Language as a worldview. Metaphors that shape our perception

This is why learning another language is more than acquiring new vocabulary.

It is an encounter with a different coordinate system.

It is an opportunity to discover that many things we once considered natural and self-evident are, in fact, only one possible way of organizing experience.

When we learn a new language, our eyes do not change.

But sometimes we begin to notice things we used to walk past without seeing.

And perhaps that is the greatest gift languages offer.

They remind us that the world is far larger than any single worldview we have grown accustomed to treating as the only possible one.

Each language offers its own set of lenses.

No single lens reveals reality in its entirety.

But the more lenses we have at our disposal, the richer, deeper, and more expansive the world becomes.

Part II. Being and Society

Chapter 3. Everyday Syntax: The Grammar of Hearth, Bread, and Clothing

So, let’s throw another log onto the imaginary fire and place a second cup of something warm beside it. We are moving into a space that usually feels too familiar to be important — the everyday.

“A human being lives not in an objective world, nor in a world of social activity alone… To a large extent, they are under the control of the specific language that has become the medium of expression for that society.”

— Edward Sapir

In its usual framing, everyday life appears as background. Almost like a kind of noise beneath which the “real” events take place — philosophy, politics, religion, art. We tend to think that daily actions — washing dishes, choosing clothes, slicing bread, arranging objects in the kitchen — are automatic gestures, devoid of inner structure.

But this is precisely where the main perceptual error arises.

Everything that seems like “background” is, in fact, the densest fabric of experience. In everyday life, language stops being text and becomes architecture. It does not merely describe the world — it organizes it so that life inside it becomes possible at all.

If we look closely, the material world begins to behave like a system of signs. Objects cease to be just things: they become stable nodes of meaning. Domestic rituals — the repeated actions of morning and evening — start to resemble grammatical constructions that structure time itself. And the smells and tastes of the kitchen are no longer just sensations, but compressed “memory formulas,” in which entire cultural scenarios are folded into a single experience.

And then something unexpected becomes visible: everyday life is not the opposite of thought. It is thought that has become material.

Insert: A Historical Excursion

Wilhelm Humboldt

saw language not as a finished product, but as a continuous process of becoming — Energeia rather than Ergon.

If we transfer this view onto everyday life, an interesting shift occurs: a cup on the table stops being just an object. It becomes a frozen habit of action — a way in which culture repeatedly negotiates how exactly to quench thirst, how to preserve warmth, how to distribute attention between body and world.

From this perspective, everyday objects are not final things, but materialized forms of repeated linguistic and cultural agreements.