aspectual semantics

The definition of the English verb to forget proposed by Anna Wierzbicka (1972: 229) represents it as a process (a situation which develops gradually).20 But while analyzing the semantics of the Russian verbs zabyt’ and zabyvat’, we see that forgetting, in Russian, is a very specific process. To begin with, there are two different types of use of the verb zabyt’, which I will call synchronic and retrospective (the same is true of to forget).21 Synchronic use is illustrated by Examples (43 a, b): in these cases one says Ja zabyl (‘I have forgotten’) to describe his or her actual state. On the other hand, in Examples (44 a–c) the verb zabyt’ is used retrospectively: we can say I forgot only after we have remembered. (43)

a. b.

.

Ja zabyl parol’; ego familiju, adres, telefon ‘I have forgotten the password, his name, address, telephone number’; Ja zabyl, kak ego familija; kuda položil ključi; v kakom godu èto bylo; čto ja xotel skazat’ ‘I have forgotten what his name is; where I put the key; in which year it happened; what I wanted to say’.

Translated by George L. Kline.

. The newest and most detailed description of the English verb to forget is given in Goddard (2003). .

These two meanings may also be called “perfective” and “reversible” correspondingly.

 Anna A. Zalizniak

(44)

a. b. c.

Zabyl opustit’ pis’mo ‘I forgot to post the letter’. Zabyl, čto obeščal nikomu ob ètom ne rasskazyvat’ ‘I forgot that I have promised to say it to nobody’. Zabyl, čto Ivan pereexal na druguju kvartiru ‘I forgot that Ivan has moved to a new place’.

Indeed, we can say Ja zabyl is synchronically used when a word or an element of a proposition is lost. In this case the verb zabyt’ can have as a complement both a noun, as in (43a), and an indirect question, as in (43b). When the whole proposition is lost (Examples (44b,c)), only a retrospective use is possible: in the synchronic use we cannot say what we have forgotten – because we have forgotten it.22 We use the verb zabyt’ retrospectively also in the case of forgetting intentions,23 Example (44a). In the retrospective use of zabyt’, forgetting is usually connected with an action that was not realised. In the infinitive construction, this action is explicitly designated by the infinitive (to post the letter), and such sentences should be explicated as ‘X has not done it because . . .’. In the subordinate clause forgetting is implied, so (44b) normally means that I told what I ought not to have told. A sentence like (44c) presumably also has some actional implication. It is noteworthy that the verb zabyt’ in synchronic and retrospective use has different aspectual properties. From the aspectual point of view, the verb zabyt’, as does any perfective verb, refers to an event, i.e., an act of transition from one state to another, apparently, from the state of remembering to the state of not remembering. Events, including mental ones, can usually be located in time, for example: (45)

a. b.

Ja uznal ob ètom včera v 5 časov večera ‘I knew it yesterday at 5 o’clock’. V ètot moment ja obradovalsja ‘At this moment I felt joy’.

In these examples, the transition to the corresponding state (‘I know’, ‘I feel joy’) took place at this moment. But what does at this moment I forgot mean? For the retrospective use of zabyt’, such a sentence is impossible in a construction with the subordinate infinitive.

. Cf. the opposition of direct and indirect diathesis revealed in (Padučeva 1999) for verbs like vybrat’, naznačit’, rešit’. Indirect diathesis, expressed by an indirect question or a corresponding parametrical noun (password, address, telephone number), can be used when the value of the parameter is unknown, which fact has specific meaning correlations. Retrospective meaning is compatible with the direct diathesis, while synchronic is not. . Cf. the opposition between the forgetting of impressions and forgetting of intentions by S. Freud (Freud 1901, ch.7)

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

(46) *V ètot moment ja zabyl opustit’ pis’mo, pozvonit’ Ivanu, vzjat’ s soboj zontik ‘At this moment I forgot to post the letter, to call Ivan, to take an umbrella’.24

In sentences with a subordinate clause this time the modifier is possible: (47)

V ètot moment ja zabyl, čto obeščal ob ètom nikomu ne rasskazyvat’ ‘At this moment I forgot that I had promised to say it to nobody’.

But what does it mean? What exactly happened at this moment? Evidently not my forgetting. The modifier at this moment refers to an action, namely, ‘I said something (which I ought not to have said)’. The word zabyl only indicates here that this action was caused by forgetting, a state which lasted for a period of time including “this moment”. For the synchronic use of zabyt’ the situation is somewhat different. We can say: (48)

V ètot moment ja zabyl parol’; kak ego familija, kuda položil ključi, v kakom godu èto bylo, čto ja xotel skazat’. ‘At this moment I forgot the password, his name, where I put the keys, in which year it happened, what I wanted to say’.

But this does not mean that the event ‘I forgot’ took place at this moment. At this moment I discovered that I do not remember. Moreover, it appears that the event ‘I forgot’ cannot be located at any moment in time. So the event ‘I forgot’ is, so to speak, an imaginary one. One could say, that there is no such event at all, there is only a resulting state which presupposes a transition – since we know that earlier another state occurred, namely ‘I remember’. This transition is momentary and imperceptible. The verb zabyt’ has an imperfective counterpart – zabyvat’. It has a regular iterative meaning (cf.: Zabyl kupit’ xleba ‘I forgot to buy bread’ – Kazdyj raz zabyvaju kupit’ xleba ‘every time I forget to buy bread’, Zabyl, kuda položil ključi – Kazdyj raz zabyvaju, kuda položil ključi). But the verb zabyvat’ also has its own specific meaning, typical to an imperfective verb; it can describe a kind of process. (49)

Ja zabyvaju francuzskij jazyk ‘I am forgetting French’.

This type of use is only possible with a complex object as a complement: one cannot say, with reference to a single situation, *Ja zabyvaju ego nomer telefona (‘I am forgetting his telephone number’) or *Ja zabyvaju, kuda položil ključi (‘I am forgetting where I have put my keys’).25

. In sentences like I forgot to call Ivan at two o’clock the time modifier belongs to the subordinate, and not to the main proposition (I should have called at two o’clock). . The verb zabyvat’ has also another specific meaning – a stative one: Ty zabyvaeš’, čto on uže ne rebenok (‘You forget that he is not a child anymore’). It appears only in the context of a general proposition, cf. *Ty zabyvaeš’, čto ja prosila tebja kupit’ xleba (‘You forget, that I have asked you to buy some bread’).

 Anna A. Zalizniak

But what kind of process is being noted here? Metaphorically, it can be described as a gradual covering with mist which becomes more and more difficult to see through. But if we try to describe this process by standard means of linguistic analysis, we will find out that it is a fictitious process: a reconstructed line between several points, constituted by acts of observation. Ja zabyvaju (= ‘I am forgetting’) means: ‘in a given moment I analyze my state of mind and then I see that my knowledge has diminished in comparison with my knowledge in the previous moment of observation, and I suppose that it will continue to diminish in the future’.

.

Concluding remarks

There is a widespread metaphor for memory: a depository. In Russian there are such collocations as: xranit’ v pamjati ‘keep in memory’; sokroviščnica pamjati ‘treasury of memory’; ryt’sja v pamjati ‘rummage in memory’; glubiny pamjati ‘the depths of the memory’; ob’em pamjati ‘volume of the memory’ etc. Apresjan has formulated the following definition. (50)

X’s memory – a part of X’s mind which is represented as an empty object, destined for long term storage of what this person knows (Apresjan 2001: 14).

One can say that memory is a kind of big suitcase, in which the “imprints” of personal life experience are stored. There are units which are used very often, they lie on the surface; others lie beneath, and so on. And in its very depths there lie units which we never use, so that we cannot find them in the suitcase – these are things which we have forgotten. In other words, what we remember and what we have forgotten is stored in the same suitcase. It seems strange only at first glance. Indeed, it couldn’t be otherwise, because the boundary between what we still remember and what we have already forgotten is unsteady, and often we do not even know whether we remember some piece of information or not until we need to use it. We know for sure that it is in the suitcase; but then we start to look for it and cannot find it. This is called zabyl. It may happen that we will remember (vspomnim) it later (after looking through the suitcase carefully), or it may come to the surface by itself – cf. the Russian expression vsplyt’ v pamjati, literally ‘to come up to the surface of the memory’.26 This is one more piece of evidence that in Russian forgotten information is situated in the same “storage”, just very “deep”. Ja zabyl means that I possess it but cannot use it at the moment because I do not know where it is. Notice that all this corresponds perfectly to the model proposed by V. Turovskij referred to at the beginning: the thing which we possess while we

. Here we should again pay attention to the “inner form” of the verb: the prefix vs- (present in both verb vspomnit’ and vsplyt’), has the prototypical meaning of an upward motion, while the derived one contains the idea of suddenness and spontaneity (Gallant 1979).

Chapter 5. The conceptualisation of remembering and forgetting in Russian 

remember it and lose when we forget it is not information, but the path to it. All the information is stored, but we cannot make use of it if we have lost access to it: if the way to it has been overgrown with grass (or byl’e). The forgetting, however, is not irrevocable: access to the lost information can be found, as in the following instance. (51)

Mnogo pozže, kogda vsjo, tak skazat’, byl’em poroslo, Leva vzgljanul odnaždy na ee kol’co. . . – i vdrug vsjo ožilo i zavertelos’ pered ego glazami, voskreslo i oščuščenie togo večera s Mitišatj’evym, i vsex posledovavšix dnej (A.Bitov. Puškinskij dom). ‘Much later, when the issue was long dead, so to speak, Lyova glanced at her ring one day, and suddenly it all came back to life and started spinning before his eyes. The feeling of that night with Mitišatj’ev revived, too, and of all the days that had followed’ (A. Bitov. Pushkin House).

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 Anna A. Zalizniak Uryson, E.V. 2003. Problemy issledovanija jazykovoj kartiny mira. Moskva. Van Valin, R.D., Jr. and Wilkins, D. 1993. Predicting syntactic structure from semantic representations: Remember in English and its equivalents in Mparntwe Arrernte. In Advances in Role and Reference Grammar, R.D. Van Valin (ed), 499–534. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Wierzbicka, A. 1969. Dociekania semantyczne. Wrocław: Ossolineum. Wierzbicka, A. 1972. Semantic Primitives. Frankfurt: Athenäum. Wierzbicka, A. 1992. Semantics, Culture, and Cognition. Universal Human Concepts in CultureSpecific Configurations. N.Y., Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press. Wierzbicka, A. 2003. Epistemic adverbs in modern English. NSM Masterclass. Empirical Semantics: Lexicon, Grammar and Discourse. Leiden, 13–16 May. Wierzbicka, A. 2007. Is “remember” a universal human concept? In this volume. Zalizniak, Anna A. 1995. Opyt modelirovanija semantiki pristavočnyx glagolov v russkom jazyke. Russian linguistics 19: 143–185.

 

A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting* Cliff Goddard This study aims to provide a detailed analysis of the English verb ‘forget’. It examines its three main clausal complement types (to-complement, e.g. I forgot to lock the door, that-complement, e.g. I forgot that the door was locked, and wh-complement, e.g. I forgot where I put the key), NP-complements, and several more specialised constructions. The picture which emerges is of a set of interrelated lexicogrammatical constructions, each with a specific meaning, forming a polysemic lexical “family”. Although the study concentrates on English alone, the semantic differences between the various constructions it has identified make it rather clear that one cannot expect a similar range of meanings to “map across” to apparently similar lexemes in other languages. The method of semantic analysis is the Natural Semantic Metalanguage approach.

. Introduction Verbs of cognition are well known to pose difficult challenges of semantic interpretation and, though little studied in comparison with its cousins remember and remind (e.g. Van Valin and Wilkins 1993; Postal 1970), English forget is no exception. This study sets out to provide a “lexicographic portrait” of forget. As enunciated by Apresjan and colleagues in the Moscow School of semantic analysis: “A lexicographic portrait is an exhaustive account of all the linguistically relevant properties of a lexeme, with particular emphasis on the semantic motivation of its formal properties” (Apresjan 2000: xvi; cf. Zholkovsky 1964: 175). I will be using the Natural Semantic Metalanguage technique of semantic analysis (Wierzbicka 1987, 1988, 1996; Goddard and Wierzbicka eds, 2002) and drawing on a large body of naturalistic data from the COBUILD corpus. The first part of the paper (sections 2–4) is structured around the three main clausal complement types in which English forget occurs: (a) to-complement, e.g. I forgot to

* The explications in this paper were developed in collaboration with Anna Wierzbicka. I would like to thank Vicki Knox for her corpus work and for many helpful suggestions. An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Workshop on The Semantics of Memory held at U. New South Wales in November 2003. I thank the other participants for many helpful comments. Two anonymous referees also made helpful comments on an earlier version.

 Cliff Goddard

lock the door, (b) that-complement, e.g. I forgot that the door was locked, and (c) wh-complement, e.g. I forgot where I put the key. These different clausal complement types, I will argue, are associated with different senses and with different grammatical properties. Furthermore, each different type can be correlated with certain NPcomplement examples which can be semantically analysed along similar lines. For example, I forgot the beer can mean, on one reading, ‘I forgot to bring the beer’ (to-complement type); I forgot my appointment can mean roughly ‘I forgot that I had an appointment’ (that-complement type); and I forgot her address can mean roughly ‘I forgot where her house was’ (wh-complement type). These and other NP-complement usages will be treated in the appropriate sections. Section 5 deals with the combination forget about, both with a clausal ing-complement and with an NP-complement, e.g. He forgot about reclaiming his cheque and We forgot about the rules. Section 6 describes some semantically specialised constructions where forget occurs in association with certain modal and adverbial modifiers to describe “unforgettable” experiences and individuals, e.g. I’ll never forget seeing Elvis on stage and I can’t forget my husband, who died three years ago. Section 7 looks at two further idiosyncratic uses, the formula Forget it! and the reflexive to forget oneself, e.g. I forgot myself, and touched her on the shoulder. Section 8 offers concluding observations and some reflections on how the semantically-oriented approach of the present study can work in tandem with syntax-oriented and usage-based approaches taken in previous studies, while at the same time offering significant improvements in descriptive and explanatory adequacy. The NSM system of semantic analysis is sufficiently well known not to require extensive explanation, but it will be helpful to draw attention to its main principles and to how these differ from competing approaches to semantic description. The hallmark of the NSM system is that meanings are represented as reductive paraphrases (explications) framed in a tightly constrained, yet expressively flexible, metalanguage of semantic primes which evidence indicates are present as lexicalised meanings in all languages. These include meanings such as: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , and others. The full inventory of primes is given in Appendix 1. The total number of primes is in the mid-sixties. By using a representational metalanguage which is anchored in ordinary language, the system aims to achieve much greater clarity and accessibility than is possible with more technical and obscure modes of representation. This facilitates a higher standard of verifiability, since NSM explications can be substituted, directly or indirectly, into contexts of use. Because the metalanguage is minimal in size, one can achieve maximum resolution of semantic detail and ward off any possibility of circularity, while the universality of semantic primes ensures that explications will not fall foul of terminological ethnocentrism. The merits of the system are highlighted by comparison with semantic discussions and dictionary definitions of cognitive verbs, which typically rely on complex English-specific terms, such as mind and memory, as terms of description. For example, Van Valin and Wilkins (1993) assign the English verb remember the

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

representation ‘BECOME think.again (x) about something.be.in.mind.from.before (y)’, which is hinged around the expression ‘be.in.mind’. Similarly, Fortescue (2001: 25–26) characterises remembering as referring to “two principal modes of mental activity: a dynamic one of accessing knowledge or experience in memory and a stative one of keeping in mind something experienced or learnt earlier” [my italics]. Ordinary dictionaries likewise tend to rely on expressions such as ‘have in mind’, ‘call to mind’, ‘keep in memory’, and so on, oblivious to the fact that, as amply demonstrated elsewhere in this volume (cf. Wierzbicka 1992; Yoon 2003), the terms mind and memory are themselves as complex and as language-specific as the words they are being used to explain. Semantic analysis of the English word mind has, however, established that it crucially involves the semantic primes  and ,1 so it is no surprise that these will play a key role in the NSM explication of forget (and remember, memory, etc., and their analogues in other languages). In undertaking this “lexicographic portrait” of forget, my objective was to comprehensively account for all constructions and all possible uses of this English verb. The examples were drawn from naturalistic observation, and from the COBUILD Word Bank of English. About 6,000 COBUILD tokens of forget were inspected during the investigation. Of these about 600 were selected for closer attention, and about 80 appear as cited examples in the present paper. The corpus work and the semantic analysis basically worked together as follows. I would provisionally identify a set of examples as likely exemplars of a single semantic category, then draft an initial explication which would make intuitive sense when substituted into these contexts of use (substitutability condition). The explication had to be framed exclusively within the NSM metalanguage (well-formedness condition)2 and it had to make sense as a whole (coherence condition). After arriving at an apparently satisfactory explication, I would then pull up a second batch of putatively similar examples from the corpus and test the schema against them. Some revision was usually necessary, after which a further set of examples was checked, and so on. This process was carried on iteratively until the schema was proving itself adequate, without revision, against newly selected examples. Sometimes in this process, I would decide that a particular batch of examples was . NSM research supports the notion that languages universally manifest a single semantic prime , with several distinct syntactic frames, including ‘think about X’, ‘think something about X’ and ‘think that – –’. This position runs counter to the widespread assumption that two different senses of the word are involved in speaking about “think as a ‘process’”, as opposed to ‘think as a “state”’. On the other hand, NSM research also recognises that the English lexeme think has certain language-specific peculiarities of usage and polysemy, cf. Goddard (2003), Goddard and Karlsson (2004). . The semantic prime , for example, had be to used only in conformity with syntactic patterns which appear to be universally available. This means avoiding the English-specific “opinion giving” uses of think, and the use of I think as an introductory epistemic formula (Goddard and Karlsson 2004).

 Cliff Goddard

not semantically homogenous, i.e. that there was polysemy, because despite all efforts it was not possible to devise a single explicatory schema which would cover all the examples under consideration. In this situation the next hypotheses was that two distinct meanings were involved and the example set was divided accordingly. The overall objective was to keep the number of semantic schema to a minimum while still preserving a very “tight fit” on the data, such that the explications would be predictive.

.

To-complement (forget to –) and related NP-complements

. The to-complement construction can be illustrated with the following set of examples. (1)

a. b. c. d. e.

I forgot to lock the door this morning. I was going to bring those photos in to show you but I forgot. I forgot to mention one important thing. Malcolm forgot to pick up Sally from soccer yesterday. He brought me an overnight bag but forgot to pack any undies for me.

One property which is immediately obvious concerns what is sometimes termed “factivity” (Karttunen 1971), or more strictly, in the case of forget “counter-factivity”. Example (1a), for example, conveys the message that I did not lock the door, (1b) conveys the message that I did not bring the photos, (1c) conveys the message that I did not mention that one important thing, and so on. Indeed, the assertion that someone didn’t do something seems quite central to the meaning of forget, in conjunction, of course, with a certain explanation of that fact, namely, that although the person in question intended to do it, they didn’t think about it at the relevant time. This formulation, however, draws into question the kind of “intention” which is involved. In this respect, it is interesting that forget can be used about routine actions, as in (1a). Though such actions are performed intentionally, one doesn’t necessarily turn one’s mind to them on each and every occasion. In this respect, forget is unlike remember (or rather, not remember) which does seem to refer to an individual act of thinking, as can be seen if one compares (1a) with I didn’t remember to lock the door this morning. Explication [A] attempts to accommodate these observations in the form of a reductive paraphrase explication. The (a) component identifies the assertion part of the utterance, as indicated by the illocutionary expression ‘I say:’. Components (b) and (c) set out what could be termed the presuppositions: namely, that I had thought about the situation before and that I wanted to perform the action in question.3

. The expression ‘at that time’ can be regarded, in this context, as an English-specific allolex of the semantically primitive combination   , used when the time reference in question is past tense.

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

[A] a. b. c.

forget to VP (do something) I forgot to lock the door (at that time) [I say:] I didn’t do something (e.g. lock the door) at that time because I didn’t think about it at that time I thought about it before I wanted to do it

Such a sentence, it should be noted, depicts the speaker’s construal or message. In a case like (1e), for example, it could well be that the subject (the speaker’s husband) actually did not intend to pack the undies – perhaps it never occurred to him. In using the verb forgot to report the outcome, however, the speaker presents the situation as if it was due to him not having thought about it at the time despite having intended to do it.

. The following examples show that the semantic structure shown in [A] can be appropriate for certain NP-complements. For example, on one reading, (2a) could mean (roughly) that I forgot to do certain expected and intended things on Sally’s birthday, such as wish her ‘Happy Birthday’ and give her a present. (2)

a. b. c. d.

I forgot Sally’s birthday. You can also pay either the full amount or the minimum by direct debit each month, which means you will never forget a payment. It’s all too easy to forget good resolutions. I got so caught up in the conversation that I forgot my stroll.

. It is clear, however, that some NP-complements of the to-construction type convey a more specialised semantic content, essentially, ‘to forget to bring’ (cf. Behrens 1998: 149–150). A sentence like I forgot the poem, for example, could either mean that I forgot the words of the poem or that I left my copy of the poem behind. Some other examples are given in (3). (3)

a. b. c.

She gave me an inquiring look when I brought my flask from the car and stood it on the old redwood table. “You forgot the beer,” I said, smiling. I can’t believe I forgot my camera. If they forget their lunch boxes, it’s mum’s fault.

Explication [B] captures the semantic content of this construction, using bring as a “semantic molecule”, i.e. an intermediate-level concept which can be explicated in terms of semantic primes but which functions as a unit in explications of other, more complex concepts (Wierzbicka 2003). [B] a. b. c. d.

forget (to bring) NPTHING I forgot my keys (camera, passport, etc.) = [I say:] I didn’t bring [] NPTHING (e.g. my keys, camera, passport) at that time because I didn’t think about it at that time I thought about it before I wanted to do it

 Cliff Goddard

. A further set of NP-complement examples implies some kind of (contextually evident) action involving the NP object, but not necessarily ‘bringing’ as such. That this is a genuinely different meaning can be seen from the fact that a sentence like I forgot the soup could have two different meanings and uses: either I forgot to bring the soup, for example, to a dinner party where I had agreed to provide the soup, or (more likely in this case) that I forgot to do something which I had intended to do while cooking the soup, such as take it off the stove or turn it down to simmer at a certain time. As the range of examples in (4) shows, the kind of implied actions can very widely. (4)

a. b. c. d.

Oh my goodness, I forgot the soup! But the studio audience split its sides when Peggy made a big pile of salmon sandwiches – and forgot the salmon. And don’t forget the backs of the hands, ears, bald patches, neck, shoulders and face, . . . Don’t forget the stamped, self-addressed envelope.

It is therefore appropriate that in explication [D], the exact nature of the implied action is left vague. It is identified simply as ‘doing something with’ the thing in question. [D] a. b. c.

forget (to do something with) NPTHING I forgot the soup (at that time) [I say:] I didn’t do something with NPTHING (e.g. the soup) at that time because I didn’t think about it at that time I thought about it before I wanted to do it

. It is apparent from the COBUILD corpus that Don’t forget (to) is a frequent formula in English for introducing a directive message. This is not difficult to understand from the point of view of favoured Anglo communication strategies (Wierzbicka 2006a, 2006b), since the meaning of forget enables the speaker to convey the assumption that the addressee intends to carry out the action him or herself, and merely needs to be reminded to do so. (5)

a. b. c. d.

Don’t forget to call the electrician today. It makes for wonderful memories to capture it all on film so don’t forget to bring your camera. Libby will need to amend her records. So don’t forget to let us know if you have moved. Don’t forget Valentine’s Day on 14 February.

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

.

That-complement (forget that –) and related NP-complements

. While the to-complement construction involves  and , the thatcomplement construction involves . Roughly speaking, ‘to forget that Z’ means to know that Z, but not to think about it at the designated time. It does not mean that the knowledge has gone out of your head forever; one can, after all, forget something for a while or for a moment. In contrast to the wh-complement construction (section 4), the that-complement does not assume an active mental state and does not have a present-tense version. (6)

a. b. c. d.

e.

I forgot that Kwan was at daycare. I’m truly sorry . . . I forgot that you’ve never done this before. But the tourists made one big mistake. They forgot the driver was holding their British passports as security. The nurse in casualty helped me off with my clothes and I was so groggy that I totally forgot that I was wearing a complete set of rather glamorous stockings and suspenders. For a moment we forgot that we were Baptist or Methodist or Catholic or Pentecostal. For a moment we realised that we are all creatures of God and nothing else matters.

In most contexts, one can readily infer that the subject would have preferred not to have forgotten, but as shown by examples like (6e), this is not necessarily so. This being the case, the semantic content of the forget that construction can be captured as in explication [E]. [E] a. b. c.

forget that [ — ]S (at that time) I forgot that Kwan was at daycare = I knew that [ — ]S (e.g. Kwan was at daycare) [I say:] I didn’t think about it at that time I thought about it before

. It is evident from the COBUILD corpus that English has several formulaic frames involving ‘forget that’. One of these, It’s easy to forget . . ., is shown in the examples in (7). As shown in [F], the proposed explication for forget that fits in perfectly into this frame. (7)

a. b.

c.

Sitting in the Daintree, it was for me easy to forget that Australia is the driest continent. Sitting speaking to him, with his perfectly polished accent, grooming and quick-moving mind, it’s easy to forget that he’s paralysed from the neck down. Even your wounds are usually kept well-hidden until they are nearly healed. So it’s easy to forget that surgery is about getting right in here, cutting and slicing through human tissue . . .

 Cliff Goddard

[F] a. b. c.

Sitting in the Daintree, it was easy for me to forget that Australia is the driest continent => I know that Australia is the driest continent [I say:] when I was sitting in the Daintree, it was easy for me not to think about it I thought about it before

Another common formula involves introductory Don’t forget, as shown in the examples in (8). Again, as shown in [G], the proposed explication for forget that works well. Like other uses with non-first person subjects, however, using forget in this context requires the speaker to make assumptions about someone else’s mental state, in this case, the addressee’s. No doubt part of the appeal of this particular formulaic use of forget is that it allows the speaker to convey certain information to the addressee, while appearing to assume that the addressee already possessed the information. (8)

a. b. c. d.

Don’t forget that root vegetables, like turnips, have to be planted in autumn. Don’t forget it’s always important to protect your skin against the sun. And don’t forget, I have always kept the money rolling in. Amid the excitement of choosing your engagement ring don’t forget that you will wear it with a wedding ring – so ideally, you should try on both at the same time.

[G] a. b. c.

Don’t forget that root vegetables, like turnips, have to be planted in autumn. = I know that you know that root vegetables have to be planted in autumn [I say:] I don’t want you not to think about it now I know that you thought about it before

. As expected, certain NP-complements conform to the ‘forget that’ semantic schema, such as those shown in (9). For reasons of space I will not include an additional explication here, but it should be clear that schema [E] is applicable, on the assumption that expressions like the past and my troubles in (9a) and (9b) refer to knowledge that certain (bad) things happened to me in the past. (9)

.

a. b. c.

You have to forget the past and move on. I forgot my troubles. Let’s not forget a few hard facts of life. You have to remember that the majority of people in power are men.

Wh-complement (forget where, what, why, etc.) and related NP-complements

. The wh-complement uses of forget are also concerned with , as indicated (among other ways) by the frequency of examples like I know I put it around here somewhere, but I forget where. Such an utterance is focused very much on the present moment: I am trying to think of it now and I can’t. There is no necessary implication that the knowledge has gone out of my head forever (although it may have). On the

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

other hand, there is the assumption that I was able to think of it at some earlier time, with the probable implication that I ought to be able to think of it now. (10)

a. b. c. d.

I forget who the chairman was. They can get lost on their own street and forget how they got there. Erm so er Oh I’ve forgotten what I was going to ask now. The silly bugger forgot where he put the car.

The wh-complement construction has a grammatical property which sharply distinguishes it from the other uses and meanings of forget, namely, that it can be used in a quasi-performative fashion, i.e. with first-person singular subject and in the present tense, e.g. Where is it? I forget. I propose explication [H] for wh-complements with forget. A notable point about this explication concerns component (a). Notice the effect of the combination of the unspecified “topic of cognition” argument in the first line (‘I can think like this about a place’) and the corresponding specified argument in the second line (‘I put it in this place’). The first mention allows the semantic type of the information to be characterised (a person, place, thing, time, etc.) which correlates with the identity of the wh-item (who, where, what, when, etc.), while the second mention sees the implied referent embedded into the complement. The same strategy would allow us to decompose so-called embedded question constructions (better termed “ignorative complements” or epistememes; cf. Durie 1985; Mushin 1995), such as I know where it is, I know who did it, I know when it happened, and so on. [H] a. b. c.

forget wh- . . . I forget where I put it I know that I can think like this about a place: ‘I put it in this place’ [I say:] I can’t think like this now I could think like this before

One might question whether or not there ought to be an additional component after (b), namely: ‘I want to think like this now’. In most examples such a component would seem reasonable, but not in all. For example, upon being asked where you put something, one can reply quite off-handedly Somewhere or other, I forget where, without giving any impression that you are actively trying to think of it. There are corpus examples below. I conclude that the implication that one is actually trying to access the information is precisely that—an implication, rather than part of the encoded semantic content. (11)

a. b. c.

In any case, someone once told me – I forget who – that you couldn’t tell a good girl from a bad girl just by looking. We had a barmaid I forget her name now but she was famous as a comforter of both students and staff. [they] were block funded through the God-parenting scheme until very recently I forget when it went out if it has yet and no-one was having to put their hands in the pockets . . .

 Cliff Goddard

d.

One venue is smooth, the other real choppy – although, I forget which and to be honest with me you don’t give a fig either – but it’s the principle of the thing. How can we appreciate any competition where cheating is institutional.

. The following examples show that the same semantic schema can apply with NP-complements, i.e. one can forget what, forget where, or forget how, as in (12a), (12b) and (12c), respectively. Explication [I] gives an example. (12)

a. b. c.

[I] a. b. c.

I forgot my PIN number [personal identification number, used for banking transactions] A: What’s the capital of Chile? B: I forget. Beech recalled that a few drops of methanol were used by bikers in the 1950s to pep up alcoholic drinks. But he forgot the recipe and added 215ml.

I forgot my PIN number (at that time) = I knew that I could think like this about something: ‘this is my PIN number’ [I say:] I couldn’t think like this at that time I could think like this before

. Perhaps it would be justified to recognise a specialised variant of this construction, to accommodate examples where the “knowledge type” concerns the identity of a word, as in the examples in (13). Roughly speaking, these examples concern knowing about a word that this is the word for a particular meaning (e.g. in another language, as in (13a)), or that it is the word for someone, in the sense of being a person’s name, as in (13b). Explication [J] is offered as an approximate explication only. (13)

a. b. c.

[J] a. b. c.

.

“I know a few. Salaam aleikum is ‘hullo’. And ‘thank you’ is . . .” He paused, thinking hard . . . “I forget”, he said at last. “But I know ‘goodbye’.” I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten the name. . . . performing it live he forgot the words. He just lost it. Forgot the words and started to make it up as he went.

I forget the word for X (or: X’s name) => I know that I can think like this about a word: ‘this is the word for X’ [I say:] I can’t think like this now I could think like this before

Forget about . . .

Forget can occur with an ing-complement or NP-complement introduced with about. We will deal with these usages in turn.

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

. The semantics of an ing-complement in the forget about frame is quite different to that of the forget to clausal complement. If we compare I forgot to pack my undies (to-complement), for example, with I forgot about packing my undies, it is easy to detect that the latter sentence conveys that the subject not only wanted to pack the undies, but felt under some obligation or compulsion to do so. Upon looking at a range of corpus examples, such as the following, it becomes clear that the sense of obligation or compulsion does not necessarily concern the content of the VP directly. Rather, the VP indicates some kind of wish or desire on behalf of the subject, which gives rise to the thought: ‘I have to do something because of this’. (14)

a. b.

c.

He [Joe Cocker] once forgot about reclaiming a Pounds Sterling 100,000 royalty cheque that had gone through a washing machine in his jeans pocket. . . . it sounds like you have grown so anxious you are developing a full-blown phobia. Forget about losing your virginity and instead focus on developing a good relationship. Unfortunately, when we respond to “buy” messages in skin care advertisements, we forget about shopping in a way that makes sense, and we are vulnerable to impractical, expensive and silly purchases . . .

The VP complement need not even depict an action by the subject. It can depict a desired state or outcome, as in the following examples: (15)

a. b. c.

It was a role for which she [Minnie Driver] was told to forget about being beautiful. Politicians need to forget about being popular and concentrate on doing what is right. Scott Gibbs last night was told to forget about becoming a rugby league millionaire.

Explication [K] covers ing-complement examples with forget about. [K] a. b. c. d.

forget about VP-ing => e.g. He forgot about reclaiming the cheque (losing his virginity, being popular) at that time he wanted something [I say:] he didn’t think about it at this time he thought about it before when he thought about it before, he thought like this: “I have to do something because of this”

In the COBUILD corpus, the forget about frame is rather common in advertising hype, either in the imperative (Forget about –) or in the frame You can forget about –. The advertisers’ motive is apparently to suggest that their product will free the customer or client from some annoying or inconvenient obligation or constraint. Examples follow. (16)

a. b.

Stop dragging that sprinkler around the yard, and forget about installing that automatic system. The Walking Sprinkler travels under its own power . . . Forget about building a bendier body; the new yoga is all about mindfulness and movement medicine.

 Cliff Goddard

c. d.

Our Sports Knit Pants shrug off a hasty Friday night’s packing and are ready to wear when you arrive (you can forget about taking an iron) . . . Two complimentary trams ply the roads within the complex so that you can forget about driving while you’re there.

. NP-complement constructions with preposition about also imply awareness of an obligation or compulsion of some kind. If one compares We forgot about the rules, for example, with We forgot the rules, the effect is quite different. Forgetting about the rules means, roughly speaking, no longer thinking that one has to follow the rules. (17)

a. b. c. d.

We forgot about the rules and just had fun . . . . . . you see another thing that a great unpublished er amount of money coming is inheritance tax and of course most people forget about inheritance tax. Forget about baths until your baby feels more confident and relaxed. Singing is a nice way of unwinding – you forget about all the problems waiting for you on your desk on Monday morning.

A formal indication that forget about NP is not simply a variant of the plain forget NP construction(s) is that it allows an “intensified” version with all, e.g. I forgot all about it (compare: *I forgot all it). Explication [L] captures the semantic content. [L] a. b. c.

forget about NP => e.g. We forgot about the rules (about inheritance tax, baths, problems) we knew that we had to do something [I say:] we didn’t think about it at that time we thought about it before

This is an appropriate time to remind ourselves that the semantic explication is intended to capture the speaker’s expressed meaning, which may not always correspond exactly to the most likely real-world situation. In the (17b) context, for example, the speaker could perhaps have chosen to say something like Of course, most people don’t know anything about inheritance tax or Most people never even think about inheritance tax. By pitching the message as Most people forget about inheritance tax, the speaker conveys the polite assumption that the people in question at least knew of the existence of inheritance tax.

.

Experiential constructions: Never forget . . ., can’t forget . . ., etc.

. Aside from the rather general and productive constructions dealt with so far, it is clear there are several additional, more specialised, constructions. Consider firstly the contrast between (18a) and (18b), which show ing-complements in association with modal can. Normally ing-complements are not available with forget (unlike as with remember), but when forget occurs with certain kinds of modal or adverbial modification it becomes possible under certain circumstances. But under what circumstances? Why is (18a) unacceptable, while (18b) is quite alright? Intuitively the answer is clear.

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

To be acceptable the event being depicted must be capable of being construed as a “special” event with some lasting emotional impact. No such effect, incidentally, attaches to the verb remember. The apparent counterpart of can’t forget, i.e. can remember, sits perfectly well with mundane events like locking the door, as shown in (18c). Distributional data of this type supports the identification of a specialised construction. Additional support comes from the existence of the adjective unforgettable, which suggests lasting emotional impact, rather than (or addition to) the property of simply “sticking in one’s mind”. (18)

a. *I can’t forget locking the door. b. I can’t forget seeing him humiliated like that. c. I can remember locking the door.

The same construction, or something very similar, is frequently in evidence when forget is modified by the adverb never, as in the examples given in (19). Again, these examples suggest events which had a certain emotional impact at the time, an impact which was lasting and special, and which set this experience apart from others. (19)

a. b. c.

I’ll never forget seeing Elvis on stage. I’ll never forget the whole thing catching fire, and . . . I will never forget the sight of Isabella Munroe, . . .

Explication [M] sets out the scenario. Component (a) frames the event as an experience, i.e. as something (seen as) happening to oneself. Components (b) and (c) establish that at the time it happened this event produced a certain cognitive and emotional impact, which, as stated in component (d) means that it still elicits certain feelings when one thinks about it afterwards. Consequently, according to component (e), the event is viewed as “special”, i.e. it is viewed differently from others. In the case of never forget, the assertion is that ‘I will never not think about it like this’, as stated in component (f). If the original expression had been can’t forget, the assertion would state that ‘I can’t think about it not in this way’. [M] a. b. c. d. e. f.

I’ll never forget seeing Elvis on stage = something happened to me some time ago I saw Elvis on stage (or: when I saw Elvis on stage) I thought some things about it at that time I felt some things because of that because of this when I think about it now, I feel some things because of this, when I think about it, I think about it not like I think about other things [I say:] I’ll never not think about it in this way

. Some COBUILD examples of NP-complements which conform to the same schema are given in (20). (20)

a. b.

I’ll never forget the first day of my marriage. No girl ever forgets the pain of being dumped.

 Cliff Goddard

c. d.

No angler ever forgets the first big barramundi. I began to forget my sorrow.

Though many of the examples above involve never (or a variant), it is not the case that whenever forget is combined with never the construction is an experiential one. There are never forget combinations with simple forget; for example, I’ll never forget who put me here or Don’t ever forget who’s in charge. Conversely, there are NP-complement examples without never which do seem to invoke the “special experience” construction. One interesting class of examples involves the expression the whole thing, as in I tried to forget the whole thing, All I want to do is go home and forget the whole thing, or No, let’s forget the whole ghastly thing.

. A similar “experiential” forget schema exists in relation to “special people”, as exemplified in (21). (21)

a. b. c.

My friends tell me to forget him as he’s not worth it but I think he is. Joyce Francis never forgot the daughter she gave up for adoption or the heartache she felt. Who can forget John McEnroe?

Explication [N] applies to the COBUILD sentence I can’t forget my husband, who died three years ago. In context it came from a woman who was explaining her inability to form another romantic relationship. The example is significant because it highlights that what is at issue in sentences like these is not the “identity” of the person designated by the NP-complement, but the subject’s attitude towards them. In this case, for example, the woman speaking is not talking about her inability to forget who her husband was or anything of that kind. She is talking about the fact that she still thinks about her husband in the same special way that she thought about him when he was alive (which prevents her from getting emotionally involved with other men). [N] a. b. c. d. e. f.

.

I can’t forget my husband, who died three years ago => something happened to me some time ago: I was married for some time (or: when I was married) I thought some things about my husband at that time I felt some things because of that because of this when I think about him now, I feel some things because of this, when I think about him, I think about him not like I think about other people (men) [I say:] I can’t not think about him in this way

Other specialised meanings

In this section, I deal with two further specialised meanings associated with forget. Aside from the fact that they are specialised and lexicalised, they have little in common.

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

. The first is the exclamatory formula Forget it, as illustrated in (22). (22)

a. b. c.

If you plan to land in London, forget it. “Let me explain. Please? She’s not as evil as it must seem to you. It’s not completely her fault”. “Forget it, I’m not in the forgiving mood.” The Scots, Welsh and Irish are encouraged to celebrate their national identity. But English pride? Forget it. That is an emotion our rulers would rather suppress.

The formula applies in situations in which the speaker assumes that the addressee has a certain intention or desire, which he or she has been maintaining for some time. These aspects are portrayed in components (a) and (b). The assertion represents the speaker’s message that ‘I don’t want you to think like this anymore’, as per component (c), because, according to the speaker ‘it can’t happen’. [O] a. b. c.

Forget it! = I know that you think like this about something now: I want something to happen I know that you thought like this about it before [I say:] I don’t want you to think like this anymore, it can’t happen

. The second, and final, specialised meaning concerns the reflexive construction to forget oneself. Though this is much less common in the COBUILD corpus than other expressions and constructions dealt with so far, there are still plenty of examples, some of which are shown in (23). (23)

a. b.

c. d.

He was so fascinated by her beauty that he forgot himself and leaned across to touch her . . . If a wife begins to ignore her husband’s good qualities, and so far forgets herself as to belittle him before friends or children, she has only herself to blame if he is attracted to the young typist . . . You forget yourself! You are speaking to your king! My little sweet-tooth surely didn’t forget herself in town today? . . . She didn’t drop into the confectioner’s for a moment?

This construction indicates a lapse in the subject’s awareness of some kind of inhibition or restriction that he or she normally feels obliged to conform to. Often the source of this inhibition comes from the nature of the social relationship in question, but not invariably so. It can also be self-imposed. Explication [P] attempts to capture the meaning conveyed. The component ‘I am me’ in the second line of (a), i.e. in the thought attributed to the subject, is presumably correlated with the presence of the reflexive morphology. The subsequent lines spell out the subject’s awareness of an inhibition or other “block” against certain behaviours, with the possible sanction of disapproval. The “disapproval” component (‘someone can think something bad about

 Cliff Goddard

me if I do these things’) is worded in such a way as to allow that the disapproving person could be the subject him or herself. In any case, components (b)–(d) specify that at the designated time the subject was not thinking about these inhibitions, although he or she had thought about them previously and had intended to keep them in mind. [P] a.

b. c. d.

.

He forgot himself (and leaned over to touch her hair) => he knew that he had to think like this: I am me because of this I can’t do some things someone can think something bad about me if I do these things at that time he didn’t think like this he thought like this before he wanted to think like this

Concluding remarks

There are several conclusions to be drawn from this study. At the simplest level, it shows that the NSM technique of explication in terms of semantic primes is fully adequate to articulate the meanings of cognitive verbs such as forget. From a descriptive point of view, the study provides an example of a polysemic lexical “family”, i.e. of a set of interrelated lexicogrammatical constructions, each with a specific meaning. Although the present study concentrates on English alone, the semantic differences between the various constructions it has identified makes it rather clear that one cannot expect a similar range of meanings to “map across” to apparently similar lexemes in other languages. On a more reflective note, I believe the present study helps us reconcile and move beyond a conflict which has been identified in the literature between syntax-oriented studies, on the one hand, and usage-based studies, on the other. For example, Tao (2001, 2003) criticises “syntacticians” for studying verbs like remember and forget from the point of view of their syntactic options, especially their clausal complement options, alone. He points out that, at least for remember, corpus studies show that clausal complement uses represent only a minority of tokens in actual usage. Furthermore, organising one’s study on the basis of syntactic options alone means overlooking the existence of “pragmatically strengthened” patterns such as Forget it and Don’t forget to. On the other hand, a syntactician could fairly reply that a comprehensive study ought to account for all categories of usage, not simply the most textually common, with the ultimate goal of modelling potential usage, i.e. the speaker’s generative capacity to use the language in open-ended ways. In my view, syntax-based and usagebased approaches both have their merits, and they are not in fact incompatible. What needs to be added to both approaches, however, whether undertaken separately or

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting 

jointly, is semantic analysis, as I have done in this study. Semantic analysis is needed to make sense of – i.e. to interpret and explain – both syntactic options and actual usage patterns. Reviewing the present study, one can say that a syntax-based classification has proved itself very helpful in one respect, insofar as it has been shown that the several different clausal complements types (e.g. to-complement, that-complement, wh-complement) do express different semantic schemas; and moreover, that these semantic schemas are also to be found with various NP-complements. It is also worth remarking that the semantics of each of the three main clausal constructions is “indexed”, so to speak, by formal aspects of its morphosyntax. The to-complement construction is linked with semantic prime , which (in English) is frequently associated with to-complementation. Similarly, the that-complement and wh-complement construction are both linked with semantic prime , which (in English) takes a clausal complement introduced by that and “ignorative” (or “embedded question”) complements introduced by wh-words. On the other hand, with respect to NP-complements, a syntax-based classification would be extremely unhelpful, because as has been shown, a wide variety of semantic patterns are “collapsed” into a single NP-complement syntax. The three sentences I forgot my keys, I forgot my stroll, and I forgot my past, for example, are semantically very different, despite their superficial syntactic similarity. Furthermore, it would be going too far to say that every NP-complement type can be matched with a clausal complement schema, because there are some specialised NP-complement types, such as the experiential “special person” construction, e.g. In time I forgot her, which have no “expanded” clausal counterpart. As for the corpus techniques used in this study, they have undoubtedly brought to light collocational phenomena which would otherwise have been left unidentified and unexplained. These can be seen as falling into two types. On the one hand, there are collocations of the type which Tao (2003) and others call “pragmatically strengthened”, i.e. formulas such as Forget it!, which involve specialised semantic content. Relatively speaking, however, these are in the minority. Much more common are introductory formulas or “lexicalised sentence stems” (Pawley and Syder 1983), such as It’s easy to forget . . ., Let’s not forget . . ., Don’t forget to . . ., We must not (mustn’t) forget . . ., People forget. . ., and others, which do not involve any special semantics for forget, but rather represent “communicatively natural” uses of the word. In saying this, I do not mean that such usages are undeserving of attention. On the contrary, we ought to be able to find functional or rhetorical motivations for them. Given that routinised phraseology is often driven by culturally-based norms of interaction and social values (cf. e.g. Stubbs 2001; Wierzbicka 2006b), this may mean looking to broader cultural themes. Whether we are focusing on syntactic options or on usage patterns, however, or on both, as I have tried to do in this study, semantic analysis is the key to adequate description and to satisfying explanation. The natural semantic metalanguage technique of analysis provides the right tools for this task.

 Cliff Goddard

Appendices Appendix 1.

Semantic primes: English

Substantives: Relational substantives: Determiners: Quantifiers: Evaluators: Descriptors: Mental/predicates: Speech: Actions, events, movement, contact: Location, existence, possession, specification: Life and death: Time: Space: Logical concepts: Intensifier, augmentor: Similarity:

, , , /, ,  ,  ,  , / , , , , / ,  ,  , , , , ,  , ,  , , ,   (),  /, ,  (/) ,  /, , , ,   ,   ,   ,  /, , , , , , ,  , , , ,  ,  

Notes: • Primes exist as the meanings of lexical units (not at the level of lexemes) • Exponents of primes may be words, bound morphemes, or phrasemes • They can be formally complex • They can have different morphosyntactic properties, including word-class, in different languages • They can have combinatorial variants (allolexes) • Each prime has well-specified syntactic (combinatorial) properties.

References Apresjan, J. 2000. Systematic Lexicography [translated by Kevin Windle]. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Behrens, L. 1998. Polysemy as a problem of representation – “representation” as a problem of polysemy. Lexicology 4(1): 105–154. Durie, M. 1985. A Grammar of Acehnese. Dordrecht: Foris. Fortescue, M. 2001. Thoughts about thought. Cognitive Linguistics 12(1): 15–46. Goddard, C. 2003. ‘Thinking’ across languages and cultures: Six dimensions of variation. Cognitive Linguistics 14 (2/3): 109–140. Goddard, C. and Karlsson, S. 2004. Re-thinking ‘think’: Contrastive semantics of Swedish and English. In Proceedings of the 2003 Conference of the Australian Linguistic Society, Moskovsky, C. (ed). http://www.newcastle.edu.au/school/hss/mastersappliedlinguistics/ proceedings.html.

Chapter 6. A “lexicographic portrait” of forgetting  Goddard, C. and Wierzbicka, A. (eds). 2002. Meaning and Universal Grammar: Theory and Empirical Findings (Vols I & II). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Karttunen, L. 1971. Implicative verbs. Language 47(2): 340–358. Mushin, I. 1995. Epistememes in Australian languages. Australian Journal of Linguistics 15: 1–35. Pawley, A. and Syder, F. H. 1983. Two puzzles for linguistic theory. In Language and Communication, J.C. Richards and R.W. Schmidt (eds), 191–226. London: Longman. Postal, P. 1970. On the surface verb “remind”. Linguistic Inquiry 1: 37–120. Stubbs, M. 2001. Words and Phrases. Corpus studies of lexical semantics. Oxford: Blackwell. Tao, H. 2001. Discovering the usual with corpora: The case of remember. In Corpus linguistics in North America, R.C. Simpson and J.M. Swales (eds), 116–144. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Tao, H. 2003. A usage-based approach to argument structure: ‘Remember’ and ‘forget’ in spoken English. International Journal of Corpus Linguistics 8(1): 75–95. Van Valin, R.D. and Wilkins, D. 1993. Predicting syntactic structure from semantic representations: Remember in English and its equivalents in Mparntwe Arrernte. In Advances in Role and Reference Grammar, R.D. Van Valin (ed), 499–534. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Wierzbicka, A. 1987. English Speech Act Verbs: A semantic dictionary. Sydney: Academic Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1988. The Semantics of Grammar. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Wierzbicka, A. 1992. Semantics, Culture and Cognition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1996. Semantics: Primes and Universals. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 2003. Empirically established universals of language and their importance for cognitive science: The human conceptualisation of shape. Keynote paper at the 4th International Conference on Cognitive Science, University of New South Wales, Sydney, July 2003. Wierzbicka, A. 2006a. Anglo cultural scripts against “putting pressure” on other people, and their linguistic manifestations. In Ethnopragmatics: Understanding Discourse in Cultural Context, Goddard, C. (ed), 31–63. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Wierzbicka, A. 2006b. The English Language. Meaning, History and Culture. New York: Oxford University Press. Yoon, K-J. 2003. Constructing a Korean Natural Semantic Metalanguage. PhD thesis, Australian National University. Zholkovsky, A.K. 1964. Introduction. Mašinnyj perevod i prikladnaja lingvistika 8.

 

‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition The notion of bèi (‘auditory memorisation’) in the written Chinese tradition* Zhengdao Ye The life of each language rests on the inner attitude of the people concerning the manner of expressing thought in sound. (von Humboldt 1971: 237) The learning of the gentleman enters through the ear, is stored in the mind, spreads through the four limbs, and is visible in his activity and repose. (Xunzi, 1.9, 340–245 BC) Every one of my Fuling students could recite at least a dozen Chinese classics by heart – the verses of Du Fu, of Li Bai, of Qu Yuan and there were young men and women from the countryside of Sichuan province, a backwater by Chinese standards. They still read books and they still read poetry; that was the difference. (Hessler 2002: 42) This study examines a cultural practice of ‘remembering’ – bèi (‘auditory memorisation’), which plays a prominent role in the learning experience of Chinese people. It first conducts a detailed semantic analysis of bèi, using natural semantic metalanguage to reveal a culture-internal view of and belief about memory formation and learning, and contrasts it with Chinese jì (‘try to remember/ write down’) and with memorise and learn by heart in English. It then explores linguistic, cognitive and cultural reasons that could explain such a practice. Finally, it addresses the question of why bèi, which exhibits some key features of knowledge transmission in oral cultures, is so prized by the Chinese people, possessors of a long written history.

* This paper was first presented at the Workshop on the Semantics of Memory in a CrossLinguistic Perspective held at the University of New South Wales, Sydney, Nov. 22nd–23rd, 2003. I wish to thank three anonymous reviewers for their helpful and thoughtful comments. I also wish to thank Bevan Barrett, Dr. Hilary Chappell, Dr. Philip Rose, Dr. Andrea Schalley, and

 Zhengdao Ye

This study focuses on a cultural practice of ‘remembering’ – bèi (‘auditory memorisation’) – which plays a prominent role in the learning experience of Chinese people, and yet is often thought of as ‘rote learning’. The objective of the study is to address two central questions: what is bèi, and why is it a culturally emphasised practice? In answering the first question, the paper will take an in-depth analysis of the meaning of bèi as a vehicle for reflecting a culture-internal view of and belief about memory formation and learning, and contrast it intralinguistically with the Chinese jì (‘try to remember/write down’), and, interlinguistically, with memorise and learn by heart in English. In addressing the second question, it will explore linguistic, cognitive, cultural, and historical reasons that could explain such a practice. Of particular interest to this study, following the revelation of the meaning of bèi, are the questions as to why ‘auditory memorisation’, which exhibits some key features of knowledge transmission in oral cultures, is prized by the Chinese people who possess a long written and print history, and why memorisation is discouraged in modern Anglo culture. In an attempt to reveal a cultural model of Chinese learning, this paper will use Natural Semantic Metalanguage as a descriptive framework for conceptual analysis. Its methodological implications for cross-cultural research will be summarised in the final section.

.

The paradox of the Chinese learner and the need for a culture-internal perspective

On the cover of the book entitled The Chinese Learner edited by Watkins and Biggs (eds. 1996), the following question is posed: How can Chinese learners be so successful academically (often outperforming their Western peers) when their teaching and learning seems to be so oriented to rote memorisation?

This paradoxical question not only encapsulates the key question that the book attempts to address, but also expresses the puzzlement of many who have had firsthand experience with Chinese learners. Obviously, when it plays such an important role in the Chinese learning experience, ‘rote memorisation’ cannot be dismissed as an undesirable pedagogical practice, which should be discouraged, as is the case in the modern Anglo educational context.

Professor Anna Wierzbicka for their comments on the earlier versions of the paper. I owe a special debt to Professor Anna Wierzbicka. Her work on language and culture (e.g. Wierzbicka 1997, 2004, 2006) has greatly influenced this paper. Chinese language throughout this paper refers to Modern Standard Chinese (MSC).

Chapter 7. ‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition 

How, then, do researchers make sense of all this? Using what they call the ‘student approaches to learning (SAL)’, one of the authors says: Let us first try the lower cost assumption that our knowledge of teaching is not all wrong. The clue is that assertions (1) and (2) are based on Western observations and interpretations. Maybe those observations and interpretations are simply wrong. A first hypothesis, then, is that what some Western observers are seeing is not what they think it is. (Biggs 1996: 50)1

If “what some Western observers are seeing is not what they think it is”, then what is the true nature of the ‘rote memorisation’ that is observed? What’s more, how do Chinese people make sense of it themselves, and what are the reasons for them doing so? Here, I believe a linguistic, in particular, a semantic, perspective can help to find the answers to some of these questions. A close examination of ‘memorisation’-and related concepts that are indigenous and salient to the Chinese people, in particular, those that are central to Chinese educational discourse and practice, can provide researchers with direct access to, and reveal a great deal about the Chinese people’s own understanding of and cultural beliefs about their practice. Moreover, the Chinese linguistic evidence – words, phrases and conventional expressions, such as ĕrshúnéngxiáng [ear-familiar-able to-know clearly], shúnéngshēngqiăo [familiar-able to-generate-creativity] – can shed light on the Chinese view of the relationships between memorisation, understanding, and learning. The aim of this paper is exactly that – to reveal a culture-internal view and conception of the practice of ‘memorisation’ from the vantage point of the Chinese language. It will focus primarily on bèi, which may be translated loosely as ‘auditory memorisation’ at this point of the discussion. The chief goal is to reveal a cultural model of Chinese learning by undertaking a detailed semantic analysis of this concept bèi, although effort is also made to contrast it with jì (‘try to remember/write down’), its closest synonym, and with a couple of English ‘memorisation’ concepts, for the culture-specific meaning of bèi can be best pinpointed and appreciated in a contrastive context. But just how important is bèi (‘auditory memorisation ’) to the Chinese people? Examples presented in the next section will demonstrate this.

.

The importance of ‘memorisation’ in Chinese learning: Illustrations

There is some truth in the common stereotype that Chinese learners are very good at memorisation. Memorisation occupies an important place in the Chinese learning

. The two assertions mentioned in the quote are (1) CHC [Confucian heritage countries] classrooms should be conductive to low quality outcomes: rote learning and low achievement; [2] CHC students are perceived as using low-level, rote-based strategies. (Biggs 1996: 49).

 Zhengdao Ye

context and the Chinese people value it positively. Readers might get some idea of the prominent role bèi plays in Chinese learning contexts from the following examples.

Example 1 A Chinese movie, known in English as High Summer Sky (2002) (Chinese title: Wáng Shŏuxiān de Xiàtiān [Wáng Shŏuxiān’s summer]), which was shown recently on the Australian multicultural television channel SBS, can be seen almost as a story of bèi. When a film crew came to a rural village, they chose Wáng Shŏuxiān to act in their film, an act that angered Wang’s teacher, whose argument was as follows, (1)

䘚氥⏗㄂㢅扭庍㠖掌卛ₜₙ᧨㊝⃗♾ⅴ卛⓶㦻᧻ Wáng Shŏuxiān píngshí lián kèwén dōu bèibushàng, name usually  lesson/text  bèi::up zěnme kěyi bèi jùběn? how can bèi scripts ‘How can Wang Shouxian memorise the scripts if he can’t even memorise school lessons?’

A pupil who is not able to bèi school texts cannot be considered a good student, thus Wang would set a bad example for other pupils, so the teacher argues. The rest of the story is about how Wáng was inspired by this incident to commit himself to bèikèwén (‘memorising school texts’).

Example 2 In a set of personal essays written by Chinese instructors of English and grouped under the heading ‘Literacy at Home’ (as a way of showing how Chinese learners come to read and write their own language and how that affects the learning of a second language) (Perry ed. 1998), almost all of the authors mentioned that memorising and reciting ancient poems were, for them or their family members, the earliest method of ‘enculturation’. For some the ‘cultural literacy’ began even before the child was born, as reported by one of the authors, who devoted her essay to explaining the belief and practice of tāijiào (‘educating the foetus’). She writes: Tang poems are among the best teaching materials for the child and the foetus, especially those with four lines and five characters in each line. They are easy to read aloud and understand. (Xu 1998: 23)

Another author writes about her daughter: She can read stories to her little friends and teach her little cousin to recite some famous Tang poems, such as ‘Missing my hometown quietly at night,’ which I taught her at the age of three. (Luo 1998: 28)

Chapter 7. ‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition 

Messages that emerge consistently from these essays include those that the Chinese writing system and literary tradition play a powerful role in children’s literacy acquisition, and that the tradition of literacy persists. The interesting thing is that reading (aloud) and reciting poems and popular classical texts are seen as an integral part of literacy acquisition. This can be said to be equally true with regard to children from both urban and rural areas. For example, in writing about the ways in which rural children come to read, Lu recounts the following: When I was a child, every family would put antithetical couplets up on their gates to celebrate the lunar New Year. Because the calligraphy on the couplets was beautiful and varied, and also because the couplets expressed the best wishes of each family, all the villagers were ready and glad to read and comment on them. At these times, young children would look at the couplets and listen to adults talking about them. Sometimes, the adults would point at some simple Chinese characters to teach the children. For example, they might point out ⮸, tiān (sky) in 㣽⮸⚛ㄕ pŭ tiān tóng qìng (all the people celebrate together) or ⅉrén (person) in ⅉ⺎㄃₿ rén shòu nián fēng (long live the people, good harvest in the new year). They just read out and repeated such characters as tiān tiān or rén rén and the children would follow and say, ‘tiān, tiān’ or ‘rén, rén.’ Time and again, the children might memorise the characters. Wherever they found the already learned words, they would point at them and cry out ‘tiān’ or ‘rén,’ as described previously. (Lu 1998: 20)

Lu (1998: 20) further remarks that ‘[a]ntithetical couplets formed part of the traditional Chinese culture, and they played an important role in rural children’s literacy acquisition’ (see also Gough 1968; Hayes 1985).2 Another author writes about how children in cities acquire literacy: When their children are almost four years old, parents usually provide them with blocks or cards that have Chinese characters and corresponding pictures on them. In addition, the parents teach their children to recite the alphabet and some simple poems. After that, when the children get a little older, the parents teach them how to write characters. When I was a little child less than five years old, my parents taught me how to write and gave me assignments that they checked every day. . . . [M]y uncle often taught me to recite children’s songs. My aunt told me many

. As pointed out by Hayes (1985: 83), ‘[t]he large number of printed editions devoted to couplets (tui-lien or lien-yu), the wide range of subject heads, the inclusion of sections about them in all guides and encyclopaedias, the frequency with which collections of couplets are encountered in handwritten village books, and their common use in religious houses, temples and shrines, homes, and boats and shops testify to the importance of couplets as an item in the inventory of written materials used in everyday life’.

 Zhengdao Ye

stories and said they were all in books – so it made me very interested in books. (Zhang 1998: 31)3

On the surface these quotes may not seem to be directly related to ‘memorisation’. However, they are clear and revealing examples showing how children come to be aware of and come into contact with written material and how they come to form some initial ideas about the source of knowledge in a culture where the influence of writing is prevalent and where literary heritage is abundant, widely treasured and transmitted. What these essays reflect is in fact the ‘folk pedagogy’ – to borrow the term from the noted psychologist Jerome Bruner (1996, Chap 2) – which the Chinese people engage in for their literary acquisition and for the transmission of their cultural and literary tradition. As the editor remarks, ‘A striking feature of all of these essays is the loyalty that the adults in these writers’ lives showed to the old ideals of education and the efforts that they made to ensure that their children acquired the kind of literacy that they themselves had been taught to value’ (Perry 1998: 5). In other words, the continual transmission of literary tradition is made possible through the Chinese folk pedagogical practice as reflected in the above quotes (see also Strafford 1995:184–185). The meaning of bèi as an education practice has to be understood in this context: it takes place amidst printed, squarish Chinese words, and against the backdrop of a long and uninterrupted literary tradition.

Example 3 The third example is supplied by Chen and Huang’s (1982) experimental study on differences in perceived relevance and difficulty of intelligence-related items by Australian and Chinese students. The result of their research suggests that when compared with Australian students, Chinese students place a high value on memory skills (note that the article used ‘rote memory’) as a component of the intelligence construct.4 Although both Australian and Chinese students find high relevance in spatial-mechanical abilities such as intelligence attributes, Australian students find great difficulty in memory tasks. The authors conclude that: . Children are initially exposed to the very limited characters that can be considered pictographic in nature. However, it must be remembered that the majority of the Chinese characters are not pictographic. As DeFrancis (1989) points out, no full writing system can be developed from only pictographs (see also Boltz 1994; Qiu 2000, Chap 1). ‘Alphabet’ in this quote should refer to pīnyīn, the auxiliary romanisation system for notating characters, as is used in this paper. Adopted in 1958 in Mainland China, pīnyīn wasn’t fully installed in use until in the 1970s, and is now taught as a writing script alongside character acquisition. That is, pupils in Mainland China learn two writing systems. In this paper, ‘the Chinese script’ refers to characters only. . The other two components of the intelligence construct are spatial-mechanical abilities and verbal skills. It is important to note that the authors admit that “two cultural groups have been similarly indoctrinated into believing that intelligence is what intelligence tests measures” (Chen and Huang 1982: 153).

Chapter 7. ‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition 

[a]mong the Chinese, a different pattern emerged: The spatial-mechanical ability was judged as the most difficult, followed by verbal and memory skills. The comparisons between spatial-mechanical versus verbal, and spatial-mechanical versus memory skills on difficulty ratings were significant (p < .01) with t values being 11.5 and 9.9, respectively. The difference between verbal and memory skills was not significant. (Chen and Huang 1982: 152)

Undoubtedly, this is closely related to the emphasis placed on the so-called ‘rote memory’ skill in learning. Chan (1996), in his review of research on Chinese intelligence, made the following remarks on Chen and Huang’s experiment, It is interesting to note that the Chinese regarded items requiring rote memory as being easier than did the Australians. This reflects a common understanding of the effects of the type of education system, styles of parental emphasis, and cultural pressures that Chinese children have to undergo in their early formative years since ancient times. (Chan 1996: 102)

Chan’s remark seems to bear the Chinese examination and pyramidical education system in mind. We will return to this point in §4.

Example 4 The fourth example also draws from research in psychology. Based on his surveys in schools, Liu (1986: 81–83) points out the following as ‘one of the most conspicuous rules of the specific type acquired by the Chinese during their childhood’: If the purpose is to acquire the knowledge contained in an article, then the best strategy is to memorise the article.

He then adds the ‘practise skill’ rule that is related to the ‘memorise lesson’ rule: If the purpose is to acquire any new cognitive skill, then the best strategy is to practise repeatedly.

Example 5 The last example is illustrated by a book I picked up during my recent trip to China. It is called Zhōngguó Háizi Xuéxífă ᇵ₼⦌ⷸ⷟⃯ⷵ㽤ᇶ(Ways of Studying for Chinese Children) (Ri 2002), which has already been reprinted ten times to meet public demand. This is just one of the countless books on a similar subject in China. On the jacket of the book, it says ‘[t]here are more than 200 methods of learning from excellent teachers so there must be one that suits your child’. A great deal of emphasis of these methods is placed on jìyìfă 帿㉕㽤 (‘method for memory’, a technical term), and especially on the practice of bèi. Also explicit assignments written in school textbooks on the subject of Chinese for year one to year twelve students require them to bèi or bèisòng large portions of texts that they have studied, especially where these are ancient texts. It is not surprising then that one of the first questions parents ask their children after school is

 Zhengdao Ye

Shū bèiguòle méiyŏu? ⃵卛扖ℕ㼰㦘? [book-bèi-EXP-PFV-NEG], ‘Have you committed to memory the text?’ This is tantamount to saying ‘Have you done your homework?’ All of the above examples, ranging from studies on Chinese psychology to personal accounts, show that bèi, reciting and memorisation, play a prominent role in Chinese learning experience.

. Focusing on bèi – what is it? So, what is bèi? What can it tell us about the Chinese ways of and beliefs about learning? This section will attempt to provide an answer to what bèi is by undertaking a detailed semantic analysis.

.

Dictionary translations

Translations of bèi offered by popular bilingual dictionaries constitute a starting point for our analysis. Two widely-used bilingual dictionaries for students of Chinese language, Alphabetically-Based Computer Dictionary (hereafter ABC) and Jīngxuăn Yīnghàn Hànyīng Cídianᇵ位折喀㻘㻘喀幜␇ᇶ(Concise English-Chinese Chinese-English Dictionary, hereafter JYHC), for example, gloss bèi as ‘learn by heart, recite from memory’ (ABC:596; JYHC:22). Zuìxīn Shíyòng Hànyīng Cídiănᇵ㦏㠿⸭䞷㻘喀幜␇ᇶ(A New Practical Chinese-English Dictionary) compiled by the noted Chinese lexicographer Liáng Shíqiū (hereafter ZSHC) translates it as ‘to remember by rote; to commit to memory in detail’ (885). Some frequently used compounds of bèi included in these dictionaries are listed as follows, (2)

a.

b. c. d.

bèishū 卛⃵[bèi-book]: recite lesson from memory (ABC:26); recite a lesson; to commit a lesson to memory (ZSHC:885); recite a book from memory (JYHC:22) bèishú 卛䐮 [bèi-ripe/familiar]: learn by heart (ABC:26) bèisòng 卛庄 [bèi-recite]: recite; repeat from memory (ABC:26); recite (ZSHC:885) bèitáicí 卛♿幜 [bèi -stage-word]: speak one’s line; recite the words of an actor’s part (JYHC:22); speak one’s lines (ABC:26)

Apart from ‘learn by heart’ and ‘commit to memory in detail’, most of the translations of bèi and bèi-related words seem to focus on the performance of bèi that results from the memorising process, but not the process itself. However, if a student is required to bèi xínxué de kèwén sānbiàn 卛㠿ⷵ䤓庍㠖ₘ拜 (‘to bèi the newly-learned texts three times’) as a homework assignment, it is more likely the case that the student is asked to ‘commit to memory’ and repeat the memorising act at least three times.

.

Semantic analysis

Intuitively, bèi is polysemous: bèi1 focuses on the mental process, and bèi2 as the result of bèi1, which is closer to ‘reciting from memory’. More syntactic evidence to support this claim is required. In discussing the grammatical features of bèi, the different

Chapter 7. ‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition 

environments in which bèi1 and bèi2 occur will be pointed out wherever possible. It may turn out that bèi is not polysemous. The following examples are mostly taken from Hànyŭ Dòngcí Yòngfă Cídianᇵ㻘幼┷幜䞷㽤幜␇ᇶ(The Dictionary of the Usage of Chinese Verbs, hereafter HDYC).

.. bei1 (‘auditory memorisation’) Bèi1 focuses on the process of memorisation. When the ‘doer’ undertakes this task, they can have visual access to the to-be-remembered material at the same time. Examples (3)–(8) suggest the possibility of a ‘print’ presence. (3)

X 㹞⮸卛帿ⷵₘ₹◤幜ᇭ X měitiān bèi/jì/xué sān-gè dāncí. x every day bei/memorise/learn three-CL vocabulary ‘X commits himself to memorising /tries to memorise/learns three foreign words every day.’

(4)

⅙⮸䤓⇫₩㢾卛庍㠖ᇭ Jīntīan-de zuòyè shì bèi kèwén. today- homework be bei text ‘Today’s homework is to undertake the task of memorising text.’

When bèi takes aspectual markers such as –guò (experiential marker) or –zhe (durative or continual marker), it seems to have the bei1 interpretation only, as shown in Examples (5)–(6). (5)

experiential marker –guò 扖 Ⅵ⅝⺞卛扖ₜ⺠巵♴ᇭ(HDYC:19) Tā cóngxiăo bèi-guò bùshăo jingjù. 3SG from:little bei- not:less warning:sentence ‘He had memorised quite a lot of aphorisms from a very young age.’

(6)

progressive and durative marker -zhèng 㷲 and –zhe 䧏 Ⅵ㷲卛(䧏)幦⛱ᇭ(HDYC:19) Tā zhèng bèi(-zhe) shī ne. 3SG  bei (-) poem . ‘He is in the process of memorising the poem.’

Example (5) can only have the bèi1 reading: some time before now, he committed himself to remembering some aphorism, or he made an effort to memorise some aphorisms. It is possible that he is able to reproduce by reciting (bèi2) them now. It is also quite possible that he is unable to do so now.5 It is also unlikely that (6) would be interpreted as ‘he is reciting poems from memory’. . Chappell (2001) argues that –guo, the aspectual category, expresses evidential meaning. Her reanalysis of experiential markers in Sinitic languages as evidential markers shows that a salient meaning component of these evidential markers is the ‘discontinuity’ effect. That is, the opposite state of affairs holds at the time of speaking. Indeed, the use of –guo in (5) implies that the subject no longer memorises aphorisms.

 Zhengdao Ye

Examples (7) and (8) contain a verbal complementation structure, as reflecting potential and ability components. (7)

potential verb compounds a. ᇵ幉幼ᇶ⇯卛㈦ℕ⚦" (HDYC:19) Lúnyŭ ni bèideliăo mā? Analects 2 bei:able to  ‘Are you able to memorise The Analects (i.e. the whole text)?’ b. ₏⒕朮卛ₜℕ℣₹◤幜ᇭ(HDYC:19) Yīfēnzhōng bèibùliăo wŭ-ge dāncí. one:minute bei:unable to five- single:word ‘Unable to memorise five words within a minute.’ c. ◤幜⮹⮩᧨㒠卛ₜ扖㧴ᇭ(HDYC:19) Dāncí tàiduō wŏ bèibūguòlái. single:words too:many 1 bei::pass:come ‘There are too many words. I can’t possibly learn all of them by heart.’

(8)

resultative verb compounds a. Ⅵ⛄㈦㒠庍㠖掌㼰卛㒟ᇭ(HDYC:19) Tā chăode wŏ kèwén dōu méi bèichéng 3 make noise:T 1 text   bei:accomplish ‘He was so noisy that I did not succeed in accomplishing the task of memorising the text.’ b. Ⅵ卛喀㠖◤幜♾卛⒉兞洛㧴ℕᇭ(HDYC:19) Tā bèi yīngwén dāncí kě bèichū jīngyàn láile. 3 bei English vocabulary  bei:out experience come ‘He has had the experience of memorising (so much) English vocabulary that he’s now found a shortcut.’ (i.e. He has found a way to memorise the words quickly and accurately.)

Example (8a) is worth noting in that it suggests that ‘noise’ can interfere with the act of memorisation. This is highly relevant to the later discussion of the ‘auditory’ nature of bèi. It is clear from the above examples that the range of use of bèi is very different from its English synonyms such as commit to memory, memorise or learn by heart (their meanings will be explained in §3.4). Relying on these terms does not permit an accurate understanding of the meaning of bèi. Furthermore, it can be misleading to look at the culturally salient concept bèi through these English terms. In terms of meaning description and representation, questions such as the following persist: how can the meaning of an indigenous concept be so presented so that it can be accessible and intelligible to people from other language and cultural backgrounds? The Natural Semantic Metalanguage (NSM) approach provides a possible solution. NSM comprises sixty semantic primes, which, through crosslinguistic testing and verification, are argued to embody universal lexical meanings (see e.g., Goddard and Wierzbicka eds. 2002; see Chappell 2002 for the Chinese exponents of the primes). There is also grammar that governs the combinatorial behaviour of these primes.

Chapter 7. ‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition 

Since those semantic elements cannot be further defined or decomposed, their configuration not only allows a full and precise semantic representation of a concept, but also avoids circularity in definitions. At the same time, decomposing meaning in terms of the configuration of primes makes it easy to pinpoint the related and distinct meaning components of the concepts under discussion. In this paper, explications will be formulated in NSM to represent the meanings of the relevant concepts. Roughly speaking, bèi is to ‘memorise by reading aloud and repetition for the purpose of deep understanding’. Obviously, this is far too simplistic a description. Using the set of semantic primes, the full meaning content of bèi1 (‘auditory memorisation’) can be spelt out as the following: X zài bèi1 kèwén. (X was ‘memorising’ texts.) [a] PROTOTYPICAL THOUGHT X was doing something for some time like people do when they think like this about something: “I can see this something now it has many parts all these parts are zì [] I know what they all are because I can see them It will be good if I can know the same when I do not see these zì [] I know if I don’t do something for some time, afterwards, I can’t know the same I want to do it” [b] PROCESS/MANNER because of this, this person was doing something for some time when this person was doing this, this person was saying these zì [] one after another people could hear it this person could see these zì [] if they wanted to this person was thinking about these zì [] many times this person was not thinking about other things at the same time [c] PROJECTED RESULT someone could think about it like this at that time: “if this person does like this for some time, afterwards this person can say this thing when this person does not see it when this person has to do something with this thing, this person does not have to think about it if this person does the same thing many times, this person can know more about this thing because of this” [d] EVALUATION people think: it is good if a person does something like this

The meaning of bèi1 is represented above in a schematic way, incorporating ‘prototypical thought’ and ‘observed manner’ of the ‘doer’ ([a] & [b]), the ‘projected result’ in the view of the observer [c], and people’s ‘evaluation’ [d].

 Zhengdao Ye

Components bundled under [a] show that, in a prototypical situation, objects of bèi have three features. The first is that they are composed of zì or hànzì, Chinese characters (also known as ‘sinographs’). The prototypical object can be extended to zì-like symbols (‘something like zì’) that are recognised by the Chinese people as meaningful basic units, such as zìmŭ ⷦ㹜 (‘alphabetic letters’) and Alābó shùzì 棎㕘↾㟿ⷦ (‘Arabic numbers’). Note the use of zì in ‘letters’ and ‘numbers’ in Chinese. (Zì is used as a semantic molecule, represented by [M], in the explication. Its meaning will be explained in §3.2.3) The second feature is that these ‘Chinese words’ (zì) or symbols (something like zì) have a fixed sequential (and possibly linear) order (for them to be recognised for what they are). Typical things that are strung together by zì or zì-like symbols are ‘text’ and ‘foreign words’. Predictably, bèi takes objects such as kèwén 庍㠖 (‘a text for a lesson’), shī 幦 (‘poems’), dāncí ◤幜 (‘foreign vocabulary’), gōngshì ⏻㆞ (‘formula’), and kŏujué ♲幏 [mouth-formula] (‘arithmetic table that should be committed to memory for ready use, as the multiplication table’) (ZSHC:132). Naturally, ‘this something’ that a person sees is made up of more than one single unit. Explanations of bèi offered by Chinese monolingual dictionaries show the sequential feature as well. Xiàndài Hànyŭ Cídiănᇵ䘿ⅲ㻘幼幜␇ᇶ(Modern Chinese Dictionary, hereafter XHC), for instance, equates bèi 卛 with bèisòng 卛庄, and explains the latter as ‘píng jìyì niànchū dúguò de wénzì’ ⑼帿㉕㊄⒉床扖䤓㠖ⷦ (‘relying on memory, read out scripts/words that one has read aloud’) (XHC:56). A telling explanation is offered by Chángyòng Gòucí Cídiănᇵデ䞷㨓幜幜␇ᇶ(The Chinese Dictionary of Word Formation, hereafter CGC), which makes it very clear what sort of things are for ‘memorising’. It reads: píng jìyì niànchū wénjù ⑼帿㉕㊄⒉㠖♴ (‘relying on memory, read aloud text and sentences’) (CGC:14). Although these definitions seem to be closer to bèi2, they reaffirm the common features of objects that bèi takes – something that is strung together by zì or zi-like symbols which are arranged in a sequential order. The third important feature of the objects that bèi takes is that they are ‘sayable’.6 This is perhaps why bèi is commonly used for bèi dāncí/shēngcí/cízŭ卛◤幜䞮幜幜 兓 (‘bèi individual foreign/unfamiliar/group words’), meaning the memorisation of the sequence of the alphabetic letters and phrases, but not so much for the sequential order of strokes that make up the graph of hànzì 㻘ⷦ – Chinese characters (*bèi hànzì; cf. jìhànzì, §3.2.2). This is because foreign words are usually made up of a string of alphabetical letters, each of which can be pronounced; whereas strokes can neither be ‘pronounced’, nor form a meaning unit themselves (although all strokes have a designated name.). Note that, in English, one says ‘How do you spell this word?’, whereas

. A reviewer posed a very intriguing question: whether the ‘sayable’ feature of the objects of bèi means that deaf people do not bèi Chinese vocabulary. I believe that answers to this question will reveal a great deal about character acquisition, and it warrants in-depth, empirical investigation.

Chapter 7. ‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition 

Chinese people say 扨₹ⷦ㊝⃗␨" ‘How do you write this zì?’, as Perry (1998) insightfully points out. Components of Chinese characters cannot be spelt. But each individual character is ‘sayable’ and can be strung together to make a word, phrase, a sentence, a poem, or a text. Objects of bèi, however, do not have to be zì only. As mentioned earlier, they can include zì-like symbols. For example, one can bèi gōngshì 卛⏻㆞ (‘bèi formulae’) (be they related to mathematics, chemistry, or physics, or made up of a mixture of Arabic numbers and alphabetic letters), bèi yùepŭ 卛⃟廀 (‘bèi music score’), bèi qípŭ卛㭚 廀 (‘bèi go-chess diagram’), or bèi dìngshì 卛⸩㆞ [bèi-fixed-model/pattern/formula] (‘bèi fixed chess pattern, usually for opening moves’). Although formula, music scores, and even chess diagrams are not made up of zì, their components are zì-like (each graph forms an individual unit) and are arranged in a fixed sequential order.7 The sequential, ‘sayable,’ and zì-like features that typically characterise the objects of bèi explain why one cannot say *bèi túhuà *卛⦍䟊 [bèi-picture] or *bèi huàpŭ 卛䟊廀 [bèi-painting-register] (cf. ‘to memorise a photograph’; *‘to learn a picture by heart’, see 3.4). Components in a picture are not usually arranged in a sequence. Nor do they have zì-like features. Huàpŭ (‘a collection of painting examples’) are for línmó ⃃㜈 imitation’, rather than for memorisation.8 The first half of the components in [a] reflects the prevalent influence of writing in the Chinese culture and in the deep consciousness of the Chinese people. Components in the second half of [a] show the motivations for the act of bèi: to be able to ‘remember’ the exact content of the target material. They also show that the ‘doer’ knows that (conscious) effort is required in order to transfer the knowledge ‘kept’ in the written or external material to one’s ‘mind’, as reflected in the components ‘I know if I don’t do something for some time, afterwards, I can’t know the same; I want to do it’. Components in [b] describe the ‘memorising’ process, which involves mental process as well as vocalisation – ‘reading aloud’. Bèi is closely associated with sound. In fact, the very word bèi contains the concept ‘sound’. When one does not read the material aloud, then the ‘memorising’ act is described as mòbèi 照卛 [silent-bèi], ‘silent memorisation’, which often takes place in one’s xīn (‘heart-mind’) (e.g. zài xīnlĭ mòbèi ⦷㉒摛照卛 [LOC-heart-inside-silent-bèi], ‘silently memorise in one’s heart’). Mòbèi, ‘silent memorisation’, shows clearly that sound association is unmarked in bèi. Expressions such as

. Chinese yuèpŭ (‘musical score’) and qípŭ (‘diagrams for recording the sequences of moves’) are often notated by Arabic numbers. (Pŭ is a register, a record, a collection of examples for reference purposes). Qípŭ can also be notated by numbers represented in Chinese characters (i.e. Chinese numbers) such as ₏ᇬℛᇬₘᇬ⥪ᇬ℣ಹ◐ (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, . . .10). . Note that línmó ⃃㜈, copying and imitating models of painting and calligraphy, is regarded as an indispensable method for training students of calligraphy and painters in China.

 Zhengdao Ye

bèiyăle săngzi 卛❠ℕ⡢⷟ [bèi-mute-PFV-throat/voice] (HDYC:19), ‘bèi to the point of losing one’s voice’, shows the vocalisation aspect of bèi. At this point, it is interesting to consider (8a) again. This example suggests that, from the speaker’s point of view, the noise affected his or her concentration, or that it caused significant auditory interference in the process of bèi, or both.9 The ‘reading-aloud’ character of bèi may give the impression of chanting. But bèi itself does not have such an implication. Only when the manner of bèi is described as yóukŏu wúxīn 㦘♲㡯㉒ [have-mouth-without-heart] (‘absent-minded’), as A Băo bèishū 棎⸬卛⃵ [memorising a text like a person named A Băo] (‘only reading aloud without putting one’s heart into it’), or as xiàng lăohéshang niànjīng ⍞劐✛⺩㊄兞 [like-old-monk-read aloud-scripture] (‘like an old monk chanting’), does the whole description take on the implication of ‘rote memorisation or learning’.10 ‘This person was thinking about these zì [] many times’ and ‘this person does not think about other things’ in [b] show the mental effort and commitment in the process of memorising. Bèi requires xīnsi [heart-thought], ‘mental effort’. This is supported by linguistic evidence. For example, while jì (‘try to remember’, see §3.2.2) can be collocated with sù (‘fast, rapid, quick, speedy’) and qiăng (‘snatch/try to beat others in speed of performance’; ‘do something in haste, as in emergency’), bèi does not allow such collocations (*sùbèi; *qiăngbèi). ‘This person could see these zì [] if they wanted to’ in [b] indicates that the ‘doer’ can have visual access to the target material. It is necessary to include this component even in cases where children recite something through oral instruction only (in any case, it is not a prototypical scenario of bèi, but rather that of ‘teaching the child to bèi’). Examples such as those presented in §2 show clearly that Chinese children, whether from urban or rural areas, are made aware of the print world from a very young age. Components in [c] describe the projected result of bèi, described from the observer’s point of view. They convey the idea that bèi is a common practice that is familiar to and readily recognisable by Chinese people, and show people’s belief with regard to the purpose of bèi – to internalise what is learned. Detailed discussion of the cultural beliefs behind bèi as a learning practice will be taken up in §4. Briefly, these components show the positive value attached to bèi by Chinese people, who view it as an effective strategy

.

I owe a debt of thanks to a reviewer who pointed this out to me.

. With yuèpŭ (‘musical score’), one can sing along. One cannot, however, really make ‘sound’ out of qípŭ (‘diagrams notating chess moves’), which is without much point. But one is still able to mòbèi qípŭ [silent-bèi-chess-diagram] or mòbèi dìngshì [silent-bèi-fixed-formula], meaning memorising, in one’s heart, the sequence of the chess moves, without synchronisingly playing out them on the chessboard. Here bèi qípŭ, to memorise diagrams notating chess moves, could be considered an extension of the meaning of bèi. As mentioned earlier, the zì-like, ‘sayable’ and sequential feature of the ‘markers’ on the qípŭ makes it a qualified to-be-remembered item for bèi.

Chapter 7. ‘Memorisation,’ learning, and cultural cognition 

of acquiring knowledge and a necessary means of internalising ‘outer’ knowledge and of reaching deep understanding. They are tied up closely with the notion of shú (‘becoming familiar’) and of modelling as a foundation for creativity. Bèi itself implies one process. Repetition is only marked when it is followed by number classifiers, e.g. 卛₳拜bèi liăngbiàn [bèi-two-CL], meaning ‘reciting twice’. However, it is quite obvious that without repeats of this process, often one is unable to arrive at ‘knowing the same’. ‘Many times’ in [c] describes repeats, which do not have to be undertaken consecutively, but can be spaced out. Thus far the suggestion is that bèi is a meaningful activity. Only when it becomes yìngbèi 䫻卛 [hard/forced-bèi], as reflected in the set phrase sĭjìyìngbèi 㸊帿䫻卛 [dead-jì-forced-bèi] (‘mechanically memorise’, ABC:569) can it possibly be regarded as ‘rote learning’, which can mean that the target item is meaninglessly presented, that it is too difficult for the ‘doer’ to comprehend, or that this task is simply too demanding. Yìngbèi [hard/forced-bèi] does suggest that Chinese people are aware of the difficulties involved in trying to memorise meaningless items or to memorise them without understanding. (Bèi and jì are often mentioned in tandem. They may be interchangeable for rhetorical reasons. But they differ in their meanings. See §3.3 for the meaning of jì.) In this sense, it is perhaps not that far-fetched to illustrate yìngbèi 䫻卛 [hard/forced-bèi] with yìngbèi diànhuà hàomă䫻卛䟄幬⚆䪐 [hard/forced-bèi-telephone-number], ‘to memorise a telephone number’. Although the digits of telephone numbers are usually not many, they are after all randomly strung together (note that they are called hàomă in Chinese meaning a code for identification), and could be extremely hard to remember, even though one uses them often. Chinese people have developed some strategies for remembering telephone numbers. The most common method is to impose meaning by matching numbers to homophones so as to make up a meaningful story since the Chinese language is replete with homophones. (For example, a taxi company in Shanghai comes up with 2580000 in the past, which, translated into my native dialect Shanghainese Wú, could mean ‘Let me dial 4 zeros’.) A second commonly used method is to work out a mathematical relationship between neighbouring numbers. If neither method works, one resorts to yìngbèi [hard/forced-bèi] – committing oneself to memorising the sequence of the numbers by reading aloud. Any culturally encouraged educational practice carries with it the implicit, positive value upheld by its members. Component (d) reflects that in relation to bèi. It seems that reading aloud helps the ‘agent’ remember the target material. Bèi is like a loop, appearing to fulfil double functions – bèi itself is a goal, but it is simultaneously a developed mnemonic strategy or a modality to fulfil this goal. The ‘reading-aloud’ trademark of bèi seems to be a key link between bèi1 and bèi2.

.. bèi2 (‘reproduce by reciting’) A natural outcome of bèi1 (‘auditory memorisation’) is bèi2– to reproduce verbatim by reciting, as reflected in the following examples (HDYC:18).

 Zhengdao Ye

(9)

ᇵ䱊洩ᇶ㒠卛ₜⰌᇭ Lísāo wŏ bèibùhăo. Lisao 1 bei::well ‘I can’t recite Lí Sāo very well.’ (i.e. I may mistake the sequence or omit some sentences.)

(10)

₼ⷵ摛ⷵ䤓幦㒠执厌卛ₙ㧴ᇭ Zhōngxúelĭ xúe-de shī wŏ háináng bèishànglái middle school:inside learn- poem 1 still:able to bei:up:come ‘I am still able to recite from memory some poems that I learned in the middle school.’

(11)

店Ⓙ㧝䤌䤓幦,Ⅵ⻀卛ℕ怆㧴ᇭ Tándào LiBai-de shī, tā jiù bèileqĭlái. Talk:to name- poem 3  bei::rise- ‘When we talked about Li Bai’s poems, he started reciting them.’

However, bèi1 does not have to be the only condition for bèi2. Example (12) shows that the relatives thought that their two-year old niece was able to bèi because she tīngshú ⚻䐮[listen-ripe/familiar], not because of bèi1 (cf. the prototypical scenario of bèi portrayed in the explication of bèi1). (12)

⦕⦕䵚☂㔙⃵⊡扖㧴,⅝⯃㊄Ⓙㄤ, ₏ⷦₜ枨ᇭⅥⅻ㦏⒬ⅴ⃉⦕⦕㢾⚻䐮ℕ 卛ℕᇭ(Yang 2003: 103). Yuányuán lìjí bă shū dàoguòlái, name immediately BA book reverse:past:come cóng tóu niàndào dĭ, yízìbùcuò. from beginning read aloud:to end one:word:NEG:wrong Tāmen zuìchū yĭwéi shì tīngshúle bèile. 3 at first thought BE listen:familiar: bei: ‘[They read out for Yuanyuan the books that I bought her,] Yuanyuan immediately turned the book up-side down, and read from beginning to end without missing a word. They thought that she was reciting from memory after hearing it many times. [Later, it occurred to elder sister that Yuanyuan sat across from her listening carefully, and that what she recognised were all up-side down characters].’

All of the above examples suggest that the texts referred to are not present. It would not make sense to say the following sentence, (13)

*X₏扈䦚䧏⃵, ₏扈卛2 全 mastawәs + ya = mastawәša. There are a number of compound nouns which are based on the stem mastawәša. (21)

.

a. b. c.

yәmastawәša dәbtәr ‘note book’ yәk’әn mastawәša ‘diary’ [k’әn ‘day’] yәgurge mastawәša ‘footnote’ [gurge ‘down’]

rәssa ‘forget’

The Amharic verb rәssa is roughly equivalent to the English ‘forget’. It takes either a clausal or a nominal complement: (22)

aster mәdhanit – u – n mә – gzat und – allәbb – at rәssa – čč A. medicine-- -buy. that-should-3 forget.-3 ‘Aster forgot that she should buy the medicine’

(23)

aster mәdhanit – u – n rәssa – әčč A. medicine-- forget.-3 ‘Aster forgot the medicine’

However, unlike the verb astawwәsә “remember”, the verb rәssa “forget” cannot occur with an adpositional complement: (24) *aster sulә mәdhanit – u rәssa – әčč A. about medicine- forget.-3 ‘Aster forgot about the medicine.’

As in the case of tawwәsә “remember”, the verb rәssa “forget”, can occur with the prefix tә- and an obligatory object agreement marker. (25)

a.

mәdhanit – u tә –rәssa – t medicine- /-forget..3-3O ‘She forgot the medicine.’

Chapter 11. Remember, remind, and forget in Amharic 

b.

sәwwočč – u tә– rәss – u – at people- /-forget.-3-3O ‘She forgot the people.’

Again, notice that in constructions such as (25), the experiencer controls object agreement whereas the theme agrees with the subject pronominal marker. In such cases, a more felicitous English translation would be: ‘to slip one’s mind’ – as in “the (name of the) medicine slipped her mind” (for example when one forgets the name of someone or something). It is important to note that in (25) the obligatory object agreement is crucial for the intended interpretation. If the object agreement is absent the meaning changes into one of an agentless passive: (26)

a.

b.

mәdhanit–u tә –rәssa medicine- /-forget..3 ‘The medicine was forgotten.’ sәwwočč – u tә – rәss – u people- /-forget.-3 ‘The people were forgotten.’

In some contexts the verb has the meaning “leaving something behind unintentionally”: (27)

..

aster mәdhanit – u – n u –bet rәssa –čč A. medicine-- at-home forget.-3 ‘Aster forgot the medicine at home’ [= ‘she forgot to bring it’]

Zәnәgga “forget”

This verb has the equivalent meaning to English “forget”. While the ‘core’ lexical meaning of ‘forgetting’ is covered by the two verbs, rәssa and zәnәgga, there are a number of stylistic, formal, and lexical-semantic differences between them. First, zәnәgga “forget” seems to be used in a more formal register, relative to the verb rәssa “forget”. For example, the idiomatic expression equivalent to the English imperative construction “forget it!” can be translated using rәssa but sounds rather odd with the verb zәnәgga. (28)

urši – w forget..3–3 “Forget it!” b. ? zәngi – w forget..3–3 “Forget it!”

a.

Second, it appears that in some cases the verb zәnәgga “forget” can be used to refer to a more stable state (‘state of mind’) roughly equivalent to ‘absent-mindedness’. Thus, the

 Mengistu Amberber

nominal equivalent to ‘forgetful’ or ‘absent-minded’ is derived from the verb zәnәgga (as can be seen from the presence of the root consonants √zng): (29)

zungu “forgetful, absent-minded”

In fact, zungu can also mean ‘dull-witted’ – which is a more stable state of affairs. Interestingly, the Gi’iz cognate, zangәa has a range of meanings which are not necessarily related to memory, including “feeble-minded”, “foolish”, “demented” (Leslau 1989). For further evidence which shows that zәnәgga encodes ‘absent-mindedness’ rather than ‘transience’ (see Schacter 2001), consider the following idiomatic collocations. (30)

yә –zәnәgga tә –wәgga -forget.3 -stab..3 ‘One who gets distracted (in a fight) gets hurt.’

(31)

a – zәngut – o dәbәddәbә – w -forget.-3 beat..3-3O ‘Having put him off guard, he beat him.’

As the English glosses in (30) and (31) indicate, the meaning of the verb is not ‘forget’, strictly speaking, but rather roughly equivalent to ‘being distracted’. There is some evidence that suggests that zәnәgga cannot be felicitously used to encode the forgetting of ‘procedural’ knowledge (e.g. skills such as typing, dancing, horse riding, etc.). Thus, consider the following examples. (32)

fәrәs mәgalәb rәssa – čč horse riding forget.-3 a. ‘She forgot to ride a horse’ (= ‘she was supposed to do it but forgot’) b. ‘She forgot horse-riding’ (= ‘she lost the skill of horse riding’)

With the verb rәssa, the sentence can have two possible interpretations: (a) the forgetting of carrying out the event of horse riding and (b) the forgetting of the skill of horse-riding. On the other hand, with the verb zәnәgga, there is a preference for one felicitous interpretation – that of forgetting the event rather than the skill. (33)

fәrәs mәgalәb zәnәgga – čč horse riding forget.-3 ‘She forgot to ride a horse’ (= ‘she was supposed to do it but forgot’)

The same seems to be the case with knowledge involving language. Thus, consider the following contrast: (34)

arәbuñña rәssa – čč Arabic forget.-3 a. ‘She forgot (to speak in) Arabic’ (= ‘she was supposed to do it but forgot’) b. ‘She forgot (the knowledge of) Arabic’ (= ‘she cannot speak it any more’)

(35)

arәbuñña zәnәgga – čč Arabic forget.-3 ‘She forgot (to speak in) Arabic’ (= ‘she was supposed to do it but forgot’)

Chapter 11. Remember, remind, and forget in Amharic 

Unlike (34) which invites two interpretations, (35) which involves the verb zәnәgga, is marked on the reading that the speaker has completely forgotten the skill of speaking Arabic.

.

Polysemy with “thinking” and “knowing”

D’Andrade (1995) classifies cognitive and perception verbs on the basis of what he calls the ‘folk model of the mind’. He defines this model as follows: A basic cultural model in all cultures is the representation of what happens inside people – in their minds, or psyches – that results in their doing what they do. . . . This model can be called a folk model because it contrasts in a number of ways with the expert models of the mind found in psychology and philosophy. (D’Andrade 1995: 158)

As can be seen below, according to D’Andrade’s classification, the English verbs ‘remember’ and ‘forget’ belong to two different categories: the former is classified as a perception verb along with ‘watch’, ‘listen’, whereas the latter is classified as a thought verb with verbs such as ‘understand’, realise’, and ‘infer’:2 (36)

i.

ii.

Perceptions a. Simple state – see, hear, smell, taste b. Achieved state – spot, sight, notice, perceive, sense c. Accomplished process – look, observe, watch, listen, touch, remember Thoughts a. Simple state – believe, know, doubt, suspect b. Achieved state – understand, realise, infer, conclude, forget c. Accomplished process – infer, learn, find out, discover, guess

It is not entirely clear why the verb ‘remember’ is classified in a perception category whereas the very closely related verb ‘forget’ is classified in a thought category. Perhaps it is not difficult to see the affinity between ‘remember’ and perceptual verbs such as ‘see’, in so far as memory does not exist in a vacuum but somehow must be first encoded through the use of the senses – seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, and tasting. In English the verb ‘see’ can be used in a cognitive sense to mean ‘remember’, as in “The things which I have seen I can now see no more” (William Wordsworth Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood, cited in Schacter 2001: 40). This relationship between the perceptual verbs and ‘memory’ also makes sense when we consider the normal course of lexicalisation involving the evolution of

. For the present purposes, the relevant classes are Perceptions and Thoughts. D’Andrade’s model includes three other major classes: Feelings/Emotions, Wishes, and Intentions.

 Mengistu Amberber

more abstract concepts from less abstract ones through pragmatic inference, as in the ‘hear’/‘think’ and see/think polysemy we find in a number of languages (cf. Evans and Wilkins 2000; Goddard 2003). In Amharic, some verbs of thinking can also have meanings related to memory. Thus, consider the verb assb (which, in other contexts, normally means ‘think’): (37)

“ undet budәffәr nәw” yalut hullguze yu – tassәbәññal how insult..3  say. always .3-think.-1. ‘I always remember him saying “How was I insulted!’ [Alemayehu 245]

The use of the verb assәbә to encode the meaning ‘remember’ seems to have been productive historically as can be seen in the following verses from the bible. (38)

yәbetuh k’unat yubәlaññal tәbulo undәtәs’afә your.house zeal consume.me being.said that.it.was.written assәb–u remember.-3 ‘His disciples remembered that it was written, zeal of your house will consume me.’ (John 2: 17)

(39)

dәk’әmәzamurtu yuhun undәtәnaggәrә assәb–u–nna. . . disciples.his this that.he.spoke remember.-3-and ‘His disciples remembered that He said this; and. . .’ (John 2: 22)

(40)

yosefumm sulәnәssu aytot yәnәbbәrәwun hulm assәbә Joseph.and about.them seen have.been dream remember..3 ‘Joseph remembered the dreams which he had about them,. . .’ (Genesis 42: 9)

In all of the above examples, we see that the verb used as equivalent to the English “remember” is assәbә (which can also mean “think”) rather than the verb astawwәsә “remember”. Diachronically, it is perhaps the case that the use of the verb astawwәsә “remember” to encode the meaning “remember” is relatively recent. The polysemy between ‘thinking’ and ‘remembering’ appears to be common crosslinguistically. According to Fortescue (2001: 24) As with knowing, many basic words corresponding (more or less) to English remember are etymologically opaque, although they often stand in a polysemous relationship with basic words for thinking (especially in Indo-European languages)

In Japanese, the verb oboeru has meaning ranging over many cognitive domains: “learn, know, remember, recognise, feel”. In Koyukon (Na-Dene) the verb –neek has meanings including: “remember, feel, be conscious of, hear, recognise, find out, know”. The polysemy between ‘thinking’ and ‘remembering’ can also be seen in the case of ‘remind’. In some contexts, the verb as-assәbә “make think” – which is the causative of the verb assәbә “think” (cf. Amberber 2003) – can be used to encode the meaning “remind” as in the following example.

Chapter 11. Remember, remind, and forget in Amharic 

(41)

yuh–un as – assub – aččәw this- -think..3-3O ‘Remind them of these things, . . .’ (2 Timothy 2: 14)

There is also some evidence that suggests that at least in some contexts the verb as-awwәk’ә “make know” – which is the causative of the verb awwәk’ә “know” – can be used to encode the meaning “remind” suggesting polysemy between ‘remembering’ and ‘knowing’. Thus, consider (42): (42)

yәk’әnawun mәngәd lәssәw y –as–tawwxk’ – әw zәnd. . . right way to.man .3--know.-3O that ‘. . .to remind a man what is right for him,. . .’ (Job 33: 23)

While the Amharic verbs for ‘thinking’ and ‘knowing’ can also be used to encode the meanings ‘remember’ and ‘remind’, it appears that there is no such polysemy when it comes to the verb ‘forget’. In other words, it appears that the verbs for ‘thinking’ and/or ‘knowing’ cannot be employed to encode the meaning ‘forget’.

.

Metaphorical extensions

It is instructive to note that some non-cognitive verbs can be used metaphorically to encode the meaning of memory. Thus, the verb t’әffa “be lost” is commonly used to mean “forget” as in (43): (43)

sum – u t’әffa – ññ name- lost..3-1O ‘I forgot his name’ (lit. “his name was lost on me”)

As a typical experiencer predicate, the object pronominal suffix in (43) agrees with the experiencer argument whereas the subject pronominal suffix agrees with the theme argument (“the thing lost, forgotten”). The verb mәt’t’a + [object suffix ] “come” can also be cast as an experiencer predicate with the meaning “recollect” or “remember” as in (44): (44)

.

sum – u mәt’t’a – ll – uññ name- come..3 – -1O ‘His name came to me’ (‘I remembered his name’)

Conclusion

In this chapter, we looked at the main constructions based on verbs of memory in Amharic. The verb astawwәsә can mean ‘x remember y’ or ‘x remind y’. Remember is a subject-experiencer predicate, in that the experiencer is mapped on to subject position. The subject pronominal suffix on the verb agrees with the experiencer argument. In the case of ‘remind’, the experiencer is mapped onto object position and agrees

 Mengistu Amberber

with an optional object pronominal suffix on the verb. In addition to these, there is an alternative way of encoding the meaning ‘remember’ which involves the use of the verb tawwәsә and an obligatory object pronominal suffix. The experiencer agrees with the object pronominal suffix, whereas the theme argument (‘the thing remembered’) controls subject agreement. This alternating pattern is very common and found across a range of other cognitive and perception verbs (see Amberber 2005). A number of interesting issues have emerged in the course of our analysis. First, it is not entirely clear why it’s possible to say “one who reminds” through nominalisation of “remind”, but why the parallel “one who remembers” is rather odd. Instead of saying “one who remembers”, it appears that a more felicitous ‘equivalent’ is yәmayrәsa “one who does not forget”. It’s equally not clear why the verb rәssa ‘forget’ cannot take an adpositional complement (“forget about something”), while the same is not true for astawwәsә “remember”. It is also interesting to note that while there is polysemy between “remember” and “think”/ “know”, there is no polysemy between “forget” and “think”/ “know”.

References Alemayehu, H. 1992. Fiqir Iske Meqabir. [c. 1960, in Amharic] Addis Ababa: Mega Publishing. Amberber, M. 1996. Transitivity Alternations, Event-types and Light Verbs. PhD dissertation, McGill University. Amberber, M. 2000. Valency-changing and valency-encoding devices in Amharic. In Changing Valency: Case Studies In Transitivity, R.M.W. Dixon and A.Y. Aikhenvald (eds), 312–332. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Amberber, M. 2001. Testing emotional universals in Amharic. In Emotions in Crosslinguistic Perspective, J. Harkins and A. Wierzbicka (eds), 35–67. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Amberber, M. 2002. Verb Classes and Transitivity in Amharic, Munich: Lincom Europa. Amberber, M. 2003. The grammatical encoding of “thinking” in Amharic. Cognitive Linguistics 14 (2/3): 195–219. Amberber, M. 2005. Differential subject marking in Amharic. Competition and Variation in Natural Languages: the Case for Case, M. Amberber and H. de Hoop (eds), 295–319. London: Elsevier. D’Andrade, R. 1995. The Development of Cognitive Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Evans, N. and Wilkins, D. 2000. In the mind’s ear: the semantic extension of perception verbs in Australian languages. Language 76: 546–592. Fortescue, M. 2001. Thoughts about thought. Cognitive Linguistics. 12 (1): 15–45. Goddard, C. 2003. Thinking across languages and cultures: six dimensions of variation. Cognitive Linguistics 14 (2/3): 109–140. Goddard, C. and Wierzbicka, A. (eds). 2002. Meaning and Universal Grammar. Vols I and II. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Jackendoff, R. 1990. Semantic Structures. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Chapter 11. Remember, remind, and forget in Amharic  Jackendoff, R. 2002. Foundations of Language: Brain, Meaning, Grammar, Evolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kane, T.L. 1990. Amharic-English Dictionary. Vols I and II. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Leslau, W. 1989. Concise Dictionary of Ge’ez (Classical Ethiopic). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Leslau, W. 1995. Reference Grammar of Amharic. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Palmer, G. 2003. Talking about thinking in Tagalog. Cognitive Linguistics 14 (2/3): 251–280. Postal, P. 1970. On the surface verb Remind. Linguistic Inquiry 1: 37–120. Schacter, D. 2001. The Seven Sins of Memory: How the Mind Forgets and Remembers. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin. Vendler, Z. 1967. Linguistics in Philosophy. Cornell: Cornell University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1996. Semantics: Primes and Universals. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wierzbicka, A. 1998. Think – a universal human concept and a conceptual primitive. Poznan Studies in the Philosophy of the Sciences and the Humanities 62: 297–308. Wierzbicka, A. 2002. Semantic Primes and Universal Grammar in Polish. In Meaning and Universal Grammar, C. Goddard and A. Wierzbicka (eds), 65–144. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

Author index

A Amberber, M. , , –, , , –, , , ,  Apresjan, J. , –, ,  Aristotle ,  B Baddeley, A.  Behrens, L. ,  Biggs, J. –,  Bloomfield, L.  Brewin, C.R.  Bruner, J. ,  C Chafe, W. – Churchland, P.  Craik, F.I.M.  D D’Andrade, R. , , –, ,  Dalton, D.  Danziger, K. – DeFrancis, J. ,  Derrida, J.  Deutscher, M. – Dixon, R.M.W. , ,  Dorfman, A.  Dowty, D. ,  Durie, M.  E Eco, U. , ,  Evans, N. , , , –, , , , –, , , , , ,  F Fanego, T.  Flavell, J.H.  Fortescue, M. , , ,  Fuller, T.  G Gallistel, C.R.  Goddard, C. , , –, , , , , , –, –,

, –, , , , , , , , –, , , , ,  H Hale, K.  Hallpike, C.R. ,  Harbsmeier, C.  Harkins, J. – Helbig, G. ,  J Jackendoff, R. , ,  Janda, L.  Jorgensen, E.  Junker, M.-O. , –, , –,  K Kane, T.L. ,  Kuhn, S. , ,  L Leslau, W. , , ,  Lyon, T.D. ,  M Martin, C.B. – Müller, W.  Mushin, I.  N Nichols, J.  Nuyts, J.  P Palmer, G. , , ,  Pawley, A. , ,  Pederson, E.  Porter, R.  Postal, P. , ,  Proust, M. , – S Sapir, E. ,  Schacter, D. , , – Schalley, A. , , , , –, –, , ,  Schwartz, B.L. 

Smith, R. – Stevenson, B. ,  Sutton, J. , , , –, –, ,  Sweetser, E.  T Tao, H. , , , ,  Tulving, E. , ,  V Van Valin, R.D. , , , , , , , –, , , –, –, ,  Vendler, Z. , ,  W Watkins, D. , – Wegner, D.  Whorf, B.L. ,  Wierzbicka, A. , , , , , , –, , –, –, , –, , , –, , , , –, , , , , , , , –, , , , ,  Wilkins, D. , , –, , , , , , –, , , –, –, , ,  Winograd, E.  Wunderlich, D.  Y Ye, Zhengdao , , , , –, , , , , ,  Yoon, K.-J. , , , , , – Z Zaefferer, D.  Zalizniak, A. , , 

Language index

A Algonquian , , , ,  Amharic , , , –, –, , , – C Chinese , , –, – Cree , , –, –, –, –,  D Dalabon , , , , –, , –, –, – E English –, –, –, –, –, –, –, , , –, , , –, –, –, , , , –, –, –, –, , , , , , , –, –, , , , –, , , –, , , –, , , –, –, –,

–, –, –, –, , – Ethiosemitic  F French , –, , , , , , , , , –, ,  G Gahuku-Gama  German , , , –, , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , –, – Greek , , , ,  Gunwinyguan languages , 

L Latin

, , , , , 

M Mandarin ,  Mparntwe Arrente  P Pintupi/Luritja – Pitjantjatjara/Yankunytjatjara ,  Polish , , , –, –, –, , –,  R Rawa  Russian , , –, –, , , , –, , , –, , 

I Indo-European , 

S Semitic



K Kalam ,  Korean , , –, –, –, –, , , –

T Tagalog

, 

Y Yidiny 

Subject index

A absentative demonstrative –, –, ,  absent-mindedness , – alphabetic script ,  animate subject , ,  aphasic patients  aspectual semantics ,  auditory memorisation , –, , , , ,  B bilingual memory , 

developmental psychology of memory  discourse , –, , , , , –, –, ,  distributed cognition ,  dyslexia – E educational psychology  emotion , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  encyclopaedic  epistememes  evidential , –, , –,  experiencer –, , –, , , –, , – experiential constructions  experiential memory , – experiential remembering –,  external memory ,  external stimuli , , 

C causal criterion – characters, Chinese –, –, , , –, –,  childhood memories ,  COBUILD corpus , , –, ,  cognitive action , , – cognitive neuropsychology  cognitive science , , , , –, –, , –, , ,  cognitive semantics , , ,  cognitive verbs , , , , , , –, , ,  complex predicate  Conceptual Semantics , ,  consciousness , , , , , , , ,  cultural construct , ,  cultural ethos 

H human universal

D declarative knowledge  depository of knowledge 

I idiomatic collocation  ignorative complements 

F factual remembering  folk model of the mind , , ,  forget , , , –, , , –, –, , , –, , , , , , , –, –, , , , –, , –, , , , , –, – , 

impersonal constructions , – inanimate subject ,  informational memory , – interdisciplinary study of memory ,  internal memory  internalisation –, ,  internally-generated stimuli  intonational prominence  involuntary memory , ,  L learn by heart , –, , , – lexical semantics , , , –, –, ,  lexicalisation  lexicography  linguocentrism , – lived experience ,  long-term mental states – M meditation ,  memorisation –, –, , –, , , , , , – metaphorical extension ,  mind-as-container ,  mind-as-processor  mind-as-storage  N nominalisation –,  non-alphabetic script , , , – nostalgic feeling , , , 

 Subject index NP-complement –, –, , –,  NSM , , , , , –, –, –, , , , , –, , –, , , –, , , ,  O ontology of mental states and processes  orthography , ,  Oxford Companion to the Mind , –,  P past customary ,  past imperfective , , , –,  past perfective , , –, , , , ,  perception , , , , , , –, , –, , , ,  personal experience , , –, , , ,  polysemy , , , –, , – polysynthetic verb  preverb , –, , , , –

procedural knowledge 

,

R reading-aloud , –, , , –,  recall , –, –, , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , – reciting –, –, –, , –, –,  remember , , –, , , –, –, , , , –, –, –, –, –, –, –, , –, –, –, –, –, –, , –, , –, , –, –, , –, , –, –, –, –, –, , , –, – remind , , –, , , –, , –, , –, , , , , , –, –, , , –, –, , , , , , –, – reminisce , , , 

repetition , , , –, – retrieve , , , , –, –, –, –, , ,  root-and-pattern morphology  rote learning –,  S short-term mental states



T toponyms –, ,  transience , , ,  transitivity –, , ,  U Unified Eventity Representation –,  V valency , ,  verbal learning  voluntary memory , –, –,  W writing system –, , , , 

In the series Human Cognitive Processing the following titles have been published thus far or are scheduled for publication: 22 Berendt, Erich (ed.): Metaphors for Learning. Cross-cultural Perspectives. ix, 243 pp. + index. Expected February 2008 21 Amberber, Mengistu (ed.): The Language of Memory in a Crosslinguistic Perspective. 2007. xi, 284 pp. 20 Aurnague, Michel, Maya Hickmann and Laure Vieu (eds.): The Categorization of Spatial Entities in Language and Cognition. 2007. viii, 371 pp. 19 Benczes, Réka: Creative Compounding in English. The Semantics of Metaphorical and Metonymical Noun-Noun Combinations. 2006. xvi, 206 pp. 18 Gonzalez-Marquez, Monica, Irene Mittelberg, Seana Coulson and Michael J. Spivey (eds.): Methods in Cognitive Linguistics. 2007. xxviii, 452 pp. 17 Langlotz, Andreas: Idiomatic Creativity. A cognitive-linguistic model of idiom-representation and idiom-variation in English. 2006. xii, 326 pp. 16 Tsur, Reuven: ‘Kubla Khan’ – Poetic Structure, Hypnotic Quality and Cognitive Style. A study in mental, vocal and critical performance. 2006. xii, 252 pp. 15 Luchjenbroers, June (ed.): Cognitive Linguistics Investigations. Across languages, fields and philosophical boundaries. 2006. xiii, 334 pp. 14 Itkonen, Esa: Analogy as Structure and Process. Approaches in linguistics, cognitive psychology and philosophy of science. 2005. xiv, 249 pp. 13 Prandi, Michele: The Building Blocks of Meaning. Ideas for a philosophical grammar. 2004. xviii, 521 pp. 12 Evans, Vyvyan: The Structure of Time. Language, meaning and temporal cognition. 2004. x, 286 pp. 11 Shelley, Cameron: Multiple Analogies in Science and Philosophy. 2003. xvi, 168 pp. 10 Skousen, Royal, Deryle Lonsdale and Dilworth B. Parkinson (eds.): Analogical Modeling. An exemplar-based approach to language. 2002. x, 417 pp. 9 Graumann, Carl Friedrich and Werner Kallmeyer (eds.): Perspective and Perspectivation in Discourse. 2002. vi, 401 pp. 8 Sanders, Ted, Joost Schilperoord and Wilbert Spooren (eds.): Text Representation. Linguistic and psycholinguistic aspects. 2001. viii, 364 pp. 7 Schlesinger, Izchak M., Tamar Keren-Portnoy and Tamar Parush: The Structure of Arguments. 2001. xx, 264 pp. 6 Fortescue, Michael: Pattern and Process. A Whiteheadian perspective on linguistics. 2001. viii, 312 pp. 5 Nuyts, Jan: Epistemic Modality, Language, and Conceptualization. A cognitive-pragmatic perspective. 2001. xx, 429 pp. 4 Panther, Klaus-Uwe and Günter Radden (eds.): Metonymy in Language and Thought. 1999. vii, 410 pp. 3 Fuchs, Catherine and Stéphane Robert (eds.): Language Diversity and Cognitive Representations. 1999. x, 229 pp. 2 Cooper, David L.: Linguistic Attractors. The cognitive dynamics of language acquisition and change. 1999. xv, 375 pp. 1 Yu, Ning: The Contemporary Theory of Metaphor. A perspective from Chinese. 1998. x, 278 pp.