Reflexives: Forms and Functions (Typological Studies in Language)

REFLEXIVES

TYPOLOGICAL STUDIES IN LANGUAGE (TSL) A companion series to the journal “STUDIES IN LANGUAGE” Honorary Editor: Joseph H. Greenberg General Editor: Michael Noonan Assistant Editors: Spike Gildea, Suzanne Kemmer Editorial Board: Wallace Chafe (Santa Barbara) Bernard Comrie (Leipzig) R.M.W. Dixon (Canberra) Matthew Dryer (Buffalo) John Haiman (St Paul) Kenneth Hale (Cambridge, Mass.) Bernd Heine (Köln) Paul Hopper (Pittsburgh) Andrej Kibrik (Moscow)

Ronald Langacker (San Diego) Charles Li (Santa Barbara) Andrew Pawley (Canberra) Doris Payne (Oregon) Frans Plank (Konstanz) Jerrold Sadock (Chicago) Dan Slobin (Berkeley) Sandra Thompson (Santa Barbara)

Volumes in this series will be functionally and typologically oriented, covering specific topics in language by collecting together data from a wide variety of languages and language typologies. The orientation of the volumes will be substantive rather than formal, with the aim of investigating universals of human language via as broadly defined a data base as possible, leaning toward cross-linguistic, diachronic, developmental and live-discourse data.

Volume 40

Zygmunt Frajzyngier and Traci S. Curl (eds) Reflexives Forms and functions

REFLEXIVES FORMS AND FUNCTIONS

Edited by

ZYGMUNT FRAJZYNGIER TRACI S. CURL University of Colorado

JOHN BENJAMINS PUBLISHING COMPANY AMSTERDAM/PHILADELPHIA

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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 Reflexives : forms and functions / edited by Zygmunt Frajzyngier, Traci S. Curl. p. cm. -- (Typological studies in language, ISSN 0167-7373; v. 40) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Grammar, Comparative and general--Reflexives. 2. Grammar, Comparative and general-Grammaticalization. I. Frajzyngier, Zygmunt. II. Curl, Traci S. III. Series: Typological studies in language ; v. 40. P299.R44 R44 1999 415--dc21 99-23469 ISBN 90 272 2939 2 (Eur.) / 1 55619 653 9 (US) (Hb; alk. paper) CIP © 2000 – 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 75577 • 1070 AN Amsterdam • The Netherlands John Benjamins North America • P.O.Box 27519 • Philadelphia PA 19118-0519 • USA

Contents

Introduction Zygmunt Frajzyngier

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The fine structure of grammar: Anaphoric relations Eric Reuland

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Intensifiers and reflexives: A typological perspective Ekkehard König and Peter Siemund

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The structural and lexical space between reflexive binding and logophorics: Sundry paradigms of reflexives and anaphora Werner Abraham The typology and grammaticalization of reflexives Mathias Schladt Domains of point of view and coreferentiality: System interaction approach to the study of reflexives Zygmunt Frajzyngier

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Conceptual distance and transitivity increase in Spanish reflexives Ricardo Maldonado

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Bound pronouns and non-local anaphors: The case of Earlier English Elly van Gelderen

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Reflexives and emphasis in Tsaxur (Nakh-Dagestanian) Ekaterina A. Lyutikova

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What it means to deceive yourself: The semantic relation of French reflexive verbs and their corresponding transitive verbs Richard Waltereit

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Subject index Author index Language index

279 283 285

Introduction ZYGMUNT FRAJZYNGIER University of Colorado

The term ‘‘reflexive’’ has been used throughout the history of linguistics in at least two senses: one referring to the function of marking two arguments of a verb as coreferential, and the second referring to morphological markers of coreferentiality. Both of these usages have enabled linguists to include a wide variety of forms and functions as the object of study. As a result a reader of contemporary linguistic literature is bound to encounter not only different definitions of the terms (linguistic dictionaries and encyclopedias notwithstanding) but also widely different categorizations of the same forms within the same language. Because of this wide formal and functional scope, the term ‘‘reflexive’’ is not very useful in linguistic analysis; it should be replaced by other terms, depending on what one actually finds in a given language or on the scope of a cross-linguistic study. Scholars working on a theoretical study of an aspect of the phenomena involved, on typology of the forms, or on any kind of comparative studies have been long aware of the wide scope of this term. The use of this term in the title of the volume and in the present introduction takes advantage of its wide scope and intends to represent thus the whole range of forms and functions that have been studied under the guise of reflexive forms. The importance of reflexive markers in the study of language structure cannot be underestimated: They participate in the coding of the argument structure of a clause; in the coding of semantic relations between arguments and verbs; in the coding of the relationship between arguments (reciprocal function), in the coding of aspect; in the coding of the point of view, and in the coding of the information structure of a clause. The previous cross-linguistic studies in which the reflexive forms and functions were central (Faltz 1985; Geniušien˙e 1987; Kemmer 1993; and an excellent summary in Lichtenberk 1994) have provided various lists and some taxonomies of the forms involved and delineated the most frequent functions of these forms. The studies in the present volume contribute to the existing knowledge of the issues in two ways: They analyze selected phenomena from different theoretical

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perspectives, and they present data that have not hitherto informed theoretical discussions. Let us try to tease out some of the more important and almost always controversial aspects of reflexives. We will start with the object of the study. The tacit assumption in some studies, even contemporary ones, has been that if a form is used in the coding of coreferentiality of subject and another argument, or agent and another semantic role, such a form is reflexive. Other scholars use a quite different set of criteria, specific syntactic properties, binding properties, etc. The issue is particularly important for languages that have more than one potential candidate for the reflexive marker. The differences in the selection of the object of the study are evident in the present volume. Reuland does not include among reflexive anaphors the Dutch form zich, but König and Siemund do. Similarly in Polish some linguists consider siv to be a reflexive form and other linguists do not (cf. references in Frajzyngier’s paper). The categorial status of so-called short reflexive markers (Dutch zich, Polish siv) is also an object of controversy. Some scholars consider such forms particles (Geniušien˙e 1984), but others consider them members of a set that also comprises pronouns and anaphors (Abraham, this volume). Ever since the appearance of Chomsky’s Binding Theory, the issue of the categorization has been considerably simplified: There are only three categories and the criteria for their determination are clearly defined. But the classification into nouns, pronouns, and anaphors leaves many forms phonologically identical with anaphors outside the scope of the study because binding principles are not applicable. Moreover, the same phonological form can be an anaphor and a pronoun (cf. paper by van Gelderen on Old and Middle English, and by Lyutikova on Tsaxur). There are languages with a much finer granularity of distinction, where the distinction between pronouns and anaphors is simply insufficient. And finally, there are languages where the functional categories coded by anaphors in English or Dutch are coded by inflections on the verb. So, when attempting a typological study of a category or a cross-linguistic study of a principle, one has to find out what criteria were used for the selection of a given form. The choice of categories discussed in the present volume clearly indicates that both formal and functional properties played an equal role in the choice of forms. The interest that reflexive forms have always evoked lies in the apparent multitude of functions coded by these forms and the potential interrelationship among them. Many of the functions of so-called reflexive markers have no relationship to the domain of reference. One of the most frequently pointed to has been the intransitivizing function, or the valence reduction. But there are languages where linguists have postulated valence increase as a result of addition of reflexive markers (Maldonado, this volume, and references there).

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In many Romance and Slavic and in some Germanic languages there exists a class of reflexive verbs often characterized by the obligatory presence of a reflexive marker. The lexicalizations of these verbs can be analyzed in a way similar to the analysis proposed by Waltereit for the French reflexive verbs derived from transitive verbs. The notion of point of view has somewhat different meanings for different linguists. It has been used to explain the function of reflexive markers by Cantrall 1974, Kuroda 1973, numerous writings by Kuno, and Zribi-Hertz 1989, who summarizes previous approaches. The common thread in these approaches is that the reflexive markers represent the event from the point of view of the subject. In the present volume the notion of point of view is invoked in papers by König, Lyutikova, Maldonado, and Frajzyngier. The attractiveness of the notion of point of view is that it may subsume a host of other functions of the so-called short reflexive pronouns as well as inflectional markers on the verb (cf. Frajzyngier). The unspecified human subject is coded in some languages by the same form that codes the middle (cf. Frajzyngier 1982; Kemmer 1993: 178ff). In many languages the unspecified human subject is coded by other means, sometimes third person plural coding, grammaticalized usage of the noun ‘‘man’’ (French, German). The importance of the unspecified human subject coding is that it may shed some light on the distinction between two types of reflexive markers (cf. Frajzyngier). The grammaticalization of reflexive markers has an intrinsic interest: If we know the sources of the markers we can reconstruct the syntactic properties of some earlier stage of the language. The subject is interesting in that for some languages these sources are very transparent, that is, words for body or head but seldom other body parts, and in other languages, the sources of grammaticalization are obscure (cf. Schladt, this volume; Frajzyngier, this volume). Eric Reuland argues for the principle-based, as opposed to the construction-based, approach to the categories of anaphora, reflexive, and pronoun. His paper presents definitions and explanations of these categories within generative grammar as it has developed, to a large degree because of Reuland’s own work, after Chomsky’s Binding Principles. The object of the paper is the study of anaphora in argument position, i.e. the position that receives Case and thematic role. Pronouns are elements that can be interpreted as bound variables. The inherent definition of pronouns is that they are members of the category determiner that are characterized by grammatical features compatible with categories D or N, viz. person, number, and Case. Reuland postulates that there is no intrinsic property of anaphors that prohibits an unbound interpretation and that there is no general way to provide a reconstruction [i.e. definition] of the notions of pronominal and anaphor in terms of their absolute binding properties. A predicate is reflexive if two of its arguments are coindexed. Following Reuland and Reinhart (1993), Reuland postulates that the

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reflexivity of predicates must be licensed, either by the inherent properties of the verb or by the addition of the forms self, zelf, etc. The main object of König and Siemund’s programmatic study is the synchronic and diachronic relations between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors. The justification for this approach is the fact that in many languages intensifiers and reflexive markers have the same or similar form. König and Siemund examine the meaning of intensifiers and the binding properties of reflexive anaphors derived from them. But the authors also offer a critique of previous theories of anaphors and reflexives and point out those areas that have been neglected in previous studies, mainly the role of intensifiers in language structure and grammaticalization. They offer a taxonomy of intensifiers and describe in detail the meaning of ‘‘exclusive intensifier.’’ They also discuss languages where a formal identity between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors obtains. Intensifiers in many languages develop from body-part terms. Since reflexive markers are also derived from body parts, König and Siemund propose the following grammaticalization scheme: body part → (intensifier) → reflexive anaphors. Part of their study is devoted to the phenomenon observed earlier, viz., that if a language has several reflexive markers, their choice depends on whether the situation is ‘‘other-directed’’ or ‘‘non-other directed.’’ That principle explains why in some languages one can have a reflexive marker added to the verb ‘‘love’’ but not to the verb ‘‘hate.’’ Maldonado’s paper starts with the analysis of the use of se in Spanish transitive clauses and ends with an explanation of the function of se in all types of clauses. He proposes that in transitive clauses se has two functions: reflexive and middle. The analyses are couched in a Cognitive Linguistics framework as proposed by Langacker. The difference between reflexives and middle is that reflexives involve a coreferential subject and object that can be differentiated in the event. Middles involve a low degree of separateness among participants and a low degree of event elaboration. Maldonado proposes that the middle marker se focuses on the ‘‘pivotal moment of change.’’ The effect of this focusing is an increase in the transitivity of the clause. The focusing function also explains the use of se for the coding of reflexive passives, spontaneous events, and unexpected events. Instead of the widely proposed polysemies of the marker se, Maldonado proposes a unitary analysis. In many Slavic and Romance languages there exists a class of reflexive verbs, i.e. verbs that always have a reflexive marker. There also exist transitive verbs whose reflexive counterpart often has a slightly different meaning. Richard Waltereit offers an explanation of how these differences came about in French. It is an attempt to explain lexicalizations of reflexive verbs. A necessary, but not sufficient, prerequisite for the lexicalizations of reflexive verbs is the grammaticalization of the reflexive marker. The lexicalizations of the reflexive verbs took place only after the

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distinction between the coreferential function and the self-affected function of the reflexive marker was blurred with certain types of verbs. Waltereit provides detailed semantic analyses couched in terms of Cognitive Grammar of three classes of verbs that might have led to the blurring of this distinction. Mathias Schladt’s paper examines the source of reflexive markers broadly understood and explains the processes of grammaticalization for one of these sources. He has examined the sources of reflexive markers in 150 languages. The most frequent sources for these markers are terms for body or body parts, followed by nouns: person, self, owner; emphatic pronouns; pronominal objects; verbs to return, come back; ‘‘reflection’’ and locative prepositions. There are some interesting areal characteristics. In different areas there are some sources preferred over others. Schladt also proposes an explanation of the grammaticalization from body parts to reflexive pronouns. The explanation is couched in the theoretical framework of grammaticalization as proposed by Heine. The subject of Werner Abraham’s paper is the system of expressions that comprises pronouns, anaphors, and reflexives. His aim is to demonstrate that an explanation of syntactic and semantic properties of these forms must take into consideration not only binding conditions as proposed by Chomsky and revised by Reinhart and Reuland (1993), but also discourse strategy for the deployment of pronouns, and more specifically the principle proposed by Comrie in his 1997 paper given at the International Congress of Linguists in Paris. The data for Abraham’s study come from various German dialects, Dutch, Frisian, and Modern and Old English. Abraham proposes that when pronominals take over the function of reflexives, the whole system of pronominals, anaphors, and reflexives undergoes a shift along a Pro-form hierarchy. Elly van Gelderen examines the system of coding of reflexives in Old and Middle English within a framework of generative grammar. Unlike Modern English, Old English deployed simple pronouns in a reflexive function, i.e., in the coding of coreferentiality of subject and object. The ‘‘self’’ forms were used only in an intensifier, emphatic function. On the face of it, this situation would constitute a challenge to binding principles A and B. Instead of rejecting the principles, van Gelderen proposes that simple pronouns are used in the reflexive function because they are not fully specified and do not violate the Chain Condition of Reinhart and Reuland 1993. This condition allows pronouns to be locally bound if they are not fully marked for case and phi features. Of course it may appear paradoxical that pronouns in Old English that were marked for case are analyzed as actually not marked for case. In support of her analysis van Gelderen cites the distinction between structural case and inherent case. Pronouns in Old English were marked for inherent case, but not for structural case. The forms with ‘‘self’’ started to appear first in the coding of the reflexive function in prepositional phrases, contrary to the

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widely held notion that if a language has reflexive forms, they will be first deployed in the direct object function. Ekaterina Lyutikova demonstrates that the reflexive marker in Tsakhur (Dagestanian) is morphologically derived from a marker that otherwise codes discourse anaphora and also serves as an intensifier. She provides a cognitive explanation of the development of the reflexive function along the following line: The intensifier is deployed mainly to provide unexpected information. By general discourse principles, coreferentiality of arguments within the same clause is also unexpected, the norm being disjoint reference. Hence in order to code coreferentiality, the language deploys the marker it already has to code unexpected information. The main aim of Frajzyngier’s paper is to demonstrate that the function of a grammatical morpheme is determined by the functional domain to which it belongs and by other means, lexical or grammatical, available in the coding of that domain. Consequently, the function of a reflexive morpheme in a language in which it is the only member in the coding of the domain is different from the function of a reflexive morpheme in a language that has several members in the domain. This approach explains why the functions of Dutch zich and German sich are different. Frajzyngier postulates that in multimorpheme systems one should distinguish two or three subdomains, depending on the number of coding means available. Each of the papers included in the volume has been read by at least one other participant and by both editors. The picture that emerges from the studies in the present volume indicates a certain degree of convergence of results, even if analyses have been conducted from different theoretical perspectives and, most interestingly, even if they had different goals. Thus, Reuland’s conclusions regarding zich in Dutch are similar to Frajzyngier’s conclusions regarding siv in Polish in that neither of these forms is considered anaphoric. König and Siemund, Lyutikova, Frajzyngier, and Maldonado all in one way or another take into consideration point of view as an important function of one type of reflexive markers. There is virtually no disagreement re: grammaticalization sources for reflexive markers, as evidenced in papers by Schladt, Reuland, König and Siemund, and Frajzyngier. One should, nevertheless, not gloss over the differences. The main difference among the papers has to do with fundamental questions: How does one determine the meaning/function of a linguistic form, and what part or parts of a linguistic construction are responsible for what component of the meaning? The absence of agreement (seldom explicitly stated) may be the ultimate reason why the same form is categorized in different ways by different linguists. The papers in this volume do not constitute—indeed they do not intend to be—the final statements on the subject matter. But they do represent a variety of approaches broad enough to be of interest for linguists working on the issues of grammatical relations, thematic relations,

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anaphora and coreferentiality, lexical and grammatical categories, lexicalization, diachronic category changes, and grammaticalization in general.

References Cantrall, William R. 1974. Viewpoint, Refl xives, and the Nature of Noun Phrases. The Hague: Mouton. Faltz, Leonard M. 1985. Refl xivization: A study in universal syntax. New York: Garland. Frajzyngier, Zygmunt. 1982. ‘‘Indefinite agent, impersonal, and passive: A functional approach.’’ Lingua 58: 267–90. Geniušien˙e, Emma. 1987. The Typology of Refl xives. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Kemmer, Suzanne. 1993. The Middle Voice. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kuroda, Sigi-Yuki. 1973. ‘‘Where epistemology, grammar and style meet: A case study from Japanese.’’ In Stephen Anderson and Paul Kiparsky (eds), A Festschrift for Morris Halle, 317–91. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. Lichtenberk, Frantisek. 1994. ‘‘Reflexives and reciprocals.’’ In R. E. Asher and J.M.Y. Simpson (eds), The Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics, vol. 7. Oxford: Pergamon Press, 3504–9. Reuland, Eric, and Tanya Reinhart. 1993. ‘‘Reflexivity’’. Linguistic Inquiry 24: 657–720. Zribi-Hertz, Anne. 1989. ‘‘Anaphor binding and narrative point of view: English reflexive pronouns in sentence and discourse.’’ Language 65: 695–727.

The fine structure of grammar: Anaphoric relations ERIC REULAND Utrecht Institute of Linguistics OTS

1.–The issue The progress that has been made in linguistics over the last decades is due to the central role that has been given to the search for explanation. Of course, the notion of progress presupposes explanation, so this statement forces an open door, yet its implications do not seem to be always fully appreciated. Explanation itself presupposes a hierarchy between bodies of facts and concepts in terms of epistemological priority and also a calculus of some sort in which relations of consequence can be expressed. Furthermore, given that language is typical of man, it must be studied as a function of the human mind. Its properties, therefore, can only be explained in terms of what we come to know about the mind. A reasoning of this sort underlies the work that has been done in generative grammar both narrowly and broadly conceived, and to my mind it is compelling. To sever the connection between the study of language and the study of the mind is to give up the notion of explanation in linguistics. Of course, this conception still leaves open a vast array of issues that can only be resolved empirically. So, for instance, it is conceivable that empirical investigation would teach us that no specific property of language reflects properties of the mind: To put it differently, the mind puts no restrictions on systems that can be acquired and used under the conditions observed for human language. This, probably, is a position that currently no one would actually defend. A position that may be met with a bit more sympathy is that language is essentially a product of human culture. If so, it will not be subject to any restrictions that do not hold for man’s general ability to use and produce manifestations of culture. From this perspective, then, the study of language may still yield insight in the properties of the mind, and vice versa, but it will be unlikely that very specific properties of language can be

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explained in that manner. Relations between linguistic facts should, then, primarily receive historical, or sociological explanations. Whatever structural properties of linguistic systems are to be discovered will be just arbitrary from any higher (epistemologically prior) perspective, and the principles and regularities ascribed to the linguistic system just artefacts of our theories. Of course, there are intermediate possibilities. So, even if someone rejects the view prevalent in generative theories that the language faculty is a highly specialized mental organ, and that universal grammar is a very rich and articulate system, they may still assume the existence of some mental processes and resources that are language specific, or, if not exlusively so, at least language specific to a large extent. The question is, how could one argue against a ‘‘culture-based view’’ of natural language in general, given the fact that there are certainly subdomains that are arguably heavily culturally determined, and therefore arguably more arbitrary from the perspective of the mind (see Koster 1988). One important set of arguments comes from learnability. The pioneering work of Hamburger and Wexler (e.g. Hamburger and Wexler 1973) and Wexler’s subsequent work (see Wexler and Culicover 1981) has given rise to an articulate theory of the learnability of natural language, which leaves no doubt that the fact that natural language is learnable, given the available access to data, can only be accounted for on the basis of a heavily restricted hypothesis space. Another set of arguments comes from the micro-structure of linguistic generalizations which will be the major focus of this article. Before going into it, I will briefly discuss a different issue that is as such orthogonal to the mentalist status of linguistics, but is of the utmost relevance for issues of methodology. This discussion will start out rather abstractly, as material to make it concrete will only become available as we proceed. One of the basic features of generative grammar is that it views the grammar of a language as consisting of three subparts: (i) a system expressing the combinatorial properties of a set of discrete elements, say lexical items or morphemes; (ii) a system to interpret the elements of (i) semantically (leaving open the question to what extent this system is part of the grammar); and (iii) a system to interpret the elements of (i) phonetically (the same caveat applies). A crucial property of grammar in this view is that it is discrete in all possible respects; it operates on discrete elements, a certain structure is or is not derived by the system; it is or is not assigned a certain interpretation, etc. Insofar as there is a grading of wellformedness, this grading can be represented by values on a discrete scale commensurate with the number of violations of principles, which themselves have an absolute character. Crosslinguistic variation is represented by differences in the setting of binary parameters. In short, the system makes it impossible to represent squishes, tendencies, etc.

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Clearly, if one looks at manifestations of language without any specific preconception, there are phenomena that do involve tendencies. Sentences in English texts have a tendency to be shorter on the average than sentences in German texts. Dutch sentences are in-between, and the sentences in your favourite 19th century Russian novel are perhaps even longer than German sentences. There is the influence of genre on sentence length and selection of lexical items, and also on the occurrence of certain grammatical features. To be brief, without doubt there are areas in the study of language where the possibility to talk about tendencies is crucial. From the discrete/grammatical perspective, one may expect to find tendencies precisely where principles of grammar leave choices open. Just as there are no linguistic principles determining what one will say, there are no linguistic principles determining how one will say it. Think of the literally infinite ways that are open to x in order to express that x loves y, and the same for any other relation involving human emotion. Think of the option speakers have to choose metaphors over literal expressions, or the option to use compounds over analytic expressions. Clearly, such choices are not exclusively determined by individual decision, again like the tendency among English speakers to avoid long compounds that would be perfectly acceptable to Dutch or German speakers, and which English rules for compound formation would allow. Note, that this opens the door for a different perspective on crosslinguistic variation. Take a canonical transitive sentence. It seems uncontroversial that most if not all languges admit as an alternative to the canonical transitive sentence a sentence type in which the object is promoted in some sense to subjecthood, and the original subject is expressed as a chômeur. Some languages, however, have passive-like constructions in which the agent is not expressed. The question is, then, how to represent this. Is this related to some deep syntactic property involving the formation of the passive, which makes it impossible to represent the agent, or is it just a convention in that particular language community not to express the agent in a passive, along lines such as: if an argument is so unimportant that you consider demoting it, better go all the way and omit it entirely. The same line is open for all kinds of word order variation. Instead of building conditions on variation into the grammar, one might say something like: speakers in language L1 have the tendency to put an argument they consider important in a position of type x, whereas speakers in language L2 have the tendency to express the importance of an argument by other means (for instance stress). One might then add an overview of the various means speakers of different languages employ for expressing prominence, and some ranking of preferences among these means. Note, that the perspective just sketched is still compatible with the general conception of grammar in the generative tradition. It only opens up a debate as to what type of phenomena are regulated by principles of grammar and what type of

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phenomena are regulated by conventions in an interplay with individual and general strategies of use. Such a debate, however, is difficult to conduct, in the absence of any independent theory of the systems of use and the strategies available to them. Note, that in order for such a debate to be conducted it is not necessary to require of such a theory of use more independent justification than is currently required of theories of grammatical structure. For a debate on this subject to make sense, no more, but also no less, is necessary than a theory of use that is articulate enough to serve as a, possibly abstract, model of what use contributes to the general task of characterizing the relation between form and interpretation, the way it is acquired by children, and the crosslinguistic variation observed. However, as yet, not even the glimmerings of such a theory are visible. In order for such a theory to be properly assessed it should be couched in a formal system that allows one to express its core concepts, to carry out calculations that allow one to determine whether it does or does not capture some phenomenon, allowing one to compare different accounts. In all probability such a system will be rather different from the discrete algebraic system describing the grammar. Rather, one may expect it to have the properties of an analog system. Once this step has been taken and a serious analog system of language use has been developed, it becomes possible to raise an even more fundamental question, namely whether the grammatical system itself can only be represented discretely, or whether an analog model is possible as well. Thus, in the end our discussion links up to the wellknown issue of the proper representation of higher cognitive functions, namely as symbolic or connectionist systems. Coming back to the issue of the passive, our original example, it is clear that the question of how to represent cross-linguistic variation as to the possibility of expressing the agent is directly connected to the issue of whether there is some passive ‘Gestalt’ showing up in different languages with its own preferential scale. The alternative is that whether the agent can or cannot show up independently is related to formal properties of the constructions involved. For instance, if in some language a passive formative is attached to a position where otherwise the agentchômeur would be attached, the latter would be simply prevented from appearing. If such correlations can be established independently for the languages involved, a grammatical solution is supported. Note that a gestalt-type approach is directly dependent on the notion of passive as a construction that is learned as a template independently of the grammatical micro-structure. Consider the fact that besides ‘standard’ passives of the type Jill was seen by Jack, various languages have impersonal passives, such as Dutch er wordt gedanst ‘there is danced’; passive constructions may be formed on the basis of passive auxiliaries together with special morphology on the main verb, but also with cliticlike elements such as French la porte s’ouvre, Italian le mele si mangiano, or even

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si mangia le mele (without agreement between verb and argument). Such a situation could give rise to endless debates as to what a passive really is, whether si mangia le mele should be considered a proper passive or not, etc. Within generative grammar all this leads to a decomposition of the notion of passive into two independent components: (1) Passive (i) movement, (ii) an operation on thematic structure. This requires embedding in a general theory of movement (or, to put it more neutrally, a general theory of transmission of thematic roles), and a general theory of thematic structure. The embedding into the general theory of movement accounts for the contrast between: (2) Ron was expected to have been considered unfit for the job (3)*Ron was expected that has been considered unfit for the job The general theory of thematic structure gives the impossibility of (4) meaning (5). (4) John hit (5) John was hit Various properties of the micro-structure then determine whether impersonal passives can be formed or whether long passives can be formed (compare (2) with *John was seen come home/I saw John come home). As a theoretical notion ‘passive’ thus has been, correctly, abandoned. It still has its use as a descriptive term, but no rule should try to capture it. A major development in generative grammar over the last decades has been the abandonment of the notion of a construction throughout. Essentially, there is no longer a conception of a grammatical construction, but only one of processes that may or may not take place depending on certain formal conditions being met. The core of the present article is to argue that also in the case of ‘anaphors’ and ‘reflexives’ a construction-based approach must be replaced by a principle-based approach. This argument, then, goes against the by now classical binding theory of Chomsky (1981). But it is also by implication directed against attempts to replace it by use-governed and construction-based accounts in other approaches. Such alternatives may appear to be motivated by the correct observation that binding shows far more cross-linguistic variation than one might expect on the basis of Chomsky’s classical binding theory. In this article I will show, however, that once one looks seriously into the micro-structure of the respective grammars the cross-linguistic variation in the binding possibilities of various elements can be

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captured straightforwardly as variation in this micro-structure. Binding conditions of the classical level of granularity, then, vanish, and also the possibility to resurrect them in any principled manner within use-based approaches. The question of what a reflexive element is ends up being theoretically as misguided as the question of what a passive is.

2.–Characterizing anaphoric expressions: problems 2.1.–‘‘Coreference’’ versus ‘‘bound variable anaphora’’ Although one might consider definitions of anaphora that also comprise verbal anaphora as in John left and Mary did too, I will limit the present discussion to nominal anaphora, except where verbal anaphora is needed to illustrate a point about the latter. I will only consider anaphoric relations between NPs in argument positions (where no confusion arises, I will be using ‘NP’ for ‘DP’). The notion of ‘‘argument position’’ can be understood as a position to which a Case or thematic role can be assigned. (An L-related position in the sense of Chomsky 1995: 64). Any NP in such a position is a syntactic argument. Syntactic arguments are not necessarily semantic arguments; for instance, expletive there in there arrived an old soldier is a syntactic, but not a semantic argument. Let us say that " is a semantic argument iff it saturates a thematic role of some predicate J. For sake of clarity, let me add that, in determining whatever formal relations between NPs will turn out to be relevant, only argument positions will be taken into account. Thus, in a case such as himself, John didn’t see, himself is not in a position that qualifies as an A-position. Rather, himself gets both the Case and the thematic role associated with the object position of see, as indicated by the position of the trace in a notation such as himself John didn’t see t. Thus, as far as the theory of anaphora is concerned, the interpretation is equivalent to [himself ]TOP John didn’t see himself. The simplest case of anaphora obtains when in a text distinct NPs refer to the same object, as is illustrated by the various possibilities in (6). (6) a.

The chairman came in late. The speaker/man was visibly tired. Everyone had been worrying himself stiff. When he had welcomed him, for a moment he leaned back with a slight feeling of relief/panic. b. The secretary came in late. The speaker/man was visibly tired. Everyone had been worrying himself stiff. When he had welcomed him, he leaned back with a slight feeling of relief/panic.2

Going over the various options reveals that among the bold printed NPs the choice

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of interpretation is free. Admittedly, there may be tendencies favouring certain interpretations over others, depending on one’s expectations about let us say the capacities and feelings of chairpersons, speakers, and scretaries. Some interpretations may turn out a bit more probable than others, but what happens can be manipulated by the choice of lexical elements, and the expectations these invoke. It is not enforced by any property of the grammar. If two or more NPs (e.g. chairman and speaker, chairman and he) refer to the same individual we say that they are coreferential. Coreference is not always possible. For instance, he in (6) cannot get the value of a quantificational expression such as everyone (note that both are grammatically singular). This appears to be a robust fact. There is a fundamental difference between cases with quantification like (7a) and (7b) (see the extensive literature, e.g. Heim 1982; Reinhart 1983): (7) a. b.

Everyone had been worrying himself stiff. He was relieved. Everyone who had been worrying himself stiff said that he was relieved.

Or even more clearly: (8) a. b.

No one had been worrying himself stiff. He was relieved. No one who had been worrying himself stiff said that he was relieved.

In (7b) and (8b) the interpretation of he can be dependent on the interpretation of an antecedent (everyone, no one) (as is easily seen, an independent reading is not excluded, though). In other words, (7b) and (8b) show a relation of variable binding: (9) Every x/no x . . . said that x was relieved Such an interpretation is impossible in (7a) and (8a). There is a crucial difference between variable binding and coreferentiality. Variable binding is subject to a condition of c-command. This is a structural condition defined in terms of constituent structure. The basic configuration is given in (10): in order for some element " (instantiated as x), to be able to depend for its interpretation on some element $ (here instantiated as QP), $ must be a sister to some constituent containing ": (10) QP [. . . x . . .] If " and $ belong to different sentences, this condition can never be met. Hence, dependent readings are impossible in (7a) and (8a). Note, that definite descriptions and proper names can also serve as variable binders (Reinhart 1983). However, since they are also referential and hence can be coreferential with some pronominal, the examples showing that one type of relation, namely variable binding, can break down, are somewhat more complicated. They typically involve the interaction with VP-anaphora (‘VP-deletion’). Consider (11):

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eric reuland (11) Bill liked his cat and Charly did too.

In such cases the second conjunct is dependent for its interpretation on the first conjunct. In the first conjunct, his can refer to Bill, Charly or some other person. Depending on the choice in the first conjunct we get for the second conjunct the interpretation that Charles liked Bill’s cat, his (=Charly) own cat, or that he liked that same other person’s cat. What is impossible is the interpretation that Bill liked Charly’s cat, and that Charly liked Bill’s cat. An interpretation that is possible, however, is one in which Bill liked Bill’s cat, and Charly liked Charly’s cat. This state of affairs can only be captured by the hypothesis that his is either interpreted referentially or as a variable. If his is interpreted referentially, it is treated as a constant, and this constant is copied into the second conjunct, enforcing an identical interpretation (a ‘strict reading’); if it is a bound variable that property is copied, and the locally available binder provides its value (a ‘sloppy reading’).3 This is represented in (12): (12) a. Bill 8x (x liked a’s cat) & Charles 8x (x liked a’s cat) (strict reading) b. Bill 8x (x liked x’s cat) & Charles 8x (x liked x’s cat) (sloppy reading) As expected, given our discussion at the beginning of this section, since the sloppy reading crucially involves variable binding, it requires that the antecedent c-command the pronoun. This is illustrated in (13): (13) Most of her friends adore Lucie and Zelda too a. Lucie’s friends adore Zelda b. NOT: Zelda’s friends adore Zelda (Zelda (8x (x’s friends adore x))) We may conclude that there are at least two types of anaphora. In the case of bound variable anaphora the anaphoric relation involves a dependency that is reflected in the interpretive process; this means that it is linguistically encoded. In the case of coreferentiality, a dependency, insofar as it can be observed at all, is not linguistically encoded. If we adopt the convention to restrict the use of coindexing to relations that are linguistically encoded, this entails that in Bill likes his cat and Charly does too, under the reading where both like Bill’s cat, Bill and his are not coindexed. This conclusion is highly relevant for the procedure to be followed in obtaining field data. In most situations it is far easier to elicit and evaluate simple utterances with referential expressions. Although such data undoubtedly provide one with an indication of what to look for, they can never provide conclusive evidence about binding relations. Such evidence can only be obtained by enforcing some form of variable binding to occur in the data.

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2.2.–Pronominals and anaphors Whereas anaphora in general can obtain between any pair of NPs, only a small subset of NPs occur as variables in relations of bound variable anaphora. Let us reserve the term pronoun for elements that may be interpreted as variables in the manner discussed (not differentiating, for the moment, between pronominals and anaphors). This gives us, in fact, a contextual, or functional definition of pronoun (see (14a)). Given this functional definition of pronoun, it is an empirical question how pronouns can be inherently characterized. Crucially, pronouns appear to lack features with descriptive content. For many languages, the definition in (14b) appears to be at least a good approximation: (14) a.

Functional definition: Pronouns are elements that can be interpreted as bound variables.

b. Inherent definition: Pronouns are elements of the category Determiner (or, perhaps, Noun) which are characterized only by grammatical features.4 Grammatical features compatible with the categorial features D and N are person, number, gender and Case, for short, M-features. Neither the inherent nor the functional definitions differentiate between pronominals such as Dutch hem, Icelandic hann, English him, and elements that are variably called reflexives or anaphors, such as Dutch zich, Icelandic sig. They also yield no distinction between strong pronouns such as Dutch hem, weak pronouns such as Dutch ’m and clitics, either pronominal or reflexive, such as French le and se respectively. Nevertheless, within natural language, there appears to be a pervasive split within the class of pronouns, namely between a class of pronominals and a class of anaphors or refl xives. The latter two terms both have their drawbacks. Yet, I will abstain from coining a new term, and simply opt for anaphor as a general term for the non-pronominal pronouns. I will be using the term refl xive for a special class of anaphors in a function to be discussed below. One of the basic claims underlying the binding theory of Chomsky (1981) and subsequent work is that pronominals and anaphors are in complementary distribution. Avoiding some complications that may arise in some of the more standard examples, this is illustrated in (15) (here and elsewhere italicization indicates the interpretive dependencies under discussion): (15) a.

De bergbeklimmer merkte dat zijn maat hem voelde wegglijden. the mountain climber noticed that his mate him felt awayslide ‘The mountain climber noticed that his mate felt him slide away’.

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eric reuland b. De bergbeklimmer merkte dat zijn maat zich voelde wegglijden. the mountain climber noticed that his mate 〈anaphor〉 felt awayslide

In (15a) the most favoured interpretation is that hem takes de bergbeklimmer ‘mountain climber’ as its antecedent. Hem can also refer to someone else, but, most definitely, it cannot have zijn maat ‘his mate’ for its antecedent. In (15b) the only option is for zich to take for its antecedent zijn maat. Note, that the latter two observations are very robust; there is nothing gradual, squishy, here. The contrast in (15c,d) helps making the relevant pattern yet more explicit: (15) c. Jans maat voelde hem wegglijden. d. Jans maat voelde zich wegglijden. John’s mate felt him/〈anaphor〉 awayslide ‘John’s mate felt him/himself slide away’. As indicated in (15c), hem may receive Jan as its value; although Jan and hem are quite close, Jan does not c-command the pronoun (only Jans maat does). If, instead of hem, zich is chosen, as in (15d), Jan is not a possible antecedent, but only the ccommanding phrase Jans maat is. As discussed in Section 2.1, the c-command requirement is characteristic of bound variable anaphora, but not of coreference. The generalization drawn from the facts as illustrated in (15) is that, loosely put, pronominals are associated with some ‘‘local domain’’ in which they may not be bound (=free), but nothing is implied about coreference. Anaphors are associated with a local domain in which they must be bound. This is represented in the binding conditions of Chomsky (1981: 188), where ‘‘locality’’ is captured by the notion of ‘‘governing category’’. (16) Binding theory: (A) An anaphor is bound in its governing category; (B) A pronominal is free in its governing category; (C) An R-expression is free. Here, R-expressions are all noun phrases that are not anaphors or pronominals. The governing category is roughly defined as the minimal constituent containing the pronoun (anaphor or pronominal), a governing head (an element assigning Case to the pronoun) and a subject.5 Underlying most current analyses is the intuition that anaphors, unlike pronominals, are in some sense referentially defective (see Bouchard 1984 and Reinhart and Reuland 1993 for extended discussion). To put it briefly: anaphors are elements that must depend on some other element for their interpretation. The question is whether this provides us with the ingredients for a useful definition of anaphor and/or pronominal. For instance, one might try to give a functional defini tion of anaphors as elements that are locally bound. The question is, then, how

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circularity can be avoided. Alternatively, one might try to characterize anaphors inherently, for instance linking their referential defectiveness to defectiveness of feature composition. For certain types of anaphors the latter approach is indeed plausible. For instance, Icelandic sig, Dutch zich, etc. lack specifications for number and gender, unlike full-fledged third person pronominals. However, it is less obvious how the anaphoric character of English himself can be captured along this line. Ideally, in order to avoid circularity, intrinsic characterization and functional definition should match. There is by now an extensive literature on the problems arising if one tries to find either functional or formal correlates for this notion of anaphor. (Maling 1984, 1986; Burzio 1991; Everaert 1986, 1991; Zribi-Hertz 1989; Thráinsson 1991; etc.). We will review some of these problems, and see what conclusions can be drawn from them. Some well-known problematic cases occur in languages that are otherwise wellbehaved, in which the complementarity between anaphors and pronominals breaks down in certain environments, notably PPs and NPs (see, e.g., Chomsky 1981; Huang 1982; Reinhart and Reuland 1993 for discussion). I will not address these cases here. Rather, I will address two more fundamental issues. First, there are many languages in which first and second person pronominals may be locally bound, and some, admittedly fewer, in which third person pronominals may be locally bound. Second, quite a few languages allow elements which in certain environments must be bound to be interpreted without a linguistic antecedent in others. Let us start with the first type of case. I will use Dutch for illustration, but nothing hinges on that, since the same phenomenon obtains in many other Germanic and Romance languages:6 (17) Dutch: a. Ik voelde [J mij wegglijden] I felt me slide away b. Jij voelde [J je wegglijden] you felt you slide away c. Hij voelde [J zich/*hem wegglijden]) He felt 〈anaphor〉/*him slide away d. Wij voelden [J ons wegglijden] We felt us slide away e. Jullie voelden [J je wegglijden] you felt you slide away f. Zij voelden [J zich/*hen wegglijden]) they felt 〈anaphor〉/*them slide away As these examples show, mij, je, and ons can be bound in the same domain where the third person pronominals hem and hen may not be bound. The standard defini-

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tion of governing category gives the matrix clause as the local domain in all cases of (17), since the complement subject receives its case from the matrix verb. This is just right for the examples (17c) and (17f). But it seems to force us to classify mij, je, and ons as anaphors. This is problematic, however, in view of the fact that the same elements can also unconditionally remain free, as is illustrated in (17g). (17) g. Jan zag mij/je/ons komen. ‘John saw me/you/us come’. The same pattern as in (17a–f) is observed with inherently reflexive verbs (to be discussed more extensively below): (18) Dutch: a. Ik schaam mij. I shame me b. Jij schaamt je. you shame you c. Hij schaamt zich/*hem. he shames 〈anaphor〉/*him d. Wij schamen ons. we shame us e. Jullie schamen je. you shame you f. Zij schamen zich/*hen. they shame 〈anaphor〉/*them’ One potential way to explain away the problem posed by these locally bound first and second person pronominals would be to argue that there is no variable binding in these cases, but that first and second-person pronominals can only be coreferential. However, that account cannot be correct in view of (19) which shows that in fact variable binding occurs: (19) Dutch: a. Jullie voelden je wegglijden en wij ook. you felt you(rselves) slide away and we too (=felt you/ourselves slide away) b. You 8x (x felt you slide away) & We 8x (x felt you slide away) (strict reading) c. You 8x (x felt x slide away) & We 8x (x felt x slide away) (sloppy reading) The other way out would be to argue that all these forms are ambiguous between being pronominals and being anaphors. However, that would amount to a mere

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stipulation, with the risk of reducing binding theory to circularity, especially in view of the fact that certain languages show no pronominal/anaphor distinction in the context under consideration even in third person: (20) Frisian: a. Sjoerd fielde him fuortglieden. ‘Sjoerd felt him(self) slide away’ b. Sjoerd skammet him. Sjoerd shames him ‘Sjoerd is ashamed of himself’. c. Ik ha him sjoen. ‘I have seen him’. In (20a) and (20b) him is locally bound (bound in its governing category in the sense of (16)). Yet, as illustrated by (20c), in other contexts it behaves as a true pronominal. So, the conclusion must be that being locally free does not enable us to make a reconstruction of the notion of a pronominal.7 Equally clearly, we must conclude that being locally bound does not reconstruct the notion of an anaphor. One could conceive of a related notion, namely requiring a local binder as providing a definition of anaphor. But, however far one would be prepared to extend the notion of a local domain, the following well-known examples from Icelandic (due to Thráinsson 1991) show that requiring a local binder simply does not work: (21) Icelandic: a. *Jón veit a* María elskar sig John knows that Mary loves indic 〈anaphor〉 b. Sko*un Jons er [a* þu hafir sviki* sig] . . . opinion John’s is that you have betrayed self c. María var alltaf svo andstyggileg. Þegar Olafur kaemi seg*i hún Mary was always so nasty. when Olaf came said she sér árei*anlega a* fara . . . 〈anaphor〉 [≠ Olafur] certainly to leave ‘Mary was always so nasty. When Olaf would come, she would certainly tell himself [the person whose thoughts are being presented—not Olaf] to leave’. In (21a) a binder is available, but it is not local, hence the interpretation indicated is not available. In (21b), which is well-formed under the reading indicated, there is a linguistic antecedent, but it does not c-command sig, hence cannot bind. In (21c) the anaphor sér (dat of sig) has no linguistic antecedent whatsoever. Hence, the only way to obtain the relevant reading is via the assumption that sér is interpreted referentially, as if it were a pronominal.

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It should be noted that Icelandic sig is not the only element traditionally analyzed as an anaphor that can remain unbound (see, for instance the extensive literature on himself, including Ross 1970; Cantrall 1974; Zribi-Hertz 1989; and Reinhart and Reuland 1993). However, since it lacks a full specification of grammatical features (as was noted earlier), it is a clear case of an element that should qualify as an anaphor, if an intrinsic characterization is viable at all. Hence, for current purposes it will suffice. The facts discussed lead to two important theses: (22) There is no intrinsic property of anaphors which prohibits an unbound interpretation.8 (23) There is no general way to provide a reconstruction of the notions pronominal and anaphor in terms of their absolute binding properties. 2.3.–Refl xives As noted earlier, in much of the available literature the term refl xive is used much in the sense in which the previous section used the term anaphor. Yet a distinction seems in order. Many of the by now classical discussions of the binding theory are based on a system with a two-way distinction: anaphors versus pronominals, as in (16). In many languages, however, a three-way distinction obtains: pronominals, simplex anaphors and complex anaphors. Examples with pronominals (Dutch hem, Icelandic hann) and simplex anaphors, henceforth se-anaphors (Dutch zich, Icelandic sig, glossed as se) we discussed already. Complex anaphors (self-anaphors) are elements such as Dutch zichzelf, Icelandic sjalfan sig and also English himself. As is shown by the contrast between (24) and (25), the distribution of se-anaphors and self-anaphors is determined by properties of their local environment. (24) Dutch: a. *Oscar haat zich Oscar hates se b. Oscar haat zichzelf. ‘Oscar hates himself’. Despite the fact that both zich and zichzelf are anaphors, and Oscar is in principle a suitable antecedent for both, (24a) is ill-formed. In the structurally equivalent environment of (25), with the verb haten replaced by the verb schamen which is of a different verb class, binding of zich is OK, and in fact the only option. (25) Oscar schaamt zich/*zichzelf. Oscar shames se ‘Oscar is ashamed of himself’.

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Example (15d), repeated here as (26), illustrates another environment in which bound zich occurs. (26) Jans maat voelde zich wegglijden. ‘John’s mate felt himself slide away’. Note, that in terms of governing category there is no difference between (24a), (25) and (26) in the distance between zich and its binder. Bound zich occurs in locative PPs as well: (27) Jan keek achter zich. ‘John looked behind him’. Note, that in (26) and (27) zich is used as a full-fledged argument. This clearly shows that any account of (24a) based on the idea that zich is not a full-fledged argument is untenable. Whatever rules out zich in (24a) and rules it in in (25) must be some other factor. As is extensively discussed in Reinhart and Reuland (1993) and Reuland and Reinhart (1995), data from Frisian can be used to complete the picture. As noted above, Frisian lacks a cognate of zich. It has a pronominal in all environments where Dutch has zich. However, one cannot say that it lacks an anaphor: in all environments where Dutch requires zichzelf as different from zich, Frisian requires himsels (see Everaert 1986, 1991 for a first observation and extensive discussion of the relevant correlations). The Frisian paradigm is summarized in (28): (28) Frisian: a. Pier skammet him/(*himsels). Peter shames him ‘Peter is shamed of himself’. b. Pier hatet himsels/*him. ‘Peter hates himself’. c. Pier fielde him/(himsels) fuortglieden. ‘Peter felt him/himself slide away’. d. Pier seach efter him (??himsels). ‘Peter looked behind him’. The question is essentially, what unifies (28a) with (28c) and (28d), and what sets (28b) apart. Reinhart and Reuland (1991, 1993) argue that underlying this pattern is the following cross-linguistic generalization concerning reflexivity as a property of predicates:

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eric reuland (29) Reflexivity of predicates must be licensed

What does (29) mean to say? Let us explain what these terms stand for in the framework of Reinhart and Reuland (1993). Predicate A predicate consists of a lexical head and its arguments. The notion ‘‘lexical head’’ is quite straightforward. It is a member of one of the lexical categories Noun, Verb, Adjective, Preposition. The syntactic arguments of a predicate P are those constituents that receive Case from P (or a extended projection of P, such as inflection) or a thematic role: in (28a) and (28b) both Pier and him are syntactic arguments of the relevant predicate; in (28d) him is a syntactic argument of the preposition neist ‘next to’. The syntactic arguments of a given head are not always arguments in a semantic sense, however, witness he in (30a). (30) a. He appears t to be leaving b. He was hit t For such cases the notion ‘‘argument’’ requires some more elucidation. Is he in (30a) an argument of appears or rather of be leaving? What is the status of the trace in (30b)? Given that appear in (30a) is a raising verb (cf. It appears that he is leaving), one may argue that, semantically, he is the subject of be leaving. On the other hand, since he receives Case from the finite inflection it is also the subject of appears. In (30b), assuming the framework of Chomsky (1981), he receives Case from was and the trace t receives a thematic role from the verb hit. Yet, semantically he and t represent a single argument (actually, the only argument, except for the implicit agent). In Reinhart and Reuland (1993) it is shown, that in fact both senses of predicate are relevant for binding. Reinhart and Reuland make a principled distinction between syntactic predicates and semantic predicates. In (30) he is part of the syntactic predicate of appear, since it receives Case from the associated inflection, but not of its semantic predicate. The semantic predicate of appear has only one argument, namely the complement clause since only the latter receives a thematic role from appear. He is part of the semantic predicate of leave though, since he represents the apparent leaver. Although the difference between semantic and syntactic predicates is important for the discussion of some of the more complex cases of binding that are outside the scope of the present article (see Reinhart and Reuland 1993), with respect to (29) they behave identically. So for present purposes this discussion will suffice.9 Next, then, consider the notion ‘‘reflexive’’. Refl xive Reinhart and Reuland (1993) define the notion ‘‘reflexive’’ in terms of coindexing:

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(31) A predicate is reflexive iff two of its arguments are coindexed Coindexing represents interpretive dependencies as encoded in the linguistic system. If two arguments " and $ are coindexed, " c-commands $ and $ is an anaphor or pronominal (which can be interpreted as a variable), a bound variable reading obtains. In Section 2.1 we discussed some diagnostics for such a reading. (If $ is an R-expression coindexing leads to a violation of condition C.) Depending on further formal properties of " and $ and the configuration in which they appear, they may be identified to such an extent that they count as one semantic object, even if at one level they are distinct syntactic arguments (as for instance he and t in (30b)). It is important to note that coindexing reflects linguistic encodings of interpretive dependencies. It is certainly possible for distinct argument expressions in a sentence to receive identical interpretations without being coindexed. To cite a standard example, there is nothing linguistic about the fact that morning star and evening star denote the same object. Consider, then, the sentence the morning star collided with the evening star. It is a perfectly grammatical sentence, only we know that it cannot be true since the two arguments happen to denote the same object. Since this is a contingent fact, morning star and evening star are not to be coindexed, and the predicate does not count as reflexive. That this result is linguistically right can be easily seen by comparing the following cases of VP-deletion: (32) a. The morning star collided with the evening star and the moon did too b. The morning star collided with itself and the moon did too The second conjunct in (32a) has only the interpretation that the moon collided with the evening star, but it most definitely cannot have the weird interpretation that the moon collided with itself. However, this is precisely the only interpretation that is available to the second conjunct in (32b). The interpretive dependency between both arguments, however weird it may be, is linguistically marked on the first conjunct in (32b) and copied along by whatever process gives the interpretation of the second conjunct in terms of the first conjunct. Thus, morning star and itself are coindexed in (32b), but morning star and evening star are not (or at least, not necessarily so; under the option that they are, the structure is ruled out by (16 C)). It is important to see that (31) puts no restrictions on coindexing, nor does it put any restrictions on the elements involved (whether these are full arguments, clitics, traces, etc.). Nor do we impose any a priori conditions on what types of predicates should be properly conceived of as reflexive. What we will be concerned with in this article are the conditions those objects satisfying our definition of reflexive predicate must meet in order to be well-formed. We will now come back to the Dutch and Frisian paradigms, first clarifying the term licensing of (29). The way this term is used in (29) is essentially non-technical.

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The question we have to address is why (24a) (Oscar haat zich) and (28b) (Pier hatet him) are excluded. In both cases we have a predicate-argument pattern with the interpretation NP 8x (x P x) (this is the semantic characterization of a ‘‘reflexive predicate’’), but it does not have the syntactic source NP V Pronoun, where the pronoun (pronominal or simplex anaphor) is interpreted as a variable bound by NP. Yet, in other members of the paradigm such an interpretation of the bound element is by all means possible. Note, furthermore, that this would even be the simplest source for the intended interpretation. Instead, in Dutch the element zelf and in Frisian the element sels must be appended to the pronoun. Thus, deriving NP 8x (x P x) requires an additional element in the syntax. Without this element the interpretation NP 8x (x P x) is not licit. Therefore, this additional element can be properly considered a licenser. As can be seen from the survey in Schladt (this volume) the phenomenon that the reflexive interpretation of a predicate requires some additional element to be present (or even an additional process to apply) is widespread in natural languages. Therefore we must distinguish between the general statement in (29), which tells us that generally speaking ‘‘something extra must happen’’ in order to make a reflexive interpretation licit, and specific analyses of particular languages and language groups telling us what in fact does happen: what are the licensers and, ideally, what are their effects. In Reinhart and Reuland (1993) the pattern found in Dutch and Frisian is accounted for by elaborating the general notion of licensing in (29) in terms of refl xive marking. Consider again the paradigm in (28), repeated here: (28) Frisian: a. Pier skammet him/(*himsels). Peter shames him ‘Pier is ashamed of himself’. b. Pier hatet himsels/*him. ‘Peter hates himself’. c. Pier fielde him/(himsels) fuortglieden. ‘Peter felt him/himself slide away’. d. Pier seach efter him (??himsels) ‘Peter looked behind him’. The main task is to precisely distinguish the environment in which the additional marking of the pronoun with sels is obligatory from the environments in which it is not (data that do not bear on that issue are put in brackets, see Reinhart and Reuland 1993 for further discussion). Let us carry out this task guided by the idea that something special is going on with reflexive predicates. Consider first (28d), with Pier binding him. Here the arguments of seach are not Pier and him, but Pier and some location. This location is not Pier, but rather a spot distinct from Pier (in

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fact behind him). So no reflexive predicate is formed, and we would not expect anything special to be needed. Under most accepted analyses the same argument applies to (28c). What Pier sensed was an event taking place, namely that he was sliding away; Pier’s coargument is him fuortglieden, which is not identical to Pier, hence no reflexive predicate arises, and no additional licensing is required. Note that there is a sense in which by implication Pier may also feel himself. This may well underlie the observation that himself is readily admitted too. Consider next (28b). As we discussed already, Pier and the object are arguments of the same predicate. Hence, when Pier binds him a reflexive predicate is formed which according to our hypothesis must be licensed. Finally consider (28a). Here Pier and him are coarguments of the same predicate. The two argument positions of skamje clearly must be identified, so it should count as reflexive. Why, then, is a simple pronominal sufficient, and is adding sels not necessary (in fact even blocked, presumably by some economy principle)? Structurally (28a) and (28b) are the same. There is one relevant difference, however. Unlike its English counterpart to be ashamed of (but just like a verb such as behave), the verb skamje in Frisian is lexically reflexive (as is its Dutch counterpart schamen). Its two arguments have the same value by necessity (unlike what we see with verbs like hate, see, admire, etc.). Any case in which the object is not identical to the subject, as in *Pier skammet Klas or *Piet schaamt Klaas ‘Peter shames Nick’, is ruled out. In some way or other this property must be represented in the lexical representation of the verbs involved.10 It seems, then, that the ‘‘extra’’ needed to license reflexivity of the predicate in (28a) is already present in the lexical entry of the verb itself. Hence, no additional marking is necessary to license the reflexive interpretation of (28a).11 Note that nothing in our discussion so far refers to the pronominal or anaphoric character of the object of skamje. We will come back to this when discussing the Dutch pattern. The principle underlying this pattern is stated in (33), where licensing is represented by the notion of refl xive-marking and where the notion self-anaphor generalizes over English himself, Dutch zichzelf, Frisian himsels, Icelandic sjalfan sig, and their cognates in other languages. (33) A predicate formed of some head P is refl xive-marked iff either P is lexically reflexive, or one of P’s arguments is a self-anaphor. The intuition is that, in terms of licensing, whatever adding self, sels or zelf to an argument of a predicate does is equivalent to the effect of an inherent lexical property. The presence of a self-anaphor not only licenses a reflexive interpretation, it may also enforce it. Whereas in John hates him no reflexive reading is available, in John hates himself the reflexive reading is not only allowed, but in fact the only one available. Moreover, in case of a (feature) mismatch between subject and object the

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sentence is simply out (*I hate himself ) or we find that in cases like The boys hoped that the girls would love themselves the antecedent of themselves must be the girls, despite the fact that the boys would be at least as plausible. This is in fact what was covered by the standard condition A in this domain. The enforcing role of reflexive marking can be formulated in (34A), its licensing role in (34B): (34) A. A reflexive-marked predicate is reflexive B. A reflexive predicate is reflexive-marked12 It is easy to see, that (34) governs the choice between zich and zichzelf in Dutch, just like it governs the choice between him and himsels in Frisian. That is, despite the fact that zich is an anaphor, it still cannot license a reflexive predicate. What does this imply for the traditional notion of a reflexive? Traditionally, elements like zich and zichzelf and their cognates in other languages were all subsumed under that notion. However, from what we have seen here, we must conclude that the theoretically relevant notion is that of a refl xive marker as in (33) and (34). It is crucial to distinguish zichzelf from zich in precisely the following respect: zichzelf is a refl xive marker, but zich is not. Unlike the difficulties we encountered defining anaphor as opposed to pronominal, no such difficulty arises in the case of reflexive markers. The notion of a reflexive predicate has been given an independent definition, and it is, therefore, always possible to check whether or not a predicate is lexically reflexive, and whether or not some element can license reflexivity of a predicate that is not lexically reflexive. Notice that although we have reconstructed a notion of reflexivity as a property of predicates, it neither reconstructs precisely the traditional notion of reflexivity, nor the traditional notion of a reflexive. To see this point, consider passives. There is no tradition in which (35) qualifies as a reflexive construction. Yet, the predicate is reflexive by our definition: two of its arguments are coindexed. (35) Johni was hit ti The question is, then, how reflexivity is licensed here. Clearly, no extrinsic reflexive marker is present. However, that would also not be expected in view of the fact that John was hit Bill is entirely impossible. That is, the passive has a lexical property from which it follows that the subject and object positions not be assigned different values. Hence, the requirement of (34) is met without further licensing being necessary. As noted earlier in this section, the requirement that reflexivity be licensed is pervasive across languages. For an extensive overview and analysis I refer to Faltz (1977) and Schladt (this volume), revealing a pattern that to anyone looking at the facts with an open mind should be intriguing. Schladt, for instance, gives an overview of 147 languages from many different language families which all require a

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special marking of reflexive constructions instead of simply having a locally bound pronoun (simplex anaphor or pronominal). Four languages are listed that do not require special marking, of which at least one, namely Frisian, is incorrectly listed as such (the claim about Tamil is presumably mistaken as well). From such surveys it becomes clear that the means languages employ to license reflexive constructions are quite varied, but that the need to do so is quite uniform. Languages may use self-type elements as in various branches of Germanic, but also forms of duplication of the bound element, verbal affixes, ‘bodyparts’ and prepositional constructions are used. Each of these means would warrant extensive study by itself. Such a study would carry us far beyond the scope of an article. Therefore, I will limit myself to a brief discussion of two additional cases to illustrate my main points. Jayaseelan (1995) presents a discussion of reflexivity in Malayalam. He shows that in local binding contexts in Malayalam, just as in English or Dutch, a licenser is needed. But here the licensing involves the duplication of a pronominal form in the object position. Furthermore, unlike in English and Dutch, this complex element does not require a local antecedent. Thus, it licenses a reflexive interpretation, but does not enforce it. This is illustrated in (36): (36) Malayalam: a. Raamani tan-nei *(tanne) sneehiku4nn4 u. Raman se-acc self loves ‘Raman loves himself’. b. *Penkuttikal tan-nei (tanne) sneehikku4nn4 u. girlsPLUR se-acc SING self love c. Raamani wicaariccu [penkuttikal tan-nei Raman thought girls se-acc self tannesneehikku4nn4 u e4nn4 @] love comp ‘Raman thought that the girls love him’. (36a) illustrates the ‘standard case’ of local binding. The presence of tanne is required for well-formedness. Non-locality is shown by comparing (36b) and (36c). (36b) does not contain a suitable antecedent due to a number mismatch. The sentence turns out to be ill-formed, indicating that tan-ne does require some linguistic antecedent. (36c), on the other hand, does not have a matching antecedent locally, but a matching NP does occur in the next higher clause. The sentence is wellformed with the latter NP as the antecedent of tan-ne. Yet another case is represented by the Dravidian language Kannada. I will summarize the data and the analysis given by Lidz (1995). As Lidz shows, the Kannada ‘‘reflexive pronoun’’ tannu is monomorphemic. It is like Dutch zich in that it does not reflexive-mark its predicate. Thus in (37) it cannot be locally bound.

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(37)*Avanui tann-annui hoDe-d-a he se-acc hit-pst-3sm Tannu can be long-distance bound, as illustrated in (38): (38) Raamui shyaamuk tann annui/*k priitis-utt-aane anta namb-utt-aane. Raamu Shyamu se-acc love-pres-3sm that believe-pres-3sm ‘Raamu believes that Shyamu loves self’. (self=Raamu only) Consider now what happens in order to license local binding. (39) Shyaamuj raamui tann-annui/*j hoDe-du-koND-a Shyamu Raamu se-acc hit-pp-refl.pst-3sm anta heeL-id-a. that say-pst-3sm ‘Shyamu said that Raamu hit himself’. (40) Shyaamuj raamui tann-annu*i/j hoDe-d-a anta heel-id-a. Shyamu Raamu se-acc hit-pst-3sm that say-pst-3sm ‘Shyamu said that Raamu hit him’ (41) Raamui tann-annui hogal-i-koND-a. (*hogalida) Raamu se-acc praise-pp-refl.pst-3sm ‘Raamu praised himself’ (42) Raamui tan-agei kaagada bare-du-koND-a. (*barda) Raamu se-dat letter write-pp-refl.pst-3sm ‘Raamu wrote himself a letter.’ In all these cases of local binding an additional element appears, but here an affix is added to the verb, instead of to the nominal. As Lidz argues, Kannada uses a ‘‘verbal reflexive’’, koL (koND in past tense), which is added to the past participle form of the verb and inflects for tense and agreement. The verbal reflexive expresses identity between the subject and the direct object, indirect object, or beneficiary. Its presence makes it obligatory for the reflexive pronoun tannu to have a local antecedent (as shown by (39)). Clearly, koL is not a reflexive in anything like the traditional sense, given that it inflects for tense and agreement. The conclusion to be drawn from these various ways of encoding reflexivity is that it makes no sense to try to determine ‘‘what a reflexive is’’. Rather, the phenomenon of reflexivity must be approached in terms of the following questions: (43)

Why must reflexivity be licensed?

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(44) How can reflexivity be licensed?

3.–Principles in binding relations 3.1.–Local binding of pronominals Let us go back, now, to the local binding of pronominals and se-anaphors, taking as a starting point the conclusions drawn at the end of Section 2.2, which I repeat here, for the sake of convenience. (45) a.

There is no intrinsic property of anaphors which prohibits an unbound interpretation. b. There is no general way to provide a reconstruction of the notions pronominal and anaphor in terms of their absolute binding properties.

It is most instructive to start out from the fact that in Dutch, and also in Icelandic, pronominals and SE-anaphors are in complementary distribution in local binding contexts. Reinhart and Reuland (1993) and Reuland and Reinhart (1995) account for this fact on the basis of a condition on chains. They define an A-chain as: any sequence of coindexed elements in A-positions, whose members satisfy antecedent government. An A-chain must contain exactly one link (its topmost element) that is fully specified for M-features, i.e. the grammatical features of person, gender, number and structural Case, as expressed in (46). If not, the chain is ill-formed.13 (46) General condition on A-chains A maximal A-chain ("1, . . . , "n) contains exactly one link ("1) which is fully specified for M-features On the basis of (46) the contrast in Dutch between (47a) and (47b) is derived as follows: (47) a. *Jan voelde hem wegglijden. John felt him slide away b. Jan voelde zich wegglijden. ‘John felt himself slide away’. If Jan and hem are coindexed, 〈Jan, hem〉 is a chain. Since both Jan and hem are fully specified for grammatical features, this chain violates the chain condition and the sentence is ruled out on this reading. (46) must be a deep principle of grammar. If so, how does the chain condition allow us to account for the contrast between third person pronominals on the one hand, and first and second person pronominals on the other?

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As is argued in Reuland (1996) and (1997a), this contrast follows from an independent difference, namely the status of the number feature.14 The argument is based on an important insight of Benvéniste (1966) in his discussion of the status of number in the pronominal system. His insight is, somewhat paraphrased, that first and second person pronominals have an inherent characterization for number, but lack number as a grammatical category. Only third person pronominals have grammatical number.15 Only in third person pronominals does singular stand in an opposition to plural, in the sense that either of them can be freely selected. For concreteness’ sake I will propose a tentative implementation of this idea that has the required results. Consider a binary feature system for ‘person’ based on the lexical features [±speaker], [±addressee]. This yields the following possibilities: Table 1. (i) [+speaker, –addressee] → first person (ii) [–speaker, –addressee] → third person (iii) [–speaker, +addressee] → second person (i) is an inherent singular, since there can be only one actual utterer of an utterance. Changing the feature [–addressee] to [+addressee], however, does more than just changing that feature: [+speaker, +addressee] yields a plural: inclusive we. Crucially, this we is in no reasonable sense ‘the plural of’ I, it does not refer to a plurality of speakers. Plurality is not an ‘extra’ feature. It cannot be selected independently, rather, it is determined by the lexical feature composition itself. Let [–speaker, –addressee] be abbreviated as [other]. We can now define exclusive we as [+speaker, +other]. Again, plurality follows from the lexical features, and has no independent value. Conclusion: for first person pronominals number is specified inherently; its value is not part of a grammatical opposition. The number specification of third person pronominals, though, is independent of their feature composition ([-speaker, -addressee]). Therefore, for these pronominals, the value for number can be selected independently. The contrast between first and third person now follows from a more precise definition of what being fully specifie for a M-feature means. Such a definition is given in (48): (48) a.

" is fully specifie for some M-feature F iff F has at least two values which can be selected independently of other lexicogrammatical properties of ".

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b. " is fully specifie for M-features iff " is fully specified for each M-feature F.16 (48) implies that sentences such as wij schamen ons ‘we-shame-us’ (remember the verb is lexically reflexive, hence no self is required) do not violate the chain condition, even though ons is bound by wij, since ons is not specified in the relevant sense for at least one M-feature, namely number. What about second person pronominals? Following Benvéniste (1966), one may assume that [-speaker, +addressee] is inherently singular. Yet, there is a contrast with first person pronominals. Whereas a plurality of I’s is difficult to conceive, a plurality of you’s is not inconceivable. However, for present purposes it suffices if an inherently plural second person is possible. In fact, in the feature system discussed here it is: [+addressee, +other] yields an inherent plural. Again, a wellformed chain can be formed. Interestingly, the potential availability of grammatical marking on second person pronominals gives us a way to solve the following puzzle (see (18) for glosses): (49) a. Jij schaamt je. b. Jullie schamen je. c. *Jij schaamt jou. d. Jij/jullie voelde(n) [J je/*jou wegglijden]. Although in the first person singular both phonologically weak me and strong mij are allowed (ik schaam mij/me) and the only object form of first person plural is strong ons, locally bound jou is ill-formed. Instead, weak je is required. Since strength is irrelevant, given the facts in first person, what blocks jou? Crucially, jou is not only strong, but also explicitly singular. Therefore, in this case, singularity reflects an independently selected value (je being an alternative for both singular and plural). Thus, a chain with jou at its lower end is ill-formed. Thus, je is preferred.17 The explanation of the contrast between Dutch and Frisian third person pronominals rests on the same interpretation of what it means to be specified ‘‘featurewise’’, although in a different dimension (see Reuland and Reinhart 1995 for more discussion). Dutch and Frisian both have a highly impoverished Case system. Yet there are some differences. Two pronominal forms that are virtually free variants in Dutch have cognates in Frisian whose distribution is overlapping only partially. The Dutch third person feminine singular object form haar ‘her’ alternates with the form ze ‘her’; in the plural there is a similar alternation between hen/hun ‘them’ and ze ‘them’. In Frisian, there is also an alternation between har ‘her’ and se ‘her’, and also harren ‘them’ and se ‘them’. However, unlike what one sees in Dutch, the form se is impossible in adjunct PPs and so-called free datives in Frisian (which are highly restricted in Dutch, but occur freely in Frisian):

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Ik haw har/se sjoen. ‘I have seen her’. b. De kjitten steane har/*se yn’e tún the weeds stand her in the garden ‘Her garden is full of weeds’.

The contrast between se and har in Frisian can be best captured by assuming that se is restricted to structural Case positions (Case positions characterized by a NOM/ACC contrast), whereas har retained properties of oblique Case (Hoekstra 1991). The important fact for binding theory is that se, unlike har, does not allow local binding. This is illustrated in (51): Marie skammet har/*se. ‘Mary is ashamed of herself’. b. Marie fielde har/*se fuortglieden. ‘Mary felt herself slide away’.

(51) a.

How does this follow? Reuland and Reinhart (1995) argue that, here too, freedom of value selection is relevant. The implementation is based on a Case theory assuming a main split between structural Case and oblique (or inherent) Case. If a lexical element is marked for Case, this Case is either structural or oblique. If it is structural, in all the languages under consideration it must have either of two values, Nominative or Accusative. Therefore, structural Case implies the presence of an opposition, hence being specifie for Case in the sense of (48). Within the oblique Case system situations vary. Oblique Case in Frisian has only one value. Hence, no free selection of a value is possible. Therefore, if the entry has oblique Case, it is not specified for Case in the sense of (48). Thus, it may be part of a chain, hence locally bound. On the other hand, if a language has distinctions among oblique cases, having oblique Case will again entail being specifie for Case. For instance, in Standard German prepositions do license various cases; therefore, in Standard German even in adjunct PPs locally bound pronominals are disallowed and an anaphor (sich) is chosen instead. To conclude the above discusion, it is the fine grain of the feature system that determines whether some element can be locally bound. Paradoxically, even the loss of one contrast can result in the emergence of another. For instance, Frisian has an impoverished Case system based on the contrast oblique/structural with a distinction between feature values in the latter, but not in the former. A further impoverishment by losing oblique Case altogether will reinstate a contrast between values within the former oblique domains. Case assigned in those domains will now be structural (objective) and as such contrast with the nominative Case. This is the picture in Mainland Scandinavian.18 Suppose, on the other hand, that in some language all

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accusative Case is structural, but dative and genitive are not. In such a language one will expect local binding of a dative or genitive pronominal to be possible, but not of an accusative pronominal. This situation is found in Southern German dialects (Keller 1961, 1978), again showing how the details of the Case system count. In the cases discussed so far, the binding relation is syntactically encoded in a chain. Reuland (1996, 1997a) provides an implementation of this type of encoding in terms of the mechanisms of chain formation within the minimalist program (Chomsky 1995), that invokes only independently motivated operations on M-features. Furthermore, an analysis of the relation between syntactic and semantic mechanisms in binding is provided. However, this implementation largely involves covert operations. One may then well ask the question of whether there is also ‘visible’ evidence that binding may involve syntactic mechanisms. Such evidence is provided by languages as unrelated as Caxur (a Daghestanian language) and Telugu (Dravidian, notes from Tanya Reinhart based on data from Haripasad p.c.). In these languages the bindee shares its Case with the binder (at least when the binding is local). A simple illustration from Caxur is given in (52) where Zu-k’le Za-r wuZ is a complex reflexive of which the first part Zu-k’le-Za-r agrees in Case with its antecedent Rasulu-k’le and the second part wuZ carries the local Case (data from Toldova 1996)19. (52) Caxur: Rasulu-k’le žu-k’le-ža-r wuž G1aže. Rasul-aff self-aff-emph-h self-nom sees ‘Rasul sees himself’. The following examples illustrate that in environments with more than one possible binder Case agreement disambiguates (Toldova 1996): (53) Caxur: a. Mah1amad Rasul-uk0a jišona?u-na žu-k0a Mahomed Rasul-com talk.pst-atr self.obl.h-com žu-ni-xlak’e self.obl.H-about ‘Mahomed talked with Rasul about himself (=Rasul)’. b. Mah1amad Rasul-uk0a jišona?u-na žu-k0a Mahomed Rasul-com talk.pst-atr self.obl.h-nom žu-ni-xlak’e. self.obl.H-about ‘Mahomed talked with Rasul about himself (=Mahomed)’. Exploring how precisely this type of encoding can be implemented in current

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theories of chain formation would carry us too far afield. In any case, a syntactic feature that is associated with the binder is visible on the bindee, thus showing that there must be a syntactic connection between the two. This is what one would expect if chain formation of some kind is indeed involved. Let it suffice, at this point, to conclude that the availability of this type of encoding provides further support for our general claim that binding and properties of grammatical features are intricately connected. Our claim is corroborated by results from language acquisition. Given the relevance, not only of the features which some particular element has, but also of the position of these features within the feature system as a whole, the acquisition of the binding system becomes inextricably linked to the acquisition of the Case system and other aspects of the feature system. Philip and Coopmans (1996a–d) present results showing that this must be correct. In Dutch, for instance, the accusative forms of the third person singular feminine and of the third person plural common gender are homonymous with their respective genitive forms. The accusative form of the third person singular masculine is not. Local binding of the feminine and plural forms is found in older children and occurs more often than local binding of the third person singular masculine. This result is inexplicable under any form of the classical theory. This leads to two general points to end this section: (i) a binding theory stated in terms as crude as anaphor and pronominal offers no hope of yielding any kind of principled account for the facts and for the type of variation observed; (ii) the evaluation of particular proposals cannot be conducted on broad levels of generality.20 3.2.–Refl xive 3.2.1.–Licensing options We ended Section 2 with the questions in (43) and (44), repeated here as (54) and (55): (54) Why must reflexivity be licensed? (55) How can reflexivity be licensed? A first approximation to an answer for (54) is fairly straightforward given the conception of a chain in current generative literature: a syntactic chain corresponds to a semantic argument. Thus, in a passive such as (35), repeated as (56), John and t together form a chain which serves as a semantic argument of the predicate formed of hit. As a semantic argument it carries precisely one thematic role, here the patient role of hit, the ‘hittee’. (56)

Johni was hit ti

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The crucial difference between (56) and an ill-formed counterpart such as (57) is that in the former the agent role is not assigned to the subject position, due to the role of passive morphology, and in fact need not be assigned at all. In (57) both roles must be assigned. However, the two positions being part of one chain, the roles are assigned to the same argument, hence the sentence is ill-formed. (57) *Johni hit ti In Reuland (1997a) this idea is carried over to anaphoric binding: consider (58), where John and zich form a chain: (58) Johni schaamt zichi John shames se Being a chain, (John, zich) is interpreted as the one and only semantic argument of schamen. The verb schamen is inherently reflexive and hence must be interpreted as a unary predicate. Therefore, one semantic argument is precisely what is needed for interpretation. Now consider (59): (59) *Johni haat zichi John hates se Here (John, zich) form a chain as well. This chain is interpreted as one semantic argument, and, again, the only semantic argument of the verb. However, haten is, semantically, a binary predicate; under the assumption that it, therefore, requires two arguments, (59) is ill-formed. In a nutshell, then, the two types of interacting principles are: (60) A syntactic chain is interpreted as one argument. (61) The interpretation of a predicate must respect its -arity. To conclude, the reason that reflexivity must be licensed is that using a strategy in which two putative arguments are syntactically identified creates a syntactic object, whose members can no longer be told apart for the purpose of saturating the predicate. Clearly, such a state of affairs is by no means logically necessary. The view of chains we adopted embodies, then, an empirical claim about the computational system of human language, which nevertheless seems quite plausible on independent grounds. If this approach is correct it provides one more piece of support for the thesis that language involves a variety of autonomous subsystems. In fact, the phenomena discussed here provide a result that some linguists could find highly surprising, or even disturbing: (62) The binding system is in part dysfunctional: the most straightforward way to encode a local dependency syntactically is incompatible with the most straightforward way to do so semantically.

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We now face the task of answering the question of what the licenser (self, or any other element added to the bindee or the predicate) does. Logically, there are two possibilities: (i) the licenser affects the predicate by reducing its -arity; (ii) the licenser prevents an -arity violation by affecting the manner in which the bindee is linked up to the binder. An approach along the former lines has been proposed by Keenan (1988), while Jayaseelan (1995) proposed a version of the latter approach. There is no a priori general answer to this question. For instance, in a language with verbal affixes as licensers, one may expect option ii) to be realized. In a language where the presence of some element like self or a body part is required turning the bindee into a complex element, one might expect to find option i) realized. From a general perspective, ‘reflexive clitics’ might seem to be compatible with either role, although in a particular case they should, of course, fit in with one of these roles. One linguistic system, thus, may embody one option, and the next system the other one. Note, however, that in this area too, the investigation will involve a degree of granularity that is much finer than the granularity of the canonical binding theory, or many currently available alternatives. 3.2.2.–The reasons for licensing Let us return, then, to question (54). Whereas one part of the answer lies in the theory of chain formation, the other part lies in the interaction between chains and properties of predicates. Principle (61) captures an important part of what used to be expressed by the theta-criterion (Chomsky 1981): each chain has one and only one thematic role. However, in line with the approach in Reinhart and Reuland (1993) our proposal effectively limits restrictions on thematic role assignment to coarguments (see also Fox 1993). It is in this domain, then, that the use of self, or other licensing strategies, must reconcile semantic and syntactic requirements. The contrast between predicates such as schamen and haten provides the most straightforward illustration of what (61) expresses. However, not all semantically transitive verbs require a self-anaphor or equivalent: All verbs in (63) allow both the simplex and the complex anaphor. (63) Dutch: a. Jan wast zich/zichzelf. John washes se/himself b. Jan verdedigt zich/zichzelf. John defends se/himself c. Jan snijdt zich/zichzelf. John cuts se/himself As to (63a), Reinhart and Reuland (1993) argue that verbs like wassen ‘wash’,

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scheren ‘shave’, aankleden ‘dress’ have a dual entry, one inherently reflexive, the other transitive.21 However, using the same line for verbs such as verdedigen and snijden would seem less plausible. Let us therefore consider an alternative. We will do so in two steps, using a dual representation of predicates as Jackendoff (1990) or Grimshaw (1990). Easiest to implement is the assumption that the -arity of a predicate is encoded on a lexical item separately from its thematic properties. One could propose a representation of lexical information in two tiers, one of which representing conceptual information, the other formal information such as its -arity. For instance haten would be listed with conceptual information involving two thematic roles, together with, on another tier, the information that it is a binary predicate. Wassen, verdedigen, snijden would also have two thematic roles, but with no encoding of -arity. If -arity is not encoded, the system is at liberty to assign those two thematic roles either to one, or to two chains/arguments. In the former case no further licensing is needed, in the latter case self must be added. A predicate such as schamen would then be marked as unary. An advantage of this line of argument is that it makes explicit the nature of the distinction between Dutch schamen, which is intrinsically reflexive, and English be ashamed of, which is not. Whatever its thematic structure, imposing a unarity requirement on some predicate effectively forces its roles to be realized on the same argument. What, then, is the role of self (or any other element added to the bindee)? For a proper perspective it is useful to consider one more case where local binding in the sense of the canonical binding conditions, as in (16), obtains, yet no licensing is necessary: (64) Jani voelde [J zichi [ ti wegglijden]]. ‘John felt himself slide away’ The example in (64) is well-formed, although in this case there is no inherently reflexive predicate. Again, its well-formedness follows directly from standard assumptions on interpretation. Take a compositional interpretation procedure. Zich is combined with wegglijden (or rather t wegglijden). Within J zich heads a chain, but does not tail one. Wegglijden sees only one argument, namely zich (or (zich, t)). It is one-place; thus, conditions on its interpretation will be satisfied. Note that nothing prevents zich from counting as an argument, since M-feature deficiency does not lead to uninterpretability, as we have seen. Therefore, within J no condition is violated. Consider next the matrix clause. Voelen here is two-place, and requires two arguments. One argument is Jan, the other is J. Jan and J are not coindexed, hence do not form a chain. Therefore, on interpretation, the binarity of voelen is respected. In Frisian the situation is identical, modulo the presence of a pronominal instead of a SE-anaphor, as we saw earlier:

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(65) Sjoerdi fielde [J himi fuortglieden]. ‘Sjoerd felt him(self) slide away’. In line with Jayaseelan (1995), we claim that the configuration of complex anaphors is similar to (64/65) in an essential respect. We will be assuming that the structure of anaphors like zichzelf is (66) (in line with the analysis of Helke 1971 for English himself ): (66)

D/NP zich

N′ zelf

Zich is, then, the element to be coindexed with the antecedent, as in a possessive construction. Zelf is not directly involved in the binding relation. Embedding (66) yields a structure as in (67): (67) Jani haatte [J zichi [N’ zelf]] ‘John hated himself’ It is easily seen that (67) is structurally similar to (64): the coargument of Jan is J, and not zich. Hence, the -arity of haten is not violated.22 The logical structure which self-marking gives rise to is provided in (68): (68) NP 8x (x hates f(x)) The verb hate takes two arguments: one identical to x, the other one to some function of x. Clearly, this structure will only provide a correct interpretation of (67) if f(x) may serve the role of x for all practical purposes. This is, then, the essence of self marking. Note that this analysis does not depend on specific assumptions concerning the interpretation of self. Rather, any element introducing a branching structure will do, provided it is semantically sufficiently inert (see also Jayaseelan 1995). It is, then, immaterial whether the self-element is a Focus marker (as argued by Jayaseelan (1995) for Malayalam and English (see also Solà 1994), an intensifier, or whether self is taken to be a head that, like a body part, may stand proxy for the antecedent of its specifier. Thus, the choice of intensifiers, focus markers, body parts, etc. in this role is motivated by the formal structure they give rise to, coupled with their relative semantic inertness, enabling the expression they give rise to to stand proxy for the antecedent. Thus, whatever semantic contribution they may make elsewhere is secondary in this environment.23 Having noted that this line will technically work, let us briefly discuss a refinement, which we will not have the occasion to explore in any detail, but which is

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interesting enough to merit attention. Instead of stipulating which predicates allow two thematic roles to be saturated by the same argument, we may also try to derive the facts from the nature of the predicate and/or the roles involved. Taking this line implies that from the perspective of the grammatical system, nothing blocks forming a chain between, for instance, subject and object (provided it satisfies the chain condition). Rather, properties intrinsic to the predicate determine the interpretation of this chain. These properties, then, should differentiate between *Jan ziet zich ‘John sees himself’ and Jan snijdt zich ‘John cuts himself’. What could such a property be? The logic of our approach dictates that chain formation should be possible if the conceptual basis for the -arity of the predicate itself is altered by having two identical arguments. How can this be realized? It would require that the arguments involved become intrinsically unified, yielding, in fact, an argumental counterpart of lexical reflexivity. The following observation seems relevant: If John cuts himself, as a cutter he cannot escape the effect of the cut. If John sees himself this has no intrinsic effects on him; he need not even be aware of the fact that he saw himself. Crucial is then, that the action affects the agent. The other transitive verbs allowing both zich and zichzelf are like snijden in this respect. They all express events with a merger of agent and patient roles. (Of course, if self is added the interpretation takes place on the basis of two arguments and separate thematic roles.) As noted earlier, it need not be obvious whether the licenser acts by preventing an -arity violation along the lines sketched just now, or affects the predicate by reducing its -arity. It may well require a detailed investigation to find out which option is realized in some particular instance.24 Consider for instance the status of German sich, which, unlike its Dutch counterpart zich may be bound by the subjectcoargument in a binary predicate. Thus German Johann haßt sich is well-formed, whereas Dutch *Jan haat zich (=59) is not as we saw (see Reuland and Reinhart 1995 for discussion). In order to assess this fact, it should be found out whether there are other differences between zich and sich. In fact, there is a difference, namely in the ability to bear stress: sich haßt er nicht ‘himself he doesn’t hate’, which requires stress on sich, is well-formed; Dutch *zich snijdt hij niet ‘himself he doesn’t cut’ is not (even though hij snijdt zich niet is well-formed, as we saw, and the verb is not lexically reflexive). So, sich can bear stress, zich does not. On the basis of this, Reuland and Reinhart (1995) argue that German sich can be the head of the D/NP projection, but Dutch zich cannot. This opens the possibility of an analysis as in (67), with e an empty element in specifier position:

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34 (69) D/NP

e

N′ N sich

Just like (66), the DP in (67) has enough structure to allow linking to the binder without the DP as a whole becoming a chain member. Of course, in order for this line to be really established, it should be shown that such an empty specifier can be licensed in German, but not in Dutch, that the right interpretation can be derived, etc. There is an alternative, which is similar to the line pursued in Reinhart (1996), namely that sich in German can bring about an argument reduction in environments where its cognate zich cannot do so in Dutch. It is quite conceivable that this can be achieved without making sich parallel in structure to zichzelf, but that a more direct connection between this property and the property that it may bear stress can be established. At this point, I will leave this empirical issue unresolved. For the methodological point I wish to make the possibility of these options suffices.25

4.–Conclusions We have examined a number of issues in binding theory. We did not strive for completeness in any sense. Empirically, this discussion was rather limited. Many more facts about binding and binding domains are known than we could possibly accommodate. Also in terms of the general status of binding our goal was modest: namely to give just an indication of a couple of concerns that nowadays appear to be relevant. For a more extensive discussion of the relation between syntax, semantics and pragmatics in binding I refer to Reuland (1996, 1997a). A detailed discussion of the relation between logophoric contexts and binding contexts in Icelandic can be found in Reuland and Sigurjónsdóttir (1997). A discussion of the semantic status of logophoricity can be found in Reuland (1997b). The goal of this article was, then, not so much to add much new empirical detail to the ongoing discussion, but rather put it in a novel perspective: we argue that it is necessary to abandon a construction-based approach in a domain where such an approach still appeared to have some plausibility. It is my contention that the perspective presented here is important in two respects. First, it is important for descriptive practice. Given the interrelatedness between binding and other properties of the grammatical system, in studying binding and assessing the result, more and different questions must be asked than

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one might hitherto assume to be necessary. Second, the present approach has implications for typological study. Typological study of binding relation is, and will remain, of utmost importance. But firm conclusions from such studies with regard to the general structure of language can only be drawn if they are coupled with detailed studies of the finer lexical and syntactic structure of the linguistic systems involved.

Acknowledgements I would like to express my gratitude to Zygmunt Frajzyngier for organizing the very stimulating workshop which gave rise to this article. The discussions during the workshop contributed greatly to its effects. I think every participant’s contribution helped me sharpen my ideas. I would like to single out four participants in particular. I would like to thank Werner Abraham and Zygmunt Frajzyngier for suggesting that every contribution should start out defining the crucial notions. In some sense, that is what this article turned out to be about. And I would like to thank Ekkehard König for forcing me to make explicit what I think are crucial differences between alternative approaches, and for giving me the opportunity to read and react to his contribution to this volume. Finally, I would like to thank Martin Everaert for finding the time to read this article and comment on it and once more Werner Abraham for his very thorough and helpful comments.

Notes 1. The reader may experiment as to whether the alternatives in the example correlate with differences in preference for interpretations. 2. That this is somewhat of a simplification is argued in Reinhart (1997). However, for present purposes this account suffices. 3. Within the framework of, for instance, Chomsky (1995) categorial features are used to express that some element is of a certain category. So, that pronouns are considered determiners is reflected by assigning them the categorial feature D. The lexical categtories A, N, V, P are taken to be given by the various combinations of [±N,±V]. It is an open question whether a single (non-trivial) feature system can be developed to derive all lexical and functional categories (with the latter including D(eterminer), C(omplementizer), I(nflection), and possibly others). See, for instance, Reuland and Kosmeijer (1993) for discussion. 4. This is not the place to provide an extensive discussion of the refinements and modifications that have been proposed, see Chomsky (1981) and in particular Chomsky (1986) for discussion. 5. For the purpose of this article the precise categorial status of J is irrelevant. The structure also abstracts away from the various movements argued to affect the constituents of J. What matters is that mij, etc. in NP voelde [J mij wegglijden] is a thematic argument of wegglijden, leading to the branching structure that is relevant here (see Reuland 1983 and subsequent work for discussion of the structure of perception verb complements). 6. I should add a word on the term reconstruction. I will be using it in its meta-theoretical sense. The vocabulary of a theory frequently contains terms corresponding to pretheoretical notions. Since very often pretheoretical notions stem from older and hence venerable traditions, there is a tendency to use them as if their meaning is uncontroversial. But, in no science can it be taken for granted that, as

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theories develop, pretheoretical notions will carry over unchanged. So, one should be quite careful not to use them too naively. In our particular case this applies to notions such as pronoun, anaphor, refl xive. The theory of anaphoric relations is rooted in a history of traditional and descriptive grammar with an established usage of these notions. The question is to what extent this usage still makes sense in our current theories. Throughout this article I will be asking whether notions like pronoun, anaphor, reflexive can be reconstructed in some form of current theory. This will be shorthand for asking whether they can be given explicit definitions using a particular amount of theoretical vocabulary of that theory, with similar extensions as the tradition gives them. As we will see, giving a theoretical reconstruction of these notions is indeed a nontrivial task. 7. See Reuland (1997a) for more extensive discussion. 8. For sake of completeness I add the full definition of syntactic and semantic predicate given in Reinhart and Reuland (1993:678): (i) Definition a. The syntactic predicate formed of (a head) P is P, all its syntactic arguments, and an external argument of P (subject). The syntactic arguments of P are the projections assigned 2–role or Case by P b. The semantic predicate of P is P and all its arguments at the relevant semantic level 9. This distinction is of course not new, and corresponds with the traditional distinction between ‘‘true reflexives’’ and ‘‘non–true reflexives’’. 10. A comment by the editor made me realize that the term marking may be ambiguous. An observer encountering a well–formed pattern NP V zich in Dutch or NP V him in Frisian, may conclude from the presence of zich and him rather than zichzelf or himsels, that V is lexically reflexive. So, one can say that it is a marker of lexical reflexivity. However, in order to qualify as a marker of reflexivity in the sense of Reinhart and Reuland (1993) some element RM must meet a stronger requirement: for any syntactically transitive V, NP V RM must have a well–formed reflexive interpretation. Given the ill–formedness of sentences like *Jan haat zich ‘John hates 〈anaphor〉’ zich is not a reflexive marker in this sense. In this respect, there appears to be an important difference between elements like zich and reflexive clitics in languages such as Italian and French. 11. For reasons extensively discussed in Reinhart and Reuland (1993) a more accurate formulation requires a distinction between syntactic and semantic predicates as in (i): (i) A. a reflexive marked syntactic predicate is reflexive B. a reflexive semantic predicate is reflexive–marked For motivation I must refer to the original article. For present purposes the formulation in the main text suffices. 12. Note that (46) is a wellformedness condition, not a definition as in Chomsky (1981) and subsequent work. Both the definition of A–chains and the wellformedness condition in (46) we adopt lead to a departure from the assumption that chains carry precisely one Case and one thematic role (see Reinhart and Reuland (1993) for justification). 13. It can be easily shown that other features cannot be involved, see the folowing table: Gender Not relevant: The third person plural pronoun zij does not show a gender contrast, yet it cannot be locally bound. Person Not relevant: first, second, and third person pronouns all have a person feature. Case Not relevant: At least for this contrast. There is no evidence that the Case system in the languages considered differentiates between the several types of pronouns and anaphors. A different factor that is occasionally invoked is weak versus strong. Hoewever, forms like mij ‘me’

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and ons ‘us’ can be locally bound, even though they are strong; ’m cannot be locally bound in Dutch, even though it is weak, clitic-like. 14. For the benefit of the reader I quote two of Benvéniste’s most salient statements: (i) ‘‘. . . Le problème central est celui de la première personne . . .. Il est claire en effet que l’unicité et la subjectivité inhérentes à je contredisent la possibilité d’une pluralisation . . . .. nous est non pas une multiplication d’objets identiques mais une jonction entre je et le non–je, quel que soit le contenu de ce non–je.’’ (ii) ‘‘La distinction ordinaire de singulier et de pluriel doit être sinon remplacée, au moins interprétée, dans l’ordre de la personne, par une distinction entrer personne stricte (=‘‘singulier’’) et personne amplifié (=‘‘pluriel’’). Seule la ‘‘troisième personne’’, étant non–personne, admet un véritable pluriel.’’ 15. Clearly, this raises all kinds of intriguing questions as to whether there is a universal set of M–features, and, more specifically, what to do with classifier systems. I will leave this for future research. 16. In fact, second person pronouns merit some more discussion than I can present here. For instance, one might question whether there is independent support for the [other] feature (which abbreviates third person) in inherently plural second person pronouns, as it is not immediately obvious what it contributes to interpretation. For the beginning of an answer, note that in many languages and cultures third person elements are used for polite address. Moreover, if a language has a polite form of the second person pronoun, the strategy of choice is to use the plural. Perhaps what facilitates this use is precisely the [other] feature. (Note that in Dutch the second person pronoun polite form behaves optionally as third person grammatically.) Thus both types of polite address could be understood as based on the oblique use of a third person feature. 17. In fact, the same can be argued for Icelandic, but there it does not contribute to the emergence of binding contrasts, since the Icelandic Case system would be rich enough anyway. 18. I am grateful to Konstantin Kazenin for bringing this work to my attention. 19. For instance, a criticism along the lines of König and Siemund (this volume) of the role M–features play in the reflexivity framework of R&R, fails to establish its point. Suppose in some language L X is able to bind Y, even though Y is specified for person, gender and number. The first question is, then, whether it is indeed binding, rather than coreference or covaluation (Reinhart 1997). If yes, it should be ascertained whether Y is indeed fully specified for these features in the sense defined; if yes, the next question is whether Y is also fully specified for Case. If the answer is yes again, the question is whether indeed a chain is formed. All these questions are answerable, but this requires detailed research into the grammatical systems involved. 20. Note that König and Siemund (this volume) misses the point that Everaert (1986) and Reinhart and Reuland (1993) present independent evidence for this claim: under nominalization verbs like wassen preserve the reflexive reading without any kind of marking being necessary, whereas verbs like haten do not. 21. For our present concerns it is irrelevant whether there is actually a chain between zich and Jan, as in (64). This depends on specific properties of possessors and of the self morpheme. Does zich move to I in the (covert) syntax, is there incorporation of self in the verb (see, e.g. Anagnostopoulou and Everaert (1995) for discussion)? These are empirical questions still subject to investigation. But also if there is chain formation, the arity of haten is respected. 22. Note, that this goes against a view as held in König and Siemund (this volume), which suggests that explanations must be sought in the primary roles of these elements as intensifiers, etc. Although I have presented quite a few facts that might serve as prima facie arguments against this view, its major problem is that, in the way it has been presented at least, it provides no basis for evaluation.

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What would be needed is a theory of pronouns and intensifiers with an independently motivated semantics, such that from that semantics the patterns observed would follow. In the absence of such a theory, arguments pro or contra are impossible to construe. 23. See the analysis of Reinhart (1996) of lexical operations involving the formation of reflexives and unaccausatives. 24. The criticism in König and Siemund (this volume) misses the relevant point. A SE–anaphor is not defined as any element that looks like Dutch zich, or as any element lacking a specificatio for number. Rather, within the framework of R&R it is taken to be any element in Spec, DP lacking a specificatio for number. The fact that zich in German may bear stress, or that si in Italian is a clitic is in both cases sufficient to rule them out as se–anaphors in the sense intended. This is the reason that the present article, following Reuland (1996, 1997a), holds the position that general insights can only be obtained by asking questions that are rather different from the traditional ones.

References Anagnostopoulou, Elena and Martin Everaert. 1995. Towards a more complete typology of anaphoric expressions. ms. Tilburg University/Utrecht University. Benvéniste, Emile. 1966. Problèmes de linguistique générale. Paris: Gallimard. Bouchard, Denis. 1984. On the Content of Empty Categories. Dordrecht: Foris. Burzio, Luigi. 1991. ‘‘The morphological basis of anaphora’’. Journal of Linguistics 27: 81–105. Cantrall, William R. 1974. View point, refl xives and the nature of noun phrases. The Hague: Mouton. Chomsky, Noam. 1981. Lectures on Government and Binding. Dordrecht: Foris. —— 1986. Knowledge of Language: Its nature, origin and use. New York: Praeger. —— 1995. The Minimalist Program. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Everaert, Martin. 1986. The Syntax of Refl xivization. Dordrecht: Foris. —— 1991. ‘‘Contextual determination of the anaphor/pronominal distinction’’. In Jan Koster and Eric Reuland (eds), Long-Distance Anaphora. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 49–76. Faltz, Leonard M. 1977. Reflexivization: A study in universal syntax. Doctoral dissertation, University of California at Berkeley. Distributed by University Microfilm International, Ann Arbor, Mich. and London. Fox, Daniel. 1993. Chain and binding–A modification of Reinhart and Reuland’s ‘‘Reflexivity’’. ms. Cambridge, Mass: MIT. Grimshaw, Jane. 1990. Argument Structure. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Hamburger, Henry and Kenneth Wexler. 1973. ‘‘Identifiability of a class of of Transformational Grammars’’. In K.J.J. Hintikka, J.M.E. Moravcsik, and P. Suppes (eds), Approaches to Natural Language. Dordrecht: Reidel. Heim, Irene. 1982. The semantics of definite and indefinite noun phrases. Unpublished Dissertation, University of Massachusetts at Amherst. Amherst, Mass. Helke, Michael. 1971. The grammar of English reflexives. Unpublished dissertation. MIT, Cambridge Mass.

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Hoekstra. Jarich. 1991. Pronouns and case: On the distribution of har(ren) and se in Frisian. Unpublished manuscript Fryske Akademy, Ljouwert. Huang, C.-T. James. 1982. Logical relations in Chinese and the theory of grammar. Unpublished MIT Dissertation. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT. Jackendoff, Ray S. 1990. Semantic Structures. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Jayaseelan, K.A. 1995. Anaphors as Pronouns. Unpublished manuscript. University of Hyderabad. Keenan, Edward L. 1988. ‘‘On semantics and the binding theory’’. In John Hawkins (ed.) Explaining language universals. Oxford: Blackwell. Keller, R.E. 1961. German Dialects: Phonology and morphology. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Keller, R.E. 1978. The German Language. London: Faber and Faber. König, Ekkehard, and Peter Siemund. This volume. ‘‘Intensifiers and Reflexives: A typological perspective’’. Koster, Jan. 1988. Doelloze structuren. Inaugural lecture Groningen University. Dordrecht: Foris. Lidz, Jeffrey. 1995. ‘‘Morphological reflexive marking: Evidence from Kannada’’. Linguistic Inquiry 26(4): 705–10. Maling, Joan. 1984. ‘‘Non–clause-bounded reflexives in Modern Icelandic’’. Linguistics and Philosophy 7: 211–41. —— 1986. ‘‘Clause bounded reflexives in Modern Icelandic’’. In L. Hellan and K.K. Christensen (eds), Topics in Scandinavian Syntax. Dordrecht: Reidel. Philip, William, and Peter Coopmans. 1996a. ‘‘The role of referentiality in the acquisition of pronominal anaphora’’. In K. Kusumoto (ed.), Proceedings of the North East Linguistics Society 26, GSLA, 241–55. —— —— 1996b. ‘‘The role of lexical features in acquisition in the development of pronominal anaphora’’. In W. Philip and F. Wijnen (eds), Connecting Children’s Language and Linguistic Theory [Amsterdam series in child language development 5]. Amsterdam, 73–106. —— —— 1996c. ‘‘The double Dutch delay of Principle B effect’’. In A. Stringfellow, D. Cahana-Amitay, E. Hughes, A. Zukowski (eds), Proceedings of the 20th annual Boston University Conference on Language Development. Somerville, Mass.:Cascadilla Press, 576–87. —— —— 1996d. ‘‘The Role of feature specification in the acquisition of pronominal anaphora in Dutch’’. In E. Hughes, A. Zukowski (eds). Proceedings of the 20th Annual Meeting of the Boston University Congerence on Language Development. Somerville Mass.: Cascadilla Press. Reinhart, Tanya. 1983. Anaphora and Semantic Interpretation. London: Croom Helm. —— 1996. Syntactic effects of lexical operations: Reflexives and unaccusatives. Working Paper Utrecht Institute of Linguistics OTS, Utrecht University. —— 1997. Strategies of anaphora resolution. Paper delivered at the Academy Colloquium on Interface Strategies, September 24–6, 1997. Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences, Amsterdam.

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Reinhart, Tanya, and Eric Reuland. 1991. ‘‘Anaphors and logophors: An argument structure perspective’’. In Jan Koster and Eric Reuland (eds), Long-Distance Anaphora. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 283–321. —— —— 1993. ‘‘Reflexivity’’. Linguistic Inquiry 24(4): 657–720. Reuland, Eric. 1983. ‘‘Government and the search for AUXES’’. In Frank Heny and Barry Richards (eds), Linguistic Categories: Auxiliaries and related puzzles. Dordrecht: Reidel, 99–169. —— 1996. ‘‘Pronouns and features’’. In K. Kusumoto (ed.), Proceedings of NELS 26. Amherst, Mass.: University of Amherst at Massachusetts, GSLA, 319–33. —— 1997a. Primitives of Binding. Working Paper Utrecht Institute of Linguistics OTS. Utrecht University. —— 1997b. ‘‘Logophoricity as Orientation’’. In Jan Don and Ted Sanders (eds), UiL OTS Yearbook. Utrecht: Utrecht Institute of Linguistics OTS. —— and Wim Kosmeijer. 1993. ‘‘Projecting inflected verbs’’. In Gisbert Fanselow (ed.), The Parametrization of Universal Grammar. Amsterdam and Philadephia: John Benjamins, 37–71. —— and Tanya Reinhart. 1995. ‘‘Pronouns, anaphors and case’’. In Hubert Haider, Susan Olsen and Sten Vikner (eds), Studies in Comparative Germanic Syntax. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 241–69. —— and Sigrí*ur Sigurjónsdóttir. 1997. ‘‘Long distance ‘‘binding’’ in Icelandic: Syntax or discourse?’’. In Hans Bennis, Pierre Pica and Johan Rooryck (eds) Atomism and Binding. Dordrecht: Foris, 323–41. Ross, John R. 1970. ‘‘On declarative sentences’’. In R.A. Jacobs and P.S. Rosenbaum (eds), Readings in English Transformational Grammar, Waltham, Mass.: Ginn & Co. Schladt, Mathias. This volume. ‘‘The typology and grammaticalization of reflexives’’. Solá, Jaume. 1994. A uniform analysis for SELF elements. Unpublished manuscript. University of Groningen. Thráinsson, Höskuldur. 1991. ‘‘Long-distance reflexives and the typology of NPs’’. In Jan Koster and Eric Reuland (eds) Long-Distance Anaphora. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 49–76. Toldova, Sveta. 1996. Materialy k voprosu o povedenii mestoimenija wuˇZ v caxskom dialekte caxurskogo jazyka. Unpublished manuscript. Moskva. Wexler, Kenneth, and Peter Culicover. 1981. Formal Principles of Language Acquisition. Cambridge Mass.: MIT Press. Zribi–Hertz, Anne. 1989. ‘‘A-type binding and narrative point of view’’. Language 65: 695–727.

Intensifiers and reflexives: A typological perspective EKKEHARD KÖNIG and PETER SIEMUND Free University of Berlin

1.–Introduction In most European languages intensifiers (e.g. Latin ipse, German selbst, Russian sam, Italian stesso, etc.) differ from reflexive pronouns (Latin se, German sich, Russian sebja, Italian sè) in both form and distribution.1 In these languages intensifiers can be combined with reflexive pronouns (cf. German sich selbst, Russian sam sebja, etc.). In a wide variety of languages, however, including Turkic, Finno-Ugric, Caucasian languages, Indic languages, Persian and English (X-self), intensifiers and reflexive pronouns are completely identical in form, though not in distribution. Such wide-spread polysemy cannot be completely fortuitous and it is therefore a major challenge for any semantic analysis of the relevant forms as well as for any theory of reflexivity to explicate this close relationship between the two uses of the same form. Many recent analyses of reflexivity in English as well as many theoretical discussions of reflexivity in general fail to draw a clear distinction between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors. The term ‘emphatic reflexives’ (emphatics), used inter alia in Quirk et al. (1985), suggests that intensifiers are simply a specific, emphatic use of reflexives.2 A very crude attempt to subsume intensifiers as in he himself under the category ‘anaphor’ is made in Bickerton (1987), where he claims that such uses of self-forms could and should in principle be incorporated in the Binding Theory. Recent theoretical studies of reflexivity (cf. Everaert 1986; Burzio 1991, 1996a, 1996b; Pica 1991; Reinhart and Reuland 1993) do not clearly distinguish between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors either. What these studies do distinguish are two (or more) types of anaphors: morphologically simplex or se anaphors (Dutch zich, Norwegian seg, Italian sè, etc.) and morphologically complex or self anaphors (English himself, Dutch zichzelf, Norwegian seg selv, etc.).3 This distinc-

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tion is assumed to correlate with different binding properties of the relevant expressions: se anaphors and self anaphors differ in their domain properties insofar as the former may be long-distance bound, whereas the latter are always locally bound. Moreover, the two types of anaphors are assumed to differ in their antecedent properties: se anaphors are subject-oriented, whereas self anaphors can also select non-subjects as antecedents. In all of these analyses self anaphors are regarded as complex syntactic expressions which cannot be decomposed semantically. That these anaphors are combinations of reflexive pronoun + intensifier or derive historically from combinations of pronoun + intensifier plays no role in these discussions. A further example of the important role that intensifiers play in recent theorizing about reflexivity without being clearly distinguished from reflexive pronouns is the claim made in Reinhart and Reuland (1993: 663) that only self anaphors can reflexive-mark a predicate that is not inherently reflexive. In other words, se anaphors, however they are to be identified cross-linguistically, have no reflexivizing function.ə Many of these assumptions and claims are highly problematic, as is shown inter alia in Huang (1996) and Zribi-Hertz (1996). The present paper will address these and many other issues from the perspective of a typological study of intensifiers. Specifically, we will discuss synchronic and diachronic relations between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors as well as the relationship between the meaning of intensifiers and the binding properties of anaphors derived from them. We will also discuss the relationship between intensifiers and logophoricity, the possibility of using cross-linguistically applicable criteria for distinguishing between different types of anaphors, the role of verb meaning for the selection of a reflexivization strategy and many other questions. The general thrust of this paper will partly be negative: we will try to point out inadequacies in recent theorizing about reflexivity and offer a basic orientation for future theories without proposing a new theory of our own. Our positive contribution will consist in drawing attention to all those semantic factors, aspects and issues that play an important role in reflexive structures, but have been greatly neglected in recent theoretical discussions. It goes without saying that inductive generalizations based on cross-linguistic findings never provide a substitute or even a basis for a relevant theory. What we do claim, however, is that no theory of reflexivity can be considered adequate as long as it is not compatible with the typological findings presented in this paper. The structure of the paper is as follows. First, a semantic analysis of intensifiers, notably in their adnominal use, will be presented and defended against some alternative proposals. In Section 3 a major parameter of cross-linguistic variation will be discussed. Intensifiers may be clearly differentiated from reflexive anaphors, but there may also be complete formal identity. Given such formal identity it is sometimes difficult to draw a clear distinction between these two categories and it will

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be shown that a decision on such problematic contexts has important consequences for an adequate formulation of Binding Theory (Section 4). Section 5 examines the historical relations between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors and takes a brief look at the development of reflexivity in English. Finally, the differences in the binding properties of different types of anaphors (domain properties and antecedent properties) are reexamined from a typological perspective.

2.–The meaning of intensifiers As was briefly pointed out above, intensifiers and reflexive anaphors are formally indistinguishable in a wide variety of languages. Moreover, the use of the relevant expressions (English X-self, Mandarin ziji, Finnish itse, etc.) as reflexive anaphors can quite plausibly be assumed to derive from their use as intensifiers. In view of these facts the semantic analysis of intensifiers has to be the starting point and the focus of our discussion. In all of the fifty or so languages investigated by us so far at least two different uses of intensifiers can be distinguished: an adnominal one and an adverbial one.4 (1) a. Within the town itself the report produced a sensation. b. I have swept this court myself. In their adnominal use intensifiers combine with NPs to form another NP, i.e. they can be analyzed as adjuncts to NPs. In English and many other languages intensifiers occur on the right periphery of a noun phrase, and if the NP they combine with is a complex one, they may be either in construction with the highest NP node or with a lower one: (2) a. The work of Picasso itself . . . b. The work of Picasso himself . . . As is shown by the preceding examples, intensifiers may agree with the NP to which they are adjoined in terms of the so-called N-features (person, number, gender). In their adverbial use intensifiers could simply be assumed to be adjoined to VPs or IPs. In this use intensifiers typically fill the position of an adverbial, i.e. they occur on the right periphery of a VP in English. As is shown by our example (1b), however, intensifiers also exhibit agreement with some NP of the relevant clause in their adverbial use. For reasons to be given below we will call the NP intensifiers agree with the ‘focus’ of the intensifier. In English and many other languages a further distinction between two adverbial uses of intensifiers can be drawn, as is illustrated by the following minimal pair:

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ekkehard könig and peter siemund (3) a. I have swept this court myself. (adverbial, exclusive) b. I have myself swept this court. (adverbial, inclusive)

In the first of these two uses, exemplified by (3a), adverbial intensifiers are roughly paraphrasable by alone, without help. This use will therefore be called ‘exclusive’. In the other use, exemplified by (3b), adverbial intensifiers are similar in meaning to also or too. The latter use will therefore be referred to as the ‘inclusive adverbial use’. Even though the exclusive interpretation and the inclusive interpretation of adverbial intensifiers exhibit a certain complementarity with regard to the aktionsart of the predicate, with regard to word order, with regard to the scope of negation and with regard to the definiteness of the object NP, there is clear evidence that the two possible interpretations are due to polysemy. There are sentences which allow both interpretations and it is possible to construct examples exhibiting both uses, even though such examples are rarely attested: (4) I have myself swept this court myself. Moreover, the exclusive use and the inclusive use differ with regard to the constraints they place on a possible focus, i.e. the noun phrase with which they agree. Exclusive adverbial intensifiers only select agent subjects, whereas inclusive ones can be in construction with any subject in English, as long as it denotes a human referent. A further contrast between these two uses is that the exclusive one seems to be more wide-spread. In all of the fifty languages examined so far both the adnominal and the exclusive adverbial use of intensifiers can be found. But not all of them (e.g. Romance languages other than French) have the inclusive use. The focus of the following semantic analysis will be on the adnominal use of intensifiers, since there can be no doubt that this use plays an important role for reflexivity, both diachronically and synchronically. Since it cannot be completely excluded, however, that the exclusive use may also be instrumental in the development of reflexive anaphors, we will also briefly discuss the central features of that use. Nothing further, however, will be said about the inclusive use. The basic outlines of the meaning of adnominal intensifiers are reasonably clear. The contribution such expressions make to the meaning of a sentence are strikingly similar to those made by expressions which are sensitive to the information structure of a sentence, like even, only, also, too, etc. Adnominal intensifiers evoke alternatives to the referent(s) of the NP to which they are adjoined and characterize these alternatives (Y) as periphery or entourage of the referent(s) (cf. König 1991). This contrast is visualized in Figure 1. It is precisely because of that type of meaning that the NP to which intensifiers are adjoined and with which they agree in some languages is called their focus. In contrast to other focus particles or focus markers, which exclude or include alternatives as possible values for the predication in their

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X Y

Figure 1. scope, adnominal intensifiers only take scope over the NP to which they are adjoined and therefore neither include nor exclude alternative values. The following examples illustrate the points made above: (5) a. The Queen herself will come to the final. b. The minister himself will give the opening speech. c. Even George himself is against the plan. In each of these examples the intensifiers evoke alternatives to the referent of their focus and this aspect of meaning is missing when the intensifiers are omitted. Moreover, the alternatives evoked are not just any other group of people that might be salient in some context. In each case these alternatives are in some way related to the value given: the Queen’s family, her staff or maybe her subjects in (5a) and the minister’s collaborators in (5b). The similarities and differences between focus particles like even and adnominal intensifiers are most clearly revealed in examples like (5c). What the intensifier does in (5c) is restrict the possible alternatives to George that can be evoked by even to people in some way related to George. In all of the examples given the focus referent is furthermore characterized as central with respect to the alternatives. In other words adnominal intensifiers impose a structure on the set of entities comprising the value given and the alternatives evoked: (6) Adnominal intensifiers relate a center X (referent of the focus) to a periphery of alternative values. Building on this analysis, König (1991: 87ff), Baker (1995: 80ff) as well as König and Siemund (1996a,b) draw a distinction between several manifestations of this relationship between center and periphery.5 The conditions formulated by these authors for the use of adnominal intensifiers can roughly be summarized as follows: (7) Conditions for the use of adnominal X-self: a. X has a higher position than Y in a hierarchy; b. X is more significant than Y in a specific situation; c. Y is defined in terms of X; d. X is the center of perspective (logophoricity).

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As a corollary of (6) we get, of course: (8) No center without periphery. The following examples illustrate the various manifestations that the relationship between a center and its peripheral alternatives may take, without exhausting all possibilities: (9) a. The chancellor himself was surprised at the results. b. Nobody cared about the fans when the fire broke out, but the rock star himself was quickly whisked away. c. Lucy’s sister is more intelligent than Lucy herself. d. Jemima guessed that Pompey had chivalrous doubts about leaving her in the gaunt building, with only Tiger, now in a highly restless mood, as company. She herself had no such fears. [ASR, p. 100] The chancellor is an example of somebody high in rank and sentences like (9a) are of course much more likely than the corresponding sentences with the cleaning lady or the mailman in the position of the chancellor. Examples like (9a) are the first examples that come to mind when one tries to construct examples with adnominal intensifiers and can plausibly be assumed to be the starting point in the general semantic and syntactic development of intensifiers. It is interesting to note in this context that many languages have developed new expressions which are restricted to contexts of high rank (cf. German höchstselbst, höchstpersönlich, Norwegian selveste, etc.), presumably after the original intensifiers lost their restrictions to these contexts (cf. König 1997a). The second example illustrates that context where a person is central in a specific context only. In (9c) Lucy’s sister is identified in terms of her relation to Lucy, who is therefore central. In (9d) we find the case where a narrative episode is presented from the perspective of a protagonist (Jemima). Given that the logophoric context is one of the possible contexts for the use of intensifiers, one might hypothesize that the logophoric use of reflexive anaphors generally derives from the meaning of the intensifiers these anaphors are based on. The meaning of exclusive adverbial intensifiers follows the general pattern of the analysis given above, but differs, of course, in detail. (10) a. The President wrote that speech himself. b. The President did not write that speech himself. In their exclusive use intensifiers invariably select an agent subject as their focus and take wide scope over the whole sentence. What an exclusive adverbial intensifier does is again evoke alternatives to the focus referent, which are equally characterized as being in some way related to that referent, and exclude those alternatives

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as possible values of the relevant predicate. Moreover, the referent of the focus is characterized as the interested party with respect to the activity described in the sentence and in this sense it is central vis-à-vis the alternatives under consideration. Applied to our example (10a), the contribution of the exclusive intensifier can be described as follows: (11) a. No one other than the President wrote that speech. (assertion) b. The President is the interested party in the writing of that speech and in this sense central. (presupposition) As is shown by (10b), the second part remains constant under negation and is therefore a presupposition. To round off this analysis we need to look very briefly at some alternative analyses found in the literature and our reasons for rejecting them. According to Edmondson and Plank (1978); Primus (1992); Kibrik and Bogdanova (1995), etc. adnominal (or head-bound) intensifiers order the value of their focus as well as the alternatives evoked on a scale of expectancy, likelihood, remarkability, etc. The referent of the nominal constituent with which these intensifiers are in association is assumed to be characterized as least likely/expected or most remarkable against the background of the situation denoted by the relevant sentence (cf. Figure 2). In the light of these proposals the contribution that adnominal intensifiers make to the meaning of a sentence is more or less equivalent to even. Such an analysis, however, is incompatible with a wide variety of data (cf. Siemund 1999). For instance in the situation of a pending aircraft accident it should be in no way unexpected or remarkable that the captain is the one who is in control of the situation, cf. (12a), and it is not unusual or remarkable for a lake to be used for the activities mentioned in (12b).

Least expected

Most expected Figure 2.

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The contrast between center and periphery (lake vs. corresponding beach) is clearly visible in the latter example. (12) a. The copilot nearly fainted in view of the oncoming aircraft. The captain himself remained calm and composed. b. Even on a quiet mid-week summer’s day the beach is fringed with people picnicking or sleeping in their cars, while the lake itself is often used for windsurfing or water-skiing. [LLC] More often than not alternative analyses of intensifiers are presented in connection with a discussion of self anaphors, i.e. in connection with an analysis of reflexive anaphors based on intensifiers. The analysis presented in Reuland (1996), which is also adopted in Lidz (1996), is a case in point. According to that analysis the meaning of ‘X-self ’ can be analyzed as a function f(x), which must be interpreted as an approximation of x without being identical to it. Reuland uses the following minimal pair as evidence for this analysis: (13) Dutch Context: Mary is famous and walks into Madame Tussaud’s: a. Ze keek in een spiegel en ze zag zich in een hoek staan. ‘She looked into a mirror and she saw herself standing in a corner’. b. Ze keek in een spiegel en ze zag zichzelf in een hoek staan. ‘She looked into the mirror and she saw herself standing in a corner’. Reuland argues that zich in (13a) is interpreted as Mary, whereas zichzelf is interpreted as Mary’s statue. A similar distinction could be expressed analogously in German and in many other languages. There is thus no reason to doubt in any way the correctness of the intuitions concerning the interpretations of these sentences in the context given. In view of the analysis presented for adnominal and exclusive uses of intensifiers above, however, such an analysis is not very plausible. In examples like (5a) it is the Queen and not some approximation, i.e. some other royal figure, who is asserted to come to the final. What must therefore be responsible for the interpretation of (13a–b) are the specific contextual conditions interacting with the meaning of the intensifier zelf in Dutch. What is the difference between the reflexive pronoun zich and the complex anaphor zichzelf, both of which are equally licensed in the context given? What zelf adds to the meaning of the reflexive is the evoking of alternatives to the value given which is, of course, Mary. Since in the context given there is no mention of other people being present, who could be such alternatives, and given that we know that there are many statues of famous people present, one of which represents Mary, there is a tendency to think of the statues as alternatives to the value given, which is therefore interpreted as Mary’s statue rather than Mary herself. All reflexives, whether morphologically simplex or complex,

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seem to allow approximations to co-reference in addition to strict co-reference. The approximation of NP-denotations appears to be a rather general pragmatic option (cf. Jackendoff 1992, where the discussion around the Madame Tussaud contexts originates). As soon as we change the context for (13) in such a way that we introduce human beings as possible alternatives to Mary, the interpretation changes, as can be illustrated with the following analogous German example:6 (14) German Context: Mary and her friends walk into Madame Tussaud’s. Maria schaute in einen der Spiegel, aber konnte nur ihre Freunde sehen. Plötzlich sah sie auch sich selbst. ‘Mary looked into one of the mirrors, but could only see her friends. Suddenly she also saw herself’. Lidz (1996) tries to extend the idea that complex anaphors approximate the referent of their antecedent to comparative deletion structures, cf. (15) below. He argues that this is the reason why simplex anaphors only allow a sloppy interpretation wheras complex anaphors can have both a sloppy and a strict interpretation. What is unclear in Lidz’s analysis is in what way the two referents given in (15) can be understood as approximations of each other. According to the proposal defended here the strict reading of (15b) is simply due to the contrasting function of intensifiers. In the context given the most likely alternative for defending Mary apart from herself is Peter. (15) Dutch a. Maria verdedigde zich beter dan Peter. (sloppy) b. Maria verdedigde zichzelf beter dan Peter. (strict and sloppy) ‘She defended herself better than Peter’. Another analysis of intensifiers which we cannot accept as adequate is the view that these expressions are interpreted as some kind of identity function which operates directly on the argument structure of a predicate, identifying the arguments. According to this view intensifiers would have a meaning very similar to the adjective same (cf. Reinhart and Reuland 1991: 286). There is indeed an attributive use of the relevant expressions in many languages which does have this meaning. The relevant meaning of Old English self can still be found in the expression selfsame. But note that a paraphrase with same neither illuminates the normal use of adnominal intensifiers nor that of exclusive adverbial ones in any way. Nor does it help in any way if instead of same we use no one other than. Such a paraphrase illuminates part of the meaning of the exclusive use, but is totally inappropriate as a general way of paraphrasing adnominal intensifiers, as the following examples show: (16) a. President Clinton wrote that speech himself. b. No one other than President Clinton wrote that speech.

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ekkehard könig and peter siemund (17) a. The Queen herself will also come to the final. b. No one other than the Queen will also come to the final.

It is only when intensifiers interact with reflexive anaphors that some kind of identifying function can be observed. We will return to this point below.

3.–Formal identity between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors As already briefly pointed out above, intensifiers and reflexive anaphors are formally identical in a wide variety of languages and their formal differentiation in most European languages seems to be more the exception than the rule. In the same way in which personal pronouns may perform double duties both as markers of disjoint reference and as markers of co-reference in some of the West Germanic languages (Old English, Frisian, Afrikaans, etc.), the same expressions do double duty as intensifiers and reflexive anaphors in Finno-Ugric, Turkic, Semitic, Caucasian languages, Indic, Mandarin, Japanese, Persian and English as well as many African languages. The following examples from German and Mandarin illustrate this parameter of typological variation (identity vs. formal differentiation between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors):7 (18) German a. Der Kanzler selbst wird anwesend sein. ‘The Chancellor himself will be present’. b. Der Kanzler ist stolz auf sich. ‘The Chancellor is proud of himself’. (19) Mandarin a. Ta ziji hui lai. ‘He himself can come’. b. Zhangsan kanjian ziji. ‘Zhangsan is looking at himself’. In languages with no formal differentiation of intensifiers and reflexive anaphors a distinction is only possible on the basis of distribution: reflexive anaphors occur in argument (typically object) positions, intensifiers are adjuncts to NPs. In addition to this syntactic criterion, a semantic one can also be used: intensifiers belong to a set of related lexical items (lexical field), which in English also comprises personally, in person, own, alone. Cutting across the parameter of variation illustrated by (18) and (19) is a parameter that concerns the inflectional properties of intensifiers. Intensifiers may be either invariant or they may agree with their focus with respect to the so-called

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N-features (person, number, gender, case). In the Slavic, Romance, Semitic and Turkic languages, as well as in English and Persian intensifiers inflect and exhibit agreement with their focus. In German, Japanese, Hindi and Mandarin, by contrast, intensifiers are invariable. Turkish and English are examples of languages with inflecting intensifiers: (20) Turkish Ali profesör-ün kendi-si-ni sav-un-du. Ali professor-gen self-3sg:poss-acc defend-past-3sg ‘Ali defended the professor himself’. (21) The Clintons themselves will wear cowboy boots. The examples given in (18) and (19) from German and Mandarin are instances of the other type. The inflectional properties of intensifiers and of the reflexive anaphors derived from them throw some interesting light on the view expressed in several recent generative studies of reflexivity that the specific properties of anaphors are a consequence of the fact that they are -R, i.e. unlike pronouns they are not referentially independent, and that this feature simply means that they do not carry a full specification for N–features and structural case (cf. Reinhart and Reuland 1993: 697). In the languages investigated by us we found inter alia the following specifications for N–features: (22) Turkish person, number, case Hungarian person, number, case Amharic person, number, gender, case Arabic person, number, case Hebrew person, number, gender, case True, reflexive anaphors are not specified for all the N-features in all the examples given. But neither are pronouns, to which they are generally opposed in all of these languages. In Turkish, for example, the third person pronoun o (‘he’, ‘she’, ‘it’) is unmarked for gender and so is kendi, which is used both as intensifier and reflexive anaphor. Thus the strongest generalization about the differential specification with N-features that our typological findings permit is the observation that anaphors are never more specified in terms of these features than personal pronouns (pronominals).

4.–Neutralization: intensifiers or reflexive anaphors? In languages where intensifiers and reflexive anaphors are formally identical they

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can generally be distinguished on the basis of distributional criteria (adjuncts vs. arguments). In contrast, however, to the picture presented above, there is a context where this criterion is difficult to apply, namely where the intensifier is adjoined to a pronominal focus. In pro-drop languages an intensifier may end up in subject position in such cases and in languages with subject-object asymmetries in the combinability of intensifiers and pronouns, such as English, there are contexts in which the distinction between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors seems to be neutralized and where both analyses appear to make sense. In Modern English intensifiers easily combine with pronouns in subject position, but do not occur as adjuncts of pronouns in object position: (23) a. He himself is not in favor of it. b. *I would like to talk to him himself. Even though examples like (24) can be encountered every now and again, there is only one example of this sort in the British National Corpus8 and native speakers usually agree that (25a) is marginally acceptable with a completely unstressed, and therefore reduced pronoun, but that (25b), with a general noun in the position of the pronoun, is clearly preferable: (24)

‘‘Well—I don’t want to give him away—he’s a young sport, a fine sport, sir. Would you mind asking him himself?’’ [RHW, p. 794]

(25) a. I saw ’im himself. b. I saw the man himself. As a result of this asymmetry, it is not always clear whether a self-form in non-subject position should be analyzed as an intensifier or reflexive anaphor. There is, of course, one criterion that can act as a guide, namely stress. The question of whether a certain self-form is an instance of an intensifier or a reflexive anaphor only arises for stressed self-forms, such as we find in the following examples: (26) a.

He sat down at the desk and opened the drawers. In the top right-hand one was an envelope addressed to himself. [Zribi-Hertz 1989: 716] b. ‘‘Bismarck’s impulsiveness has, as so often, rebounded against himself’’. [Reinhart and Reuland 1993: 672]

Locally free self-forms occur with great frequency in comparative, restrictive, corrective and coordinating contexts as well as in certain adjuncts (cf. Kuno 1987; Zribi-Hertz 1989): (27) a. As for himself, John said that he would not need to move. b. Arthur’s fulsomeness seemed to embarrass the baron as much as it did himself. [Zribi-Hertz 1989: 707]

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c. John said that there was a picture of himself in the post-office. d. Clara knew that apart from herself there was only the man from the BBC. e. She [Casey] did not understand how his behavior could do anything but damage the company—and himself. [AF, p. 278] Since the self-forms in examples such as these violate Condition A of Chomsky’s Binding Theory, they have been called locally free reflexives or untriggered reflexives. Since they find their antecedent not in the same clause, but in some higher clause or even another sentence, they are sometimes called ‘long-distance bound’ (LDB) reflexives and since they typically present the situation from the perspective of the antecedent of the self-form they are called ‘logophors‘. But locally free self-forms do not only occur in the contexts characterized above, but may also occur in the argument positions (i.e. as objects) of predicates. The following examples are taken from Zribi-Hertz and from some recent novels: (28) a.

And that was exactly it, he thought, he really did not care too much what happened to himself. [Zribi-Hertz 1989: 709] b. They would talk of himself, he thought fondly. [PN, p. 322] c. He had run from his brother’s need, from his shame, from his weakness. All that had seemed important at the time was to dissociate himself from disgrace. [WSM, p. 316] d. It was time to put an end to the burning. But to do so would put an end to himself as well. [WSM, p. 317]

Examples such as (28) are not only a problem for Binding Condition A, but also for Reinhart and Reuland’s theory of reflexivity, according to which self-forms in argument positions of predicates reflexive-mark the predicate and therefore require the predicate to be reflexive. Their solution to this problem is to distinguish a second use of discourse anaphors in addition to the logophoric use discussed above, viz. focus anaphors. Examples like (28) are then assumed to be exempt from their Binding Condition A because the focus expression undergoes movement at LF and is therefore no longer in an argument position.9 After thus distinguishing two uses of locally free self-forms (‘discourse anaphors’) Reinhart and Reuland (1993: 673) decide to keep the term ‘logophors’ —in contrast to the original use of this term—for both uses, which are distinguished as ‘perspective logophors‘ and ‘focus logophors‘. Note, however, that examples of type (27) do not necessarily express the perspective of the referent of the self-form and are thus not logophoric in this semantic/pragmatic sense. The situation described in (27d) is clearly described from the perspective of the protagonist, called Casey. Nor are the so-called focus anaphors (or logophors) always non-logophoric

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in this sense. The example given in (26b) is certainly not logophoric, but all the examples in (28) are. Many of the problems presented by such examples for any kind of binding condition would greatly be reduced or even disappear if it could be shown that the self-forms in examples like (26)—(28) were simply intensifiers with empty or incorporated pronominal heads (foci). An analysis along these lines is proposed in Baker (1995). Baker does not speak of empty or incorporated pronominal heads or foci, but he analyzes all locally free self-forms in English as intensifiers on the basis of two arguments: first, he notes the subject-object asymmetry pointed out in (23) (cf. his ftn. 9). This asymmetry is clearly not the effect of some phonological constraint since combinations like *us ourselves are equally inadmissible. Moreover, the sequence him himself does occur if the two expressions have different indices. In the following examples the self-forms have to be interpreted as adverbial intensifiers: (29) a.

She wanted somehow to have her mother for herself, but only so that she could reject her herself. (inclusive, exclusive) [BNC] b. He advised me not to do so, as, he said, the Captain was a difficult man, and he had no intention of telling him himself. (exclusive) [BNC]

Baker’s second argument is a semantic one. The locally free self-forms in his corpus of data exhibit all the semantic hallmarks of genuine intensifiers: they occur in contexts ‘‘in which emphasis or contrast is desired’’ (p. 77), i.e. they evoke alternatives to the value given, and they characterize their referent as being more discourseprominent (i.e. central) than the other characters in the contrast set. In addition to these two arguments, several others could be adduced in support of this analysis. More often than not LFRs do not correspond to reflexives in those languages where a clear distinction between reflexive pronouns and intensifiers is drawn, but to a combination of pronoun and intensifier. So, most of the examples in (26)–(28) translate as ihn/sie selbst rather than sich selbst into German. And this is exactly what these self-forms originally were. They developed as a result of combining personal pronouns with the old intensifier self. But these compounds did not only develop into anaphors in argument positions, they also replaced the old simplex intensifier self. Moreover, as has often been noted, in Early Modern English and in Irish English such self-forms also occur in subject positions, i.e. in a position where one would expect occurrences of pronoun + intensifier:

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(30) a.

Early Modern English Myself hath often heard them say, When I have walke’d like a private man, That Lucius’ banishment was wrongfully, And they have wished that Lucius were their emperor. [Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus, 4.4, 74] b. Irish English Himself is not in his offic this morning.

Note, moreover, that Baker’s and our analysis predict that LFRs are particularly acceptable in those cases where the relevant alternatives evoked by the intensifier are given in the surrounding verbal context, e.g. by coordinative, disjunctive or comparative constructions. Our suggestion that the self-forms in (26)–(28) or in (30) are intensifiers with incorporated pronouns requires, of course, a brief explanation for the fact that in Modern English incorporation is possible in object but not in subject position. Our answer to this question is to assume that incorporation is only possible if there is a perfect match in the N-features of the pronoun and the first component of the complex self-form, a condition that is met in the case of *her herself, but not in the case of she herself. Baker also notes in his study of LFRs in British English, contra Zribi-Hertz (1989), that not all of the expressions in his corpus of data from Jane Austen are logophoric in the sense that they refer to the subject of consciousness, i.e. to the person from whose perspective a situation is presented. As pointed out in (7), logophoricity is one of the possible contexts in which intensifiers are appropriate, but by no means the only one. In those cases where these LFRs do have a logophoric interpretation, this aspect of meaning comes from the intensifier.10

5.–Direction of historical development Intensifiers typically develop from expressions for body parts, such as ‘body’, ‘heart’, ‘head’, ‘bone’, ‘soul’, etc. (cf. Moravcsik 1972; König 1997b; Heine 1998; Schladt, this volume). In addition to this pervasive source, a few others also play an important role, such as the notion of ‘mask’ (Latin persona), particularly in European languages. Unfortunately, the etymology of intensifiers in most European languages (German selbst, Latin ipse, Russian sam, etc.) is unknown, but the scarce information that we do have is certainly not totally incompatible with the development mentioned above. Intensifiers, on the other hand, typically develop into reflexive

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anaphors, so that we can formulate the following general path of grammaticalization: (31) ‘body parts’ ⇒ (intensifiers) ⇒ reflexive anaphors Evidence for the second of these two general changes comes, above all, from the fact that the same expression is used both as an intensifier and as a reflexive anaphor in a wide variety of languages. Of course, this polysemy itself does not clearly point to a certain temporal order linking these two uses, but general assumptions of grammaticalization theory clearly identify the anaphor as the more grammaticalized element and therefore as being derived from intensifiers, rather than the other way round. Moreover, some of the West Germanic languages (English, Afrikaans, Frisian) and the Celtic languages clearly show that reflexive anaphors may develop as a result of combining personal pronouns with intensifiers. The basic outlines of this diachronic change are reasonably clear for Old English,11 although many aspects and details of the relevant changes still remain mysterious. In Old English personal pronouns did double duty both as markers of disjoint reference and as markers of co-reference in a local domain, much as in Frisian. In the course of the historical development the intensifier self was added to pronouns in object position to mark co-reference unambiguously: (32) Old English a. Þa behydde Adam hine & his wif eac swa dyde [Genesis 3.9, Crawford 1922] ‘and Adam hid himself and his wife did the same’ b. Judas se arleasa ðe urne Hælend belæwde for þam lyþran sceatte ðe he lufode unrihtlice aheng hine selfne [Admonito ad filium spiritualem 1 9.25, Norman 1848] ‘Judas the disgraceful who betrayed our Lord for that wicked money that he loved unrighteously hanged himself’. In the course of the development from Old English to Modern English pronoun and intensifier were combined into one phonological word and the resultant complex form developed into a reflexive anaphor and also replaced the original simplex intensifier self. The precise details of this development are highly complex and partly puzzling. Among the problems that a precise analysis and explication of this change must solve are the following two: (i) which of the three uses of intensifiers distinguished above can give rise to the development of morphologically complex anaphors (and intensifiers) in English and other languages? and (ii) which kind of semantic analysis of the relevant use is compatible with this development, i.e. what kind of meaning is it that changes the interpretation of a personal pronoun, which may indicate either co-reference or disjoint reference, to an unambiguous marker of co-reference with a local antecedent?

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There is practically no discussion of the first problem in older or more recent historical accounts and those synchronic analyses in which several uses of intensifiers are distinguished do not relate their distinctions to the historical development mentioned above. Our opinion on that point is that it is the adnominal use of intensifiers which may give rise to the development of reflexive anaphors in languages such as English.12 On the other hand, several semantic analyses have been proposed according to which self provides the basis for the development of reflexive anaphors in English. One of these proposals is that self denotes an identity function and operates on the 2-grid of a predicate (Reinhart and Reuland 1991; Browning 1993). According to Browning (1993) self is a predicate and has two argument positions, one of which is saturated by the pronoun in object position, whereas the second one is identified (through 2-identification) with the 2-position of the subject. What self essentially does then is to identify the argument in object position (i.e. the pronoun) with the argument in subject position. A major problem of that analysis is that this identity function would also have to be assumed for the adnominal intensifier. A phrase like President Clinton himself would then simply mean ‘President Clinton, President Clinton/the same/and no one else’, a consequence which is clearly absurd. Moreover, if examined in detail the proposal leads to insurmountable problems and simply does not work. The proposal under discussion also shows up occasionally in a somewhat simplified form, the assumption being that self simply expresses something like ‘the same’. Again, this cannot be a reasonable proposal for all the relevant uses of the adnominal intensifier. Note, moreover, that the form used as intensifier in English may also have a use where it does express something like ‘the same’. In Old English and many other languages, this is the meaning that we find in attributive position: (33) Old English Ac ne eart þu se sylfa god, þe us swa drife? [The Paris Psalter 59.9, Krapp 1932] ‘Are you not the same God who guides us?’ In Modern English this use can still be found in the archaic expression the selfsame and in German we find it in the adjective selb- (cf. dasselbe ‘the same’, dasselbe Problem ‘the same problem’). A further proposal, according to which self denotes a function f(x) which is interpreted as an approximation of x without being necessarily identical (Reuland 1996, Lidz 1996), was already discussed above. What then is our alternative to these proposals? In our view it is crucial that the analysis proposed for the adnominal use in general should also be relevant for the compositional effect of pronoun + self (i.e. as an expression of co-reference) when these two expressions were combined in the development of reflexive anaphors. Alternatively and equivalently, the meaning postulated for self in the development

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of reflexive anaphors must also be the relevant meaning of adnominal intensifiers in their use as adjuncts to fully specified NPs. We think that the analysis developed above (evoking of alternatives, structuring the entities under consideration in terms of center vs. periphery) meets this criterion of adequacy. In cases like (32b) the distinction between center and periphery applies to the grammatical or thematic contrast between the responsible agent or subject and the set of potential patients.13 Given the normal presumption of disjoint reference for co-arguments of a predicate (cf. Farmer and Harnish 1987), the periphery of possible patients for the agent Judas and the predicate aheng is a set of persons other than the one denoted by the agent subject. All verbs of violent action denote what has been called other-directed situations, actions that one would not normally perform on oneself. Thus the normal and usual interpretation of the endophoric14 pronoun hine in (32b) would result in the assignment of an index different from the one assigned to the subject. What the addition of selfne does is to indicate that this interpretative option should be overruled. Selfne acts as an instruction that the expression it combines with should be interpreted as the center rather than the periphery. The relevant steps in the interpretation of (32b) can be represented as follows: (34) Judasi aheng [hinej selfne]i (other-directed) ⇒ j ≠ i center ⇒ i

(center=Agent, periphery of alternatives excluded)

It is a well-known fact that if a language has any locally bound anaphors at all that these occur in non-subject argument positions. Only later may this use also spread

Demonstratives (Sp. eso)

Body (parts) (G. persönlich)

⇒

Facilitatives (middle) (G. das wäscht sich gut)

Figure 3.

Intensi‚ers (G. selbst)

Passives

⇒

Reciprocals (Sw. vi träffas)

Reflexive anaphors (G. sich)

⇒ (Da. brevene underskrives af chefen)

⇒

Impersonal passives (Sp. aquí se come bien )

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to adjuncts. In other words if a language uses reflexive anaphors in adjuncts, it also uses them in argument positions. It is equally well-known that reflexive pronouns may in the course of time develop a wide variety of other uses, the essential point being that these expressions are no longer used referentially (i.e., as reflexive anaphors), but as markers of derived intransitivity. In Haspelmath (1990) and in Kemmer (1993) several of such derived uses (bodily motion, anticausative, middle, passive, etc.) are distinguished and an attempt is made to order these uses on a timeline, which can roughly be represented as in Figure 3. What Figure 3 displays is not a hierarchy, but a cognitive map, illustrating possible and pervasive unidirectional historical developments found among the world’s languages. Expressions for body parts may develop into reflexive anaphors (possibly via intensifiers), which may develop into reciprocals and into markers of derived intransitivity.15 On the basis of our typological findings the following implicational generalization can be formulated, depending on whether a language uses the same expression as intensifier and reflexive anaphor or not: (35) Implicational Generalization: If a language uses the same expression both as intensifier and reflexive anaphor, this expression is not used as a marker of derived intransitivity. English and German are prototypical representatives of the present contrast. As the following examples illustrate, only German codes bodily motion and middles with the reflexive. (36) a. The earth revolves around the sun. b. This shirt irons easily. (37) German a. Die Erde dreht sich um die Sonne. = (36a) b. Dieses Hemd bügelt sich leicht. = (36b)

6.–Types of anaphors and their distribution 6.1.–The role of the predicate As already briefly mentioned in the introductory part, a distinction is generally drawn in recent theoretical studies on reflexivity (cf. Reinhart and Reuland 1993) between simplex or se anaphors and complex or self anaphors. This distinction is ultimately based on an observation made in Faltz (1985: 153ff.), who noticed that there was a certain correlation between the morphological complexity of an anaphor and its syntactic (i.e. binding) properties: complex (self) anaphors tend to find

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their antecedent in a local domain, whereas simplex (se) anaphors may exhibit long-distance binding. Moreover, simplex anaphors seem to select only subjects as antecedents, whereas complex anaphors may also be tied to non-subjects. In the following paragraphs we will take a closer look at these alleged correlations and indeed at the differences in the distribution of different types of anaphors. Before we examine these correlations between the morphological make-up of anaphors and their binding properties, however, we will take a look at another connection, which is almost completely neglected in the recent literature on reflexives, namely the connection between different strategies of reflexivization and the meaning of the predicate. As far as strategies of reflexivization are concerned, we can simply use some of the distinctions made in Faltz (1985), where verbal strategies are opposed to nominal strategies and nominal strategies are further divided up into simplex (pronominal) and complex (compound) strategies. The distinction between se and self anaphors can no longer be used, once we go beyond the domain of that handful of languages most frequently discussed in the generative studies, since it is unclear how cases like Turkish kendi or Mandarin ziji would have to be classified. These are morphologically simplex, but identical in form to the intensifier in the relevant language. The distinction between morphologically simplex and morphologically complex anaphors, by contrast, is generally applicable. More often than not the complex cases are combinations of intensifier and some simplex anaphor or pronoun. The verbal strategy of reflexivization is found in languages in which reflexive verbs are distinguished from non-reflexive verbs by a verbal affix (e.g. -sja in Russian, -n- in Turkish, etc.), whereas the term ‘nominal strategy’ is applied to those languages where reflexivizers are free forms (sebja in Russian, kendi in Turkish). Faltz’s distinction between pronominal and compound (nominal) strategies parallels more or less that made by Reinhart and Reuland (1993) between se anaphors and self anaphors. We follow Faltz rather than Reinhart and Reuland not only in his terminology, but also with regard to the view that morphologically simplex (or pronominal) anaphors like Italian sè, Norwegian seg, Dutch zich are genuine reflexive markers. According to Reinhart and Reuland (1993: 659) only self anaphors are endowed with a reflexivizing function, a view that does not seem to be supported by the facts, as will be shown below. As far as the meaning of predicates in reflexive structures is concerned, there is only one general distinction that seems to be relevant, namely the distinction between conventionally other-directed and (conventionally) non-other-directed situations.16 The semantic property that plays a fundamental role in the selection of a reflexivizing strategy concerns the question whether the situation denoted by the verb or adjective is typically or conventionally directed at others or not. All processes of grooming (washing, dressing, shaving, etc.) are typically performed by a person on himself or herself, with the exception of very young or very old people.

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Table 1. Non-other-directed situations

Other-directed situations

Grooming Preparing, protecting Defending, liberating Be proud/ashamed of

Violent actions (killing, destroying) Emotions (love, hate) Communicating Be jealous of/angry with/pleased with

All violent actions are typically directed against others. In the domain of attitudes and emotions ‘being proud of’ and ‘being ashamed of’ are typical examples of attitudes relating only to a person’s own sphere: we can be proud of our achievements, those of our family, perhaps also those of our countrymen, but we are hardly ever proud of the achievements ascribed to the leader of a party in a foreign country. Love, hate and jealousy, by contrast, are standardly directed towards others. All processes of communication are conventionally other-directed, whereas activities like ‘defending’, ‘protecting’, ‘liberating’ and ‘preparing’ are examples of conventionally non-other-directed situations. Table 1 summarizes the preceding remarks. It is world knowledge concerning other-directed and non-other-directed situations that is responsible for the way we understand predicates with missing arguments: (38) a. Washing is fun. (‘to wash oneself’) b. John’s defense was good. (can mean ‘John defended himself’.) c. John’s attack was vicious/good. (cannot mean ‘John attacked himself’.) Moreover, the distinction between other-directed and non-other-directed situations also plays an important role in the interpretation of endophoric (unspecified bindable) pronouns in French (cf. Zribi-Hertz 1995: 346ff.), as is shown by the following contrast between fie ‘proud’ and jaloux ‘jealous’: (39) French a. Pierrei est jaloux de lui*i/j/lui-mêmei. ‘Pierre is jealous of him/himself’. b. Pierre est fie de luii/j/lui-mêmei. ‘Pierre is proud of him/himself’. In combination with the non-other-directed predicate fie an endophoric lui can be bound by the subject, whereas jaloux is conventionally other-directed and can only be co-indexed with the subject if an intensifier is added.17 If one now examines the relationship between predicate meaning and various reflexivization strategies in a language, one observes the following correlation:

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ekkehard könig and peter siemund (40) Correlation between predicate meaning and reflexivization strategies: The more complex strategy tends to be used for the more remarkable (i.e. other-directed) situation; the less complex strategy tends to be used for inherently reflexive verbs and for non-other directed situations.

The exact shape of complex and simplex strategies may differ from language to language. Some languages have an opposition between verbal and nominal strategies (e.g. Turkish, Hebrew, Finnish, etc.), others may have the choice between a simplex (se) and a complex nominal strategy (self). In yet others we find an opposition between the use of a single vs. two intensifiers (e.g. Turkish, Lezgian, etc.) or the choice may simply be between an optional and an obligatory anaphor, as in English. The following data provide illustration for the relevant distinctions: (41) Swedish a. Han angrep sig själv/*sig. ‘He attacked himself’. b. Han forsvarade sig (själv). ‘He defended himself’. (42) Turkish a. yika-mak ‘wash something’ b. yika-n-mak ‘wash oneself’ (43) Turkish a. vur-mak ‘beat’ b. (O) kendi kendi-si-ni vur-du. S/he self self-3sg-acc beat-past:3sg ‘S/he beat him-/herself’. (44) a. Fred washed/shaved/dressed. b. Fred betrayed himself. (45) Russian a. Nadja umyvaet-sja. Nadja washes-refl ‘Nadja is washing (herself)’. b. Nadja nenavidit sebja’. Nadja hates self ‘Nadja hates herself’.

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Table 2. Non-other-directed situations

Other-directed situations

Examples

Verbal strategy No/optional anaphor Simple/weak/se anaphor

Nominal strategy Obligatory anaphor Complex/strong/self anaphor Double intensifier

Hebrew, Turkish English Danish, Dutch

Single intensifier

Lezgian, Tsakhur, Turkish

The precise patterns of correlation between predicate meaning and reflexivization strategy observable in different languages are summarized in Table 2. Traditionally, expressions like seg in Norwegian, sig in Danish or sich in German are analyzed as reflexive pronouns, which in addition to their referential use, i.e. their use as reflexive anaphors, are also used with inherently reflexive verbs and as markers of derived transitivity in middle, anticausative and passive constructions. This traditional view is rejected by Reinhart and Reuland (1993: 659), according to whom only self anaphors have a reflexivizing function. To group these referential uses of the simplex anaphors together with the inherently reflexive verbs and analyze them as cases of reanalysis and detransitivization is particularly absurd for a language like German, where sich is practically the only reflexive marker and is only combined with the intensifier selbst in the most extreme cases of non-other directed predicates.18 Even in Norwegian and Dutch, however, there is clear evidence for the status of these simple anaphors as direct objects. In Norwegian, for instance, a referential seg can be modified by the determiner hele and sentences with a referential seg do not have existential constructions, in contrast to sentences with inherently reflexive verbs (cf. Lødrup 1997): (46) Norwegian a. Hun vasker hele seg. ‘She washed all over’. b. *Det vasket seg en dame i sjøn. ‘There was a lady washing in the sea’. c. Det lukket seg en dør. ‘A door closed’. The consequence of denying se anaphors the status of reflexivizers is, of course, to have double entries for all the verbs combining with referentially used anaphors of this kind (i.e. vaske and vaske seg for Norwegian). An even greater problem for this analysis is the fact that the self anaphors in many European languages (i.e. Norwegian seg selv, Spanish sí mismo, Russian sam sebja, Italian sè stesso, etc.) are

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combinations of an se anaphor and an adnominal intensifier, whose overall meaning is simply a function of that of the two components. The cross-linguistic observations made above show that there is a tendency for the more marked strategy of reflexivization to be iconically used for the more remarkable situations. This tendency is, of course, restricted by processes of lexicalization and syntacticization. There are languages like Dutch where simplex zich is restricted to only a few verbs and there are languages like German, where a reinforcing selbst is rarely needed. The use of the simplex anaphor invariably seems to follow, however, the pattern observed above. Another factor which may restrict the correlation between the predicate semantics and the choice of reflexivization strategy is syntacticization. In Dutch it is zichzelf rather than zich which occurs invariably in prepositional phrases which are thematic arguments of the relevant predicate (cf. Everaert 1986).19 (47) Dutch a. Simone zorgt voor *zich/zichzelf. [p. 2] ‘Simone looks after herself’. b. Zij houdt van *zich/zichzelf. [p. 38] ‘She loves herself’. c. Jan werkt voor *zich/zichzelf. [p. 177] ‘John works for himself’. A similar view to the one developed above can also be found in a recent publication by Burzio (1996b) who notes that the kind of anaphor selected depends on the ‘semantic structure’. He ranks anaphoric elements according to the hierarchy below and suggests that there must be a certain semantic motivation for the more complex elements to be used. Grammar always selects the least complex expression in the default case (examples: full-intens: Dutch zichzelf ; full: German sich; clitic: Italian si.) (48) full-intens > full > clitic > Ø According to Burzio, the principle responsible for selecting the economically adequate anaphoric element is some ‘‘form of recoverability’’. He suggests that the structural complexity of the anaphor involved is inversely proportional to the recoverability of the reflexive relation. The more difficult a reflexive relation is to recover, the more complex the anaphor becomes, and vice versa. Although Burzio’s observations and explanations are correct as far as they go, his typology of anaphoric elements lacks completeness and the notion of recoverability is too vague to be of much use. 6.2.–Domain properties The observation made inter alia by Faltz (1985); Pica (1984, 1987) for some

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languages that complex anaphors find their antecedent in a local domain, whereas long-distance binding only occurs with simple anaphors, can be generalized to many languages. There does indeed seem to be a general tendency of this kind, but there is no perfect complementarity. Simple (se) anaphors are by no means specialized for long-distance binding. In the following Danish example both the matrix subject and the subject of the subordinate clause can be the antecedent of sig, and given the nature of the verb, local binding leads to the more plausible interpretation in this case. (49) Danish Larsi bad Evaj om at forsvare/vaske sigi/j. ‘Lars asked Eve to defend/wash refl’. Moreover, there is no perfect correlation between locality and morphological complexity (or X0 vs. Xmax status) of the anaphor.20 Huang (1996) and Zribi-Hertz (1996) have shown that there are exceptions in both directions. There are complex anaphors exhibiting long-distance binding and there are morphologically simplex anaphors that have to be locally bound. Finally, the relevant distinction is, of course, not observable in languages, like German, which do not have LDB reflexives in the first place. In German sich selbst may either take an object or a subject as antecedent, depending on the meaning of the predicate: (50) German a. Die Elterni überließen die Kinderj sich selbstj. ‘The parents left the children to their own devices’. b. Der Richteri übertrug/überschrieb die Kinderj sich selbsti. ‘The judge transferred the children to himself’. The verb überlassen ‘leave’ expresses that some object moves away from the location/possession of the subject referent to some other location. The subject is therefore excluded as antecedent of sich selbst. Verbs like übertragen or überschreiben ‘transfer’, on the other hand, locate the entity in question outside the reach or possession of the subject before the transfer. Therefore, the subject is a possible antecedent. There is thus no clear or perfect correlation between the morphological complexity of anaphors and their domain properties. Any attempt to explicate such an alleged complementarity in purely syntactic terms (cf. Cole and Sung 1994)21 therefore seems misguided. On the other hand, there is clearly a general tendency in those languages which draw a distinction between morphologically simplex and morphologically complex anaphors, where the former are not based on intensifiers and may be used for LD binding, for the complex expressions to be used for local binding. The following minimal pair from Norwegian seems to be a typical example of this pervasive tendency:

66

ekkehard könig and peter siemund (51) Norwegian (Nynorsk) a. Hani bad hennej hjelpe segi. ‘He asked her to help him’. b. Hani bad hennej hjelpe [seg sjølv]j. ‘He asked her to help herself’.

How can we explain this general tendency or ‘correlation’? As already said, a purely syntactic approach is not feasible, since there is only a tendency, rather than a perfect correlation. Moreover, what needs to be explained is why it is intensifiers, rather than some other type of expressions, that restrict the binding domain and why the addition of intensifiers to simplex anaphors should have exactly this effect. Even if it can be assumed that in some languages the relevant intensifiers are completely syntacticized in combination with simplex anaphors, there must be some semantic motivation for such syntacticization. In other words, what we need is a semantic explication of the relevant facts. In order to provide such an explication, we will first of all introduce the distinction between alternatives that are paradigmatically given and those that are syntagmatically given. Adnominal intensifiers invariably evoke alternatives to the value denoted by their nominal co-constituent, their focus as it were. Only if such values are provided by the situational context or the surrounding verbal context are intensifiers licensed. One way in which the verbal context may provide the relevant alternatives is by identifying them in the very same syntactic position that the focus occupies, to which they are linked via coordination, comparison, disjunction, etc. In this case alternatives are provided for precisely the thematic role assigned to the focus in the relevant sentence and we will therefore speak of ‘providing alternative values paradigmatically’: (52) a. According to John, the article was written by Mary and himself. b. John said to Mary that physicists like himself were a godsend. c. Mary noticed that there was nobody in the library except for herself. In examples like (51), by contrast, alternatives are only given syntagmatically. The reflexive pronoun seg by itself is bound by the subject of the main clause, given the nature of the embedded predicate. ‘Help’ is clearly an instance of an other-directed activity, emanating from a central agent to a periphery constituted by the goal of the activity. It is therefore to be expected that a simplex anaphor following such a predicate should be long-distance bound in languages which have long-distance binding. The presumption of disjoint referents for the co-arguments of ‘help’ can be met by interpreting seg as being bound by the highest subject. Whenever an intensifier is added to seg the normal presumption of disjoint reference for subject and object of seg is overruled. Sjølv indicates that the referent of the object is not among the

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periphery of alternatives to the subject of ‘help’, but again the center. As in the case of the contexts that mark the beginning point in the development of reflexivity in English, the distinction between center and periphery applies to the referents of the NPs co-present in various grammatical functions in the same sentence.22 Note, finally, that in some languages with long-distance binding the addition of an intensifier to a simplex anaphor does not necessarily narrow down the binding domain. The relevant contexts are precisely those in which alternatives to the value of a complex anaphor are paradigmatically given: (53) Icelandic Maríai skipaþi mér aþ hjálpa sjálfri séri og ekki bróþur hennar. ‘Mary ordered me to help her and not her brother’. 6.3.–Antecedent properties In addition to the alleged correlations between the morphological properties of anaphors and their domain properties discussed above, correlations have also been seen between the morphological properties of anaphors and their antecedent properties as well as their domain properties and their antecedent properties. Morphologically simplex anaphors, in particular those that may be long-distance bound, are assumed to be subject-oriented, whereas complex ones may also select a non-subject as antecedent. Given that reflexive anaphors are primarily used to mark co-reference of co-arguments, it is to be expected that the most strongly syntacticized cases, i.e. the morphologically simplex anaphors, should be subject-oriented.23 It is far from clear, however, how this antecedent property should be formulated and which type of anaphor it should be attributed to, since there are clear counterexamples to the correlations formulated so far. Wali and Subbarao (1991) point out, for example, that long-distance reflexives can be bound by a non-subject and that local reflexives may be bound only by a subject. We have nothing to add to this discussion, but only want to point out that an analysis of the antecedent properties of morphologically complex anaphors must again differentiate between cases where an intensifier combines with a simplex anaphor, as in Scandinavian, and cases like English, where the relevant forms could be analyzed as intensifiers with incorporated pronominal heads. In Danish sig is subjectoriented, whether it combines with the intensifier selv or not, as is shown by the following example (cf. Larsen 1997: 38): (54) Sofi j snakkede med Hannai om sig selvj/*i ‘Sofie talked to Hanna about refl self’. In the analogous English sentence herself may be coindexed with either Sofi or

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Hanna, but it is by no means clear whether this self-form is a reflexive anaphor or not. The remarks made about the so-called ‘long-distance reflexives’ above also apply here. Note finally that the subject orientation of a simplex anaphor like sich in German can be changed if that anaphor is accompanied by an intensifier and the alternatives are paradigmatically given. In examples like the following both options seem to be equally permissible:24 (55) Tsvetaeva kontrastiert Casanovai nicht nur mit seiner erbärmlichen Umgebung auf der Burg, sondern auch mit ihmi/sichi selbst. ‘Tsvetaeva opposes Casanova not only to his insignificant surroundings in the castle, but also him to himself’.

7.–Conclusion In this paper we have tried to show that any cross-linguistic analysis or any theory of reflexivity must come to terms with the complex interaction between intensifiers and reflexive anaphors observable in most, if not all languages. Intensifiers may be completely identical to reflexives, they may provide the source for the development of reflexives, and they may combine with reflexives. Given the formal, if not distributional, identity between these two categories, it should also not come as a surprise that a distinction between the two is difficult to draw for some languages in certain contexts. It has also been shown that a decision for one or the other analysis has drastic consequences for one’s theory. Given this close relationship and complex interaction between intensifiers and reflexives, a detailed semantic analysis of intensifiers is a crucial prerequisite for any theory of reflexivity. We have provided such an analysis and have tried to show how this analysis is able to throw new light on the historical development of reflexive anaphors, on the binding properties of different types of anaphors, as well as on their logophoric use. Finally, we have also tried to revive an old insight, found in various older discussions of reflexives, viz. the insight that in those languages which have several strategies for expressing co-reference of co-arguments it is the meaning of the predicate that determines, within certain limits, which strategy is to be chosen.

Acknowledgements An earlier version of this paper was presented at the ‘‘International Symposium on Reflexives and Reciprocals’’ (Boulder, Colorado, 1997) and at a colloquium organized by the Department of Linguistics at USC. We would like to thank both audiences for critical comments and helpful suggestions. The financial

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support of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (grant KO 497/5–2/Forschungsschwerpunkt ‘‘Sprachtypologie’’) is also gratefully acknowledged.

Notes 1. The term ‘intensifier’ may not be particularly illuminating, but it is reasonably well established (in addition to the term ‘emphatics’) and does not give rise to misleading associations. Reflexive pronouns are here defined as expressions which occur in non-subject argument positions and whose main and possibly only function is to indicate coreference in a certain (typically local) domain. The term ‘reflexive anaphor’ will be reserved for the so-called ‘referential use’ of reflexive pronouns. 2. The term ‘emphatic reflexive’ makes sense for those self-forms in English that occur in argument positions and are stressed, as in the following example: –(i)

3. 4. 5.

6.

Fred only admires himself.

Such focused or emphatic uses of reflexive anaphors regularly correspond to a combination of reflexive pronoun + intensifier in most other European languages. A more fine-grained typology is developed in Jakubowicz (1994), where anaphors are distinguished on the basis of the following parameters: [± morphologically complex], [± clitic], [± attached]. A distinction of this kind is also drawn in all other analyses of intensifiers (cf. Moravcsik 1972; Edmondson and Plank 1978; Ferro 1993). Baker (1995: 80) characterizes the general semantic contribution of adnominal intensifiers as follows: ‘‘Intensive NPs can only be used to mark a character in a sentence or discourse who is relatively more prominent or central than other characters.’’ The analysis of self as an approximation function is also in conflict with observations made in Haiman (1995: 229). Haiman points out that replacing a reflexive anaphor with a pronoun often evokes the effect of self-alienation, so that subject and object, although referentially identical, are interpreted as referring to different entities: –(i) a. b.

I’m in charge of myself. I’m in charge of me.

7. In addition, languages may choose not to differentiate between appositive intensifiers (German selbst, Italian stesso, English x-self) and attributive intensifiers (eigen, propio, own respectively). Languages that do not exhibit this contrast include Turkish (kendi), Mandarin (ziji) and Persian (xod). (i)

Kendi oda-m [Turkish] own room-1p ‘My own room’

(ii)

Kendi memleket-iniz [Turkish] own country-2pl ‘Your own country’

According to our understanding, it is not justified to equate attributive intensifiers with possessive reflexives (e.g. Russian svoj or Swedish sin), as done in Higginbotham (1985); Saxon (1991); Burzio (1996a). Burzio assumes that antecedents across languages differ in the degree to which they are open for binding, i.e. some languages have more perspicuous antecedents than others. However, once the connection between attributive and appositive intensifiers is seen, it is not necessary to resort to such explanations.

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8. The relevant example goes as follows: –(i)

And he besought his mother that she would love her even as she loved him himself, and that she would do good to her and show her great honour, for which he should ever serve her with the better good will.

9. More precisely, Reinhart and Reuland (1993: 672) assume that a focused self anaphor can be free in an argument position at S-Structure because Condition A applies only at LF. Since focused expressions undergo movement at LF, the problematic anaphors are no longer in argument positions and hence do not reflexive-mark the predicate. According to Reinhart and Reuland the LF structure of (i)a below is (i)b, where himself has been moved out of the argument position of the predicate rebound. –(i) a. b.

‘‘Bismarck’s impulsiveness has, as so often, rebounded against himself’’. himselfi [Bismarck’s impulsiveness has, as so often, rebounded against ei]

An unfortunate consequence of this analysis is that focused self anaphors in argument positions of predicates which are reflexive beyond any doubt do not reflexive-mark it, cf.: (ii) a. b.

Liz only loves herself. John would even betray himself.

10. Our analysis does, of course, not imply that logophoricity is always tied to intensification. In languages which have logophoric pronouns, these pronouns are very often different from and totally unrelated to reflexives and intensifiers (cf. Frajzyngier 1989). 11. Cf. van Gelderen (1996a), van Gelderen (1996b), van Gelderen (this volume), Keenan (1996); König and Siemund (1996c) for some recent discussions of this diachronic development. 12. One way in which typological studies may throw light on this question is to find languages which use different expressions for adnominal and adverbial intensifiers and where the adverbial (exclusive) intensifier is also used as a reflexive anaphor. Japanese zibun, which has an adverbial exclusive use, but no adnominal use, suggests that adverbial intensifiers may develop into anaphors. But in this case there is no interaction with a personal pronoun. 13. One of the possible contexts in which an adnominal self is appropriate is described by Baker (1995) as: ‘X is the responsible agent’. 14. This term is used by Zribi-Hertz (1995), who also suggests the term ‘UBE’ (unspecified bindable expressions) for the pronouns of Old English and Frisian and for expressions like lui in French. 15. The term ‘middle’ is here used for intransitive uses of basically transitive verbs in constructions with the following additional properties: they imply an agent, they have a generic, modal meaning, they typically contain manner adverbs or expressions of negation. 16. As far as we know, these labels were first used by Kiparsky (1990). The opposition between ‘introverted’ and ‘extroverted’ verbs used in Haiman (1995) is very similar to what we have in mind. The labels [± affectedness], used in Jakubowicz (1994), by contrast, suggest that the relevant opposition has something to do with the aktionsart of a predicate, which is clearly not the case. 17. The differentiation of predicates under discussion also explains the distribution of certain cases of NP anaphora. The telling of a joke is clearly other-directed in comparison to hearing it. Therefore, a self anaphor is necessary to enforce co-reference in (ib), but not in (ia). (i) a. b.

Max heard a joke about him. Max told a joke about himself.

18. Possible examples include the following: (i)

Paul stolperte über sich selbst. [German] ‘Paul stumbled over himself’.

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Maria traf sich selbst. [German] ‘Maria met herself’.

(ii)

19. A comparable process of syntacticization can be observed in the development of English. Reflexive anaphors became obligatory in direct object positions first. Only then did the process extend to indirect object positions. Plain pronouns could be used in indirect object positions until about the 18th century. (i) a.

b.

Not so common as commendable it is, to see young gentlemen choose them such friends with whom they may seeme beeing absent to be present, being a sunder to be conuersant, beeing dead to be alive. [E, p. 197] I made me a large tent. [RC, p. 45]

20. Once more, we would like to emphasize that both the arguments in favour of such a correlation and the arguments against it presuppose that reflexive anaphors can clearly be distinguished from intensifiers and thus clearly be identified across languages. The facts of English, for example, are only a problem for this generalization if it can be maintained, pace Zribi-Hertz (1989), that there are LDB reflexives in English. Our reasons for rejecting this view were given above. 21. The analysis developed in Cole and Sung (1994) is particularly problematic in view of the fact that the language in connection with which it is developed (i.e. Mandarin) does not exhibit a clear complementarity in the binding properties of ziji vs. ta ziji. As is shown in Pan (1997), both the simplex anaphor ziji ‘self’ as well as the complex counterparts ta ziji and ta benren ‘s/he self’ may exhibit long-distance binding. 22. In his optimality theoretic account of the distribution of anaphors, Burzio (1996b) proposes that long-distance binding and local binding are merely reflexes of the fact that anaphors always try to pick the optimal antecedent, where optimal means most prominent and local. The antecedent that is eventually chosen results from a trade-off between the prominence of its referent relative to competing antecedents and its distance from the anaphoric element. 23. Burzio (1996b) suggests that anaphors by default take subjects as antecedents because these are more prominent than objects. This constraint can be overruled under certain conditions, but then a more complex (i.e. costly) anaphor is required. 24. This example is the German counterpart to a Russian example given in Comrie (1997).

References Baker, Carl L. 1995. ‘‘Contrast, discourse prominence, and intensification, with special reference to locally free Reflexives in British English’’. Language 71(2): 63–101. Bickerton, Derek. 1987. ‘‘He himself: Anaphor, pronoun, or . . . ?’’. Linguistic Inquiry 18: 345–48. Browning, Marguerite A. 1993. ‘‘Adverbial reflexives’’. NELS 23: 83–94, vol. i. Burzio, Luigi. 1991. ‘‘The morphological basis of anaphora’’. Journal of Linguistics 27: 81–105. —— 1996a. ‘‘The Role of the antecedent in anaphoric relations’’. In Robert Freidin (ed.), Current Issues in Comparative Grammar. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1–45. —— 1996b. ‘‘Anaphora and soft constraints’’. Proceedings of the Workshop on Optimality in Syntax ‘‘Is the Best Good Enough?’’. MIT Working Papers in Linguistics.

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Cole, Peter, and Li-May Sung. 1994. ‘‘Head movement and long-distance reflexives’’. Linguistic Inquiry 25: 355–406. Comrie, Bernard. 1997. ‘‘Reference-tracking and competing constraints’’. Paper given at the XVIth International Congress of Linguists (Paris, July 1997). Crawford, S.J. (ed.). 1922. The Old English Version of the Heptateuch. Aelfric’s Treatise on the Old and New Testament and his Preface to Genesis. London: EETS 160. Edmondson, Jerry A., and Frans Plank. 1978. ‘‘Great expectations: An intensive SELFanalysis’’. Linguistics and Philosophy 2: 373–413. Everaert, Martin. 1986. The Syntax of Refl xivization. Dordrecht: Foris. Faltz, Leonard M. 1985. Refl xivization: A study in universal syntax. New York: Garland. Farmer, Ann K., and Robert M. Harnish. 1987. ‘‘Communicative Reference with pronouns’’. In Marcella Bertucelli-Papi and Jef Verschueren (eds), The Pragmatic Perspective. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: Benjamins, 547–65. Ferro, Lisa. 1993. ‘‘On ‘self’ as a focus marker’’. ESCOL ’92: Proceedings of the Ninth Eastern States Conference on Linguistics. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University, 68–79. Frajzyngier, Zygmunt. 1989. ‘‘Three kinds of anaphors’’. In Isabelle Haik and Laurice Tuller (eds), Current Progress in African Linguistics. Amsterdam: Foris, 194–216. Haiman, John. 1995. ‘‘Grammatical signs of the divided self’’. In Werner Abraham, Talmy Givón, and Sandra A. Thompson (eds), Discourse Grammar and Typology. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 213–34. Haspelmath, Martin. 1990. ‘‘The grammaticization of passive morphology’’. Studies in Language 14: 25–72. Heine, Bernd. 1998. ‘‘Polysemy involving reflexive and reciprocal markers in African languages’’. Reciprocals: Forms and functions [Typological Studies in language 41]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1–29. Higginbotham, James. 1985. ‘‘On semantics’’. Linguistic Inquiry 16: 547–93. Huang, Yan. 1996. ‘‘A note on the head-movement analysis of long-distance reflexives’’. Linguistics 34: 833–40. Jackendoff, Ray S. 1992. ‘‘Madame Tussaud meets the Binding Theory’’. Natural Language and Linguistic Theory 10: 1–31. Jakubowicz, Celia. 1994. ‘‘On the morphological specification of reflexives: Implications for acquisition’’. NELS 24: 205–19. Keenan, Edward L. 1996. Creating anaphors. An historical study of the English reflexive pronouns. MS, UCLA. Kemmer, Suzanne. 1993. The Middle Voice: A typological and diachronic study. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kibrik, Aleksandr A., and Ekaterina Bogdanova. 1995. ‘‘Sam kak operator korrektcii ožidanii adresata’’ [Russian sam as operator of correction of hearer’s expectations]. Voprosy Jazykoznanija 3: 4–47. Kiparsky, Paul. 1990. Strong reflexives in Germanic. Paper given at the Diachronic Syntax Conference in York. König, Ekkehard. 1991. The Meaning of Focus Particles: A comparative perspective. London: Routledge.

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—— 1997a. ‘‘From expressions for body parts to reflexive anaphors: Semantic change in the development of intensifiers’’. In Gerald F. Carr et al. (eds), Interdigitations: Essays for Irmgard Rauch. Frankfurt: Lang. —— 1997b. ‘‘Towards a typology of intensifiers’’. XVIth International Congress of Linguists (Paris, July 1997), Proceedings. To appear. —— and Peter Siemund. 1996a. ‘‘Emphatische reflexiva und fokusstruktur’’. In Inger Rosengren (ed.), Sprache und Pragmatik 40. Lund: Lunds Universitet, 1–42. —— —— 1996b. ‘‘Selbst-Reflektionen’’. In Gisela Harras (ed.), Wenn die Semantik Arbeitet. Festschrift für Klaus Baumgärtner. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 277–302. —— —— 1996c. ‘‘On the development of reflexive pronouns in English: A case study in grammaticalisation’’. In Uwe Böker and Hans Sauer (eds), Anglistentag 1996, Dresden, Proceedings. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag, 95–108. —— —— 1997a. ‘‘Intensifikatoren und Topikalisierung: Kontrastive Beobachtungen zum Deutschen, Englischen und anderen germanischen Sprachen’’. In Heide Wegener (ed.), Deutsch kontrastiv. Tübingen: Stauffenburg Verlag. Krapp, G.P. 1932. The Paris Psalter and the Meters of Boethius. New York: ASPR 5. Kuno, Susumu. 1987. Functional Syntax: Anaphora, discourse and empathy. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Larsen, Uffe B. 1997. ‘‘The element selv and the relationship between intensification and reflexivization in Danish’’. Screening Paper II, USC. Lidz, Jeffrey. 1996. On the independence of syntactic and thematic binding. Paper presented at Linguist on-line conference ‘‘Geometric and Thematic Structure in Binding’’. WWW. Lødrup, Helge. 1997. Inalienables in Norwegian and Binding Theory. ms, University of Oslo. Moravcsik, Edith. 1972. ‘‘Some cross-linguistic generalizations about intensifier constructions’’. CLS 8: 271–77. Norman, H.W. 1848. The Anglo-Saxon Version of the Hexameron of St. Basil . . . and the Anglo-Saxon Remains of St. Basil’s Admonitio ad filiu spiritualem. London. Pan, Haihua. 1997. Constraints on Refl xivization in Mandarin Chinese. New York: Garland. Pica, Pierre. 1984. ‘‘Subject, tense and truth: Toward a modular approach to binding’’. In Jacqueline Guéron, Hans-Georg Obenauer, and Jean-Yves Pollock (eds), Grammatical Representation. Dordrecht: Foris, 259–91. —— 1987. ‘‘On the nature of the reflexivization cycle’’. NELS 17: Proceedings. University of Massachusetts, Amherst: 483–99. —— 1991. ‘‘On the interaction between Antecedent-Government and Binding: The case of Long-distance Reflexivization’’. In Jan Koster and Eric Reuland (eds), LongDistance Anaphora. Cambridge: CUP, 119–36. Primus, Beatrice. 1992. ‘‘Selbst-variants of a scalar adverb in German’’. In Joachim Jacobs (ed.), Informationsstruktur und Grammatik, Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 54–88. Quirk, Randolph, Sidney Greenbaum, Geoffrey Leech, and Jan Svartvik. 1985. A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. London: Longman.

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Reinhart, Tanya, and Eric Reuland. 1991. ‘‘Anaphors and logophors: An argument structure perspective’’. In Jan Koster and Eric Reuland (eds), Long-Distance Anaphora. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 283–321. Reinhart, Tanya, and Eric Reuland. 1993. ‘‘Reflexivity’’. Linguistic Inquiry 24(4): 657–720. Reuland, Eric. 1996. Primitives of Binding. ms, Utrecht University. Saxon, Leslie. 1991. ‘‘On one’s own: The semantics and pragmatics of reflexives’’. In Carol Georgopoulos and Roberta Ishihara (eds), Interdisciplinary Approaches to Language: Essays in honor of S.-Y. Kuroda. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 501–17. Siemund, Peter. 1999. Intensifie s in English and German: A comparison.. London: Routledge. van Gelderen, Elly. 1996a. ‘‘Case to the object in the history of English’’. Linguistic Analysis 26: 117–33. van Gelderen, Elly. 1996b. ‘‘Self in the history of English’’. Germanic Linguistics Annual Conference 2. Arizona State University, Handout. Wali, Kashi, and K.V. Subbarao. 1991. ‘‘On pronominal classification: Evidence from Marathi and Telugu’’. Linguistics 29: 1093–110. Zribi-Hertz, Anne. 1989. ‘‘Anaphor Binding and narrative point of view: English reflexive pronouns in sentence and discourse’’. Language 65: 695–727. Zribi-Hertz, Anne. 1995. ‘‘Emphatic or reflexive? On the endophoric character of French lui-même and similar Complex Pronouns’’. Journal of Linguistics 31: 333–74. Zribi-Hertz, Anne. 1996. ‘‘Some wondering remarks on the development of syntactic theories: The case of long-distance reflexives’’. Recherches Linguistiques de Vincennes 25.

Appendix: Sources Cited [AF] [ASR] [BNC] [E]

[LLC] [PN] [RC] [RHW] [WSM]

Michael Crichton. 1996. Airframe. Arrow Books, 1997. Antonia Fraser. 1981. A Splash of Red. Methuen, 1982. The British National Corpus. John Lyly. 1578. ‘‘Euphues—The Anatomy of Wit’’. In R. Warwick Bond (ed.), The Complete Works of John Lyly. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1902, 177–375. Longman-Lancaster Corpus. David Lodge. 1991. Paradise News. Penguin, 1992. Daniel Defoe. 1719. Robinson Crusoe. London: Dent (Everyman’s Library), 1972. David H. Lawrence. 1955. ‘‘Rocking Horse Winner’’. The Complete Short Stories of D.H. Lawrence. London: William Heinemann, 790–804. Elizabeth George. 1990. Well-Schooled in Murder. Bantam.

The structural and lexical space between reflexive binding and logophorics: Sundry paradigms of reflexives and anaphora WERNER ABRAHAM University of Groningen

Hohn war immer eine berechtigte Form geistiger Kriegsführung.—(Theodor Fontane) I love a good hater.—(Arno Schmidt)

1.–Aim and scope The present paper pursues a middle course between two radically different directions, viz. the syntactic position on reflexives espoused by Reinhart and Reuland (1993) and a more pragmatic one (Comrie 1997). Instead of relaxing a set of grammatical principles (reasonable enough under a strictly deductive methodology) it will be demonstrated that there are a number of questions with respect to constraints on the grammaticality of the distribution of distinct types of reflexives and other anaphors which, at first sight, are hard to answer on purely syntactic grounds. I will then try to motivate answers and solutions to these open questions on a discoursetheoretical, semantic basis. Finally, I will try to relate these representations to some syntactic and pragmatic generalisations or existing syntactic principles.

2.–Setting the frame 2.1.–Purpose This paper serves two main purposes. For one, it introduces a set of new data from three languages (English, German, and Russian), which show that even under radi-

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cally modified binding principles (as proposed by Reinhart and Reuland 1993), the traditional generalizations fall short of doing justice to the linguistic facts. Rather than trying to account for these data on a distinct ‘either (rule governed)—or (not rule governed)’ fashion, it will be suggested (along the lines put forward by Comrie 1997) that the grammatical reflexives be delimited, and distinguished, from ungrammatical ones, to the exclusion of what is beyond an upper grammatical limit to the surface form of the reflexive—thus, delimited along gradual lines. It will be shown that the different languages determine this point of exclusion in different ways. The second issue is another set of data (from German dialects, Old English, and Middle High German) showing that when pronominals take over the function of reflexives, the whole system of pro-forms (cf. Latin pro ‘instead-of’; such as the whole system of pronominals + reflexives and reciprocals) is bound to shift along what is called the Pro-form Hierarchy. To prepare this discussion a brief investigation of the total system of pro-forms is conducted in discourse representational terms (Enç 1991; Vergnaud and Zubizarreta 1990; Wiltschko 1995). We shall see that reflexivity comprises more than just the by-now classical binding phenomena, and that questions touching upon medialization and valency reduction also have to be dealt with in order to cover the whole range of reflexive phenomena in a unique way. 2.2.–Terminological preamble This paper reviews and extends the typology of reflexives as discussed in Abraham (1995a). The following fundamental tenets are observed. First, only visible1 morphemes are considered to go into the analysis of ‘reflexivity, reciprocity, or medial/ middle’; only those invisible (or, more precisely, not directly visible) morphemes whose existence and linear or structural position can be determined in syntaxdistributional terms can be argued for under this terminology. Second, I would like to argue that the discussion about whether polysemy, monosemy, or homophony applies to, e.g., the different functions of se, is futile to the extent that the different functions of se should be defined in terms of binding and licensing factors (as will be derived and illustrated in the course of this paper). To illustrate this, take a verb like English ‘‘embrace *(oneselves/each other).’’ where German clearly distinguishes the transitive form from the reciprocal one—i.e., the reciprocal pronoun must not be suspended: *(sich (gegenseitig)) umarmen or *(einander) umarmen. Only the German, not, however, the English, example deserves classification in terms of a reciprocal, since there is no visible reflexive form connected to the English lexical meaning (see note 1). Or take another example: English turn, split are grammatically ambiguous in form between t(ransitive)V and i(ntransitive)V, whereas the German counterparts (sich) drehen, (sich) spalten encode, with a distinct paradigmatic root-

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ing, the two grammatical classes of transitive and intransitive verbs (tV, iV). Thus, we will speak about types of reflexives in German reflecting different uses, or functions (‘‘genuine’’ vs. ‘non-genuine’’), different types of middles, and reciprocals only if paradigmatically rooted reflexive forms occur at the surface. Notice that the fact that languages differ with respect to encoding morphologically such functions as reflexivity and reciprocity allows one to make typological distinctions between the two poles of generalization such as ‘maximally vs. minimally encoded’ (i.e., with a full reflexive paradigm encoding each grammatical form in terms of person and number separately as in Latin, as opposed to one that provides only a reduced paradigm with suppletive forms taken from another, e.g., the personal anaphoric, non-reflexive paradigm). It might be held against this that it may not be easy to tell what exactly need be encoded in terms of ‘functions’: why, for example, does German not encode ‘collectiveness’ or ‘dispersity’ as do languages such as Basque, Ainu, and Fulde (cf. Kemmer 1997). But the claim that they do encode ‘collectiveness’ or ‘dispersity’ (cf. English they figh (with) each other vs. German sie kämpfen *(mit)einander) would be pointless. We may want to speak of ‘distinctions of functions’ only if verb class distinctions exist encoding these functional differences. No classificatory paradigms exist for verbal meanings of collectiveness or dispersivity in German (and, to all appearances, in the whole Indo-Germania).2 To speak of ‘middle functions’ in English (see turn, split as oneplace verbs) or ‘middle constructions’ (cf. this floo plays smoothly) is thus meaningful only if compared, let us say, with French ((se) tourner; il se joue comfortablement sur cette surface), German ((sich) drehen; es spielt sich leicht auf diesem Boden), or Classical Latin (se turnere/turni), and it would make sense only under this comparison. English has no formal paradigm of middles, and all meaning implications to this effect come from the people who are aware of medials from Ancient Greek and Sanskrit and transfer these functions to grammatically ambiguous forms of English. The crucial point is that English distinguishes at best transitive and intransitive (or, better yet, two-place and one-place) verbal paradigms on the basis of behavioral (read distributional) properties—not, however, by way of morphemic encoding. To introduce the medial function into the grammar of English would be like transferring lexical distinctions of, let us say, Inuit-Eskimo into Sicilian Italian, which, to be sure, has a word for ‘snow,’ but is not in need of further distinctions. 2.3.–Nothing but open questions: Chomsky’s Binding Principle A not met typologically Taking into account new empirical data, Reinhart and Reuland (1993) have modified Chomsky’s original binding theory roughly in the following terms: they

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introduced a semantic (or, more precisely, a lexical valency) condition, next to syntactic conditions, on the occurrence of systematic reflexives, and distinguished discourse conditions giving rise to logophoric reflexives. However, it appears that the following data are outside even Reinhart and Reuland’s generalizations. The three English reflexive constructions in (1a-c) have been chosen with an eye on what cannot possibly be different syntactic constituents across the three languages under inspection here. Notice that there is no way of relegating the reflexives in each of the three languages in (1)–(3) below to a logophoric use—they are far too regular and paradigmatically supported.3 (1) English a. Johni saw himselfi(refl) in the mirror. b. Johni saw a snake behind himi(anaphor). c. Johni asked Mary to make him(self)i(anaphor) some tea. (2) German a. Hansi sah sichi(refl) im Spiegel. b. Hansi sah eine Schlange hinter ihmi/sichi. c. Hansi bat Mariaj ihmi/ihr*j/sich*i/j eine Tasse Tee zu machen. Dutch d. Jani sprak namens hemzelfi/’mzelfi/zichzelfi. e. Jani zag ‘n slang naast hemi/zichi. (3) Russian (somewhat adapted from Comrie 1997:1) a. Vanjai uvidel sebjai(refl) vzerkale. b. Vanjai uvidel za soboji(refl) zmeju. c. Vanjai poprosil Mašu vskipjatit’ sebei(refl)/emui cˇaj. (as much as, and probably better idiomatically, Vanjai poprosil Mašu prigatovit) Throughout a–c, the subject is the binder. The bindees, however, are in different syntactic relations to their subject binder. In the (a)-examples the bindee is a true verbal argument (A-chain; verbal valency: direct object) in one single simple clause. The (b)-examples illustrate bindees in an adverbial relation to the clausal predicate, i.e., in a somewhat distant structural relation to the predication (e.g., one of the clausal A′-, or adverbial/adjunct, positions). The (c)-examples demonstrate embedded infinitival clauses (ACIs with PRO/empty subject; ECM: matrix subjectreferring PRO with (overtly masculine) ihn in German, but matrix-object referring under the (covert feminine) reflexive lexical). All this pertains to English. Not a single instance of this is reflected in the other two languages, however. In German and Russian, the coreferentiality relations are borne out by distinctly different lexicals from different pronominal paradigms. I cannot think of any syntactic parametrical differences in these simple examples that would explain the different

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coreferentiality markers (technically, ‘coindexation’). Dutch is added to show the extent to which it differs from German, where the latter has the only option of the truly reflexive sich. Such illustrations across closely related languages are remarkable for their differences of what originally were believed to fall under pretty much an identical structural (UG) description and, consequently, to be subject to the same ‘‘account’’ or ‘‘constitutive explanation’’ in terms of the Binding Theory (notably Principles A and B).4 Reinhart and Reuland (1993) replaced these generalizations particularly by relating also to semantic reflexivity and to less systematic usages of reflexives such as ‘logophorics.’ i.e., discourse triggered ‘reflexive’ morphemes, which are not believed to be part of either syntactic binding conditions or semantic constraints.5 In order to avoid this principled explanatory split outside of generative approaches and under the methodological assumption that all reflexive lexicals must have something to do with each other, thereupon including syntactic as well as semantic and logophoric uses in one single framework, the best available alternatives, to all appearances, are heavily relaxed formulations of Chomsky’s binding principles as observed already by Faltz (1977), which is similar to what the typologist Comrie has come up with recently. Witness (4). It will immediately be obvious that (4) is an extension of the explanatory machinery differing quite radically from that proposed by Reinhart and Reuland (1993). (4) In the most local domain (e.g., within the argument chain of a single predicate), it is expected that noun phrases will be non-coreferential, and coreferentiality is most likely to be marked here (cf. Chomsky 1981 as well as Reinhart and Reuland 1993). In the most global domains (e.g., across clause and sentence boundaries), it is expected that referential continuity will be maintained, and non-coreferentiality or unexpected coreferentiality is more likely to be marked. Precise cutoff points will vary from language to language.—(Comrie 1997: 1) The present paper derives its stance and extensions from the second portion of Comrie’s definition above in that it seeks an answer to the questions, ‘‘what are the R-closest categories, and how do they differ from true R-expressions?’’ Notice that Comrie introduces two crucial modifications of Chomsky’s classical binding theory: first, marking distinctions such that while certain paradigmatic representations would appear to be the optimal lexicals marking coreferentiality, there is still room for deviations (only under some extra highly marked constructional or lexical co-existing signal, however); and second, no fixed cross-linguistic typological principle exists. Witness the Russian data in (3) above, which takes the reflexive paradigm in all constructional cases. No doubt, one would like to sharpen Comrie’s position somewhat. Thus, one can imagine a scalar order of the lexical paradigms such that, if the normal

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coreferentiality paradigm needs to be relinquished, the next in line is to be chosen to do the same job (Comrie’s first deviation). Also, if the (three) languages cannot be distinguished with respect to their constructional types in the examples under inspection, why should the paradigms with which coreferentiality, or degrees thereof, are given form? The present paper pursues a middle course between the two methodological positions sketched above. Instead of relaxing a set of grammatical principles (reasonable enough under a strictly deductive methodology) I will demonstrate that there are a number of questions with respect to constraints on the grammaticality of the distribution between distinct types of reflexives and pronouns which, at first sight, are hard to answer on purely syntactic grounds. I will then try to motivate answers and solutions to these open questions on the basis of a discourse-theoretical, semantic basis. Finally, I will try to relate these representations to syntactic and pragmatic generalisations or existing syntactic principles. 2.4.–Fuzzy areas: Chomsky’s ‘freeness condition’ in Binding Principle B constrained While the data in (1)–(3) do not question the correctness of Principle B (note 5), the latter leaves open, just as either A or C, areas of pronominal (read ‘‘anaphoric’’) application—no doubt purposefully so, since these areas are least accessible to structural resolution. Conditions B and C must be seen as constraints on the occurrence of pronouns and lexical nominals vis-à-vis condition A. But both B and C are far off the mark with respect to further constraining the use of pronominals. Thus, there is complementarity between principles A and B/C with respect to coreferential marking; and there is complementarity between A/B versus C as regards the governing relation (minimal domain). But there is no non-privative condition for the use of pronominals vs. referential nominals. The asymmetrical relation above triggers the following questions. (5) Is there a domain beyond the ‘‘minimal governing domain’’ such that the defining components ‘‘free’’ and ‘‘free in the governing category/in the minimal domain extended by the governing category’’ can be narrowed down more closely? We can also ask differently: are there differences in ‘‘freeness’’—either within or outside minimal domains? No doubt, these questions are legitimate and empirically interesting (see Reinhart and Reuland 1993). On our way to an answer, the following point may serve to give a direction. There exists a constraint for anaphoric and coreference relations in purely linear, structurally unspecified terms such that an anaphorically dependent lexical element or constituent cannot be more determinate in reference than its ante-

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cedent. This applies intraclausally as well as interclausally. Such a principle, the Novelty Condition (cf. Wasow 1972; Hirschbühler 1975; Williams 1994) is violated in the examples (6a–d) as opposed to (6e–f). (6) a. *An office i walked into the room. The captaini at first saw nothing. b. *Den armen Schluckeri, diesen Prinzeni, hat die Prinzessin geküßt. ‘The poor guy, this prince the princess kissed’. c. *Das Mädcheni, diese Prinzessini, hat den Frosch geküßt. ‘The girl, this princess kissed the frog’. d. *Cette tête-lai, je pense que j’ai déja vu cette grande blonde-làj quelque part. ‘This head over there, I believe I have seen this tall blond somewhere’. e. Pauli, Pierrej s’est battu avec luii ‘Paul, Pierre took up a fight with him’. f. Pauli, Pierre vient de se battre avec ce idioti ‘Paul, Pierre just took it up with him’. Wherever the second NP-mention is an implicable subset of the first NP-mention, the Novelty Condition is violated. In other words, the second mention needs to be intensionally independent of the first one. In the above data, the violation applies in three different syntactic domains: across sentential borders in (a); in left dislocations (LDs) in (b)–(c); and in what Hirschbühler (1975: 160) describes as epithets in the position where usually pronominal elements occur as in (6e). Notice that the subset condition must be satisfied in terms of essential (individual) properties as in (6f), not, however, by stage properties as in (6e) with be an idiot. Left dislocations, to be sure, do not present intraclausal connections, but the link between the left-dislocated constituent and the topicalized element nevertheless characterizes an intraclausal licensing (i.e., parasitic operator) relation (Wiltschko 1997). (6e), finally, exhibits a violation of a hierarchical relation between different NPsi,j such that the j-element may refer to the i-element only if j is lower in the hierarchy than i. I conclude that the violation involved in (6e) is fully accounted for by the subset-constraint formulated for left-dislocations. And this subset constraint seems to parallel the distinction between pronouns (including reflexives) and the lexical antecedents: the content of the latter is identified only by coreference to the former (cf. (6d)). The subset conditions narrow down to what we called the space of freeness in (5): if two lexicals are supposed to pick up identical reference, the later NP must not be intensionally richer than its antecedent NP. Witness that pro-forms are always intensionally ‘poorer’ than their content-identifying antecedents, the difference with cases in (6) being that pro-forms are content-empty (except for N-features) as categories (types of lexicals by their very paradigmatic belonging).6 Notice that it is not claimed here that Principle B has anything to do with such

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Novelty facts.On the contrary: what is claimed is that such facts are in need of explanation under one single covering explanatory scenario (preferably without taking recourse to different modules of description, where it is unclear whether there are any interfaces between these modules). Does the Novelty (Superset) Condition give us a clue as to possible scalar differences in the freedom component of the definition of Chomsky’s binding principles? I think it does in an insightful way. Notice, first, that the subset condition holding for left dislocations and the second NP-mention is a proper subset of the intensional Novelty Condition. In other words, Chomsky’s freeness component has a direct conceptual correlate in the intensionality component of the Novelty Condition. ‘Free,’ then, means ‘intensionally incongruent.’ However, a further qualification is needed. As our examples have shown intensional incongruency must be further restricted to mean ‘intensionally broader than, while not excluding.’ As left dislocation constructions with resumptive (demonstrative) pronouns illustrate below, ‘freeness’ does not include discourse content—expectedly so because discourse reference does not include content referentiality and, consequently, intensional characteristics, i.e., content properties. [D-form = pronouns with initial letter d-, as opposed to standard pronominal forms]. Froschkönigei, diei / ?sie i haben wir uns als Männer ausgesucht. ‘Frogkings, these/them:acc:pl we have selected as husbands (for) us’. b. Froschkönigei, wir haben uns diei / ?sie i als Männer ausgesucht. ‘Frogkings, we have these/them:acc:pl selected as husbands (for) us’.

(7) a.

Sie in (7a,b) is clearly less acceptable than die. Under Chomsky’s Binding Principle B, the personal pronoun sie is predicted to be possible.7 However, it is not. While this cannot be accounted for by the Subset Condition valid for (6a–f), the violation invokes a scalar difference in terms of focussability (D-forms are more focus-prone than unstressed personal pronouns and reflexives). We shall return to this issue in Section 6 below. 2.5.–Puzzles which must lead to constraints Among other puzzling phenomena in the area of pronominals and reflexives are the following: (Recall again that I intend to point out facts of an overlapping nature that have not been treated together with binding facts so far.) (8) a. What is it that reflexives, pronominal anaphors, (indefinite) interrogatives, weak quantifiers, and demonstrative pronominals have in common such that they are partly interchangeable in one single function; what distinguishes them such that they are not interchangeable in other functions?

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b. Why is there no nominative (‘rectus’) reflexive, but only an ‘‘oblique’’ one (oblique in the traditional sense, not in the generative sense: i.e., casus non-rectus)—at least as the common opinion goes (an exceptional position taken by Everaert 1991)? Notice that the generative ‘smallest domain’ constraint for reflexive (‘‘anaphoric’’) binding presupposes (not contradicted so far, not even by Comrie!) that there are no nominative objects—which is simply not true. Are there nominative reflexives, after all? What would they look like? I will claim that German selbst ‘‘self’’ can function as a nominative reflexive. c. Why is there no *a he, *a the or *the a; *ein er, *ein der in English or German (while there is something like ‘‘the he’’ in Mupun; Zygmunt Frajzyngier p.c.), while there is der ein*(e) Mann? Why are anaphors not to be used in the function of relative pronouns? Why can the definite article not be used as an anaphor? Why can reflexives not be interchanged with pronominal anaphors? What is the deep discourse-semantics such that reflexives cannot be topicalized? It will be demonstrated that there are answers to these questions. Let us now embark upon a discourse-oriented discussion of the different word classes given above.

3.–The discourse representation of nominals and their proforms 3.1.–Content sets and discourse sets To situate that following discussion, let us ask the following question: What is the discourse status of N if syntactically determined as Det-N, and what is it compared with reflexive and other pronominal forms? Or, formulated differently, why is it that one cannot say *ein sich, *der sich, *der selbst, but that one can say derselbe, or even der selbst ? Why is der/ein er impossible, while er, der (dies erfunden hat) is acceptable? Following work by Enç (1991), Vergnaud and Zubizarreta (1990) and Wiltschko (1995), I will say that in order to be able to say something distinctly specific by the/d- X or [NP X], respectively, every nominal element is associated with two indices as indicated in (9). See (10) for a specific illustration. (9) Discourse domain representation of a nominal, N: [DP Detx [NP NX]X]x where x is a member of X, and where X is the set of possible discourse referents; this set of discourse referents is itself restricted by the descriptive content of the nominal properties (more generally, x and X are in a subset relation). D(et) associates the nominal (the set of properties designated by the

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werner abraham nominal) via an index to the actual discourse referent (the entire maximal projection of N and D bear the same index as their heads, respectively). Notice that the subset relation, or membership relation, ascertains that the discourse referent satisfies the properties denoted by N.

(10) [DP [D the]x [NP [N dog]X]X]x NP: X = set of individuals satisfying the property denoted in N (i.e., the set of dogs) DP: x = the actual discourse referent (i.e., the particular dog the speaker/ hearer have in mind) x ∈ (is a member of) X The full lexical DP, the dog, is thus associated with two indices: X denotes the set of individuals satisfying the property of being a dog. The denotation of X is then relativized to the universe of the specific, actual discourse; i.e., D associates X with a particular individual, the actual discourse referent singled out from this set of possible dogs. It is assumed that all sorts of different nominal elements (full lexical DPs, names and pronouns) are associated with the D-domain in ways to be further specified, i.e., as modifications of (9)–(10) above. The differences between these word classes follow from their distinct inherent properties. A pronominal (proform) differs from an NP to the extent that there is no N corresponding to a set of individuals united by some unique set of properties. In other words, proforms do not refer to some descriptive content. However, they clearly refer to the set of possible antecedents. This, in fact, is their specific task: they are discourse (D-) linked (in syntactic terms) as members of a specific word class (i.e., they cannot occur other than in the D-linked domain: they are not basegenerated inside of VP). They are, according to another terminology, categorial themata (as opposed to rhemata). We follow Wiltschko’s (1995: 2f.) reinterpretation of the status of pronouns as being ‘‘associated with an index, X, which has to denote a set of possible (already established) discourse referents’’ the specific content of which remains outside the range of the actual discourse. All that is necessary for using a proform is that a set of possible antecedents (in context or presupposed in the speaker’s/addressee’s mind) is available. What makes the different proforms such as anaphora + refl xives + demonstrative pronouns etc. distinct? Let us say, in a first approach, that the actual discourse referent (the specific individual meant by the speaker/hearer) is contained within different sets of possible discourse referents. Not all pro-forms are thus accessible for anaphoric resolution in the same way or, more specifically, in the same syntactic domains, since the different sets of discourse referents may have distinct and nonoverlapping accessibilities (see Comrie’s generalization in (1) above). Let us then

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speak about the question of how such discourse (D-) domains can be identified. Notice that, to all appearances, the D-relation (relation between x and X) needs to be identified differently in the languages under inspection in (1)–(3) above. 3.2.–Identificatio and licensing: identifie of discourse antecedent vs. identifie of content If nominals provide descriptive content to delimit the set of possible discourse referents, and if, inversely, determiners and numeral modifiers pick out either particular individuals or a cardinality thereof, one can say that a bi-implicative identification persists: each of the two categories identifies the other; however, either does so with access to different categories or properties. In addition, there is a third possibility: if N does not provide enough descriptive content for the selection of the intended referent some additional licensing is induced. Such is the case with relative clauses, which add that property by means of which the nominal head, the relative pronoun, is licensed qua content. Notice the link between the ungrammaticality of that and the comma (signalling an expanding relative clause) in (11a), as opposed to the restrictive relative clause in (11b) below. (11) a. the/*that dogi, [pause] [which bit the caretaker]i b. the/that dogi [which bit the caretaker]i (11a,b) are ambiguous between those individuals which are characterized by the property of the antecedent denoted by the relative clause: in (11a), this property is identified at the speech act moment, whereas in (11b) it is not. In other words, the relative clause in (11b) does not contribute to the identification of the individual picked out by the DP, while in (a) it does. It is clear that such an antecedent need not in general imply a structural relation between the two elements. In (11a,b) there is no such relation across the sentence border, although, clearly, there exist different, but distinct, identifying relations for the antecedent and, consequently, for the individual to be picked out of the D-domain. What this boils down to is that we can distinguish between (i) antecedents as such, and (ii) antecedents that act as licensers. Of the cataphorically bound elements in (i) (i.e., the two determiners) we can say that they are inherently identified; of (ii) we must say that they need the antecedent to be uniquely identified. The lack of inherent denotation, or reference, implies that an antecedent provides the element in question to be identified. Thus, being an antecedent and being a licenser are different properties, but they can also combine. Let us identify these combinations below in Table 1 (from Wiltschko 1997: 332). In Table 1, NPI = negative polarity item; L-marking is roughly lexicalsemantic valency.

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Table 1.–Pro-form instantiations under antecedent and licensing conditions Antecedent Licenser

+ + + – NP . . . reflexive Pronoun; Linguistic Discourse instantiation antecedent NP . . . t (trace) coreference

– + Operator . . . NPI

– – Free NPs

Coreference L-marking/valency Non-Relations

Notice that only if a licensing relation8 holds we can say that some structural dependency holds between two elements anaphorically related (both discourse referentially and content referentially). Any element which is not able to pick out its reference independently (i.e., inherently) has to depend on an antecedent providing the actual reference. Following Wiltschko (1997: 322) one can say that any positive instantiation in the combination of ‘‘[Antecedent relation] and [Licensing relation]’’ is an instance of identification proper. Equipped with this conceptual inventory, let us now look at different types of reflexives, mainly in varieties of German.

4.–Types of reflexives and their modes of identification 4.1.–Non-standard marking In Southern dialectal German the reflexive use is restricted to genuine reflexive verbs such as sich schämen ‘‘to be ashamed.’’ In other instances such as the nongenuine reflexive use, the non-reflexive personal pronoun is used. See (12), which also shows Old English and Middle High German data. First, I will explain the terminology: ‘theta-bound’reflexive pertains to lexical middles and medial constructions, where the reflexive morpheme signals the derivation and suspension of the original agent subject; a theta-less reflexive morpheme is instantiated by such verbs as sich schämen; it is theta-less since the reflexive morpheme cannot obtain a thetaposition, for lack of such a position of schämen in the first place. (12) a.

Modern German: 2-less reflexive Er schämt sich/*ihn. he shames refl/him

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b. Carinthian dialect: 2-bound pronoun Er sieht ihn/*sich (selber) im Spiegel. he sees him:refl/refl (self) in the mirror ‘He sees himself in the mirror’. (ambiguous between reflexive and non-reflexive reading) c. Modern German; LD; (d-)pro resumption Den Handstandi, erj hat ihn*i/j/deni/*j noch nie gelehrt. the handstand, he has it/that yet never taught ‘The handstand, he has still never taught’. d. Old English (Beowulf: 677); 2-bound pronoun No ici mei am herewæsmun hnagran talige . . . not I me:refl in prowess smaller consider . . . ‘I do not rate myself inferior in wardeeds (than Grendel himself)’. e. Middle High German (Parzival: 14727): 2-bound pronoun daz was in leit. Eri vuorte in ini, he carried in him:refl that was him sad: ‘He carried with himself (something) which made him feel sorry’. f. (Parzifal: 20117) Hin ze naht schuof eri ini mere. until close to night made he himself more (12b) is the default for southern dialectal German as are the cases for Old English and Middle High German. The non-reflexive, pronominal morpheme, ihn, is used unless the speaker sees reason in the situation of the actual discourse to identify the antecedent in some more marked way as coreferential. What we have here is a nondistinction between the critical combinations [+ Antecedent, ± Licensing]. The personal pronoun extends its identified-person attraction to a non-licensing antecedent. The antecedent cannot license the postcedent because the restrictive syntactic domain supposed to hold across the sentential border cannot be formulated. However, (12a,b) are clearly distinct with respect to theta-marking the identifyee: only in (b) does the accusative element bear a theta role of its own (i.e., is a variable). Notice that (12c) avoids successfully an ambiguity that would arise in Standard German (i.e., that between the reflexive and the non-reflexive, anaphoric reading of ihn) in that it will establish the required coreference signal with the LD-element by means of the d-pronoun, while retaining the anaphoric pronominal for the reflexive use. Can this be described in general terms? Let us wait with a generalization until we have seen two more types of reflexive uses in German. The following Sections, 4.2.–4.4., are usually not seen in the context of reflexivity. However, there is a clear connection, as we shall see presently.

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4.2.–Middle verbs and middle constructions German displays an intricate and profuse system of reflexive morphology on active verbs without theta marking, which is not reflected in many other languages, including all of its closest West Germanic relatives: English, Dutch, and West Frisian and, furthermore, West Flemish (cf. Abraham 1995a). See (13)–(15a,b) for illustrations of middle verbs and middle constructions. Here, ‘theta-binding’ pertains to lexical middles and medial constructions, where the reflexive morpheme signals the derivation and suspension of the original agent subject. (13) a. Middle verb: Die Türi[−AG] öffnet sichi. English: ‘the door opens’; Dutch: ‘de deur gaat open’. b. Middle construction, always with a property denoting adverb Die Türi[–AG] öffnet sichj[+ag] 9 leicht. ‘The door can be opened easily.’ (14) a. Löwenj füttert esi sich?i nicht so leicht. lions feed:sg expl refl not so easily ‘Lions do not feed so easily’. b. Ichi unterhalte michi doch nicht so schwer. I entertain refl:acc part not so painfully (daß wir nicht einen angenehmeren Abend miteinander haben könnte) (that we not a pleasant evening together have could) ‘It should not be so difficult to entertain me such as to have a pleasant evening together’. (15) a. These buns sell easily. (German: ‘Diese Brötchen verkaufen sich leicht’; Dutch: ‘??deze broodjes verkopen razend snel’) b. Es läuft sich auf diesem Boden superleicht. it runs refl on this floor supereasy (Dutch: ‘deze grond loopt heel zachtjes’) ‘This floor runs very softly’. c. Beamte bestechen sich leicht. ‘??Bureaucrats embezzle easily’.10 ‘??Ambtenaren kopen gemakkelijk om’.11 d. Middle derivation of the intransitive reflexive sich schämen: Es schämt sich (*sich) ja nicht absichtlich. it shames refl (refl) not purposefully ‘No shame is there on purpose’.

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e. Es wird sich hier nicht geschämt! it aux refl here not shamed:pass ‘One must not be ashamed!’ German has to signal the de-agentivization morphologically by the reflexive; the reflexive paradigm contains distinct forms with respect to person, number, and gender. Cf. (14a,b). No other (West) Germanic language mimics this. In fact, the reflexive as a morphological signal language is akin to the passive (deagentivization; notice, with respect to (15b), that the descriptive term ‘(only) detransitivization’ would undergeneralize the range of phenomena).12 If we take this reflexive as an LF-host of the agent marker of the original demoted agent subject (Burzio 1986; Abraham 1995a for German and other Germanic languages), (13)–(15) force a few important conclusions. Cf. (16a–e). (16) a.

The reflexive in German (13)–(15) signals what is clearly a passive meaning to the extent that the agent is demoted and the lexical valency reduced. Question: what is it that mediates between reflexivization and passivization? (Is this in any way parallel to the emergence of the se-passive in Early Romance or Scandinavian?) b. If the reflexive in German middles signals a lexical process, then there is a cross-interface mechanism active relating passivization in the syntax and de-agentivization in the lexicon. The reflexive-morpheme functions in ways that reflect the task of the passive morphology in the syntax (much like in the R-expression (the synthetic passive and the deponents in Latin), but unlike the se-reflexive, at least in Classical Latin). c. Reflexives quite generally cannot be passivized. If, against all odds of non-metaphorical speaking, they can, then an agent role is presupposed which is not rooted in the lexicon, but added merely on the basis of what the passive implies. Cf. (15e). d. The thetaless middle-reflexive satisfies minimal principles of functional licensing only on the basis of phi-features and case (not of thematic relations). However, as (15d) appears to demonstrate, such case is nonstructural. e. Dutch has a particular preference for medialization derived from intransitives, whereas those from transitives are usually refuted as ungrammatical. Cf. (15a, c–e) as opposed to (15b) above. The reason for this exotic behavior must be that the supposed middles derived from transitives are felt to be elliptical transitives (due to the ‘one-form-onemeaning’ principle applying to Dutch as well), whereas this cannot be

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Before we go about answering these questions let us illustrate another systematics in paradigms of R-expressions in German. 4.3.–The paradigms of causativization and decausativization In Abraham (1997), five different paradigmatically fixed ways of deriving causatives and decausatives have been described. Among these five morphologically radically distinct paradigms the reflexive is the morphological trigger of decausativization as illustrated in (17). (17) *(sich) biegen, ändern, öffnen, schließen, spalten, drehen, bewegen, verschieben ‘(refl) bend, alter, open, close, split, turn, move, shift’ This reflexive-paradigm is in line with a number of other properties: it deagentivizes; it demotes by one order of valency; and often, but not always, perfectivizes. Comparison with most other Germanic languages (Dutch, West Frisian, English, Norwegian, Swedish, Icelandic) demonstrates that only German accumulates all these properties without exception and applies the formal signals to satisfy these semantic functions. It was argued that German does this in such an exceptionless way because there is a form-function principle adhered to which is nowhere else applied with such rigor as in German.12 This form-function principle is based on the necessity of making morphologically visible any syntactic or lexical derived thetarelations before spell-out. This, in turn, yields a strict ellipsis phenomenon whereby the one-place occurrence of any of the verbs in (17) retains its two-place transitivity under object ellipsis whereas the derived intransitive one-place verb must cooccur with the R-expression. Based on the unique morphological form of verbal lexical entries, theta roles need to be reconstructed at LF unless visible marking signals suspension of the specific theta relation. 4.4.–The licensing of R-expressions Put against the principled background sketched in (12), we can deduce the following from 3.1–3.3. Abstracting away from the purely syntactic reflexive morpheme, which is more or less subject to the syntactic binding principles, there is a reflexive morpheme active in the lexicon which has the following properties: it is either licensed by a covert theta role (licensing by an antecedent at LF) as in the case of middle verbs and the passive-like middle constructions, or it is not licensed at all, i.e., inherently licensed as in the case of sich schämen.13 There are not an awful lot

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of the latter non-genuine reflexive verbs in German, and it is probably not by chance that there are languages which have none at all. The best proof for the assumption that there is covert theta-licensing are metaphorical examples, where basically nonagentive reflexive verbs receive an agentive reading under passivization and medialization and where simultaneously the reflexive morpheme is retained. Witness (15e) above. Furthermore, it is not by chance that reflexive binding, passivization, and medialization have the critical features of [+Antecedent, +Licensing] in common. See Table 1, where the bound reflexive shares these features with the relation between the trace and the position after movement—a process which is assumed to account for passivization. In other words, the non-coreferential R-expression in German and the passive morpheme serve the same purpose: that of deagentivization and, consequently, of valency reduction. Note, however, that our account of the lexical nature of the medialization processes as well as the ellipsis phenomenon induces a parallel structure across such interfaces as syntax and derivational processes in the lexicon. Let us say a final word about those phenomena in English and Dutch which reflect the derivations in German under far less strict adherence to the cross-interface mechanism (‘one form—one meaning’). Thus, if English and Dutch medialize without morphological or distributional marking (or, in other words, without inducing elliptical readings when changing between transitive and intransitive lexicals of identical form), recognition processes on levels other than such properly grammatical syntax or morphology need to be appealed to in order to identify licensers. Notice that Dutch does this in a twofold way: it both overgeneralizes medialization (from a PP-object to subject)—witness (15b)—and it excludes the medialization of transitives (viz. (15c)). The following is quite plausible an explanation: in the absence of a morphological marker, the deagentivization in the medialization process cannot be identified. Dutch (15c) would always also retain a possible agentive reading. Thus, the medialization of transitives is out, while medialization of intransitives can even ‘overgeneralize,’ in terms of escaping from PP-islands, because there is no risk of interpretive ambiguity. We conclude that Dutch medializes subject to nonsystematic pragmatics. 4.5.–German selbst ‘self’ as a nominative refl xive No doubt, selbst/selber ‘‘self-’’ identifies only with respect to some antecedent, not with respect to a class of properties. It is thus a real pronoun, in the discourse sense of the delimitation. Cross-linguistically it has been observed to occur in positions of the direct object rather than any other structural positions (Faltz 1977). Thus, according to general opinion, to satisfy the locality condition for direct objects, -self is used more often to highlight, or specially mark, the structural

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position of the direct object. Accordingly, -self has been taken to function as an object marker rather than, for example, as an adjunct marker. Witness such complementary distributions as himself-*heself, which appear to have contributed to this common opinion. But I believe, at least on the example of German, that this is a structural overgeneralisation extended on the basis of caseless languages. In fact, my hunch is that at the basis of this there is a totally different discourse identifying relation. German selbst has the same discourse-theoretical properties as anaphorical pronouns, i.e., as he, not as the reflexive and not as a full nominal either. The latter identifies content properties, which neither pronouns nor selbst do. Anaphora/ pronominals and selbst are further distinguished in that the latter cannot occur without a locally binding antecedent, just like the reflexive. See (18)–(22). [Small capitals indicate stress] (18) Eri hat das [VP selbst i/*selbst gemacht] he has that self done (19) Eri hat [VP 〈selbst〉 das 〈selbsti〉 gemacht] he has even that even done (20) Eri hat [VP selbst i etwas/#selbst etwas gemacht] he has even something even something done (21) Eri hat sichi [VP selbst i gemacht] he has reflexive even done (22) Eri hat [VP selbst sich i/sich selbst i gemacht] he has even refl Refl even done I assume that German is a language which identifies the grammatical clausal accent (that clausal accent triggering minimal contrastive presuppositions) by a default position (Cinque 1993; Abraham 1995b). In accordance with the Focus Null Hypothesis (Cinque 1993; Abraham 1995b), the clausal non-contrastive, default accent lies on the most deeply embedded constituent head, i.e., always inside VP. Thus, the instances of German selbst in (18)–(22) are carriers of this default accent despite the fact that there is no object position. All selbst is licensed by is the antecedent relation under the (almost) normal locality condition, i.e., coreferentiality with the subject. Selbst/selber can never occur by itself—i.e., without the lexical support of a pronoun (anaphor or reflexive). Notice that there may, but need not, be a distinction between reflexive and selbst in A-positional terms: selbst may be part of the reflexive position (for example, Xo, next to Spec,X for the reflexive within the same constituent), in which case it is an A-position (er sieht sich selbst ‘he sees himself’); where selbst provides no codistribution with reflexive and is coindexed

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referentially all the same, it is in an A′-position (er hat das selbst getan; lit. he has this self done; ‘he has done this himself’). For a general discussion of nominative reflexives see Everaert (1998). Disregard, in this context, (19), where selbst functions as a focus particle. In (18), the nominative focus pronoun identifies its antecedent in a local subject-predicate domain. Notice that the antecedent relation is established by the phi-features (person and number features) of selbst, thereby assuring agreement with the subject (in more technical terms, according to distinctions made in Minimalism: coreferentiality, but not L-markedness (i.e., not as a member of an A-chain, or not under verbal valency). In terms of minimalism, no theta and case relations (since no government relations with the verb) need to be checked by selbst, and, consequently, no movement needs to lift selbst out of VP. Notice that the claim about the nominativity of selbst is supported by more general typological observations in Everaert (1998; Section 4.3.1). Notice, again, that the identification of a nominative reflexive is perhaps not novel, but far from standard linguistic assumptions (viz. assumptions pertaining to nominative checking in the functional domain; but see Everaert (1998), whose observations fully support our stance). What is more, I believe, is that its default position inside VP corroborates important assumptions made in current modern syntax. Thus, it marks the original pre-derivative position of the subject inside VP, and it lends support to the assumption central to Minimalism that unless formal features are to be licensed in higher functional positions, no movement is to be carried out to transport a lexical element out of the local basic domain of its direct governor, the finite verb (which is V-last in German SOV).

5.–Relaxation strategies: the ‘one-form-one-meaning’ principle as a typological criterion Consider again the reflexive-replacing generalization emerging from dialectal German in (12) partially repeated here as (23). (23) a.

Modern German: 2-less reflexive Er schämt sich/*ihn. he shames refl/him b. Carinthian dialect: 2-bound pronoun Er sieht ihn/*sich (selber) im Spiegel. he sees him:refl/refl (self) in the mirror ‘He sees himself in the mirror’. (ambiguous between reflexive and non-reflexive reading)

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Modern German; LD; (d-)pro resumption Den Handstandi, erj hat ihn*i/j/deni/*j noch nie gelehrt. the handstand, he has it/that yet never taught ‘The handstand, he has still never taught’.

Notice that (23b) presents what Reinhart and Reuland (1993) would predict should not be grammatical: the pronoun ihn ‘him’ should not be ambiguous between the pronominal and the reflexive reading as long as the language under inspection has a reflexive paradigm. Recall that examples such as in (23) are mirrored and even extended by the standard situation in early Germanic languages such as Old English (see van Gelderen, this volume) and Old and Middle High German. In all instances there is a lack of a specially marked reflexive construction; in its stead, an anaphoric pronoun is inserted. Now note what the consequences are once the normal anaphor/pronoun in (23b) is used. (23c) illustrates an utterance which is intended to avoid identificatory ambiguity: once the anaphor (pronoun) is used to designate the reflexive meaning, there are repercussions on the relation between pronouns and d-forms. We may aptly ask whether there is anything systematic to be said with respect to such replacement. To place this question in a more concrete frame, let us summarize what we have gained so far in terms of insight into the guiding principles of reflexive and pronoun grammar. See Table 2 with the two main distinguishing criteria and Table 3 with more distinguishing criteria, both of which hold for Standard German. Some terminology used in the table deserves explaining: the parameter of 2-bearing relates to such differences as between sich schämen ‘shame-oneself’(non 2-bearing) and all other instances of reflexives and reciprocals (2-bearing); coreferentiality, for example, separates lexical reflexives (sich schämen) from middles (theta-coreference) and binding data (syntactic chain-coindexation). Polish siv appears to be of the type described under [+coreferential, -2-binding], as with inherent reflexive verbs and middles in German, or under [+coreferential, Table 2. Coreferentiality 2-Bearing Example Middle verb Middle construction Passive Reflexive: inherent Reflexive: external reciprocal No instantiation

+ + – + +

– +2i* +2i* – +

–

–

sich öffnen ‘(go) open’ sich leicht öffnen ‘open easily’ geöffnet werden ‘be opened’ sich schämen ‘be ashamed’ sich (gegenseitig) waschen ‘wash each other’ ?

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+2i] for the passive morpheme or for the R-expression in middle constructions. Polish sivbiv, on the other hand, appears to be captured by [+coreference, +2j] as in the case of the R-expression. See Frajzyngier (this volume). This distinction shows nicely on the emergence of the passive in the history of Norwegian. Witness (24) as an illustration of the historical development of the Norwegian s-passive.14 (24) Norwegian a. Honi.ag i klæddi NP.pat j he dresses NP.object b. Honi.ag i klæddi-sti NP.pat j he dresses himself c. Honj.pat j klæddi-sti[−2j] he dresses himself (nicely) d. Honj.pat j klæddi-st.2 i he is dressed (by NP.2i) The diachronic development departs from (b), the standard reflexive transitive, to the middle (construction) in (c), with demotion of the agent external subject implied only semantically, to eventually reach stage (d) with the passive. Notice the similarity between the middle construction stage in (c) and the passive in (d): The middle construction denotes but a property of the derived subject referent, whereas the new passive may denote an ongoing event. Now see Table 3 with an extended set of distinguishing criteria (2i refers to the 2-role of the demoted external (i-)argument; j refers to the object reading). The distribution of identificatory criteria among the four referring categories, ReflexivePron-d-Pron-NP, in Table 2 suggests the hierarchical order in (25a) to be read as described in (25b).

Table 3. Modes of identi- Reflexive: fication of non-inherent coreference

Reflexive: inherent

Anaphoric pronoun

D-pronoun

Fully referring nominal (R-)expression

Antecedent linear proximity Licensing Independent 2-identification Illustration

+ + + +

+ + + –

+ + – –

+ – –

–* open – open

sich/ihn waschen ‘himself/him wash’

sich/*ihn schämen ihn waschen ‘himself/ him be ashamed of’ ‘him wash’

den waschen das Kind ‘the one wash’ waschen‘the child wash’

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(25) a. Reflexive > Pron > d-Pron > NP b. If, for any reason, a lexical left of > is suspended in a certain referenceidentifying function in domain D, then the next in the hierarchy takes over its referring function. However, its own reference is then deferred to the element one position lower. How is (25a,b) instantiated? What, in particular, is the d-Pronoun, which, quite obviously, has no correlate in English? Consider the situation in dialectal German where the reflexive is suspended except for the last row in Table 2. (26a–c) illustrate the strategy to avoid referential ambiguities, by means inserting d-pronouns. Mäuse sehen ja nichts. Die/??Sie sind ja fast blind. ‘Mice cannot see. These/They are almost blind’. b. Der Bub sieht ja nichts. Der/??Er ist ja fast blind. ‘The boy cannot see. This/he is almost blind’. c. (D)Eri sieht ihni/*sich (selberi) im Spiegelj. (D)erj/*i/*Er ist fast blind. ‘This/he sees him/*himself in the mirror. This/*he is almost blind’.

(26) a.

The reference function of the d-pronoun has moved down one step on the scale indicated in (25a) in that D-pronouns can no longer take on pronominal function given that the regular pronoun form has taken adopted reflexive-meaning under the D-distribution criteria. Notice that the d-pronoun is a fraction weaker than the demonstrative paradigm with dies-–if we abstract away from other fine distinctions. Notice further that German as well as the other continental West Germanic and Romance languages have paradigmatically distinct pronominal means where English has to take recourse to R-expressions (full nominal reference). Cf. Table 4. Table 4 shows that in certain (but not in all) languages there are options to exclude certain antecedents by using certain anaphoric lexicals. In particular, demonstratives are used to pick one from two potential antecedents (in the relevant structural or linear position). This selection procedure may occur in two principled ways: by directly referring to one of the options, or by excluding one other option. Table 4. Language Distant demonstrative Latin German Italian English

illdiesquestthe former/that

Proximate demonstrative

Derogatory demonstrative

hic, is jenequeglthe latter/this

istder/die/das da – –

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My claim is that the replacement option induced by the hierarchy in Table 2 mirrors such a referring process by exclusion. The most local referent, which is no longer accessible by Pron, needs to be accessible by excluding the originally intended subject reference and give priority to the ‘closer’ referent (where ‘close’ may be instantiated structurally, linearly, or by means of contrastive focus). Cf. (27) with personal pronominals and (28) with possessive ones, either illustrating the differences between languages as well as the fact that there are languages that provide solutions in the sense of the replacing hierarchy in Table 2 and others that do not (the Russian example is Comrie’s (25); Comrie 1997: 2). (27) a. Vanjuj uvidel Petjai, no toti ubezal. Vanja:acc saw Petja:nom but (he) ran away ‘Petja saw Vanja, but he ran away’. sah Petjai, aber derj/*i rannte weg. b. Wanjaj Wanja.acc saw P., but this ran away ‘Petja saw Vanja, but this one/*he ran away’. (28) a. Shei greeted her friendsj and their*i/j children. b. Siei begrüßte ihre Freundej und ihrej/dereni Kinder. c. Wimi zag Pietj en diensi/zijnj vriend. Wim saw Piet and this/his friend The i-reading of their in (28a) is excluded by number disagreement. It would be worthwhile to investigate whether there are cross-linguistic differences with respect to which unit in the clausal chain the exclusion strategy accesses. The following appears to be a set of conclusions extracted from grammars of three languages (due to Comrie 1997). (29) Exclusion accessing typology: If a replacement strategy is pursued in language in terms of Table 2 above, then a. Russian excludes the antecedent subject b. German excludes the linearly leftmost NP, or at least in no case the rightmost NP c. Dutch excludes the element in the highest topic role (Comrie 1997) It goes without saying that such investigations into non-reflexive pronouns have a direct bearing on questions of the diachronic and synchronic status of the reflexive.

6.–Remainder—and conclusion The remainder of this paper addresses the questions posed at the outset. It is admittedly somewhat anticlimactic. Let me be brief.

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Why are *der/ein/den sich excluded? I assume that sich has head status as shown in (30). Hence, the single occurrence of the reflexive morpheme sich as a DP-component collapses with the occurrence of this reflexive morpheme as a complement of the nominalized verbal, (der) Schämende (present participle of the only-reflexive verb).

DP/VP

(30)

Spec([e])

D′/V′

D/Compl DNP (i) (ii)

der

sich [e] sich Schämende

(i) for sich under no 2-government relation (ii) for the VP-conversion of NP as to extend 2-government The answer is that, in terms of a discourse-oriented account, the reflexive is not inherently identified (irrespective of its structural status in (29)). Therefore, it would require an antecedent, which is lacking, however, due to the fact that no local domain (involving a binding subject or a predicate extending theta government) is defined under (i). Notice that (ii) yields a different picture in that under the conversion of NP to VP, the reflexive is licensed by the subject Spec,DP. The second question addressed here is: why is there no *der er, whereas ein er/ er, der [CP . . .] is grammatical? Notice that the indefinite article and the pronominal anaphor are contradictory in DRT terms: ein- does not D-identify beyond reference to its cardinality; the personal anaphor, on the other hand, antecedent-identifies. This yields a contradictory merger. On the other hand, er in ein er only identifies the phi-feature of masculinity, which is not incompatible with the content reference attracted by ein-. Notice that this occurrence of the personal pronoun is not the default combination of [+Antecedent, –Licensing]. In er, der [CP . . .], the relative clause identifies referential properties in addition to those presupposed by the pronominal antecedent. The chain is interpretable only if the relative clause is restrictive (i.e., not presupposed). For *der er, finally, we posit redundancy to the extent that der has the status of Spec,DP just like er. In other words, the identifying marks are identical. Rather than establish more or less rigid conditions for the appearance vs. ungrammaticality of particular distributions of lexical elements, I see variability in the system to the extent that, once an element extends its function at the expense of

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another one, the other elements react by redefining their range of function. This redefinition occurs along the lines suggested in (25).

Acknowledgements Thanks are due to Zygmunt Frajzyngier and Traci Curl (both Boulder) as well as Martin Everaert (Utrecht, Netherlands) for their scrutinous and helpful criticism. The usual responsibility disclaimers apply. As so often before, I have profitted from discussions with Elly van Gelderen (ASU).

Notes 1. This entails that I disregard such ‘reflexivity, or reciprocity, by implication’as expressed by John and Mary embraced, for the simple reason that the clause is not unambiguously reflexive (since also elliptically transitive). Let us call this position the ‘strict, paradigmatically supported, concept of reflexivity and reciprocity.’ This is certainly the most useful methodological stance. Allowing for more slack will force us to say exactly where the lexical paradigmatic representation ends and gives way to a suppletive system. 2. This position identifies a distinct stand in the question raised by the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis—for some perhaps on the basis of new data. 3. Reinhart and Reuland (1993) can explain the restrictions only partially by making crucial use of the ‘chain condition’ for the difference between English and Dutch (but not German, which has a reflexive system distinguished from Dutch in quite crucial ways), but they have nothing to say about Russian. 4. For the ease of the reader (somewhat perfunctorily): Principle A ‘an anaphor must be bound in its governing category’; Principle B ‘a pronoun must be free in its governing category’; Principle C ‘a referential expression must be free anywhere.’ It should be kept in mind that not relating here to the vast amount of literature attempting to sharpen or modify particularly Principle A cannot be held against the present author to the extent that the focus of the present paper lies on a positive range of constraints with respect to the occurrence of pronominals and reflexives, which are quite decidedly outside of the by now classical syntactic and semantic binding conditions. 5. In the tradition of African linguistics (Hagège 1974; see Frajzyngier 1989), logophoric is more narrowly used, in accordance with the following example: Hei said {he/xi/yj} came. 6. Zygmunt Frajzyngier (p.c.) draws my attention to the fact that this is not so in all languages. In Mupun, for example, the pronoun is richer with respect to referential features. 7. Unless one holds that Chomsky’s principles B and C are not really constraints on the occurrence of pronouns and full nouns. In that case, I have attempted to find constraints on the usage of pronouns just where Chomsky’s principles leave us at a loss. 8. ‘Licensing’ is a technical term pertaining to the occurrence, or reconstruction in distributional terms, of structurally elliptical positions in the clause. Examples are empty subjects in infinitival constructions as well as empty pronominal references as in Latin and certain Slavic and Romance languages. ‘Licensing’ refers to the mechanisms by which we reconstruct, in a general, non-arbitrary way, the meaning and distributional properties of elliptical words. See, e.g., the discussion in Haegeman (1993: 403ff.; 418ff.). 9. For the differences in theta (ag 2-binding)) see Section 5. 10. Neither the English nor the Dutch versions have a middle reading. What they appear to mean is that ‘it is easy for bureaucrats to embezzle.’

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11. Notice that, whereas This track runs quickly is good, *This floo dances smoothly is not. It is not clear what exactly is behind such a distribution beyond mere unsystematic pragmatics (idiomatic fixing). 12. M. Everaert (p.c.) claims that one cannot maintain, as I appear to do, that no other West-Germanic language but German signals de-agentivization morphologically by the reflexive, and he quotes two Dutch examples where, indeed, this appears to be the case: (i) Het gerucht verspreidt zich. ‘The rumour spreads’. (ii) De leeuwen laten zich gemakkelijk voeren. ‘The lions let themselves easily feed’. Notice that (ii) is not a true derivational reflexivization in that there is not original sentence with laten (*zij laten de leeuwen gemakkelijk voeren, ‘they let the lions feed comfortably’.) For the rest, and the example in (i), all one can say is that all middle constructions that Dutch sports in an exceptional quantity and variety are not signaling the valency reduction by what has to be a reflexive marker in German. (i) may be an instance of German influence as can be observed massively in the southern Dutch dialects of Limburg and Brabant. It is generally held by historical philologists of Dutch that the reflexive morpheme is not an indigenous phenomenon. English does not adhere to ‘‘the one form-one meaning’’ principle to the extent that German does, nor does Dutch. Think of the English and Dutch translations of (14)–(16). Neither English nor Dutch use a reflexive morpheme to indicate middles, for example, as a lexical reduced by one valency position, as compared to its pre-derivational lexical (either transitive or intransitive). I have to leave open completely whether this can be regarded as a cross-linguistic parameter in the sense of UG. The generalizations reached have comparative validity—one that covers more than just the phenomena observed here (cf., for a position vastly in this direction, Hawkins 1986). 13. The licensing of reflexives and reciprocals is executed either through coindexation of lexical items (standing for coreferentiality) across a V-governed chain or else under coindexation of theta-marking (as in the case of the passive, i.e., for the agent role on the passive morpheme).Furthermore, there is a type of purely lexical reflexivity, which testifies to a historically prior transitivity, but which has not retained this feature in the present language state. The latter is exemplified by *(sich) schämen, literally ‘refl-acc-[Vverb]’ 14. The examples are due to J.T. Faarlund (Trondheim) provided in a discussion together with Ron Propst (Groningen).

References Abraham, Werner. 1995a. ‘‘Diathesis: the middle, particularly in West-Germanic. What does reflexivization have to do with valency reduction?’’ In: W. Abraham, T. Givón, and S. Thompson (eds) Discourse Grammar and Typology. Papers in Honor of John W.M. Verhaar. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 3–48. —— 1995b. Deutsche Syntax im Sprachenvergleich. Grundlegung einer typologischen Syntax des Deutschen. Tübingen: G. Narr Abraham, Werner. 1997. ‘‘Kausativierung und Dekausativierung zwischen dem Friesischen und Deutschen: Sichtbarkeitskriterium als Paradigmenbedingung’’. Us Wurk. Tydskrift foar Frisistyk dedicated to Bo Sjölin. Jiergong 46: 3–22.

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Burzio, Luigi. 1986. Italian Syntax. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Cinque, Guilelmo. 1993. ‘‘A null theory of phrase and compound stress’’. Linguistic Inquiry 24(2): 237–97. Chomsky, Noam. 1981. Lectures on Government and Binding. Dordrecht: Foris. Comrie, Bernard. 1997. Pragmatic binding: demonstratives as anaphors in Dutch. Unpublished paper USC. Enç, Myrvet. 1991. ‘‘The semantics of specificity’’. Linguistic Inquiry 22: 1–25. Everaert, Martin. 1991. ‘‘Nominative anaphors in Icelandic: morphology or syntax? ‘‘ In W. Abraham; W. Kosmeijer; and E. Reuland (eds) Issues in Germanic Syntax [Studies and Monographs 44]. Berlin: Mouton De Gruyter, 277–306.. —— 1998. ‘‘Towards a more complete typology of anaphoric expressions’’. ms. University of Utrecht. Faltz, Leonard M. 1977. Reflexivization: A study in universal syntax. Doctoral dissertation, University of California at Berkeley. Distributed by University Microfilm International, Ann Arbor, Mich. and London. Frajzyngier, Zygmunt. 1989. ‘‘Three kinds of anaphors’’. In: Isabelle Haik and Laurice Tuller (eds), Current Progress in African Linguistics. Amsterdam: Foris, 194–216. Haegeman, Liliane. 1993. Introduction to Government and Binding Theory. Oxford: Blackwell. Hagège, Claude. 1974. ‘‘Les pronoms logophoriques’’. Bulletin de la Société de Linguistique de Paris 69(1): 287–310. Hawkins, John A. 1986. A Comparative Typology of English and German. Unifying the contrasts. London and Sidney: Croom and Helm. Hirschbühler, P. 1975. ‘‘On the source of lefthand NPs in French’’. Linguistic Inquiry 8: 155–65. Kemmer, Suzanne. 1997. ‘‘Reciprocals and their semantic affinities: Where unity meets multiplicity’’. Paper given at the International Symposium on Reflexives and Reciprocals, University of Colorado, Boulder, 1997. Reinhart, Tanja, and Eric Reuland. 1993. ‘‘Reflexivity’’. Linguistic Inquiry 24(4): 657–720. Vergnaud, Jean-Roger, and Maria Luisa Zubizarreta. 1990. On the form and interpretation of definite noun phrases. Unpublished paper USC, Los Angeles. Wasow, Thomas. 1972. Anaphoric relations in English. MIT Ph.D. Dissertation. Cambridge, Massachusetts. Williams, Edwin. 1994. Thematic Structure in English. Cambridge: MIT Press. Wiltschko, Martina. 1995. ‘‘Presuppositions in German dislocations constructions’’. Folia Linguistica Europaea 29: 265–95. —— 1997. ‘‘Parasitic operators in German left-dislocation’’. In: E. Anagnostopoulou, H. v. Riemsdijk, and F. Zwarts (eds), Materials on Left Dislocation. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 307–39.

The typology and grammaticalization of reflexives MATHIAS SCHLADT Cologne

1.–Introduction Quite a number of studies dealing with the internal typology of the category of reflexives have been published recently. Furthermore, a number of typological studies have been carried out within the framework of grammaticalization theory. These studies have concentrated, almost exclusively, on attesting the universal character of grammaticalization strategies. Yet, more recently, it has become apparent that also areal factors seem to play an important role in the development and choice of a certain grammaticalization strategy. The goal of the present study is (1) to show the areal distribution of lexical sources for reflexives, and (2) to describe the underlying cognitive and linguistic processes leading from body part names to reflexives. 1.1.–On the definitio of refl xives The following working hypothesis is assumed: A reflexive marker typically denotes a referent that is identical with the one of the subject noun phrase. Generally, the reflexive marker has the syntactic function of an object, as in (1): (1) Albanian (Buchholz et al. 1993: 606) e vrau veht-en he kill:3:sg:aor:act self-acc ‘He committed suicide’. (lit. ‘He killed his self’) Reflexives are here defined in a very wide sense in order to allow for the inclusion of nominal and pronominal as well as verbal reflexivity. The reason behind this is the fact that the aim of the study is the origin of reflexive markers rather than their syntactic behavior.

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1.2.–The data base The present sample consists of some 150 languages. Included are only languages for which it has been possible to find a lexical or less grammaticalized source of the reflexive marker. As will be seen, the African languages are clearly in the majority. This can be explained by means of the assumption that the evolution of the grammatical category ‘reflexive marker’ is still more transparent in African languages than in others. For probably the same reason the languages of the European continent are clearly underrepresented. This is certainly not due to a lack of data-base, i.e. lack of available grammars, but can rather be explained by a phenomenon which we face time and again in typological studies from the view-point of the grammaticalization theory: At least for the majority of grammatical categories, it seems that the majority of the Indo-European languages are so highly grammaticalized that we cannot trace their former sources. A typological study, again, highly depends on the quality of the grammars consulted. Although the ways of expressing are various, reflexivity seems to be a quite universal grammatical category, which means that it is unlikely and quite exotic if for a certain language it is stated that there is no way of expressing reflexivity. Therefore in any grammar we consult, we will most probably find reflexivity mentioned, but only in a minority a remark about its potential origin since most of the authors do not take a diachronic perspective. To give only one example: For Kara, a Central Sudanic language spoken in northern Niger, Santandrea (1970: 150) only provides us with the information that the reflexive marker is rre, rri. As Heine (this volume) points out the item behaves syntactically and morphologically like a noun. Thus, there is good reason to assume that rre, rri in fact are reflexes of -rε, -r, that are attested for the closely related Southern Lwo languages, and rυ, ro, rɔ of the Moru-Madi languages that also belong to the Central Sudanic languages. As Tucker and Bryan (1966: 46,423) point out all these forms can be traced back to the lexical item ‘body’. Thus, to interpret lack of information on the origin of the reflexive marker in a grammar on a specific language as to that there is no lexical source in that language would falsify the whole picture. Marking this lack of information on a map would not reflect a real distribution, but only show the deficits of the grammars on certain languages. The same applies to glosses such as ‘life’ and ‘body’. For the case of Kanuri, a Western Saharan language, Tucker and Bryan (1966: 183), who do take a diachronic perspective, gloss the reflexive marker rô with ‘life’. There is no doubt that rô is etymologically identical with the above mentioned forms and should therefore be glossed with ‘body’. Furthermore, a language may have developed several ways of expressing reflexivity. If it has been possible to reconstruct a lexical source for at least one of the reflexive constructions, it has been included into the sample.

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2.–Sources of reflexive markers According to their frequency, the following main sources of reflexives can be differentiated: 1.–Body part names: (2) Kabuverdiano (Estudos 1967: 22) Manêl ferí sê cabeça. Manuel hurt 3:sg:poss head ‘Manuel hurt himself’. 2.–Nominal sources denoting something like person, self, owner: (3) Paumarí (Chapman and Derbyshire 1991: 178) Abono-ra na-noki-a-‘a-ha self-obj caus-see-detr-asp-theme ‘He sees himself’. 3.–Emphatic pronouns: (4) English ‘He killed himself’. 4. Object personal pronouns: (5) Samoan (Faltz 1985: 68) A¯ fasi ‘o ia ‘e ia. fut kill abs 3sg erg 3sg ‘He is about to kill him/himself’. 5. ‘To return, come back’: (6) Sanuma (Borgman 1991: 43) Atakusa a-nö kama nia sapa ko-pa-so-ma. gun 3:sg-inst 3:sg shoot reverse:dir return-ext-foc-compl ‘He shot himself with a gun’. 6.–‘Reflection’: (7) Finnish (Faltz 1985: 137) Jussi näki itse-nsä. Jussi:nom see:past reflection:on:water-3:sg:poss ‘Jussi saw himself’.

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7.–Locative prepositions as in (8) Zande (Tucker and Bryan 1966: 150) M`¸ı-´¸ım´¸ı t`-rε. ` I-kill on-me ‘I kill myself’. The map appended shows the distribution of different sources. Some remarks on the way of classification must be added here. 1. As mentioned above, in trying to trace diachronic sources, one has to rely on the information provided by the author. Whether a lexical item which has nominal features may be translated as ‘person’, ‘self’, or ‘essence’, lies in the authority of the author himself. Lehmann (1982) for example differentiates between autophoric and reflexive nouns thereby consequently putting sources such as ‘person’ and ‘self’ into different classes. Actually, none of the grammars available to me, do differentiate between the two of them. I want to argue that these kinds of sources cannot be differentiated at all, but are at most different readings of one lexeme, i.e. of the same origin. 2. How can one justify the differentiation between ‘person, self’ on the one hand and ‘self’ as an emphatic pronoun? The main difference for me is that the former has the clear morphological features and syntactic function of a noun whereas the latter is a pronoun without clear nominal sources. 3. Can emphatic pronouns be considered as a source of reflexive markers, or are the two only different readings of the same form? Heine (this volume) provides a number of pieces of evidence in favor of the former. At the time being, a pronoun is regarded as emphatic as long as it is clearly optional as in the following example: (9) German Ich ha-be das (selbst) ge-mach-t. I have-1:sg:pres that (myself) perf-do-perf ‘I have done that by myself’. As soon as it is obligatory it is classified as a real reflexive marker that has been grammaticalized out of an emphatic pronoun. 4. With regard to glosses such as ‘reflection’ it must be questioned whether this kind of reflexive constructions can only be applied to visual reflexive activities, or whether they may be used for expressing the whole spectrum of reflexivity in the kind of ‘I hear my reflection on the water’ meaning ‘I hear myself’’. In the Austronesian language Kwaio for example Keesing (1985) points out that these reflexive constructions are still restricted to purely visual reflexivity. On the other

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hand, the Finnish reflexive marker itse ‘reflection on water, shadow’ seems to be much further on its way to a proper reflexive marker. It shows the full properties of a reflexive marker and can be combined with any verb (cf. Fromm 1982: 93). 5. In how far personal pronouns used as reflexive markers can be considered to be a source for the latter, is a more difficult case. Faltz (1985) lists Frisian as an example: (10) Frisian (Faltz 1985) Hja skammet har. she shames her ‘She is ashamed’. Apparently, the intransitive meaning of the verb itself only allows a reflexive meaning. In German, as well, the reflexive is identical with the personal pronoun except in the third person singular, the only case where ambiguity could arise. But examples like (5) which are apparently ambiguous seem to allow for the assumption of a reflexive marker having developed out of an object pronoun. Besides the general dominance of body part etyma it becomes apparent that at least in some areas they seem to represent the only strategy for grammaticalizing a reflexive marker. In the following I therefore want to concentrate on two aspects: 1. the role played by the areal factor in the frame of grammaticalization; 2. the cognitive and linguistic processes at work during the grammaticalization from ‘body’ and ‘body part’ to a reflexive marker.

3.–On the notion of ‘area’ A number of motivating factors for the development of grammaticalization processes have been proposed. Probably most important—following Heine (1994a)— are the following: (a) Creativity and expressivity of the speaker, in contrast to a real necessity of creating a new form due to lack of an existing grammatical form; (b) the intention of the speakers to experience and describe their environment in order to express more abstract phenomena by means of less abstract ones; (c) the wish to express more complex forms by means of simpler, conceptually more easily understandable, more transparent forms; (d) to replace worn-out clichés by new and meaningful elements; (e) joy of playing. Bearing the above in mind, it seems that—besides language-internal factors which are certainly fundamental for the process of grammaticalization (cf. Frajzyngier

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1996), other motivations are at work, such as ‘calquing‘, a borrowing process between different peoples settling in the same or adjacent area caused through a massive socio-cultural and linguistic interaction. Certainly, factors such as coincidence and language-genetic relationship should not be excluded. To show that genetic factors are not necessarily dominating, I would like to draw attention to Table 1. Table1.–Sources of refl xive markers in Caucasian languages. Abaza Abkhaz Georgian

c-xə` tavi

‘head’ ‘head’ ‘head’

If we just had a look at the glosses, we could—and probably would—state, that the identical origin of the reflexive marker in the Caucasian languages was due to genetic relationship. It shouldn’t be surprising at all that three closely related languages have derived the reflexive marker from the lexeme ‘head’. Instead, comparing the lexemes, we realize that most probably three different historical sources have been responsible for the development of reflexive markers in the three languages. In this case, we can—therefore—exclude genetic relationship as the motivating factor for the development of the reflexive marker. In a similar fashion—as can be seen from Table 2—the reflexive marker in the closely related Uto-Aztecan languages is obviously derived from quite different sources. This can be taken as another indicator that genetic relationship again does not have to be the main factor for choosing a certain grammaticalization strategy. The West African area is an excellent field for the study of areal influences on grammaticalization. Among the sample languages, we find a vast number of languages mainly belonging to two major linguistic groups: the Chadic languages and

Table 2.–Sources of refl xive markers in Uto-Aztecan languages Cahuilla Kawaiisu Serrano Shoshone Cupeño Luiseño Papago

taxnataqanéé tax -taax ʔé-

‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘person’ [< body?] ‘person’ [< body?] emph. pron.

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the Kwa languages. Table 3 lists the glosses/sources for reflexive markers in Kwa (the letters in brackets indicate an alleged classification of the etymologically related forms). Table 3.–Refl xive markers derived from ‘body’ in Kwa languages Ebira Efik Ibibio Igbo Oron Twi Urhobo Usak Edet Yoruba

Îwu (a?) idem (b?) idem (b?) ònwo (a?) òmà (c?) hõ (d?) òmà (c?) únem (e?) ara (f?)

‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’

Although all the glosses are translated identically as ‘body’ one does not have to delve deeply into the secrets of historical reconstruction to find out that their lexical sources are quite different. Simple borrowing from one language therefore seems to be excluded. Rather it seems that processes of massive socio-cultural and linguistic interaction between different peoples inhabiting the same area causes ‘calquing‘ of the whole concept for expressing a grammatical category. A similar case are the Chadic languages which are spoken in the same area: Table 4.–Refl xive markers derived from ‘body’ in Chadic languages Bolanci Bura Gidar Gisiga Lamang Lele Pero Xdi

jiw-o (a?) dzá (b?) zə´ (c?) wɔ (a?) ghvà (b?) kùs (d?) cíg (e?) vγá (b?)

‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’ ‘body’

Apparently, within the same language family different strategies may exist to express reflexivity, or—to put it the other way round—the choice of the same strategy cannot be explained by language-genetic factors.

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Table 5.–Refl xive markers derived from ‘head’ in Chadic languages kâi (a?) kúu (b?) kər ´ (a?) tàláÎ (c?)

Hausa Kwami Margi Mina

‘head’ ‘head’ ‘head’ ‘head’

The distribution of sources according to continents is set out in Table 6, from which the following implications can be drawn. 1. In Africa, body parts are almost exclusively the source of reflexive markers. Interestingly, this also applies to languages of the same region but of different genetic origin such as Kabuverdiano, a Portuguese-Creole spoken in West Africa. On the other hand, Portuguese, the donor language, does not show this grammaticalization pattern.1 Locative prepositions as a likely source of reflexives play a certain role as well. Since they only occur in the Ubangi-languages, one could state again that this was due to a genetic phenomenon. If we have a closer look at it, again, we realize that the items under discussion cannot be of one and the same etymological form:2 (11) (Tucker and Bryan 1966: 150) Zande M`¸ı-´¸ım´¸ı t`-rε` ‘I kill myself’, lit. I-kill on-me Nzakara M`¸ı-h¸im¸i t-ε` Barambu Nyˇa-wυ-m ˜ εkε-nyɔ ` Table 6.–Sources of refl xive markers Source

Africa

America

Asia

N

N

N

%

Body part 60 Person/self (noun) 5 emph. pron. – Soul/spirit 1 pers. pron. – loc. prep. 5 Return – Reflection – Other –

84.5 7.0 – 1.4 – 7.0 – – –

Total

71

9 8 1 –

%

%

Austr./Oc Europe

Sum

N

N

45.4 18.2 15.2 12.1 6.1

– 1 – –

47.4 14 42.1 6 5.3 6 – 4 2 – – 5.3 – – – – 1

99.9 19

100 33

100 15

3.0

3 4 2 – 2 – 2 2 –

% 20.0 26.7 13.3 – 13.3 – 13.3 13.3

N 3 3 2 – 1 – – 1 –

100 10

% 30.0 30.0 20.0 – 10.0 – – 10.0 –

%

89 60.1 26 17.6 11 7.4 5 3.4 5 3.4 5 3.4 3 2.0 3 2.0 2 0.7

100 148 100

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2. In America, ‘person, self’ and ‘body-parts’ are the only relevant sources of reflexives. 3. Asia is dominated by body-parts. ‘Person/self’, emphatic pronouns and ‘soul, spirit’ are also worth mentioning. 4. Europe is the only continent where emphatic pronouns beside ‘body part terms’ and ‘person, self’ are the dominant strategy for developing a reflexive marker. 5. Australia/Oceania have a special status insofar strategies such as ‘return’ and ‘reflection’ (elsewhere widely neglected) do play a role here. Furthermore, body part terms as sources for reflexive markers are clearly underrepresented. To summarize, we can state that body part terms, no matter how important they are in the different areas, are overwhelmingly the main source of reflexives in the languages of the world. If we compare our results with Heine’s study on comparative markers, we find a number of parallels. If these prove to be systematic in further typological studies then this phenomenon could lead to the following hypothesis: There exist a number of grammaticalization areas that are defined by means of isoglosses of similar or same grammaticalization phenomena. For reflexive markers this would mean that there exists a limited set of grammaticalization strategies for the choice of a certain category, the choice of which is denoted at a lower level through the area.

4.–Body and grammar: The case of reflexives It is commonly accepted among cognitive linguists that language is the main means of conceptualizing and categorizing environment and experiences. The most intimate experiences are physical, i.e. the ones with our body. To put it in other words: our body is our closest environment and therefore the first object to experience. Consequently, a number of grammaticalization processes can be traced back to body part terms, e.g. body part terms which develop into locative and temporal markers as in (12). (12) Kikuyu thutha ‘back’ > behind, rear (loc) > after (temp) thutha uu˜-cio nd-a-na-coka gu˜-tu˜-ruma behind cl:14-that neg-3:sg-past-return inf-1:pl:obj-abuse ‘After that he did not abuse us again’. Body part terms as a base of numeral systems:

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(13) Turkana (Dimmendaal 1983: 303) Á-kowu á-péy M-head M-one ‘One hundred’ Body part terms developing into comitative markers: (14) Nama (Krönlein 1889: 190) |khá-b |k(h)à ‘body’ ‘with’ In the following section I want to propose cognitive and linguistic processes through which body part vocabularies are grammaticalized into reflexive markers. 4.1.–Prototypical and salient body parts As can be seen from Table 8, only a very limited number of body part vocabulary are likely candidates for serving as a source of reflexives. Besides ‘body’, only ‘head’ plays a significant role. In recent studies such kind of categories have been labeled as prototypes of a certain class. Actually, it does not really make sense to speak about prototypical body parts. The human body is something so clearly delineated that there is no doubt as to the membership of certain body parts. Nevertheless, there is something special about certain body parts. The frequency in communication and the organic characteristic of certain body parts seems to be of special importance. The ‘head’ as the seat of the intellect, the ‘face’ as the place with most of the human sensual organs, ‘skin’ and ‘bone’ as metonymic expressions for the whole body. I know of no language where a fingernail or an elbow has been the lexical source of a reflexive marker or any other grammatical element at all. Similar observations can be made within the field of emotions: Languages may have different emotional centers, the heart, stomach/belly, the liver, the head, but never body Table 6.–Refl xive markers derived from ‘body’ and body part terms Source Africa Body Head Bone Skin Face Total

America

Asia N

N

%

N

%

60 5 1 1 – 5

83.3 13.3 1.7 1.7 – 100

7 – – 1 1 9

77.8

9 4 1

11.1 11.1 100 14

%

Austr./Oc Europe

Sum

N

N

64.3 3 28.6 – 7.1 – – – 100 3

%

N

100 2 1 – – – 100 3

%

66.7 71 33.3 13 2 2 1 100 89

% 79.8 14.6 2.2 2.2 1.1 100

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parts which do not have a certain degree of salience such as fingernails, kneecaps, earlobes. ‘Salience’ firstly denotes a characteristic that is typical of a human being such as the ability of expressing emotions, will, aggression; it furthermore entails body parts that do have a certain hierarchical status in every day’s conversation (For details see Schladt 1997). 4.2.–Conceptual Shift As has been pointed out by recent studies (e.g. Heine 1994a), conceptual shift precedes the formal shift. With reference to reflexive markers, I propose the following three main stages of conceptual shift: 1. The body part noun (or the noun for the whole body) forms the object of the clause and has a possessive modifier that correlates with the subject of the sentence: (15) Basque (Saltarelli 1988: 104) Aita-k bere buru-a hil d-u. father-erg his head-abs kill 3sg-have ‘The father killed himself’. 2. As has been pointed out time and again, the most effective processes of conceptualizing and categorizing abstract experiences through more concrete ones are metaphor and metonymy. As a sub-class of metonymy a synecdoche strategy reinterprets the body part noun as standing for the subject referent with the effect that it acquires the function of a reflexive pronoun. Since the body part noun can be interpreted with reference to both uses, this stage is marked by ambiguity; the expression concerned can refer to both the source and the target meaning. (16) Ful (Jungraithmayr and Abu-Manga 1988: 163) Mi nawnii hoore am. 1sg wound:perf head 1sg:poss ‘I wounded my head’. ‘I wounded myself’. (in any part of my body) 3. The erstwhile body part noun now exclusively functions as a reflexive pronoun. At this stage, however it often—though not necessarily—develops new functions such as reciprocal markers when used with plural referents.3 This three-stage-process has been called the ‘Overlap-Model’ (Heine 1994b). Its basic hypothesis is that the change from the lexical source to the grammatical target element is not necessarily fulfilled directly, but that there may exist intermediate stages, where both meanings co-exist. Neither diachronically nor synchronically

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those stages do need to exist. Hungarian is an example for a language that has lost stage I, and only stages II and III exist. The reflexive marker mag- is derived from *maga ‘body, kernel, seed (noun)’ (Szent-Iványi 1964). In fact, the basic lexical meaning of *maga ‘body’ does not exist in present day Hungarian any more, which means that the original meaning has been lost on its way to grammaticalization. In present day Hungarian maga only means ‘seed’. On the other hand, languages may never reach stage III, as it is the case of Classical Arabic where nafs ‘soul’ has been an emphatic pronoun, and only in modern Arabic can it be used as a reflexive marker as well. 4.3.–Processes of decategorialization Decategorialization has been described as a universal principle (cf. Heine 1994b) of grammaticalization processes through which conceptual and linguistic properties are lost in the course of a grammaticalization process. To put it in other words: Forms tend to lose morphological and syntactic properties on their way of grammaticalization. As for reflexives, basically four stages of decategorialization can be differentiated: 1. The object noun phrase has the full, unconstrained morphosyntax of a combination ‘body part’ + a pronominal possessive modifier. The noun phrase may undergo all kinds of word order permutations that are allowed for object constituents, and the body part noun may take all the trappings normally associated with nouns: (17) a.

Anywa (Reh 1994: 14) Jεy ` dèet-g a' -jàal-g. people bodies-their pfve-blame-they ‘The people blamed themselves’. b. *Jεy ` dèet a' -jàal-g people bodies pfve-blame-they

If the subject is in the plural, so is the object. That the object is not necessarily coreferential with the subject can be seen from the following example: (18) Lisu (Faltz 1985: 67) Ása nya alé láé yí kudwè mámywè tsa gə-a. Asa top Ale dat 3:sg body story tell give ‘Asa talked to Ale about him(self)’. ‘‘The term yí kudwè can refer to Asa, Ale, or a third person’’ (Faltz 1985: 67).

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2. The object noun phrase may optionally show some reduced morphosyntactic behavior, in that, e.g., the object noun no longer needs to be marked for number, or the possessive modifier may be omitted as in (19), or the noun phrase as a whole may optionally exhibit constraints in word order permutation that are not characteristic of ordinary object noun phrases. (19) Bari (Spagnolo 1933: 139f.) Nye rerem mυgυn. he kill body ‘He kills himself’. 3. The noun-phrase is obligatorily co-referential with the subject. Now, the form is confined to one particular syntactic function within the clause. It is one of the properties of stage III situations that when the reflexive meaning is implied, complement topicalization is, as a rule, not possible any longer. The anaphoric object noun phrase may not be placed in clause-initial position: (20) a.

Yoruba (Awoyale 1986: 4) Nwosu rí ara rε. Nwosu saw body his ‘Nwosu saw himself’. b. *Ara rí rε Nwosu. body his saw Nwosu

4. The reflexive marker does not function as a complement noun phrase any more. Rather, it has the distinct properties of a pronoun: (21) Korean (Sohn 1994: 149) Minca-nun ca-ki-(l)ul miweha-n-ta. Minca-top self-body-acc hate-in-dc ‘Minca hates herself’. 4.4.–Cliticization Cliticization refers to the relation between the reflexive marker and the main verb. For a number of languages the following scenario can be described: 1. The forms expressing the reflexive and the main verb are independent word units, which may even be separated by other linguistic items as in (22): (22) Tamazight (Faltz 1985: 138) I-wwet urba ixf-(n)ns. he-hit boy head-3:m:sg:poss ‘The boy hit himself’.

116

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2. The reflexive marker may turn into a clitic of the main verb: (23) Krongo (Reh 1985: 233) N-úwó-onó àʔaÎ kí-coorì. 1-impfv:dive-body I loc-house ‘I am now going home’. (lit. ‘Now I dive myself/body into the house’) 3. The two formerly separate forms become one word, the reflexive ending as an inflectional morpheme on the main verb. Cases of this kind can be observed in a number of Uto-Aztecan languages where the former lexical item *tax ‘body’ has developed into -tax, a verbal reflexive suffix. The Lamang verbal reflexive suffix -và derived from ghvà ‘body’ would be another instance of that kind of development. 4.5.–Erosion Lexical items on their way to grammatical categories tend to loose formal properties, they are likely to be reduced formally. In Lamang, a Chadic language, the reflexive marker—as in many other languages of the same area—is derived from ‘body’. Whereas the etymological source is glossed as ghvà ‘body’, the reflexive marker is và (Wolff 1983: 120–2). Similarly, for the Markham languages of Papua New Guinea, Holzknecht (1989) reconstructs a Proto-Markham reflexive of the form *tau/*rau which in some of the presently spoken languages is reduced to ro/*lo.

5.–Conclusions In the preceding sections, I have tried to show that homonymy viz. polysemy involving reflexive markers with body part nouns can be explained on the basis of the evolution of reflexive markers themselves. Furthermore, it has become clear that genetic relationship only plays a minor role in the choice of a certain grammaticalization strategy. Probably more important is the factor of areal influence, which seems to cause people to not simply borrow a lexical form but a mental concept as a whole. Some questions still need to be answered. Among the most important ones is whether sources of emphatic pronouns and locative prepositions cannot be traced back to nominal sources. A number of observations would support this. Many emphatic markers serving as a source of reflexives behave syntactically like nouns. For

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example, for Ukrainian, we do not have any indication as to the source of the reflexive marker. Yet, the reflexive marker syntactically has the restrictions of an animate noun: The reflexive pronoun sebe applies to all persons and to both numbers, indicating a pronominally expressed object in clauses with co-referential subject and object. [. . .] Personal and reflexive pronouns behave as animate nouns’’.—(Danyenko and Vakulenko 1995: 30) [. . .] genders indicate the ability of nouns to refer to the initial or non-initial participants of a multi-step predication while condensing predicational steps into one finite clause. This functional subdivision is explicit in the A/SG and PL or the G/ and D/SG. Thus, nouns relating to animate entities have in the A/SG and PL the ending of the G/SG or PL’’.—(Danyenko and Vakulenko 1995: 16) 4

These examples seem to be strong evidences that the reflexive marker might have developed out of an animate (body part?) noun. Furthermore, in a number of languages—especially in Africa—where we are not given a lexical source, the reflexive marker shows clear nominal features. One example is Kposo where etu does not have an etymological source but still is treated as a noun. These factors lead to the hypothesis that at least a majority of the reflexive markers must have derived from nominal sources, most probably ‘body’ or the like. Reflexive marking is conjoined with the most intensive experience of humans. Therefore it is not surprising that reflexives are in their majority derived from lexical sources involving physical meaning. Furthermore, I have pointed out that only a limited choice of reflexive markers can be considered in the languages of the world.

Abbreviations abs acc act aor asp caus cl compl dat dc

absolutive accusative active aorist aspect causative noun class complementizer dative declarative

detr dir erg ext foc fut impfv in inf inst

detransitivizer directional ergative extent of action focus future imperfective indicative infinitive instrument

mathias schladt

118 loc m neg nom obj past perf pfve pl

locative masculine negation nominative object past perfect perfective plural

poss press pron sg theme top 1 3

possessive present pronoun singular theme topic first person third person

Acknowledgements Thanks are due to Andreas Eckl, Bernd Heine, Tania Kuteva and the participants of the ‘International symposium on reflexives and reciprocals’, 29–30 August 1997 for valuable comments on an earlier version of the paper.

Notes 1. Cf. also the case of Papiamentu, a Portuguese-based Creole where the reflexive marker again is derived from ‘body’. 2. Some possible explanations of the underlying cognitive and linguistic processes are provided by Heine (1999). 3. For details see Heine (1999). 4. A stands for Accusative, G for Genitive, D for Dative:

References Awoyale, Yiwola. 1985. ‘‘Reflexivization in Kwa languages’’. In Gerrit Dimmendaal (ed.), Current Approaches to African Linguistics, vol. iii. Dordrecht: Foris, 1–14. Borgman, Donald M. 1991. ‘‘Sanuma’’. In Desmond C. Derbyshire and Geoffrey K. Pullum (eds), Handbook of Amazonian languages, vol. 2. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Buchholz, Oda, Wilfried Fiedler, and Gerda Uhlisch. 1993. Wörterbuch Albanisch-Deutsch. Leipzig: Langenscheidt. Chapman, Shirley, and Desmond C. Derbyshire. 1991. ‘‘Paumarí’’. In Desmond C. Derbyshire and Geoffrey K. Pullum (eds), Handbook of Amazonian Languages, vol. iii. Berlin/New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

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Danyenko, Andrii, and Serhii Vakulenko. 1995. Ukrainian [Languages of the world/ Materials 5]. München/Newcastle: Lincom Europa. Dimmendaal, Gerrit. 1983. The Turkana language [Publications in African languages and Linguistics 6]. Dordrecht: Foris. Estudos linguísticos crioulos. 1967. ReediCão de artigos publicados no Boletim da Sociedade de Geografía de Lisboa. Lisbon: Academia Internacional da Cultura Portuguesa. Faltz, Leonard M. 1985. Refl xivization: A study in universal syntax. New York: Garland. Frajzyngier, Zygmunt. 1996. Grammaticalization of the Complex Sentence. A case study in Chadic. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Fromm, Hans. 1982. Finnische Grammatik. Heidelberg: Carl Winter Universitätsverlag. Heine, Bernd. 1994a. ‘‘Areal influence on grammaticalization’’. In Martin Pütz (ed.), Language Contact and Language Conflic . Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 55–68. —— 1994b. Principles of grammaticalization. Typescript. Cologne, University of Cologne. —— 1999. ‘‘Polysemy involving reflexive and reciprocal markers in African languages’’. In Zygmunt Frajzygier and Traci Curl (eds.), Reciprocals: Forms and functions [Typological Studies in language 41]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1–29. Holzknecht, Susanne. 1989. The Markham languages of Papua New Guinea [Pacifi Linguistics, Series C, 115]. Canberra: The Australian National University. Jungraithmayr, Herrmann, and Al-Amin Abu-Manga. 1988. Einführung in die Ful-Sprache [Sprache und Oralität in Afrika 1] Berlin: Dietrich Reimer. Keesing, Roger M. 1985. Kwaio grammar [Pacifi Linguistics, Series B, 88]. Canberra: The Australian National University.. Krönlein, Johann Georg. 1889. Wortschatz der Khoi-Khoin. Berlin: Deutsche Kolonialgesellschaft. Lehmann, Christian. 1982. Thoughts on Grammaticalization. A programmatic sketch, vol. i. AKUP 48. Cologne, University of Cologne. Reh, Mechthild. 1985. Die Krongo-Sprache (niino mo-di): Beschreibung, Texte, Wörterverzeichnis [Kölner Beiträge zur Afrikanistik 12]. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer. —— 1994. Anywa language: Description and internal reconstructions. Habilitationsschrift. Typescript, University of Bayreuth. Saltarelli, Mario. 1988. Basque [Croom Helm Descriptive Grammar Series]. London/New York/Sydney: Croom Helm. Santandrea, Stefano. 1970. Brief grammar outlines of the Yulu and Kara languages (Bahr el Ghazal, Sudan-Central African Republic). [Museum Combonianum 25] Rome: Solidarity of St. Peter Claver. Schladt, Mathias. 1997. Kognitive Strukturen von Körperteilvokabularien in kenianischen Sprachen. Cologne, University of Cologne [Afrikanistische Monographien 8]. Sohn, Ho-min. 1994. Korean. New York: Routledge. Spagnolo, Lorenzo M. 1933. Bari Grammar. Verona: Missioni Africane.

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Szent-Iványi, Béla. 1964. Der ungarische Sprachbau. Eine kurze Darstellung mit Erläuterungen für die Praxis. Leipzig: VEB Verlag Enzyklopädie. Tucker, Archibald N., and Margret A. Bryan. 1966. Linguistic Analyses. The non-Bantu languages of North-eastern Africa. London/New York/Cape Town: Oxford University Press. Wolff, Ekkehard. 1983. A Grammar of the Lamang language (Gwàd LàmàÎ) [Afrikanistische Forschungen 10] Glückstadt: J.J. Augustin.

Appendix No. Language 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

!Xu [Xu˜] (Tshu-Khwe; Southern Africa, Khoisan) Abaza (Northwest; North, Caucasian) Abkhaz (Northwest; North, Caucasian) Acholi (Western; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Albanian (Albanian; Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) Anywa (Western; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Aymara (Aymaran; Andean, Amerind) Babungo (Bantu; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Bagirmi (West Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Baka (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Barambo (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Bari (Eastern; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Basque (Language Isolates) Bassa (Kru; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Berbice (Dutch-based; Pidgins and Creoles) Biblical Hebrew (Central; West, Semitic; Afro-Asiatic) Big Nambas (Oceanic; Malayo-Polynesian, Austronesian, Austric) Bolanci [Bolewa] (West; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) Bongo (West Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Buginese (Celebes; Malayo-Polynesian, Austronesian, Austric) Bura (Biu-Mandara; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) Cahuilla (Takic; Uto-Aztecan, Central Amerind, Amerind) Cambodian (Khmer; Mon-Khmer, Austroasiatic, Austric) Canela-Krahõ (Ge-Kaingang; Ge-Pano, Ge-Pano-Carib, Amerind) Chang (Baric; Tibeto-Burman, Tibeto-Karen, Sino-Tibetan) Chaplino (Chaplino-Naukan; Siberian, Eskimo-Aleut)

Ct’t

Source

Af As As Af Eu Af Am Af Af Af Af

body head head body person body person body body body loc. prep.

Af Eu Af Am As Au/Oc

body head body self soul emph. pron.

Af Af As

body body body

Af Am As Am

body body body self

As As

person obj. pron.

typology and grammaticalization No. Language 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

Chimwini (Bantu; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Chuvash (Turkic; Altaic Proper, Altaic) Classical Arabic (Semitic; Afro-Asiatic) Cupeño (Takic; Uto-Aztecan, Central Amerind, Amerind) Dinka (Western; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Dongo (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Duala (Bantu; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Dutch (Germanic; Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) Dyirbal (Dyirbalic; Pama-Nyungan, Australian) Ebira (Kwa; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Efik (Lower Cross; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) English (Germanic; Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) Finnish (Finnic; Finno-Ugric, Uralic, Uralic-Yukaghir) Frisian (Germanic; Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) Fula (West Atlantic, Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Georgian (South; Caucasian) Gidar (Biu-Mandara; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) Gisiga (West, Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) Greek (Greek; Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) Halia (Bougainville; Oceanic, Austronesian, Austro-Tai, Austric) Hausa (West; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) Hungarian (Ugric; Finno-Ugric, Uralic, Uralic-Yukaghir) Ibibio (Kwa; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Igbo (Lower Niger, Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordafanian) Ilwana (Bantu; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Indonesian (Malayan; Malayo-Polynesian, Austronesian, Austric) Kabuverdiano (Portuguese-Based; Pidgins and Creoles) Kalmyk (Eastern; Mongolian-Tungus, Altaic Proper, Altaic) Kambera (Bima-Sumba; Malayo-Polynesian, Austronesian, Austric) Kanuri (Western; Saharan, Nilo-Saharan) Kara (West Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Kawaiisu (Numic; Uto-Aztecan, Central Amerind, Amerind) Kenga (West Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Kiwai (Trans-Fly; Madang-Adelbert Range, Indo-Pacific) Koma (Koman; Nilo-Saharan) Korean (Korean-Japanese; Altaic) Kresh (West Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Krongo (Eastern; Kordofanian, Niger-Kordofanian)

121

Ct’t

Source

Af As As Am Af Af Af Eu Au/Oc Af Af Eu Eu Eu Af As Af Af Eu Au/Oc

soul, spirit self soul person body self body emph. pron. reflection body body self reflection obj. pron. head head body body self self

Af Eu Af Af Af As

head body body body body body

Af As As

head body self

Af Af Am Af Au/Oc Af As Af Af

body body body body self body body body body

122

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No. Language

Ct’t

65 Kwaio (Southeast Solomons; Oceanic, Austronesian, Austric) 66 Kwami (West; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) 67 K’emant (Central Cushitic; Cushitic Proper, Cushitic, Afro-Asiatic) 68 Lahu (Burmic; Tibeto-Burman, Tibeto-Karen, Sino-Tibetan) 69 Lamang (West; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) 70 Lele (West; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) 71 Lese (East Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) 72 Lezgian [Lezgi] (Lezgian, North, Caucasian) 73 Lisu (Burmic; Tibeto-Burman, Tibeto-Karen, Sino-Tibetan) 74 Londo (Bantu; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 75 Lotuxo (Eastern; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) 76 Luiseño (Takic; Uto-Aztecan, Central Amerind, Amerind) 77 Maba (Western; Nilotic, Nilo-Saharan) 78 Malagasy (Malayo-Polynesian; Austronesian, Austro-Tai, Austric) 79 Mamvu (East Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) 80 Maori (Oceanic; Malayo-Polynesian, Austronesian, Austric) 81 Margi (West; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) 82 Maricopa (Yuman; Hokan, Northern Amerind, Amerind) 83 Mayogo (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 84 Mba (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 85 Mikir (Burmic, Tibeto-Burman, Tibeto-Karen, Sino-Tibetan) 86 Mina [G˜e] (Kwa, Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 87 Miskito (Nuclear Chibchan; Chibchan, Chibchan-Paezan, Amerind) 88 Modern Hebrew (Central; West, Semitic, Afro-Asiatic) 89 Mojave (Seri-Yuman; Penutian, Northern Amerind, Amerind) 90 Mondunga (Ubangian, Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 91 Mordvinian (Finnic; Finno-Ugric; Uralic, Uralic-Yukaghir) 92 Moré (Gur; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 93 Moru (East Central; Central Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) 94 Ngbaka (Ubangian; Niger Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 95 Ngbaka Ma’Bo (Ubangian; N-C Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 96 Ngbandi (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 97 Nivkh [Gilyak] (Language Isolates) 98 Nuer (Southern; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) 99 Nzakara (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 100 Okinawan (Japanese-Ryukyuan; Korean-Japanese, Altaic) 101 Old French (Romance; Italic, Indo-European, Indo-Hittite)

Au/Oc reflection Af head Af head

Source

As Af Af Af As As Af Af Am Af Af

spirit body body body emph. pron. body body body person skin body

Af Au/Oc Af Am Af Af As Af Am

body emph. pron. head body self self emph. pron. head body

As Am Af

bone body self

As Af Af Af Af Af As Af Af As Eu

head body body body loc. prep self self body loc. prep. body body

typology and grammaticalization

123

No. Language

Ct’t

102 Oron (Kwa; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) 103 Paamese (Oceanic; Malayo-Polynesian, Austronesian, Austric) 104 Papago (Pimic; Uto-Aztecan, Central Amerind, Amerind) 105 Papiamentu (Portuguese-Based; Pidgins and Creoles) 106 Paumarí (Arawakan; Equatorial, Equatorial-Tucanoan, Amerind) 107 Pero (West; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic) 108 Persian [Farsi] (Iranian; Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) 109 Rong (Tibetic; Tibeto-Burman, Tibeto-Karen, Sino-Tibetan) 110 Sanskrit (Indic; Indo-Iranian, Indo-European; Indo-Hittite) 111 Sanuma (Yanomam; Chibchan, Chibchan-Paezan, Amerind)

Af body Au/Oc return

112 113 114 115 116 117 118

Af Am Af Am As Af Af

body emph. pron. emph. pron. body change focus + go back body body body body intr body bone

Am Eu

skin emph. pron.

Af As Au/Oc As Af Am Am As Af Af Au/Oc As Au/Oc As

head obj. pron. obj. pron. emph. pron. body face self self body body body self, essence return soul

As Af

body body

119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136

Sara (Central Sudanic; Nilo-Saharan) Serrano (Takic; Uto-Aztecan, Central Amerind, Amerind) Shilluk (Western; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Shoshone (Numic; Uto-Aztecan, Central Amerind, Amerind) Siberian Eskimo (Siberian; Eskimo, Eskimo-Aleut) So (Kuliak; East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Somali (Eastern Cushitic; Cushitic Proper, Cushitic, Afro-Asiatic) Sranan (Atlantic; English-Based, Pidgins and Creoles) Surselvan (Rhaeto-Romance; Italic, Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) Tamazight (Northern; Berber Proper, Berber, Afro-Asiatic) Tamil (South; Dravidian, Elamo-Dravidian) Tolai (Oceanic; Austronesian, Austro-Tai, Austric) Turkish (Turkic; Altaic Proper, Altaic) Twi (Nyo; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Tzotzil (Mayan; Penutian, Northern Amerind, Amerind) Tzutujil (Mayan; Penutian, Northern Amerind, Amerind) Uighur (Turkic; Altaic Proper, Altaic) Urhobo (Kwa; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Usak Edet (Kwa; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Usan (East Papuan; Indo-Pacific) Uzbek (Turkic; Altaic Proper, Altaic) Vangunu (New Georgia; Oceanic, Austronesian, Austric) Vedic [Vedda] (Indic; Indo-Iranian, Indo-European, Indo-Hittite) Vietnamese (North; Mon-Khmer, Austroasiatic, Austric) Xdi (Biu-Mandara; Chadic, Afro-Asiatic)

Source

Am emph. pron. Au/Oc body Am self Af As As As Am

mathias schladt

124 No. Language

Ct’t

Source

137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148

Au/Oc Am Au/Oc Af Af Au/Oc Af Af Af Af As Au/Oc

body person self body loc. prep. person body body loc. prep. body emph. pron. pers. pron.

Yagaria (East New Guinea Highlands, Indo-Pacific) Yatzachi Zapotec (Oto-Manguean, Centr. Amerind, Amerind) Yindjibarndi (South-West; Pama-Nyungan, Australian) Yoruba (Yoruba; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Zande (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Adzera (Markham Proper; Oceanic, Austronesian; Austric) Didinga (Surma; Eastern, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Lango (Western; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Ndogo (Ubangian; Niger-Congo Proper, Niger-Kordofanian) Päri (Western; Nilotic, East Sudanic, Nilo-Saharan) Mikir (Burmic; Tibeto-Burman, Tibeto-Karen, Sino-Tibetan) Samoan (Oceanic;Malayo-Polynesian,Austronesian,Austric)

Domains of point of view and coreferentiality: System interaction approach to the study of reflexives ZYGMUNT FRAJZYNGIER University of Colorado

1.–Introduction Any cross-linguistic study of ‘‘reflexives’’ faces the problem of the criteria in the choice of data: should one choose to study some narrowly defined functions, or should one choose to study all forms that may share some functions? Most studies of binding properties take as their criterion a form that meets certain functional properties. As a result they examine a class of anaphors, loosely defined as forms that do not have independent reference, and that are bound in some domain. Most studies that take as a defining criterion a specific function look at various forms that code the given function. Such determinations of scope, while necessary for any kind of research, run the risk that some relevant facts will simply not be considered, because a given form or a given function does not meet the preconceived parameters. Studies that examine ‘‘anaphors’’ recognize, depending on the criteria used, up to three types of forms, e.g. se- and self-anaphors and reflexive clitics, as in Reinhart and Reuland (1991). Approaches that start with function define the prototypical reflexives as those in which ‘‘a participant acts on himself/herself, rather than on any other’’ (Lichtenberk 1994: 3504). Similar approaches can be found in Givón (1990); Faltz (1985); and Wierzbicka (1996: 419). Such approaches leave other functions of ‘‘reflexive’’ forms undescribed, and they do not account for the presence of several reflexive forms within a given language. The object of the present study is the forms referred to as ‘‘reflexive pronouns,’’ ‘‘anaphors,’’ ‘‘reflexive clitics,’’ with no constraints as to what functions these markers have. There are three aims of the present study: 1. To demonstrate on the example of these forms that once the function of the form is understood, its binding properties, if any, are predictable.

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2. To demonstrate that the functions and syntactic properties of a given form crucially depend on what other forms the language has available for the coding of a given functional domain (for the notion of functional domain cf. Frajzyngier and Mycielski 1998). I hope to demonstrate on the example of reflexives the interaction of various components of grammar and lexicon in the coding of a given semantic domain. 3. To argue for an explicit methodology of establishing the function(s) of a grammatical form.

2.–Methodology The proposed method is as follows: In order to understand the function of a grammatical form it is necessary (1) to establish to what functional domain a given form belongs; (2) to find out what other forms belong to the same wider domain; (3) to establish the functional scope of each form within a given functional domain. The crucial point in this methodology is (2) because it ultimately helps to establish the functional domain of a given form. Very many contemporary studies are not explicit with respect to their methodology. Consider a type of sentence to be found in the literature as an illustratiion of the prototypical reflexive function, i.e. coreferentiality of subject and object (or agent and patient): (1) Henryk ogolił siv. Henry shave:perf:past:3msg refl ‘Henry shaved himself’. (Wierzbicka 1996: 417) Wierzbicka, like many other scholars, takes the coreferentiality for granted and does not provide any evidence in support of this analysis. And yet, one can easily find sentences with the same verb and the same morphological marker where coreferentiality is ruled out by the situation: (2) Henryk poszedł do fryzjera ogolic´ siv. Henry go-perf:past:3msg to barber:gen shave:inf refl ‘Henry went to the barber to get a shave’. If the same form one time codes coreferentiality and another time does not, then coreferentiality coding is not its function and a different analysis must be sought. But regardless of what specific analysis one is proposing, the method of the analysis must be explicit. The proposed method involves several steps. One is to look at forms in the language that cannot cooccur with the target form, because they are tautological or because their meaning would contradict the meaning of the target form. Thus taking

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example (1) we find that we cannot add to it siebie, another reflexive marker in Polish. The reason we cannot do this is that the meaning would be tautological: (3) Henryk ogolił siv *siebie. Henry shave:perf:past:3msg refl refl ‘Henry shaved’. We cannot add to this example another object, because the meaning would be contradictory: (4) Henryk ogolił siv *go. Henry shave:perf:past:3msg refl 3m:sg:acc ‘Henry shaved’. A third person object is perfectly grammatical with the verb ‘shave’: (5) Henryk ogolił go. Henry shave:perf:past:3msg 3m:sg:acc ‘Henry shaved him’. Although this example appears to pass one test for the meaning of the form, one should also examine other occurrences of this form and see whether they code coreferentiality. If they do not, one would need to explain why coreferentiality does not obtain. If no explanation can be provided, then coreferentiality should not be taken to be a function of this form. In example (2) I gave one instance where coreferentiality is ruled out. And here is another example. It is important because the verb is also a verb of personal grooming, but unlike shaving, this grooming is very seldom performed on oneself. Traditionally it is done by someone else: (6) Henryk ostrzygł siv. Henry get a haircut:perf:past:3msg refl ‘Henry got a haircut’. Thus, the form siv does not code coreferentiality. And yet it cannot cooccur with another marker of coreferentiality that language has and it cannot cooccur with another object. Since the other marker of coreferentiality (the evidence for this is provided later in the paper) has the form of object, and it is marked by the accusative case marker, one can hypothesize that the form siv cannot cooccur with another affected argument. Hence the meaning of the form siv could include affectedness, and since there is only one argument in the clause, it codes the affectedness of the subject. In order to prove this hypothesis one would need to look at other occurrences of siv and see whether they all code affectedness. If they do not, the hypothesis must be further modified, until a satisfactory answer is found. An analysis is satisfactory if it passes explicit criteria.

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3.–Hypotheses Previous studies of the morphemes in question have shown that there might be at least three functional domains for these forms: affectedness of the subject, coreferentiality (the prototypical reflexive), and stativity. The last domain is not discussed in the present paper because previous studies have shown that grammatrical structures involving reflexive forms (the ones that Reuland refers to as SE-anaphors) are non-stative (Frajzyngier 1978). Such forms are in functional contrast with stative passives as illustrated in (7), to be compared with (6). The translation does not reflect the stative meaning, because the notion of cutting hair on the head has not been lexicalized in English: (7) Henryk jest dobrze ostrzyz˙ony. Henry be well get a haircut:stat:msg ‘Henry got a good haircut’. The choice of languages in the present study has been dictated by the number of coding means suspected to participate in the domain of the semantic roles of subjects and coreferentiality. Let us consider the following working hypotheses: 1. In languages with two or more forms encoding ‘‘reflexive’’ functions, one form codes the event from the point of view of the subject. Representing the event from the point of view of subject subsumes subject affectedness with those verbs that may involve affectedness. The other form codes coreferentiality between arguments, such as the subject and another argument. The presence of another argument subsumes the control over the event on the part of subject. One cannot predict a priori which form codes which function. Thus, contrary to Reinhart and Reuland (1991), the presence or absence of phi features (i.e. features encoding gender, person, or number) in an anaphor is not a predictor of its binding properties. It appears, however, that within a language, the more-grammaticalized forms code point of view and the less-grammaticalized forms code coreferentiality among arguments. Across languages, however, forms that do and do not code gender, number, and person may function as markers of affectedness as well as coreferentiality. 2. In languages in which there is only one reflexive form, there may be no formal distinction between affectedness and coreferentiality coding.

4.–Point of view Starting from the same situation with a set of participants A and B, the speaker of a language that has the appropriate grammatical means can choose one of the

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two points of view: the point of view of the agent, or initiator, or the point of view of the patient, object, goal—whatever categories a given language may have. The notion of point of view of the agent, or initiator, means that the event represents the state of the initiator, agent, and so on rather than the state of the goal. The point of view of the agent almost always subsumes the affectedness of the agent but does not necessarily imply lack of control or de-agentivization. Conversely, the point of view of the goal represents the event as directed at the goal, patient, et cetera. As an easy illustration consider the point-of-view representation of a movement event: One where Z moved from point A to point B. In Polish the information about this event may be represented in several ways, depending on what point of view the speaker chooses to represent, not depending on the event itself. The following are examples from the point of view of the source:2 (8) Z. wy-szedł do teatru. Z. out-go:past:3msg to theater:gen ‘Z. went to the theater’. Point of view of the goal: (9) Z. przy-szedł do teatru. Z. out-go:past:3msg to theater ‘Z. came to the theater’. (the speaker does not have to be at the theater at the time of the arrival of Z.) Point of view of the path and unspecified point of view with respect to source and goal: (10) Z. po-szedł do teatru przez zas´miecone ulice. Z. go:past:3msg to theater:gen through trash-covered streets ‘Z. went to the theater through trash-covered streets’. When one chooses participants, it is again the speaker’s choice, rather than the situation, that determines the point of view.

5.–Argumentation The argumentation for the two hypotheses consists of discussion of languages with two or more reflexive forms and languages with only one reflexive form. Among languages with two or more reflexive forms the following types have been selected: languages in which the two forms are free lexical items but grammaticalized (Mupun [West Chadic]; Gidar [Central Chadic]); languages in which one form is

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a free lexical item and the other is a clitic (Polish); languages in which there are two inflectional codings on the verb and one form that involves a free lexical item (Xdi [Central Chadic]). Given the fact that some languages have several ‘‘reflexive’’ forms, it is to be expected that the functional ranges of the reflexive forms across languages will not overlap completely. The second type, a language in which there is only one reflexive form, is represented by English.

6.–A language with two forms: Polish Polish has two reflexive markers, one that is not sensitive to case, siv and the other, which is case sensitive, siebie (ACC), sobie (DAT), sobu (INSTR). Both of these markers have been traditionally recognized as reflexive in the usually accepted sense of subject acting on object. I propose that the marker siv codes subject affectedness, and does not code subject control. The marker siebie and its related forms code the identity of subject with some other argument. The proposed hypothesis differs from recent treatments of these markers in the literature. Wierzbicka (1996) argues that the constructions with siv in Polish should be considered reflexives because they can be used to express the prototypical meaning of reflexive: (11) Henryk powiesił siv. H. hang:perf:past:3msg refl ‘Henry hanged himself’. (Wierzbicka 1996: 417) Reinders-Machowska (1991) does not include the marker siv, among reflexives (she provides no justification for this exclusion), and instead discusses only siebie and other case-marked forms. Dancygier (1997) postulates that the form siebie represents ‘‘the only ‘true’ reflexive, centrally representing two different semantic roles as both filled by one entity’’ (325). The marker siv, according to her, ‘‘has a role-neutralizing function.’’ (325). Additional evidence that siv does not code coreferentiality is provided by numerous examples in which siv is deployed and yet the agent is different from the patient. In the following fragment the form siv (represented as s´e in the transcription) codes the so-called reflexive verbs ozenic´ siv ‘to take a wife’, klócic´ siv ‘to quarrel’, ostapic´ siv ’to stop doing something’. But it also occurs after the transitive verb otruc´ ‘to poison’, where it represents the point of view of the subject, subject affectedness, rather than subject control. In the following example the event does not involve a suicide but rather a murder. It is presented, however, from the point of view of the intended victim rather than from the point of view of the murderer:

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(12) Za tom smrek’om ozenúw s´e Juzef Stwopa z gdovom. behind that spruce married refl J.S. with widow ‘Behind that spruce J.S. married a widow’. Fc´ogle s´-kwuc´yl’i. Ta xwolera natwukwa sívego kam’en´o always refl-quarrel:past:3pl that bitch pounded blue stone:gen ‘They quarreled all the time. The bitch pounded some blue stone (tako trucizno), dawa mu do l’ipove xarbaty. (a poison) give:3f:past 3msg to linden:adj tea (a poison), put it into his linden tea’. No ji p´ uw. well and drink:3msg:past ‘Well, he was drinking it’. Na dno poz´row, ze jez z´elony kamej, ´ at bottom look:3m:past comp be green stone ‘He looked at the bottom and noticed a green stone there’. ale s´e n´e wosto´puw ji n´e wotruw s´e but refl retreat:3msg:past conj neg poison:3msg:past refl ‘He did not stop drinking, and did not get poisoned’. (Nitsch 1960: 111) If one accepts the hypothesis that siv indicates just the affectedness of the subject, one can not only account for all transitive verbs with the marker siv, but more important, one can also account for all intransitive verbs with the reflexive siv without the need to invoke semantic extensions, secondary functions, or a host of other ad hoc explanations. The speaker and the hearer know the fundamental property of the marker and are interpreting its specific role in the clause in conjunction with other coding means, more specifically the lexical meaning of the verb, and the presence and case marking of other arguments. Here are three examples of transitive verbs with one argument. The point-of-view marker represents the event from the point of view of that argument, which is non-controlling. (13) Ale serce mi siv kraje na mys´l o rozstaniu. but heart 1sg.dat refl cut.freq on thought about separation ‘But my heart hurts when I think about separation’. (14) Urodziłam siv w spalonym mies´cie. give birth:perf:1sg:f refl in burn:passive:loc town:loc ‘I was born in a burnt-out town’. (Polish, Sources) (15) Zobacz, czy woda siv podnosi. see whether water refl rise ‘See whether the water is rising’.

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The point-of-view hypothesis explains the presence of so-called reflexive verbs, i.e. verbs that must always have the marker siv. These verbs inherently represent the point of view of the subject: (16) Sud ostateczny nie odbył siv. judgment last neg happen ref ‘The last judgment did not happen’. The important fact about the marker siv, as indeed about many other grammatical morphemes, is that its deployment is not triggered by some facts of the situation. Rather, speakers, by deploying it, represent the situation the way they want. So even if the verb is transitive and the situation described involves the subject’s control, the marker siv represents the situation from the point of view of what happens to the subject, or how the event affects the subject. This semantic property does not come out in the English translation: (17) Z˙e rozlicza siv z dewiz co do grosza. comp account refl from foreign currency what to penny ‘He gives an account of all foreign currency [he spent] up to the penny’. (18) Mam czekac´, az˙ zramoleje i bvdzie siv pytał, have:1sg wait:inf until become dotty:fut and will refl ask czy to woda, czy atrament, bo mu siv pic´ whether it water or ink because 3m:dat refl drink:inf chce . . . want ‘Am I to wait until he becomes dotty and will ask whether it is water or ink because he wants to drink’ (19) Czy siv sprzedałam w wiecznu niewolv, dlatego, z˙e mi whether refl sell.1sg.f in eternal slavery because comp 1sg:dat dali pieniudze na studia. give money for studies ‘. . . did I sell myself into eternal slavery just because they paid for my school?’ The various case-marked forms derived from siebie code coreferentiality of the subject with another argument. The coreferentiality obligatorily implies the subject’s control: (20) Nie siebie chcv ocalic´, kraj. neg refl want:1sg save country ‘It is not myself that I want to save, it is the country’.

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(21) W kaz˙dym razie nie bvdv jej podsuwał siebie. in any case neg be:fut:1sg 3f:dat push 1sg ‘In any case I am not going to push my own person to her’. (19) Ten chłopak byc´ moz˙e spróbował siebie oskarz˙ac´. dem boy be.inf may try:perf:past:3msg refl accuse:inf ‘That boy might have been trying to accuse himself’. (20) Jak my siebie nazywamy opryszkami, mordercami, zdrajcami, . . . how we refl call:1pl bandits murderers traitors . . . ‘How we call ourselves bandits, murderers, traitors . . ’. (and not ‘our names are bandits, murderers, traitors’) I want to stress that the deployment of the form is not triggered by the situation, the event, or state, but rather by the speaker’s choice of representing the event from the given point of view. Thus the verb nazywac´ ‘call’ can also occur with the form siv, and in this case the meaning is subject oriented: (21) A jak siv nazywa ten doktór, Wisiu. conj how refl call this doctor Wisia ‘And what is the name of this doctor, Wisia?’ The different functions of reflexives are illustrated by the following sentence, where siv codes the point of view of the subject and siebie codes coreferentiality: (22) Nie staram siv nawet tego opisywac´ i w ten sposób ocalic´ neg try refl even that describe:inf and in this way save siebie jako poety. refl as poet ‘I am not even trying to describe it and in this way save myself as a poet’ If the verb has been lexicalized with the marker siv it can cooccur with the marker of coreferentiality: (23) Ba, gdyby-m ja to wiedział, to by-m siv ustrzegł interj if-1sg 1sg that know dem hyp-1sg refl protect:past siebie. refl ‘Ha, had I known that, I would have protected myself against myself’. As noted by Wierzbicka (1996), the form siebie is also used in all cases in which an argument consists of conjoined NPs. This fact is fully explained by the postulated function of siebie, viz. that of encoding coreferentiality of arguments. The form siv cannot be used in conjunctions because it is not anaphoric, i.e., it is not bound by an argument:

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(24) Teraz zastrzelisz mnie i siebie. now shoot:perf:fut:2sg me and refl ‘Now you are going to shoot me and yourself’. (25) . . . to Pan naraził siebie i mnie przez tv idiotycznu maskaradv. . . . dem Sir expose refl and me by this idiotic masquerade ‘it is you who exposed yourself and me through this idiotic masquerade’. (26) Gdybym całe z˙ycie oszukiwała wszystkich i samu if:past whole life lie:1sg:f:past everybody:acc and alone:acc siebie. refl ‘Had I lied all my life to everybody and myself’ (27) Nie drvcz mnie i siebie. neg torture me and refl:acc ‘Do not torture me and yourself’. The form siebie is the only form used in prepositional phrases, which is again consistent with the hypothesis that it is a morpheme encoding coreferentiality with the subject: (28) Wyciugnij przed siebie dłonie. spread:2sg:imper in front refl hands ‘Spread your hands in front of you’. (29) z˙e to ona sama ze siebie wszystko napisała. comp dem 3f alone from refl everything wrote:3f:perf:past ‘that she wrote all of this on her own’ (30) Czemu muszv psuc´ i niszczyc´ wszystko wokół siebie. why must:1sg spoil:inf and destroy:inf everything:acc around refl ‘Why do I have to spoil and destroy everything around me?’ (31) Sam dla siebie jestem usprawiedliwieniem. alone for refl be:pres:1sg excuse:instr ‘I alone am an excuse for myself’. The dative form, sobie, codes indirect affectedness of the subject when the verb is transitive. Indirect affectedness includes, but is not limited to, doing something for or against somebody, giving to or taking away something from somebody: (32) Gos´c´ psuje sobie tylko karierv. Wivc po co. fellow spoil refl:dat only career then prep what ‘The only thing that the fellow ruins is his career. So why bother’.

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With intransitive verbs the dative form codes the event seen from the point of view of the subject. The point of view is the state of the subject rather than the activity of the subject: (33) Pójdzie sobie, to siv wszystko zmieni. go:fut:3sg refl:dat dem refl everything change:fut:3sg ‘Once he is gone, everything will change’. (34) Pomys´lałem sobie ty tez˙, karakon, moz˙esz tak think:perf:past:1sg:m refl:dat you also roach can:2sg so umierac´. die:inf ‘So I told myself: you cockroach, you can also die like that’. (35) Wtedy przypomniałem sobie, dlaczego tam lez˙v. then recall:1sg:perf:past refl why there lie:1sg:pres ‘Then I recalled, why I am lying over there’.

7.–Inflectional coding of the point of view of the subject and lexical coding of coreferentiality Xdi (Central Chadic language spoken in the Extreme North Province of Cameroon) is a VSO language. The object is marked by the preposition tá. The semantic role of the subject is marked by a system of tonal alternations and vocalic extensions. There is a suffix ú that represents the point of view of the subject and is neutral with respect to subject control, which means that the marker does not excludes subject control (for a related morpheme in Hausa cf. Jaggar 1988). This suffix does not code coreferentiality of the subject with another argument, nor does it code the reciprocal. An additional semantic characteristic of the marker ú is the complete affectedness of the subject (although ú has high tone, when it replaces the preceding syllable, it assumes the tone of the latter; hence the variation between high and low tones in transcription): (36) D-ù-dá várà. cook-aff-cook bean dish ‘The bean dish cooked well’. Cf. Dà-dá mbítsà. cook-cook Mbitsa ‘Mbitsa cooked’.

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(37) Drá-drà. burn-burn ‘He burned it’. Cf. Dr-ú-drà burn-aff-burn ‘It burned completely’. (38) âlá-âlà tá xyà. break-break obj guinea corn ‘He broke a stalk of guinea corn’. Cf. âl-ú-âlá xyà. break-aff-break guinea corn ‘The guinea corn broke’. An interesting fact about the marker ú is that it does not rule out subject control. If the verb has an object, the extension ú indicates that the event is done for the benefit of the subject. This form corresponds to the Polish dative reflexive sobie: (39) Ts-ú-tsà tá xyá. cut-aff-cut obj corn ‘He cut the corn for himself’. Cf. Tsá-tsà tá xyá rà. cut-cut obj corn q ‘Did he cut the corn?’ The extension ú is obligatory with the verbs zá ‘eat’ and sà ‘drink’ in the perfective aspect. The activities of drinking and eating in the perfective must be represented from the point of view of the subject: (40) Z-ú-z-à tá äàfá-nì. eat-aff-eat-3sg obj food-3sg ‘He ate his food’. (41) S-ù-s-à tá γzù. drink-aff-drink-3sg obj beer ‘He drank beer’. Xdi has another marker, vá, whose function is also to represent the event from the point of view of the subject. When this form, glossed applicative, occurs with a transitive verb, it means that the subject benefited from the event: (42) Zlγà-vá-zlγ-í tá nìslá-nì. take-appl-take-1sg obj gift-3sg ‘I took his gift’. (for myself)

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Cf. Zlγá-γá-f-zlγ-í tá nìslá-γà take-2sg-take-1sg obj gift-3sg ‘I took your gift for you’ With verbs zá ‘eat’ and sà ’drink’ the extension codes selfish eating and drinking: Zá-vá-zà tá äáfà. eat-appl-eat obj food ‘He ate all the food’. b. Sà-vá-s-íyù tá γùzú. drink-appl-drink-1sg obj home brew ‘I drank all the beer’.

(43) a.

When deployed with intransitive verbs, the applicative marker codes a limitation of the event to subject only, or to a certain time or effort: (44) Ndzdá-vá-tà zíngà tà nγə-tsì ´ tà sá-sà gwìyán. spend time-appl-prf Zinga prep see-3sg impf come-come elephant ‘After Zinga has spent some time [working], he sees Elephant coming’. (45) âlà-vá-p-âlà. break-appl-out-break ‘This thing broke into two’. Cf. âl-ú-âlà. break-aff-break ‘It broke’. The coreferentiality of the subject with another argument and the reciprocal function are coded through the use of the word ‘‘body,’’ with or without possessive pronouns, as the object of the verb: (46) Mbá-f-mbà tá vγá-nì. recover-up-recover obj body-3sg ‘He cured himself’. Cf. Mbá-f-mbà recover-up-recover ‘He recovered’. The existence of the semantic domain of affectedness of subject is justified by the fact that subjects of transitive verbs and of many intransitive verbs in nominativeaccusative languages are inherently not affected, hence, the emergence in language of the form encoding the affectedness of the subject.

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8.–Unmarked point of view and marked coreferentiality: Gidar Gidar (Central Chadic) is SVO. The aspectual markers are suffixed to the verb. If there is a causative marker or a dative phrase, it is added before the aspectual marker. Data from Gidar are interesting in that they demonstrate interaction between inherent properties of verbs and several means for the coding of semantic roles of the subject. Three classes of verbs, each characterized by different morphological and syntacic properties, are discussed: intransitive verbs with controlling and affected subject; intransitive verbs with non-controlling and affected subject; and transitive verbs with controlling and unaffected subject. 8.1.–Intransitive verbs with controlling and affected subject Some verbs have a controlling and affected subject, and therefore they do not require any additional markers for the coding of affectedness of the subject (data are presented in a broad phonetic transcription to preserve effects of vowel harmony rules): (47) Ò-kò-kò. 3-save-perf ‘He saved himself’. Ò-kò-hón-kò. 3-save-pl-perf ‘They saved themselves’. The only means to transitivize these verbs is through the use of the causative structure with the marker gə`. In such constructions, the subject is controlling but is not affected, and instead the additional argument is the one that is affected: (48) Ò-kò-g-wə-kà. ´ 3–save-caus-1sg-perf ‘He saved me’. Ò-kò-gì-tí-n-kè. 3–save-caus-3pl-pl-perf ‘They saved them’. (49) Mésèkè sèrwéä èâèé-k əsà ´ ínkílè. giraffe climbing bent-perf drink:inf water ‘Giraffe bent down to drink water’

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Nì-âèé-gì-ní-kè. 1sg-bend-caus-3m-perf ‘I made him bend’ The importance of the inherent properties of these verbs in Gidar is that in other languages, e.g., Polish, Russian, French, Spanish, English, the equivalents of these verbs require the marker of affectedness of the subject: (50) Uratował siv. save:3m:sg:past:perf refl ‘He saved himself’. 8.2.–Intransitive verbs with affected inanimate object There is a class of verbs whose sole argument is non-controlling and affected. The verbs in this class do not require any marker of the affectedness of the subject when they occur with one argument. This class includes verbs corresponding to ‘break’, ‘crack’, and ‘finish.’ In Polish, Russian, and Spanish these verbs do require a middle (reflexive) marker: (51) Màsərgà ´ à-ngròf-kò. pot 3m-break-perf ‘The pot broke’. These verbs may be used in transitive constructions but only if an object-coding marker, schwa, which assimilates to the preceding vowel, is added to the verb. In such constructions, the affected argument occurs after the verb and the controlling argument before the verb: (52) À-ngròf-ú-k màsərgà. ´ 3m-break-3–perf pot ‘He broke a pot’. *À-ngròf-kò màsə´rgà. 3m-break-perf pot for ‘he broke a pot’ (53) γlèngé à-nγə´l-kà. stick 3m-break-perf ‘The stick broke’. À-nγl-ù-wə´k γlèngé. 3m-break-3-perf stick ‘He broke a walking stick’.

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(54) Glà à-mpár-kà. house 3m-crack-perf ‘The house cracked’. Bùwə´n à-mpàr-ə´-k glà. rain 3m-crack-3–perf house ‘The rain has cracked the house’. (55) Glà à-âə´hl-kà. house 3m-collapse-perf ‘A house fell down’. Cf. À-âhl-ú-kà. 3m-collapse-3–perf ‘He made it fall down’. (56) Á-grák-kà. 3m-finish-perf ‘It finished’. Á-gràk-tə`-kà. 3m-finish-3f-perf ‘He finished it’. (small thing) 8.3.–Coreferentiality coding in Gidar Coreferentiality of subject and object in Gidar is coded by the form zə´ ‘body’: (57) Ndé à-sə´ nklè à-ndə`k-ə´-k zə´-n á mbá hóyónkò when 3m-drink water 3m-bury-3m-perf body-3m prep under sand sí mbə´gə`n n` kə´nə´-n tə´rré. except (Fula) leave nose black ‘When he drank, he buried himself under the sand, except for his black nose’. (58) À-nzàäə´-k zə´-n də´ và-ní. 3m-cure-perf body-3m assoc hand-3m ‘He cured himself’. (lit.‘he cured himself by his own hand’) Tə`-nzàäə´-k zə´-t də´ và-tá. 3f-cure-perf body-3m assc hand-3m ‘She cured herself’. Coreference between subject and beneficiary is coded by the preposition kà:

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(59) À-lbàhə´-k wàhlí kà ná-nì. 3m-buy-perf cow prep gen-3m ‘He bought a cow for himself’. Nə`-lbàhə´-k wáhlí kà ná-wà. 1sg-buy-perf cow prep gen-1sg ‘I bought a cow for myself’. The coreferentiality of subject and dative involves the use of the possessive construction with the preposition ná (the vowel may assimilate to the vowel of the next syllable): (60) À-lbà zə`m nó-kò. imper-buy food gen-2m ‘Buy yourself some food’. If the dative argument is other than the subject, i.e. if the dative has disjoint reference, it must be coded by the preposition sə`: (61) À-lbà sə`-n ə´zə´mà. imper-buy dat-3m food ‘Buy him some food’.

9.–A language with three coding means: Mina Mina (Central Chadic) has three coding means in the domain of the semantic role of subject. One form codes the affectedness of the subject and is neutral with respect to subject control. Another form codes the affectedness of the subject with verbs of movement, and the third form codes coreferentiality of agent and patient. 9.1.–Affectedness of subject The affectedness of subject with unmarked feature control is coded by the noun tàláÎ ‘head’ followed by possessive pronouns: (62) Íi zá bákà sí há nkə´ də´ tàláÎ tùkóÎ. they comp today 2sg fut cook head 2sg ‘They said, today you will cook yourself’. (63) Hìd-íi wà táÎ á kə` də` tàláÎ ngə`n zá. man-pl dem return 3sg perf cook head 3sg be ‘Those people came, she cooked herself’.

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The evidence that the subject control is not necessarily involved when tàláÎ ‘head’ is used is provided by a clause where the meaning of the verb rules out subject control: (64) Sə` lím á zə`m hlí r ì tàláÎ wàÎ. 1sg see 3sg eat meat prog at head sleep ‘I saw him chewing meat asleep’. (65) Kásə´mà á dzə` dríf ì tàláÎ âás. Kasima 3sg sing song prep head laugh ‘Kasima sings laughing’. (66) Á wàÎ r-ì tàláÎ ndà. 3g sleep prog-at head walk ‘He is sleepwalking’. (67) Í wàÎ r-ì tàláÎ ndà. 3pl sleep prog-at head walk ‘They are sleepwalking’. 9.2.–Affectedness of the subject with verbs of movement Like many other Chadic languages, Mina has a construction whereby possessive pronouns follow certain intransitive verbs. These pronouns, referred to as intransitive copy pronouns (ICPs) in Chadic literature (Frajzyngier 1977 and references there), can only follow verbs in which the subject is undergoing movement. The following examples illustrate the deployment of ICPs with various verbs of movement: (68) Í-tsù tə`tàÎ á wtə´ tə`tàÎ. 3pl-go 3pl prep village 3pl ‘They went home’. (69) Ábə` ndá ngə´n wúutà. assoc go 3sg village ‘She returned home’. (70) ZàvàÎ-íi íbə` fìr tə`táÎ. guinea fowl-pl assoc fly 3pl ‘Guinea fowl flew away’. (71) Káyéfì íbə` ndá tə`táÎ. strange (Fula) assoc:pl go 3pl ‘Never seen before, they left [the room]’.

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(72) Wàl ná kà báf ngə´n. wife def jump 3sg ‘The woman got out’. (73) Èe hìdí wá bú yáÎ tə`t á mácì. [hesitation] people dem as for move 3pl prep there ‘Those people moved over there’. (i.e. the woman with the family) (74) Séy mə` tábù ábə` sí ngə´n. except last born assoc flee 3sg ‘Except the last born: he fled’. (75) Séy nástə` ngə´n tsákà pàríi. the enter (Fula) 3sg inside (Fula) others ‘He entered among others’. The function of possessive pronouns following the intransitive verbs in Mina (but not in other Chadic languages) is to code permanent displacement of the subject, hence its affectedness. The evidence for this function is provided by sentences that do not imply the end of the event. In such sentences the possessive pronouns may not be used after a verb of movement: (76) Í-tsù á wtə´ tə`tàÎ tə`tàÎ mì? í nkí zìnè há. 3pl-go prep village 3pl 3pl but 3pl inf return vent ‘They went home but they will return’. The verbs that inherently code permanent displacement do not allow the use of ICPs, because such a use will be tautological. One of these verbs is tsù ‘departed’: (77)*í-tsù tə`tàÎ á wtə´ tə`tàÎ tə`tàÎ mìä í nkí zìnè há. 3pl-go 3pl prep village 3pl 3pl but 3pl inf return vent for ‘They went home but they will return’. Compare also the following two sentences in the stative construction, where the ICP adds the meaning of finality: (78) Mə` ndá-i ngə´Î á márbàk zà. rel return-stat 3sg prep marbak be ‘He returned from Marbak’. (79) Mə` ndá-i màrbák zà. rel return-stat marbak be ‘He came from Marbak and he may return’. The proposed function of the ICPs in Mina can explain the ungrammaticality of the following example:

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(80)*Sə`-ndá náÎ á-wtə´ tù-kóÎ. 1sg-go 1sg(icp) prep-village gen-2sg for ‘I returned to your place’. The previous sentence is ungrammatical because it is inconceivable to be permanently at somebody else’s place. The sentences in which somebody returns to his own place are perfectly grammatical, as evidenced by many previous sentences and the following: (81) Há-ndə` tù-kóÎ. 2sg-go 2sg-icp ‘You returned’. The importance of the ICP pronouns in Mina is that although they code the features of person and number (there is no grammatical gender in Mina), they are not anaphoric. The use of ICPs in Mina parallels the use of reflexive pronouns with intransitive verbs in Polish, Spanish, and French, where the reflexive pronouns also imply the affectedness of the subject and finality: (82) Vaya te. ‘Go!’ (Spanish) (83) Idz´ sobie. Go refl:dat ‘Go’. (Polish) Neither the Spanish nor the Polish example can be followed by a clause meaning something like ‘but return fast’. 9.3.–Coreferentiality with subject Coreferentiality of arguments (and the accompanying control) is marked through the deployment of the word ksə`m ‘body’ followed by possessive pronouns: (84) Áw wá ngwáy wál nə` nd-íd ksə`m ngə´n vàngáy. interj people wife 1sg go cook body 3sg how ‘The man screamed, how did my wife cook herself?’.

10.–A language with two coding means: Mupun (West Chadic) Mupun is a VSO language. Like other Chadic languages it has no morphological case marking. The importance of data in Mupun is that all forms in the domains

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discussed in this paper code phi-features, viz. the person, gender, and number of the subject. The affectedness of the subject with the unmarked value for feature control is coded by the structure mbi ‘thing’ + possessive pronoun: (85) Wa dəm ta mber n-university. 3f go fall 3f:refl prep-university ‘She went and found herself at a university’. (86) War mber do kəsə vit sə-yi. 3f 3f:refl past like that adv ‘She has been like that very much’. The coreferentiality of subject and another argument, hence affectedness and control, is coded by the morpheme s + person marker: (87) Wu paa s-in si gwado. 3m cover refl-3m prep blanket (H.) ‘He covered himself with a blanket’. Cf. (88) Wu paa si gwado. 3m cover prep blanket ‘He covered [it] with a blanket’. (89) Kə n-paa wur si gwado. perf 1sg-cover 3m prep blanket ‘I covered him with a blanket’. The importance of the data from languages with multiple coding means is that the function of each form can be understood only in comparison to the other forms in the same domain. The different analyses of the forms zich in Dutch and sich in German (cf. controversy between Reuland and König and Siemund, this volume) are easily resolved if one realizes that the Dutch zich is a member of a two-marker system, whereas the German sich is the only member of the coding system in German. Hence these forms must have different functions in their languages.

11.–A language with only one reflexive form If a language has only one reflexive form, one should not expect functional differentiation of the type available in languages with two forms. It is very likely that such a form will code both subject orientation and coreferentiality. Whether the subject has control over the event is not grammatically marked. Zribi-Hertz (1989) has

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demonstrated the importance of the point of view for the analysis of reflexives in English. Her conclusions are fully supported by the data we found, but they need to be supplemented with respect to coreferentiality coding. 11.1.–Subject affectedness The following examples all illustrate subject affectedness rather than coreferentiality of two arguments. Although in all of them one conceivably could replace the form with ‘self’ by another noun, there will be a serious difference in semantic interpretation, going beyond the properties of the replacement noun. Each of the natural speech examples is followed by a made-up example with a substitute noun: (90) The cubs have eaten themselves to a standstill. (Wild Planet, May 3, 1997) (91) ?The cubs have eaten meat/gazelle to a standstill. (92) 1_6_0 <780 A> yoùd ^just en''!j\oyed your’self#—(spoken data from London-Lund Corpus with references to the text, intonation, and other prosodic markers included) Cf. (93) ?You had just enjoyed Peter/concert/the race (94) 1_9_0 <562 A> he was^sitting in a :c\/orner# 1_9_0 <563 A> ^y\es# 1_9_0 <564 A> and [@m] . you^kn/ow# 1_9_0 <565 A> ^came up and 'intro!d\/uced him’self# Cf. (95) ?He was just sitting in the corner and, you know, came up and introduced Mary. (96) 1_3_0 <719 A> and I^found myself !l\ooking# 1_3_0 <720 A> into^this—!grey mou:stached f\ace# (97) ?And I found Peter/Mary looking into this grey moustached face The original sentences describe the situation from the point of view of the subject or the state of the subject. The made-up sentences are all transitive constructions with different meanings of the verb (if grammatical) and most often nonsensical: (98) 1_4_0 <1163 A> it was^so ''\/interesting# . 1_4_0 <1164 A> to ‘‘^d\/o# 1_4_0 <1165 A> [@:] ^that I would have !liked to have [@] :spr\ead/ my’self#

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Cf. (99) ?It was so interesting to do that I would have liked to have spread sand/butter/the dog (100) 4_4_0 <1511 A> but he ^drew himself /up# 4_4_0 <1512 A> and ^gave the :half sal/ute# (101) ?But he drew Peter up and gave the half salute (102) 5_1_0 <162 jl> and ^there he w/as# 5_1_0 <163 jl> ^like :so many [a @ e] . :nearly all the r/est of us# . ¦5_1_0 <164 jl> ^finding himself in the l/imelight# ¦5_1_0 <165 jl> [n . @ @] and ^l/iking it# . (103) ?But there he was, like so many, nearly the rest of us, finding Peter in the limelight and liking it (104) ¦1_6_0 <687 A>^he‘ll burn ‘him’self !\out# 1_6_0 <688 A> if he^goes on at th/is ‘rate#—. (105) ?He will burn his neighbour out if he goes on at this rate The subject-affectedness function of the form ‘‘self’’ is evidenced by the different meaning of the adverb ‘‘on his own.’’ With the form ‘‘self’’ the adverb ‘‘on his own’’ codes the state of the subject; with a nominal object it is a manner adverb: (106) 5_10_0 <9 a> and then^suddenly ‘finds himself :on his /own# (107) ?And then suddenly finds Peter/the dog on his own Additional evidence for the point of view of the subject function of ‘‘self’’ is provided by its use with prepositional phrases. With some verbs, e.g., with the verb ‘‘to think,’’ the form ‘‘self’’ cannot be replaced by a noun in the prepositional phrase: (108) 1_7_0 <891 A> the [b]—ah I^th\ought to myself# 1_7_0 <892 A> I‘ll^n\ever see ‘one of ‘those ag/ain#. (109) ?And I thought to him/Peter I will never see one of those again There are sentences in which a form with ‘‘self’’ can be construed as coding either coreferentiality or affectedness of the subject, which is to be expected given the two functions of the form: (110) 10_3_0 <324 a> and^almost !swings himself ‘off !b\alance# (111) ¦1_1_0 <362 B> you can^put yourself in a :sp\ot# (112) 2_12_0 <214 (A> *^cos he nearly* :killed himself :l\/ast time she ’did# .

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(113) 10_4_3 <713 a>^cut himself ‘‘!!so b\/adly# (114) 3_5_2 <1098 a> ((well)) there‘s another play in which . [@:] a character . describes himself as a devil . (115) 5_11_1 <260 B> he‘s^going to com!m\/it himself# (116) 10_3_0 <726 d>^and . !give himself a ‘chance to :sc\/ore# (117) 1_1_0 <811 A>^I I^don‘t I^don‘t ‘‘f\ind my_self# 1_1_0 <812 A>^getting .^getting as as as !\irritated# (LLC) 11.2.–Coreferentiality coding in English There is a large class of verbs in English (verbs of grooming, as per Kemmer (1993) that do not require a reflexive marker if the subject undergoes grooming. Thus, unlike in Spanish, French, or Polish, the verbs ‘‘shave’’ and ‘‘wash’’ occur without reflexive markers. But if a verb is such that it inherently is object oriented, the coreferentiality of subject and object must be coded by a reflexive pronoun with ‘‘self’’: Subject and object: (118) 1_7_0 <980 A>^I could !sh\oot my’self# . Subject and beneficiary: (119) 1_4_0 <856 B>^I must al!low my’self ((the)) :good t/ime# 1_5_0 <632 B>^well—^he ‘ought to ‘make him’self a !t\ime’table# Subject and locative: (120) 1_9_0 <425 A>^just be’cause he . he‘s^sort of ‘gone with:dr\awn/ into *him’self ‘rather ag/ain#* Object and some other argument: (121) They have to protect citizensi from themselvesi. (‘‘Talk Back Live,’’ 29 Apr. 1997) Thus English represents a language with only one reflexive form, but the functions of this form include both subject orientation and coreferentiality. The functional load of the English reflexive, however, is not a sum of the two functions because it is deployed in the coding of coreferentiality only if the inherent properties of the verb are such that it must be oriented toward the goal. This difference between English and Polish is responsible for the phenomenon that I was able to observe

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among bilingual English and Polish children with English as the primary language. These children consistently use Polish reflexive verbs and transitive verbs with an affected subject without the reflexive marker. While using Polish they apply the English grammatical pattern with respect to reflexive pronouns. The evidence that English ‘‘self’’ and Polish siv have different functions is provided by the frequency of both markers. English ‘‘self’’ occurs 1,437 times in the Brown Corpus, which contains one million words.3 The form sie occurred 9,302 times in a half-millionword corpus of written Polish. Hence the Polish reflexive marker occurred almost twelve times as often as the English reflexive marker. On the other hand, the Polish form siebie (with its variants in all inflectional cases) occurred 1,139 times in the corpus of half a milion words. Considering the fact that English pronouns with ‘‘self’’ perform the function of intensifiers, and Polish siebie does not, or at least not by itself, the frequency of English self is comparable to the frequency of of Polish siebie. The interesting thing about languages with only one morphological means in the domain of reflexives is that the functions for which this means is deployed are not predictable. Thus English ‘‘self’’-forms have a different range of functions from the German sich, which is also the only marker in the domain of reflexives (cf. Abraham and König and Siemund, this volume).

12.–Conclusions Many languages have several types of forms referred to as ‘‘reflexive.’’ In addition to the obvious question about the functions of different reflexive forms, their existence poses an additional question for a cross-linguistic definition of the category. The identification of the object of the study and the questions asked depend very much on the linguist’s chosen theory and formalism. Within the approach that takes the separate reflexive forms as a type of referring expression, an anaphor, the most important issue has been to determine the binding conditions for these forms. The present paper aims to apply the system-interactional approach to reflexive forms, whereby these forms are analyzed in relation to other coding means available in the respective language. I have shown that the number and types of functions depend on the number of coding means available and on the inherent properties of verbs. Even if verbs describe the same physical activity, their inherent semantic properties may differ significantly across languages. These semantic properties in turn affect the verbs’ syntactic and morphological properties. With respect to grammatical coding means, if a language has three forms available, one form codes affectedness of the subject of the verb of movement; the second, affectedness of the subject of other verbs; and the third, coreferentiality of arguments. If a language has

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two forms, one form codes affectedness of the subject and other form coreferentiality. If a language has only one form, it codes both affectedness of the subject and coreferentiality, but the functional domains may significantly differ among languages. One cannot predict which function is coded by which coding means.

Acknowledgements The work on this paper was supported by the NSF Grant ’’Description of four Chadic languages.’’ Data on Mupun, Xdi, Gidar, Lele were collected over the period of many years through research supported at various times by the University of Colorado, the National Endowment for the Humanities, American Philosophical Society, Fulbright-Hays grant for Faculty Research Abroad, and the National Science Foundation. When no sources are given, the data come from my own field notes. Examples from Polish, when no source is given, are from sources for Kurcz et al. (1990). Grammaticality judgments in Polish are mine.

Notes 1. Some of these functions overlap with functions subsumed under the term ‘‘middle’’ in Kemmer (1993). 2. Because of the lack of space, and given the focus of the present paper I shall not defend here the analysis of some preverbs as coding the point of view of the source and goal other than by giving examples. 3. I am grateful to Michelle Gregory, who ran the string ‘‘self’’ on the Brown Corpus for me.

Abbreviations acc adj adv aff appl assoc caus com conj dat def dem f

accusative adjective adverb affected applicative associative causative comment marker conjunction dative definite demonstrative feminine

freq fut gen hyp icp impf indic inf instr interj loc m neg

frequentative future genitive hypothetical intransitive copy pronoun imperfective indicative infinitive instrumental interjection locative masculine negative

domains of point of view and coreferentiality obj out past perf pl prf

object movement out past tense perfective plural perfective

rel sg stat up vent

151

relative singular stative extension encoding movement upwards ventive

References Dancygier, Barbara. 1997. ‘‘Reflexive markers in Polish: Participants, metaphors, and constructions’’. In Marjolijn Verspoor, Kee Dong Lee and Eve Sweetser (eds), Lexical and Syntactical Constructions and the Construction of Meaning. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Faltz, Leonard M. 1985. Refl xivization. A study in Universal Syntax. New York: Garland. Frajzyngier, Zygmunt. 1977. ‘‘On the intransitive copy pronouns in Chadic’’. Studies in African Linguistics. Supplement 7: 73–84. —— 1978. ‘‘An anlysis of BE passive’’. Lingua 46, 133–56. —— and Jan Mycielski. 1998. ‘‘On some fundamental problems of mathematical linguistics’’. In Carlos Marin-Vide (ed.), Papers from the III Congress of Mathematical Linguistics. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 295–310. Givón, Talmy. 1990. Syntax. A functional-typological introduction. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Jaggar, Philip J. 1988. ‘‘Affected-subject (‘Grade7’) verbs in Hausa: What are they and where do they come from?’’ In Masayoshi Shibatani (ed.), Passive and Voice. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kemmer, Suzanne. 1993. The Middle Voice [Typological Studies in Language 23]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Koster, Jan, and Eric Reuland, (eds). 1991. Long-Distance Anaphora. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kurcz, Ida, Andrzej Lewicki, Jadwiga Sambor, Krzysztof Szafran, and Jerzy Woronczak. 1990. Słownik Frekwencyjny Polszczyzny Wspólczesnej. Kraków: Polska Akademia Nauk, Instytut Jezyka Polskiego. Lichtenberk, Frantisek. 1994. ‘‘Reflexives and reciprocals’’. In Asher and Simpson (eds), The Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics, vol. 7. Oxford: Pergamon Press, 3504–9. Nitsch, Kazimierz. 1960. Wybór Polskich Tekstów Gwarowych. 2nd ed. Warsaw: Pan´stwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe. Reinders-Machowska, Ewa. 1991. ‘‘Binding in Polish’’. In Koster and Reuland (eds), 137–50. Reinhart, Tanya, and Eric Reuland. 1991. ‘‘Anaphors and logophors: an argument structure perspective’’. In Koster and Reuland (eds), 283–321.

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Wierzbicka, Anna. 1996. Semantics: Primes and Universals. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zribi-Hertz, Anne. 1989. ‘‘Anaphor binding and narrative point of view: English reflexives pronouns in sentence and discourse’’. Language 65: 695–727.

Conceptual distance and transitivity increase in Spanish reflexives RICARDO MALDONADO Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México and Universidad Autónoma de Querétaro

1.–The problem Although impersonal, passive-like and true reflexive constructions in Romance have been analyzed from a variety of perspectives with different degrees of success, the study of the wide variety of remaining reflexively-marked constructions is undoubtedly under represented in linguistic analysis. One important set of constructions not completely analyzed in current approaches are middle indirect constructions, i.e. se1 marked, nonreflexive transitive constructions. The lack of distinction between reflexive and middle constructions in current approaches and the almost exclusive consideration of examples like (1) give the misleading image that this construction type is restricted to cases in which the use of the clitic se in Spanish can only impose a completive interpretation (Strozer 1976; Arce 1989; Nishida 1994), which is to be derived in various ways from a indirect reflexive clitic. Completives are constructions in which the se marker highlights the maximal exploitation of the object by the clausal subject. Problematic for these accounts is the existence of constructions exemplified in (2) where the reading is not completive: (1) Adrián se leía el periódico de una sentada. ‘Adrian would read the paper in one sitting’. (2) Tongolele se bailó una rumba inolvidable. ‘Tongolele danced an unforgettable rumba’. Examples like (2) have been analyzed as full involvement constructions (Maldonado 1992) where se marks a maximal degree of subject participation in the execution of the action designated by the verb. That the subject’s involvement is

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maximal can be clearly seen from the fact that using adverbials like sin mayor interés ‘Without much interest’ render an ungrammatical output: (3) *Tongolele se bailó una rumba sin mayor interés. ‘Tongolele danced a rumba without much interest’. Not only have reflexively marked transitives been reduced to completives in previous analyses, they also have been seen as exceptional cases to be marked in the lexicon to compose a list of verbs which will be ‘inserted in the syntax’ to obtain the desired construction (Nishida 1994). While the mechanism itself may produce the correct output, the general view of the phenomenon is too narrow. It fails to explain how full involvement constructions develop, how they relate to completives, how other meanings can be found in reflexively-marked transitive constructions, or what the syntactic/semantic conditions are for so called ‘reflexive markers’ to interact with transitive constructions. This approach is, in sum, too limited to capture important generalizations regarding the structure of reflexively-marked transitive constructions in general. While Maldonado’s (1992) account of full involvement constructions as evolving from completives may be correct, it is again too limited to show how the whole system is organized. One obvious limitation of the approach is that the use of se is not limited to two meanings but in fact, as can be seen in (4), it corresponds to at least four closely-related construction types: Adrián se puso el sombrero. ‘Adrián put on the hat’. b. Adrián se consiguió un empleo maravilloso. ‘Adrian got a marvelous job’. c. Adrián se leía el periódico de una sentada. ‘Adrian used to read the paper in one sitting’. d. Tongolele se bailó una rumba inolvidable. ‘Tongolele danced an unforgettable rumba’.

(4) a.

Location Benefactive Completive (Nishida se q) Full involvement

In the case of grooming activities (4a), the clitic se highlights the location of the body part that the subject interacts with. Yet the se marker may also impose a benefactive as well as a completive and a full involvement interpretation. One of the goals of this paper is to establish the conditions under which these readings are obtained. A common strategy in current approaches to the multiplicity of functions of reflexively marked constructions is to propose the existence of a variety of se markers. While some distinctions may be insightful,2 others (spurious se, illogical se) only reflect the complexity of the problem, while others se+ (a semipassive,

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Campos 1989), seq (a quantified event Nishida 1994), may reflect the internal needs of a specific theory to account for certain facts about a language. The conclusion to be drawn from the multiplication of se forms is that there may be a wild polysemy which we should limit ourselves to list as idiosyncratic. This terminological ramification is shared not only by traditional linguists but also by current functional and formal approaches. While polysemy exists, I will defend the claim that all the meanings to be found correspond to the same basic pattern which in turn highlights specific semantic properties of the verb type marked by se. In this paper I will reject the idea that in all the readings found in (4) there are different types of se forms. I will in fact claim that there are two basic schemata underlying the behavior of the clitic se with transitive constructions: a reflexive and a middle se. I will suggest that the latter highlights the core semantic properties of the verb with which it combines to derive a variety of intensified readings. The paper is organized as follows. In Section 2 some basic notions of Cognitive Grammar and of the contrast between reflexives and middles are presented. In Section 3, the general claim in which se implies a transitivity decrease is rejected with arguments that support an interpretation of transitivity increase. In Section 4, the status of se as an aspectual marker is rejected to propose a general schema of se as a morpheme that focuses on the pivotal moment of change that thus intensifies the core meaning of the event. Section 5 is devoted to analyze benefactive constructions; Section 6 addresses the issue of completives, Section 7 accounts for full involvement constructions, and Section 7.1 extends the analysis to transitive constructions with effected objects. In the conclusion, I show how the basic pattern sketched in i–iii accounts for all the data and gives a general framework to capture the internal basic configuration of reflexively-marked transitive constructions.

2.–Basic Notions In order to defend a general middle schema of se with transitive constructions, some basic notions must be introduced. I will address in two separate sections some basic principles of the framework leading to the analysis and the fundamental distinction between reflexive and middle constructions. 2.1.–Cognitive Grammar Throughout this paper I will make efforts for the analysis to be understood in a theortically neutral manner. In order to facilitate the reading, however, some aspects of the philosophy of Cognitive Grammar need to be introduced. The grammar of a language can be characterized as a structured inventory of conventional linguistic

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units whose degree of automatization depends on how entrenched they are in the cognitive organization of a specific language. A pivotal claim of cognitive grammar is that ‘‘linguistic expressions and grammatical constructions embody conventional imagery, which constitutes an essential aspect of their semantic value. In choosing a particular expression or construction, a speaker construes the conceived situation in a certain way, i.e.. He selects a particular image (from a range of alternatives) to structure its conceptual content for expressive purposes’’ (Langacker 1988:7). Alternative constructions therefore impose contrasting images of the conceived situation. The meaning of an expression includes both the knowledge system it evokes when the expression is activated (the various cognitive domains), as well as the particular construal the conceptualizer imposes on a scene. One particular dimension of construal concerns the conceptualizer’s ability to impose a profile on a base, which derives the semantic value of a linguistic expression. The base consists of those facets of cognitive domains that are directly relevant to the expression, hence necessarily accessed when the expression is used. The profile is a subregion within the base. It is that subregion that the expression designates and thus makes prominent within the base. In a specific sentence, the profile imposed on the base is a consequence of the particular way in which the conceptualizer construes the scene, and not an inherent property of the scene. According to the nature of their profile, the entities designated by linguistic expressions provide a semantic characterization as grammatical categories. They are divided into things and relations. Things ‘‘represent a region in some domain’’ (Langacker 1987a: 189), regions are being defined as a set of interconnected entities. ‘‘Relations profile the interconnections between two or more conceived entities’’ Langacker (1987b: 198). Among the salient participants in a relation is the trajector which stands out as the primary figure within the profiled relationship and is construed as the element being located, evaluated, or described. At the clausal level the trajector is often recognized as the subject of the clause. The second most prominent participant in the clause is the landmark and it is commonly equated with the direct object. The indirect object is thus defined as a secondary landmark which occupies a third degree of prominence in the clause. A prototypical transitive construction is characterized as an action chain where the subject transfers some energy to the object participant inducing some change of state or location in it. In ditransitive constructions, the energy transmission involves relocating, in a concrete or an abstract manner, some object from the dominion of the subject participant to that of the receiver. From Langacker (1991) I take the notion of dominion as the virtual area in which some participant has mental or physical access to manipulate, control or have mental contact with a set of objects located within it. In a possessive relationship, for example, the object is possessed as long as it remains within the possessor’s concrete or abstract dominion. In most

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Dominion

S

IO

DO S

Figure 1. Direct object

DO

Figure 2. Indirect object

ditransitive constructions the object ends in the indirect object’s dominion. The following are mnemonic representations of these constructions. To simplify the diagrams I only display the dominion of non-subject participants (see Figures 1 and 2; Circle = participant; Big oval = participant’s dominion; Wide arrow= energy transmission; Narrow arrow= object change of state or location; Dotted arrow= experiencer’s mental contact with object; Dotted arc= same participant. A grammatical construction is a composite structure which specifies how two or more component expressions can be integrated to form a unit of greater complexity. Grammatical marking is seen as determined by cognitive strategies that impose the degree of prominence of different components of the event. Prominence is said to respond to the specific communicative needs of the conceptualizer to communicate specific messages in particular contexts. 2.2.–Refl xive and Middle Constructions There is a basic contrast between reflexive and middle se. Reflexives correspond to cases where the subject and the coreferential (in)direct object can be differentiated in the event although they make reference to the same entity in the real world. Cases of split representation of the participant like those involving mental spaces (Fauconnier 1985) are evident reflexive examples. On the other hand, middles involve a low degree of separateness among participants and consequently a low degree of event elaboration (Kemmer 1992; Maldonado 1992). The following examples illustrate the contrast: Se imaginó bailando con Tongolele. ‘He imagined himself dancing with Tongolele’. b. Se imagina que Tongolele irá a la fiesta ‘He thinks that Tongolele will go to the party’.

(5) a.

Reflexive Middle

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In (5a) the participant’s self-image in a scene dancing with Tongolele takes place in a mental space which differs from the speech event. The subject of imagine is distinguished from the subject of dance. In contrast the clitic se in (5b) simply marks some mental image of Tongolele in a scene in which the conceptualizer is not present at all; there is thus no split self-representation. As can be seen in (6), the indirect reflexive clitic se in (6b) corresponds to the indirect object clitic le of (6a) while the middle se marker in (6c) has no argumental counterpart: (6) a.

Alcira le enviaba cartas a su amor platónico. ‘Alcira used to send letters to her platonic love’. b. Era tal su soledad que Alcira se enviaba cartas a sí misma. ‘Alcira’s loneliness was such that she would send letters to herself’. c. Alcira se conoce cada lugar. ‘Alcira knows some (great) places’.

The contrast between indirect, indirect reflexive, and indirect middle constructions is illustrated in Figures 3, 4, and 5 (circle = participant, big oval = participant’s dominion, wide arrow= subject’s action, narrow arrow= object change of location, dotted arrow=experiencer’s mental contact with object, dotted arcs = same participant). In the indirect object construction the subject and the recipient participants are distinct. In the indirect reflexive construction these differentiated participants are equated with the same referent (the dotted arc connecting the subject and the indirect object). In the middle construction only an undifferentiated participant is present. There is a correlation between the degree of participant differentiation and the degree of event elaboration (Kemmer 1992). Transitive constructions are higher in the scale of elaboration than reflexives, while middles are even lower on that scale. In Figure 3, the energy transfer from subject to object can be conceptually scanned. In Figure 4, the reflexive form is represented by the dotted arc connecting the subject and the indirect object. It designates that the energy transferred involves two

Dominion

S

DO

Figure 3. Indirect object

Dominion

IO

S

DO

Figure 4. Indirect reflexive

IO

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DO S/IO Figure 5. Indirect middle

participants with the same referent. Now in Figure 5, the event is processed in a gestaltic manner, for it needs not be scanned from the action of the agent to the change of state imposed on the recipient. Since in middle constructions there are no differentiated participants, the energy transfer cannot be tracked down. The conceptualization is thus reduced to the observable change of state designated by the verb. As I have claimed elsewhere (Maldonado 1992, 1999), the middle marker’s core function is to focus on the event’s crucial moment of change. The notion of focus in Cognitive Grammar corresponds to a cognitive selection process where some portion of the event is chosen to receive a maximal prominence status letting the rest of the information of the event be present in a less prominent manner. In contrast with Foley and Van Valin (1984) and Lambrecht (1994), this definition is not restricted to a selection of the focal participants of a clause, it applies to the whole event so that the most informative part of the designated process can be selected as the main figure. This selection process can highlight not only participants but also some part of the process. I suggest that the middle se marker focuses on the core information designated by the verb. With transitive verbs it focuses on the interaction established between subject and object, while in intransitive clauses the focus is established on the most informative part of the process in which the subject participates. This explains why se commonly marks inchoative and inceptive aspectual meanings. Verbs of motion constitute transparent examples to observe the focusing effects of the middle clitic se. Consider the contrast between ir ‘go’ and irse ‘leave’:3 Tachún fue a la casa. ‘Tachún went home’. b. *Tachún fue. ‘Tachún went’.

(7) a.

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Tachún se fue a la casa. ‘Tachún left for home’. b. Tachún se fue. ‘Tachún left’.

(8) a.

The se marker focuses on the source of the path allowing for the goal to be implied as contextual information. Yet without se, the full trajectory is most prominent and must be overtly expressed, as can be seen from the fact that deleting a la casa ‘to the house’ leads to the ungrammatical output exemplified in (7b). The fact that this example is only acceptable in elliptic constructions where the goal has already been set in discourse shows that the full trajectory must always be considered without the se marker. As previously stated ditransitive constructions involve a relocation of the object from the dominion of the subject to that of the object. I claim that in middle se-marked transitive constructions the attention will be focused on the semantic core of the verb where an undifferentiated and yet complex participant with two roles is involved in the designated process. Thus in verbs of transmission where an object is relocated from a source dominion to a target dominion the end point of the path and the role of the receiver will have maximal prominence status. The specific meaning of the middle construction will be determined by the semantic verbal class i.e., by the type of transmission which the se clitic marks. Rather than permitting the number of se middle clitics multiply, I will propose a basic middle schema for all transitive verbs which will instantiate specific readings. The schema will respond to the following generalizations:4 (i) There is only one se middle marker whose function is to signal a locus not differentiated from the subject and to profile the semantic core of the verb. (ii) The meanings of a se middle construction are determined by the degree of subject-object conceptual proximity in an event and by the type of interaction designated by the verb. (iii) In all cases, middle se profiles the core of the interaction designated by the verb. Thus the degree of transitivity of the construction as a whole is higher than in a plain transitive construction. I assume a Cognitive Grammar approach to transitivity whereby a prototypical transitive event can be characterized as having two entities which are usually conceived of as being asymmetrically related as they are involved in some activity. The interaction between them is unidirectional; because there is movement and effect, contact between the two entities is presumed to take place with the second entity, (the landmark), being directly affected by the contact instigated by the first (the trajector). This view of transitivity not only incorporates the multifactorial ap-

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proach initiated by Hopper and Thompson (1980) where telicity, aspect, object individuation, subject agentivity among other factors combine to obtain different degrees of transitive constructions, it also incorporates the way the event is conceptualized by the speaker. The degree to which the object is affected by the subject’s action may vary depending on how deliberate the action is carried out, how telic or perfective the verb is, how much of the object is actually contacted by the subject’s action or whether the result imposes some benefit on some profiled participant. I will show that as the middle marker se focuses on the core of the verb, its original transitive properties will be highlighted and intensified. The specific realm of transitivity will be determined by the semantic properties of the verb. There are several hypotheses to defend in this paper. First, I will defend the idea that the use of se with transitive constructions increases the transitivity of the event. Second, against recent proposals in which it has been suggested that the clitic se has extended from a reflexive to an aspectual marker, I will suggest that the aspectual properties of se emerge from the focusing function of the middle marker which develops from its characteristic low degree of participant differentiation. Third, I will propose that the main function of the se marker is to highlight and consequently to intensify the core properties of the verb. Rather than being an aspectual marker, the clitic se simply underlines the aspectual properties of the verb. Similarly, the array of meanings to encounter in the four construction types shown in (4) will follow naturally from the focusing function of the middle clitic.

3.–Transitivity decrease/increase Common to most contemporary approaches to reflexives is the idea that se reduces the transitivity of the clause. An argument of the verb is either deleted, (Rosen 1989; Manzini 1986; Grimshaw 1982) or absorbed (Wherli 1986). Passives (9b) involve the absorption of the subject while reflexive se (10b) absorbs the object:5 Adrián abrió la ventana. ‘Adrian opened the window’. b. Se abrió la ventana. ‘The window was opened’.

(9) a.

Adrián vio a Valeria en la foto. ‘Adrian saw Valeria in the picture’. b. Adrián se vio en el espejo. ‘Adrian saw himself in the mirror’.

(10) a.

Argument loss is also claimed by most analyses to account for reflexively-marked

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transitive constructions: se is claimed to absorb the indirect object, as can be seen from the contrast in (11): Adrián le puso el sombrero a Valeria. ‘Adrian put the hat on Valeria’. b. Adrián se puso el sombrero. ‘Adrian put the hat on’.

(11) a.

This analysis to reflexively marked transitive constructions has been rejected from a variety of perspectives. Seminal work by García (1975) pointed out that given the low deixis of causatives and the high deixis of datives, the indirect Romance se marker—my middle se marker6—implied a transitivity increase which rendered different types of intensified processes. Arce (1989) called examples like (1) hypertransitives while Maldonado (1992) and Nishida (1994) have given arguments showing that in these constructions there is no argument loss. It can be seen from (12) that no argument has been deleted. While the presence of the se marker is obligatory in (12a), it is optional in (12b–d): (12) a. *Adrián puso el sombrero. (from (4a)) ‘Adrian put the hat on’. b. Adrián consiguió un empleo maravilloso. (from (4b)) ‘Adrian got a marvelous job’. c. Adrián leía el periódico de una sentada. (from (4c)) ‘Adrian used to read the whole paper in one sitting’. d. Tongolele bailó una rumba inolvidable. (from (4d)) ‘Tongolele danced an unforgettable rumba’. Moreover, as has been pointed out in several analyses (García 1975; Maldonado 1992; Nishida 1994), there is a contrast between the value of se in clear reflexive situations, and what I have called middle se marked transitive constructions. It can be seen from (13b) that the clitic se is the counterpart of the indirect object clitic le and that it designates an indirect reflexive reading. On the other hand in (13c), se imposes a completive middle reading whose function does not correspond to the value of le in (13a): Adrián le leyó una historia a Valeria. ‘Adrian read a story to Valeria’. b. Adrián se leyó una historia a sí mismo. ‘Adrián read a story to himself’. c. Adrián se leyó una historia. ‘Adrián read a whole story’.

(13) a.

Reflexive Completive

Exactly the same situation holds for the full involvement reading. While pragmati-

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cally odd, the reflexive marker in (14b) corresponds to the indirect object clitic le, yet these two are to be distinguished from the se marker that highlights an increased degree of subject involvement in (14c): Tongolele le bailó una rumba a su amante. ‘Tongolele danced a rumba for her lover’. b. Tongolele se bailó una rumba. ‘Tongolele danced a rumba for herself’. c. Tongolele se bailó una rumba inolvidable. ‘Tongolele danced an unforgettable rumba’.

(14) a.

Reflexive Full involvement

A third piece of evidence is that benefactives, completives and full involvement constructions do not correspond to argument loss reflexives in the use of the emphatic phrase a sí mismo ‘to himself’. Notice that while the indirect reflexive in (15a) can take the emphatic phrase, the middle constructions lead to ungrammatical results. Era tal su soledad que Alcira se enviaba cartas a sí misma. ‘Alcira’s loneliness was such that she would send letters to herself’. b. *Juan se ha encontrado a sí mismo una buena colocación. ‘Juan has found himself a good position’. c. *Se leyó a sí mismo la novela. ‘He read himself the novel’. d. *Se bailó a sí misma una rumba. ‘Tongolele danced a rumba’.

(15) a.

In examples (15b–d) the only grammatical reading to be obtained would be an indirect reflexive with a split self representation, which is commonly used for contrastive purposes. The examples in (16) are appropriate for that particular reading: Juan se ha encontrado a sí mismo, no a su hermano una buena colocación. ‘Juan has found for himself not for his brother a good position’. b. Se leyó a sí mismo, no a su hermano, una novela sensacional. ‘He read a sensational novel to himself, not to his brother’. c. Se bailó a sí misma, no a su amante, una rumba inolvidable. ‘She danced an unforgettable rumba for herself, not for her lover’.

(16) a.

What these arguments show is that benefactive, completive and full involvement constructions are not reflexives, instead they correspond to middle transitive constructions in which se selects some portion of the event to be highlighted and intensified. The focusing effects of middle se are best attested in the presence of features

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that characterize highly transitive constructions. The high degree of transitivity of middle se transitive constructions has already been acknowledged in the current literature (completives, Strozer 1976; hypertransitives, Arce 1989; quantized se; Nishida 1994). Yet the analysis has in most cases been restricted to structural facts. Strozer and Arce argue for the requirement for the direct object to be accompanied by a determiner. While the observation is, in general terms, correct, it is insufficient to account for cases of unbounded objects, as evidenced by the following: Los alumnos se saben la canción. ‘The students know the song [by heart]’. b. *Los alumnos se saben el español. ‘The students know Spanish [by heart]’.

(17) a.

Nishida has observed that inherently telic transitive verbs in combination with quantized direct objects always yield a telic expression. Following Krifka (1989), he further suggests that there must be a correlation between the uniqueness of the quantized object and the aspectual property of the verbal predicate. The uniqueness of the object is thus mapped to the perfectiveness of the event. Only under those conditions can se be used. Although he highlights very important properties of the construction Nishida, however, misses a crucial point. In his critique of Arce’s analysis, he proposes that in sentences like (18): (18) Juan se conoce bien la poesía española. a. ‘John knows well the Spanish poem’. b. *‘John knows Spanish poetry well’.

(Nishida)

only the reading referring to some specific poem is correct. The collective reference to the Spanish poetry is ruled out, according to Nishida, because instead of being quantized it makes a cumulative reference (Quine 1960). Yet it must be stressed that both readings are correct. Example (18b) is as flawless as (19): (19) Borges se sabía al dedillo la literatura fantástica. ‘Borges knew by heart [like the palm of his hand] fantasy literature’. The problem is best analyzed in terms of boundedness (Langacker 1987b). A noun was defined as a region in some domain. A bounded noun is a region whose concrete or abstract boundaries are perceptible in a specific event. I propose that both the object and the event must be bounded for se to apply. Crucial to the proper interpretation of (18b) and (19) is for the object to be seen as a bounded unit regardless of how vast or abstract the object may be. If one can impose boundaries on the Spanish literature to be treated as a unit, there is no restriction for it to take a middle se completive marker. This explains why the Spanish language, in (17b), music in general, and other unbounded elements do not meet the requirements of the completive construction.

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The same notion explains the incapability for this construction to have sentential objects, as can be seen from (20b): Aprendió a leer a los tres años. ‘He learned to read when he was three years old’. b. *Se aprendió a leer a los tres años. ‘He learned to read when he was three years old’.

(20) a.

Boundedness predicts that only count, not mass nouns, will produce the correct output. Indeed, this can be seen from the following contrast: Platero acababa de beberse dos cubos de agua. (Jiménez: 82) ‘Platero has just drunk two buckets of water’. b. *Platero acababa de beberse cubos de agua. ‘Platero has just drunk buckets of water’.

(21) a.

Likewise, one can expect that the se construction will be sensitive to the instance/ type contrast. We can see that this is the case not only for concrete but also for abstract objects. The (a)–examples contain instances while the ungrammatical output in (b) are constructed with their corresponding types: Gabriela, no te vamos a dar pastel hasta que te comas la carne. ‘Gabriela, we are not going to give you cake until you eat up [all] your meat’. b. *Gabriela, no te vamos a dar pastel hasta que te comas carne. ‘Gabriela, we are not going to give you cake until you eat up meat’.

(22) a.

Es un maestro que se capta la voluntad de los almunos en un instante. (Moliner) ‘He is a teacher that captures the students’ will in an instant’. b. *Es un maestro que se capta voluntad de los almunos. ‘He is a teacher that captures the students’ will in an instant’.

(23) a.

The first set of arguments show that the se marker in reflexively marked transitive constructions does not correspond to an argument of the verb and thus is not a reflexive marker. Not only its behavior but its meanings correspond to the function of a middle marker. Clearly, the se marker use with count, instantiated and bounded nouns and its rejection of mass, type, unbounded and sentential objects suggest a construction with the highest degree of transitivity. The term hypertransitive, suggested by Arce, to identify this construction type is undoubtedly adequate.

4.–Linguistic proximity and the status of se The question regarding the status of the se marker is at issue now. There seems to be agreement in previous analyses in considering se as a marker of completive ac-

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tions. Arce suggests that by enhancing the patient quality of the direct object and making it a ‘‘complete bearer of the verbal action’’ (1989: 295), the se marker shifts to an aspectual marker for completive actions. Nishida (1994) considers that seq is also an aspectual marker that applies mainly to accomplishments. Seq marks the verb in the lexicon and the verb so marked is inserted into the tree structure as a new unit [se+verb]. Common to both analyses is the fact that the group of verbs that enter the construction is a restricted set that most typically corresponds to verbs of consumption. Interestingly enough, Arce observes that the class of hypertransitive verbs has extended to some verbs of motion, yet no account is offered for that group. Nishida admits that in his data there are not only accomplishments—which fully correspond to his telic verbs— but also some achievements. Yet, since accomplishments are predominant, other verb types are simply left aside. Nishida’s classification of verbs is problematic for it includes se constructions that have no relationship whatsoever with the expected completive reading.7 Moreover, a closer look at the verb classes that can take se reveals that they pertain to a class that the Nishida calls ‘‘creating an abstract performance object’’: experiencer performance: aguantarse una opera ‘put up listening an opera’, escucharse una sinfonía ‘listen to a [whole] symphony’ agent performance: bailarse un tango ‘dance a tango’, cantarse una canción, ‘sing a song’ Allegedly, the acceptance rate was rather low in all dialects so Nishida did not feel the need to account for them. Now experiencer performance had a rate of 60–80 per cent while agent performance rated between 40–60 per cent. What these numbers show is that there is a significant amount of speakers whose use of se is not accounted for by that analysis. The frequency of use is too high to accept the possibility of disqualifying them as mere errors or performance deviations. I should stress that in Mexican Spanish these examples are not problematic, and that speakers of other dialects either take them as correct or see them as novel but not ungrammatical. These reactions, I believe, coincide with Nishida’s results. But even if they were marginal, the question remains as to what type of formulation we would need to account for novel uses like these in the language. The question, I believe, is on what grounds are speakers allowing themselves to bring new expressions into an old construction? In other words, if Arce is right in identifying an extended use of se to motion verbs, we still need to explain the cognitive connections that allow such a derived pattern. Two facts must be stressed about previous approaches. First, the presence of verbs of motion or ‘‘agent performance’’ in the construction is acknowledged but not accounted for. Second, while full involvement constructions are left aside, the benefactive use of se is simply not addressed, most probably because it has traditionally been thought of as belonging to a different arena. The need for an alternative approach that gives a unified account of intensified benefactives, completives and full involvement construction is unquestionable.

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I suggest that the focusing function of se accounts for all the data. In previous work (Maldonado 1992, 1999), I have suggested that there is a basic schema of the middle clitic se on which attention is being focused regarding the pivotal moment of change. It is not surprising then that in the clitic se, different aspectual perfective properties can be recognized. The focusing properties of se account for a wide variety of constructions. So-called ‘‘reflexive passives’’: se resolvió el problema ‘the problem got solved’, spontaneous events: se reventó el globo ‘the balloon popped’, dynamic situations: se subió a la mesa ‘He got/jumped on the table’, unexpected events: se cayó ‘he fell down’ and so forth, correspond to that basic configuration. Reflexively marked transitive constructions only differ from other middle constructions in one respect: in non-transitive middles a participant or some facet of the event may be downplayed to allow the terminal part of the event to be most prominent; while in reflexively-marked transitive constructions the focalizing function of the clitic se simply profiles the nuclear meaning of the verb without ‘‘bleaching’’ other components of the event. Thus, if the verb portrays some type of benefaction, the clitic se will give it maximal prominence. The same will be true for consumption, execution or subject involvement. In all cases the core property of the verb will be highlighted in a considerable manner. In what follows, I will give specific details of how the focusing function applies to different classes of transitive verbs. As a first step, I will reintroduce, with a broader interpretation, Arce’s observation by which verbs that participate in reflexively marked transitive constructions ‘‘have an incorporative sense’’. A closer look at the three main meanings at task, (benefactive, completive and full involvement constructions), will show they all have the property of bringing the direct object into the subject’s dominion or keeping it within its boundaries for interaction. All the verbs in question are seen as having an incorporative sense. This property will set the basic conditions for se to apply as a focalizer of some portion of an event. The meanings to be obtained thereof will be determined by the semantic properties of each verb class. I will address each group in a separate manner.

5.–Focalized Benefactives The verbs in this class undoubtedly share an incorporative meaning (atraer ‘attract’ capturar ‘capture’, ahorrar ‘save’, reservar ‘reserve’, ganar la lotería ‘win the lottery’) either bringing in the object or impeding it from leaving the subject’s dominion. Notice from the following a-examples that the student’s will and the job are brought into the dominion for the subject’s interests. The relocation of the object draws the invited inference that the event is beneficial for the subject. The use of the

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clitic se in the b-examples does nothing more than focalize the beneficial inference implied by the verb: La maestra captó la voluntad de los alumnos. ‘The teacher captured the student’s good will’. b. Es un maestro que se capta la voluntad de los almunos. (Moliner) ‘He is a teacher that captures [for himself] the student’s good will’.

(24) a.

Consiguió un empleo en un banco. ‘He got a job in a bank’. b. Se consiguió un empleo a sólo dos cuadras de su casa.8 ‘He got himself a job only two blocks away from home’.

(25) a.

For events that presuppose an intense experience, the use of se is the default. Although its absence is pragmatically awkward, it is not ungrammatical, as can be seen from the contrast in (26): Valeria se ganó la lotería. ‘Valeria won the lotery’. b. ??Valeria ganó la lotería. ‘Valeria won the lotery’. Needless to say, if the event runs against the subject’s interest, the clitic se will profile its negative effects: (27) Con esa conducta se ganó una buena paliza. ‘With such behavior, he got a good spanking’. Crucial to this schema is the fact that the focalized benefactive effects are determined by the degree of proximity established between subject and object. The more inherent the relationship between them is the more the se marker is required. The precise details of this phenomenon are beyond the limits of this paper, however I can still hint at some obvious points. The lack of a se marker in (28a) correlates with the fact that the folk conceptualization of time has everything but a permanent presence. The benefaction of not wasting time can in fact be profiled by se as in (28b), but the crucial fact is that the marginality of (28d) is determined by the absence of the se marker in a construction where subject and object have an inherent possessive relationship: (28) a. Como le habló por teléfono en lugar de ir a verlo, ahorró mucho tiempo. ‘Since he called him over the phone, he saved a lot of time’. b. Como le habló por teléfono en lugar de ir a verlo, se ahorró mucho tiempo. ‘Since he called him over the phone, he saved himself a lot of time’. (26) a.

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Ahórrese el esfuerzo de ir a pagar a la oficina mande su pago por correo. ‘Save yourself the effort of going to pay to the office; mail your payment’. d. ??Ahorre el esfuerzo de ir a pagar a la oficina; mande su pago por correo. ‘Save yourself the effort of going to pay to the office; mail your payment’. c.

Even more striking are verbs that not only have the object within the subject’s dominion but also exclude the interaction of other potential participants. For this verb class, the use of the clitic se is mandatory, as can be seen from the contrastive examples in (29). In Spanish one can reserve a table without se, but reserving one´s rights draws a strong subject-object link that must be underlined by the clitic se: Reservé mesa para cuatro personas. ‘I reserved a table for four’. b. Nos reservamos el derecho de admisión. ‘We reserve ourselves the right of admission’. c. *Reservamos el derecho de admisión. ‘We reserve ourselves the right of admission’.

(29) a.

The bene-/male-factive reading imposed by the predicate in all these cases is stressed by the clitic se as it focalizes on the semantic core of the verb. A parallel phenomenon will be seen as we analyze verbs of consumption.

6.–Completives There is a class of telic verbs (beber ‘drink’, comer ‘eat’, fumar ‘smoke’, etc.) that designates consumption or exploitation of the object. Notice first that all the verbs in this class share with the previous class the requirement that the object must be brought into or be located within the subject’s dominion. Only under those conditions can the object be consumed. Moreover, if object exploitation constitutes the core of the verb, it should be expected for the middle se marker to signal that the object is fully exploited. Full exploitation depends on boundedness, as shown in Section 3. I have already suggested that in completive constructions both event and object must be bounded. That the whole event must be bounded can be seen from Nishida’s (1994) argument by which no gradual adverb is compatible with this construction. In contrast with (30a), in (30b) un poquito ‘a little’ produces a semantic clash with the completive import of the clitic se:

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Anoche Valeria tomó un poquito más de leche. ‘Valeria drank some more milk last night’. b. *Anoche Valeria se tomó la leche un poquito más. ‘Valeria drank the milk a little more last night’.

(30) a.

That the object must be consumed to exhaustion can best be seen in the following dialog: (31) –Valeria. ¡Tómate la leche! ‘Valeria, drink your milk’. –Ya me (*Ø) la tomé. ‘I already did’. –No es cierto, todavía te falta medio vaso. ‘That’s not true, you still have half a glass to go’. It is not under discussion wether Valeria has drunk milk but whether the whole glass of milk has been consumed. This of course does not preclude the possibility of marking bounded partial units that as such can also be fully exploited. In her defense Valeria could have made the following utterance: (32) Pero ya me tomé la mitad. ‘But I have drunk half of it’. This of course allows that the construction be used to report on work in progress. The only condition to be met is that the affected portion be constituted as a bounded unit: Se leyó medio reporte en diez minutos. ‘He read half the report in ten minutes’. b. Se fuma tres cuartos de cajetilla al día. ‘He smokes three quarters of a pack a day’.

(33) a.

Figures 6–9 illustrate the input of se with respect to focalized benefactives and completives. Figure 6 shows that the subject brings the object within his dominion. Figure 7 shows that the inherent benefaction of the verbal meaning i.e., bringing an object, is only profiled by the se marker. Figure 8 shows the relocation of the object into the subject’s dominion and that such object is partially affected by the action. In contrast, Figure 9 highlights not only that the object is totally affected by the action (the black circle), but also that its completion benefits subject (circle = participant; big dotted oval = subject’s dominion; wide arrow = subject’s action; simple arrow=object’s relocation; squiggly arrow = object change of state; black circle = fully affected object). These diagrams also show that the benefaction implied by relocating the object within the subject’s dominion is the shared feature of these constructions and that completion only derives from focusing on the subject-object interaction designated by the verb. Completive constructions thus do not constitute

spanish reflexives

S Dominion

171

S/BEN

DO

Dominion

DO

DO

Figure 6. Conseguir

Figure 7. Conseguirse

S Dominion

S

DO DO

Figure 8. Comer

DO

Dominion

DO DO

Figure 9. Comerse

an isolated idiosyncratic construction but one naturally related to other middle transitive constructions. We are now in a position to account for abstract situations. Strozer (1976) made the incorrect claim that the object of completive constructions had to be referential. Nishida has adequately rejected that proposal based on negation: Juan no se leyó

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ningún libro ‘Juan didn’t read any book’and wh-questions: ¿Qué libro te leíste? ‘What book did you read?’. As for abstract objects, he observes, based on Krifka (1989), that completive constructions are homomorphic since they obey a condition of graduality: ‘every part of the event corresponds to some part of the object’. In beberse un vaso de vino ‘drink up a glass of wine’, for example, ‘every part of the object denoted by a glass of wine maps onto a part of the drinking event’ (1994:336). The proposal is enlightening for all concrete situations and even for some abstract ones. With objects that have a clear beginning and end the event is accomplished mirroring consumption verbs. The object becomes smaller as the event advances. Reading a story through constitutes a pristine example: (34) Adrián se leía el periódico de una sentada. ‘Adrian would read the paper in one sitting’. Now non-dynamic situations are problematic. It is not evident how they can obey the graduality condition. Here Nishida makes a great effort to extend the analysis to areas that are difficult to defend. In saberse la lección ‘to know a whole lesson’, he suggests that a lesson can be partitioned into qualitatively different parts and analogously the state of knowing the lesson can be partitioned into different parts of knowledge. Although the parallelism is nicely drawn and may be relevant in a variety of situations, it forces that an inference be taken as a restrictive rule. While the proposal accounts for verbs like leer ‘read’, aprender ‘learn’ memorizar ‘memorize’, it fails to capture verbs like saber ‘know’ and conocer ‘be familiar with/know’ which have a gestalt-like behavior. Consider the following examples: El maestro se aprendió mi nombre el primer día de clases. ‘The teacher learned my name the first day of school’. b. Tengo allí un primo que se conoce un bar increíble. . . se sabe cada sitio! ‘I have a cousin who knows of an incredible bar . . . he knows such places!’

(35) a.

One need not go to the extreme of breaking down a name into letters or syllables to meet the graduality condition. Likewise, the idea of having to decompose a bar into its compositional pieces of furniture seems less adequate. What these verbs highlight is the mental scope that the subject has over the object. By scope I mean the area within the object that the subject’s mind can cover. I suggest that the clitic se imposes a full scope interpretation. Without the middle marker these verbs are normally classified as states yet with the clitic se they acquire some properties of accomplishment. Notice first that the change in meaning always goes from simple mental familiarity to complete knowledge:

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Sé la respuesta, pero no completa. ‘I know the answer but not completely’. b. Me sé la respuesta (*pero no completa). ‘I know the answer by heart (*but not completely)’.

(36) a.

For verbs that only imply mental contact, the use of se is marginal. An illustrating case in point is conocer ‘be familiar with/know’ which can either mean some kind of mental contact or take the reading of a deeper knowledge. Only with the latter can conocer be used with the se marker as in (37b). The questionable example in (38b) corresponds to the mental contact reading: Conozco muy bien a Valeria. ‘I know Valeria very well’. b. Me la conozco como la palma de mi mano. ‘I know Valeria like the palm of my hand’.

(37) a.

Conozco la propuesta. ‘I am familiar with the proposal’. b. ??Me conozco la propuesta. ‘I am familiar with the proposal by heart’.

(38) a.

The requirement for the clitic se to take verbs of a high degree of mental scope explains why aprender ‘learn’, a verb whose scope radiates at the lower end of the scale, without the se marker normally takes sentential and unbounded objects as in (39a), while with the middle se marker the object must be bounded, as in (40b). With the wide scope reading aprender+se means ‘to memorize’. Moreover the increase of scope imposed by se explains why with verbs of high degree of control, like memorizar ‘to memorize’, the clitic se is redundant, as (41b) shows: Aprendí francés/a bailar a los 15 años. ‘I learned French/to dance when I was 15 years old’. b. *Me aprendí francés/a bailar a los 15 años. ‘I learned French / to dance when I was 15 years old’.

(39) a.

(40) a. ??Aprendí la canción. ‘I learned the song’. b. Me aprendí la canción. ‘I learned the song by heart’. Memoricé la canción. ‘I memorized the song’. b. ??Me memoricé la canción. ‘I memorized the song’.

(41) a.

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Based on these data, a generalization of focusing se is thus at hand: Maximal Exploitation Condition (42) a. The focusing se marker transforms incorporative transitive verbs of high mental scope into verbs of full scope. b. Incorporative transitive verbs take well-bounded objects located in the subject‘s dominion to impose a maximal degree of exploitation. While in agreement with Nishida’s graduality condition, this proposal accounts for gestaltic events that do not allow a homomorphic analysis. What telic and nontelic verbs share is that a well-bounded concrete or abstract object is located within the subject’s dominion to allow maximal exploitation. Saber ‘know’ and conocer ‘be familiar with’ have been problematic due to their imperfective ‘‘Aktionsart’’. That they cannot be used in perfective situations can be seen from the fact that in (43) se conoció is ungrammatical, while se supo takes a performance reading. As in English, ‘to know’ in a perfective context not only means to have some knowledge but also to express it overtly as in (44): (43) *Valeria se conoció la ciudad. ‘Valeria knew the city’. (44) Valeria se supo la respuesta y se ganó el premio. ‘Valeria knew the answer and won the prize’. To sum up, imperfective verbs like saber and conocer can only be used with se in perfective situations if they take an accomplishment reading. In imperfective situations they can take the focusing se marker since they satisfy the maximal exploitation condition. These facts have been attested by the grammaticallity of (35), (36b) and (37b). As for perfective verbs, finer details can be highlighted. Full mental scope presupposes some point in time or space in which the event of covering the whole object is completed. It is thus predicted by the focusing function of se that the event will, by default, take place in restricted space/time contexts. The crucial examples showing that the event is compressed are (45b) and (45d). The former would be fine to designate a special or meaningful accomplishment, not to express a predictably routine act. The latter is ruled out since the use of the adverbial phrase en una sentada ‘in one sitting’ requires the event to be compressed by the middle se marker: Leí la útlima novela de García Márquez. ‘I read García Márquez’s most recent novel’. b. ??Me leí la útlima novela de García Márquez. ‘I read García Márquez’s most recent novel’. c. Me leí la última novela de García Márquez en una sentada. ‘I read García Márquez’s most recent novel in one sitting’.

(45) a.

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d. ??/*Leí la última novela de García Márquez en una sentada. ‘I read García Márquez’s most recent novel in one sitting’. A further feature of the construction is that the object to be ‘‘incorporated’’ must be of considerable significance for the event. The transitive use of correr ‘to run’, apostar ‘to bet’ or jugar ‘to risk’ illustrates this point: (46) Antonio se (*Ø) jugó el pellejo/la chamba/la vida por ayudar a su hermano. ‘Antonio put his skin/job/life on the line to help his brother’. Object meaningfulness is commonly relative to time and space restrictions. This is particularly the case with verbs of motion: Se corrió el maratón de la Ciudad de México. ‘He ran the [whole] Mexico City Marathon’. b. Se corrió los cien metros en diez segundos. ‘He ran the 100 meters in ten seconds’. c. Se subió/escaló el Himalaya en dos días. ‘He went up/climbed up the Himalayas in two days’.

(47) a.

The previous examples are grammatical without se. They would however be pragmatically odd since those special acts would be expressed as if they were routine. With verbs that imply full subject involvement, the focusing se marker is obligatory and the object must be meaningful: Rigoberto apostó diez pesos en la séptima carrera. ‘Rigoberto bet ten pesos in the seventh race’. b. Rigoberto se apostó el sueldo/la casa en la séptima carrera. ‘Rigoberto bet [all] his salary/his house in the seventh race’. c. */??Rigoberto se apostó un peso en la séptima carrera. ‘Rigoberto bet one peso in the seventh race’.

(48) a.

I have claimed so far that common to focalized benefactives and completives is the fact that a bounded object must be either brought into or located within the subject’s dominion for the focusing se marker to profile the core meaning of the verb. I have also pointed out that completive constructions by default involve a restricted setting. Moreover, I have illustrated that the object must always be highly significant for the event. The analysis is now set to account for full involvement constructions.

7.–Full Involvement I have already pointed out that examples like (2), repeated here for convenience, have been left aside in previous analyses. In full involvement constructions what is

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being focused on is the degree of participation of the subject in the event. His/her involvement is maximal. In (49) the unique dancer Tongolele not only danced a rumba, but she performed it with maximal expressiveness: (49) Tongolele se bailó una rumba inolvidable. ‘Tongolele danced an unforgettable rumba’. Two obvious facts attest the subject’s full involvement in the event: the impossibility of having adverbials that imply lack of commitment (50a), and the less stringent requirement for the object to be qualified as out of the ordinary. The example in (50b) is marginal since there is no adjective adding extra attributes to the noun rumba: (50) a. *Tongolele se bailó una rumba inolvidable sin interés. ‘Tongolele danced an unforgettable rumba without any interest’. b. ??Tongolele se bailó una rumba. ‘Tongolele danced a rumba’. Moreover, these examples clearly illustrate that the degree of participation of the subject is crucial. Verbs that are high in subject involvement contrast with those at the lower end of the scale in the same manner that saber ‘know’ contrasts with conocer ‘be familiar with’ (see previous section). Verbs with low degree of participation like probar ‘taste’ (51a) cannot take the se focusing marker as can be seen in (51b). Those whose default degree or involvement is higher, like saborear ‘savor’, can be marked by se to have maximal involvement as in (52b). It is predictable that the adverbial phrase ‘without much interest’ introduces a semantic clash between its diminishing meaning and the full involvement reading of saborearse ‘enjoy tasting’ as in (52c): (51) a. Probó la sopa sin mayor interés. ‘He tasted the soup without much interest’. b. *Se probó la sopa (sin mayor interés). ‘He tasted the soup (without much interest)’. Saboreó la sopa con enorme placer . ‘He enjoyed the soup with enormous pleasure’. b. Se saboreó la sopa con enorme placer. ‘He enjoyed the soup with enormous pleasure’. c. *Se saboreó la sopa sin mayor interés. ‘He enjoyed the soup without much interest’.

(52) a.

The predicates to be found in this construction type are all performing action verbs with cognate objects. The following examples show the semantic realms in which the construction is productive:

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Lola Beltrán se cantó un bolero con toda el alma. ‘Lola Beltrán sang a bolero with all her soul (might)’. b. Tomás Segovia se recitó a Rilke con una profundidad excepcional. ‘Tomas Segovia recited Rilke’s poetry with exceptional depth’.

(53) a.

That the construction shares core properties with focalized benefactives and completives is clearly evidenced because of the requirement of full involvement constructions to have bounded events and objects. The ungrammaticallity of (54a) responds to the presence of a mass noun: (54) a. *Ella se cantaba boleros. ‘She used to sing boleros’. b. Anoche Daniel Santos se (%Ø) cantó un bolero que nos sacó las lágrimas. ‘Last night Daniel Santos sang a song that made us cry’. As for the aspectual requirement for the event to be bounded, the imperfect cantaba is ruled out with the imperfect habitual reading; however, it is grammatical when it involves iterative delimited actions as in (55a). The use of se with a plain present tense (i.e. not historical, nor habitual present which are bounded situations) is ruled out, as (55b) shows: Ella se cantaba un bolero increíble que no hemos podido olvidar. ‘She used to sing an incredible bolero that we have not been able to forget’. b. *Ella se canta un bolero increíble. ‘She sings an incredible bolero’.

(55) a.

Whether the object is brought within the subject’s dominion or whether it is simply located within its boundaries is irrelevant for the construction. The condition is that the object be activated by the subject’s performance within the dominion. In performing verbs the condition is that the object be available for the subject’s disposition. Now, in an abstract manner it is also the case that the object is maximally exploited. Although the piece to be played/interpreted keeps its basic properties, for the purpose of its event representation, it takes a specific shape manifested in the subject’s expressiveness. The agent’s involvement is highlighted by the focusing function of the clitic se. Figure 10 represents the nuclear properties of the construction. The dotted lines corresponding to ‘bringing the object into the dominion’ indicate its secondary role in the construction. In contrast, the crucial parts of the event are in continuous lines. The fact that the object is somehow affected is indicated by the squiggly arrow and the subject’s performance, even more prominent than the object exploitation, is

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S/BEN Dominion

DO DO

Figure 10.–Bailarse

marked with the black arrow (circle= participant; big oval= subject’s dominion; wide arrow= subject’s action; squiggly arrow= object change of state). 7.1.–Effected Objects and the Full Involvement Construction Once the path of the subject’s performance is activated, the possibility of having effected objects is now available. We can see this as a pattern licensed by the full involvement construction: dancing or singing music is a way of bringing some artistic product into existence. No mention of this construction type is found in current literature. In fact, the narrow version of incorporative verbs will exclude effected objects since they cannot be manipulated or exploited the way independent bounded objects can. However, effected objects presuppose a high degree of subject involvement in the event. This feature relates this construction type to full involvement constructions. The degree of subject involvement can be tested from the fact that in this construction type the se middle marker is obligatory, as can be seen from the ungrammaticality of examples (56c) and (57b): (56)

Se echó una cena exquisita. a. ‘He made an exquisite dinner’ b. ‘He gobbled up an exquisite dinner’.9 c. *Echó una cena exquisita (with the focalized reading).10 ‘He made an exquisite dinner’

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Te aventaste una fiest sensacional/un buen puntacho. ‘You threw a great party/ told a great joke’. b. *Aventaste una fiest sensacional/un buen puntacho. ‘You threw a great party/told a great joke’. (with the focalized reading)

(57) a.

Another crucial feature of the construction is the requirement for the object to be of special significance in the event. While this requirement seems to be not stringent in the completive construction, in the full involvement construction with effected objects, it is compulsory. In (58b) the lack of an exalting adjective makes the output misformed: (58) a. Pancho Segovia se escribió una novela impresionante. ‘Pancho Segovia wrote an impressive novel’. b. *Pancho se escribió/acabó la novela. ‘Pancho wrote up/finished the novel’. As opposed to the plain full involvement construction where the subject’s performance is more prominent than the exploitation of the object, in the full involvement construction with effected object the final properties of the object are as crucial as the subject’s action. In Figure 11, both the arrow and the direct object circle are dark to highlight them as main figures in the event. Notice also that since the object is created in the event, the idea of incorporating an external object does not apply (circle =participant; big oval = subject’s dominion, wide arrow= subject’s action; squiggly arrow= object change of state).

S/BEN Dominion DO

Figure 11. Echarse una cena exquisita

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As in previous constructions, the function of the middle clitic se is to highlight or intensify by focalization the core properties of the verb. Being that the object of these transitive verbs is created by the subject’s accomplishment, it is expected that the focusing function of the clitic will be to highlight the verb’s core properties. Thus not only is the subject fully involved in the event but the output of his/her act must correspond to the high standards of his/her performance. The grammaticality of examples (56) to (58) attest to the validity of this analysis.

8.–Conclusions In this paper I have made the claim that the meanings to be found in nonreflexive se marked transitive constructions all correspond to the basic schema of the middle clitic se. As is the case for other middle constructions, the se marker has the basic function of focusing on the pivotal moment of change. In most cases the inductive forces that drive the event are downplayed to let the change itself be the most prominent figure in the event. Middle se marked transitive constructions differ from other reflexively marked cases in that the focusing function of the middle marker takes place without diminishing the prominence of other members in the construction. Since the se marker does not occupy an argument position, it does not reduce the transitivity of the event. On the contrary, the focusing function of the clitic compresses the event selecting its nuclear properties to give them special prominence. Consequently, the transitivity degree of the clause will be increased and the core meaning of the verb will be focalized. The high degree of transitivity is attested by the requirement of all middle transitive constructions to have bounded objects combined with verbs of high degree of subject involvement, telic verbs being the prototype. Instead of having unrestricted polysemy attributed to the se marker, as has been the case for many current approaches, I have claimed that the four meanings share the same basic focusing schema. The claim is thus extremely simple: if the verbs profile a benefactive reading by bringing the object into the subject’s dominion, the middle clitic se will make the construction a focalized benefactive one, of the type represented in Figure (12). If the verb not only brings in an object but also profiles some type of concrete or abstract consumption, then the se marker will allow for the exploitation to be maximal. This is shown in the darkened circle representing the totally affected object in Figure (13). If the verb profiles the subject’s performance of an action related to some cognate object, then such performance will be focally intensified to have a maximal degree of subject involvement, as is represented by the blackened arrow in Figure (14). Finally, if the verb designates the creation of an object, then the subject’s performance and the object itself will be most prominent

spanish reflexives

S/BEN Dominion

S/BEN

DO DO

S/BEN

Figure 14. Bailarse un tango

DO

Figure 13. Leerse una novela

S/BEN

DO DO

Dominion DO

Figure 12. Conseguirse un trabajo

Dominion

181

Dominion DO

Figure 15. Echarse una cena exquisita

in the event via se marking. Thus in Figure 15, both the arrow and the object are represented in boldface. I have also claimed that Arce’s notion of incorporative verbs should be reanalyzed with a wider meaning. It is a requirement of the construction that the object be located in the subject’s dominion. The ways in which the object is located in that

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dominion vary. In some cases it is already there although it is not always in an active manner (saberse, conocerse); in others it is created by the subject’s action. Yet the prototype corresponds to cases in which the object is brought from a location outside the subject’s dominion. In this sense, the use of some primitive semantic feature like [get] would represent adequately what these constructions have in common. Notice however that the specific meaning to be obtained does not come from the incorporative meaning of [get] but from the focusing function of se applied to the core properties of each verb group. What we have is a conceptual network with an incorporative requirement for the se marker to exploit by focalization the core properties of the verb. From the network, further common properties of these constructions can be underlined. The fact that the object is in the subject’s dominion drives the presupposition that subject benefaction is central to this group of constructions. This is most obvious for emphatic benefactives, but it is also present in the subsequent constructions: an act of consumption developed to completion is also carried out for the benefit of the subject. In a similar manner, we prize ourselves for performing an action with great efficiency, in the full involvement construction (bailarse un tango); and in the full involvement construction with effected objects (echarse una cena exquisita), benefaction is a crucial invited inference. Another common property of middle marked transitive constructions can be underlined from the previous network: given a wider interpretation, object exploitation is also present in all constructions. Not only eating up a cake but also singing a song and even creating an object with excellence involve maximal exploitation of the object. Whether created or brought into the subject’s dominion, the interaction with the object is taken to its upper limits. What we have is a schema of events with a high degree of interaction which becomes maximal with the focusing properties of the se marker. I have rejected the view that the se clitic is a reflexive morpheme that ‘‘extends’’ to an aspectual marker, since completive is only one of the meanings to be obtained by a broader focusing function of middle markers in general. Completiveness derives from the internal properties of the verb as they are profiled by the clitic, but the clitic itself preserves its basic structure. In this sense it is more adequate to talk about construction meaning as suggested by Goldberg (1995) than accepting a variety of meanings of the clitic se as mere semantic extensions of a reflexive morpheme. Evident though it is that we obtain an aspectual reading of completiveness with verbs of consumption, it is not the case that se becomes an aspectual marker as such. The clitic se covers its schematic focusing function while the other features of the construction (consumption telic verb, bounded instantiated object, perfective aspect), determine the aspectual completive reading. The danger of accepting an aspectual se marker as an extended category derived from the true reflexive marker only leads to the mistaken idea that there is a wild and chaotic polysemy governing

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the behavior of reflexive markers in general. From that perspective Locative se, Benefactive Emphatic se, Full Involvement se, Effected Object se, Completive se should be incorporated to a list already too long of se markers. That there is polysemy in reflexively marked constructions is clear, yet the meanings to be found across the languages of the world for middle markers consistently occupy the same semantic areas: routine actions, spontaneous events, inceptive changes, dynamic or abrupt motion changes, unplanned occurrences, focalized benefaction and completiveness are the most common ones. Since these meanings are found over and over in a variety of unrelated languages, as can be attested in the major typological reflexive/middle studies in current literature (Faltz 1985; Klaiman 1991, among others), we must infer the presence of one (or very few) schematic representations that license the formation of a variety of related constructions. In this paper I have suggested that the focusing function of se constitutes a major schema for middle constructions which, applied to different domains, designates different and yet related readings. The network thus developed gives a coherent pattern that speakers exploit to handle the variety of contexts that would otherwise be overwhelming in everyday communication.

Acknowledgements This work has greatly been improved by very thoughtful comments on the oral presentation at the conference by Ekkehard König, Traci Curl, and Suzanne Kemmer and by invaluable comments on the manuscript by Zygmunt Frajzyngier, Jeff Turley and Margaret Lubbers. I unfortunately cannot blame them for any possible inconsistencies that this paper may have.

Notes 1. Coreferential pronouns inflect for person and number. The same set of pronouns is used for direct or indirect coreferential objects. As can be seen below, the se marker covers most slots in the paradigm: me first person singular te second person singular

nos os se all other

first person plural second person plural (Spain)

2. Besides well-known contrasts between reflexive (Se miró en el espejo ‘He looked at himself in the mirror’), reflexive passive (Se rompió la ventana ‘The window broke’) and impersonal se constructions (Se resolvió el problema con mucho cuidado ‘The problem was solved very carefully’), the distinction between reflexive and middle se is crucial for the proper understanding of a variety of meanings involving the use of the se marker. 3. A fully developed analysis of intransitives and other dynamic situations can be found in Maldonado (1992, 1993, 1999).

184 4. 5. 6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

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This schema is in fact coherent with a more abstract representation of the se middle schema proposed in Maldonado (1992) for a wider variety of related constructions. The distinction between passives and impersonals requires further study. For a cognitive analysis of so-called passives and impersonals see Maldonado (1992, 1996, 1999) García used the term Romance se to identify all the nonreflexive uses of that clitic. My analysis grows from her seminal proposal. The very little I can add to her account comes from finding the internal coherence of a middle system which in fact coincides with the general properties of middle systems of the languages of the world that have one. For example, his class V includes other types of middle se, like dejarse las llaves ‘to leave the keys [by accident]’ and esconderse el anillo ‘to hide the ring beneath him/herself’ where the use of se corresponds to some pragmatic information related to the speaker’s interests. For further details on this constructions see Maldonado (1992, 1999, particularly chapters III and IV). This example could be inadequately interpreted as indirect reflexive since se could commute with le: Le consiguió un empleo a sólo dos cuadras de su casa ‘He got her a job only two blocks away from home’. Notice however that conseguir already implies self-benefaction, i.e. the subject is the recipient of his action and no extra benefactive participant is required. The clitic se does not have the reflexive function of signaling the subject instead of an alternative participant; it simply stresses the benefaction already implied by the verb. The two readings obtained here correspond to the fact that echar ‘throw’ is now a schematic verb with two potential directional patterns. In the subject’s direction it means ‘to consume’ while away from the subject it keeps its original meaning with all the predictable extensions: give and produce. The nonreflexive grammatical meaning would be ‘to throw a dinner (in the garbage/on the floor, etc.)’

References Arce, Manuel. 1989. Semantic structure and syntactic function: The case of Spanish se. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Colorado. Borer, Hagit. 1986. The Syntax of Pronominal Clitics [Syntax and Semantics 19]. New York: Academic Press. Campos, Hector. 1989. ‘‘Impersonal passive se in Spanish’’. Linguisticæ Investigationes 13(1): 1–21. Faltz, Leonard M. 1985. Refl xivization: A study in universal syntax, New York: Garland. Fauconnier, Gilles. 1985. Mental Spaces: Aspects of meaning construction in natural language. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Foley, William, and Robert Van Valin. 1984. Functional Syntax and Universal Grammar. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. García, Erica. 1975. The Role of Theory in Linguistic Analysis. Amsterdam and Oxford: North Holland. Golberg, Adele. 1995. Constructions: A Construction Grammar approach to argument structure. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Grimshaw, Jane. 1982. ‘‘On the lexical representation of Romance reflexive clitics’’. In J. Bresnan (ed.), The Mental Representations of Grammatical Relations. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 87–148. Hopper, Paul, and Sandra A. Thompson. 1980. ‘‘Transitivity in grammar and discourse’’. Language 56: 251–99. Kemmer, Suzanne. 1992. The Middle Voice [Typological Studies in Language 23]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Klaiman, M. H. 1991. Grammatical Voice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Krifka, Manfred. 1989. ‘‘Nominal reference, temporal construction and quantification in Event Semantics’’. In R. Bartsch, J. van Benthem, and P. van Amde Boas (eds.), Semantics and Contextual Expressions. Dodrecht: Foris, 75–115. Lambrecht, Knud. 1994. Information Structure and Sentence Form. Topic, focus, and the mental representations of discourse referents. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Langacker, Ronald W. 1987a. Foundations of Cognitive Grammar, vol. i. Theoretical Prerequisites. Stanford: Stanford University Press. —— 1987b. ‘‘Nouns and verbs’’, Language 63: 53–94. —— 1988. ‘‘An overview of Cognitive Grammar’’. In Brygida Rudzka-Ostyn (ed.) Topics in Cognitive Linguistics. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 3–48. —— 1991. Foundations of Cognitive Grammar, vol. ii (Descriptive Application). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Maldonado, Ricardo. 1992. Middle voice: The case of Spanish se. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of California, San Diego. —— 1993. ‘‘Dynamic construlas in Spanish’’. Studi Italiani di Linguistica Teorica e Applicata 22(3): 532–66. —— 1996. ‘‘Concordancia y elección de sujeto en construcciones con se’’. Memorias del IV Encuentro de Lingüística del Noroeste. Hermosillo: Universidad Autónoma de Sonora. 121–46. —— 1999. A Media Voz: problemas conceptuales del clítico se. Instituto de Investigaciones Filológicas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Manzini, Rita. 1986. ‘‘On Italian si’’. In H. Borer (ed.), 241–62. Nishida, Chiyo. 1994. ‘‘The Spanish reflexive clitic se as an aspectual class marker’’ Linguistics 32. 425–58. Quine, Willard. 1960. Word and Object. Cambridge: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press. Rosen, Carol. 1988. The Relational Structure of Refl xive Clauses: Evidence from Italian, New York: Garland. Strozer, Judith. 1976. Clitics in Spanish. Unpublished Ph.D. Dissertation, Los Angeles: University of Califonia. Wehrli, Eric. 1986. ‘‘On some properties of French clitic se’’. In Hagit Borer (ed.), 263–83.

Bound pronouns and non-local anaphors: The case of Earlier English ELLY VAN GELDEREN Arizona State University Languages employ fully referential, somewhat referential and non-referential nominal expressions. They act differently where anaphora is concerned. In Modern English, full Noun Phrases such as the manatee cannot be coreferential with another argument in a sentence; personal pronouns such as me and him are barred from being bound, i.e. referring, to arguments in a local domain; and specially marked forms such as myself are bound in a local domain, i.e. refer to other arguments (cf. Chomsky 1981; Koster 1993; Reinhart and Reuland 1993). The latter elements will be referred to as anaphors or reflexives (no distinction between these is made in this paper). When a referring item is not an argument (e.g. not a direct or prepositional object position), it is referred to as an emphatic (cf. König and Siemund 1999). In this paper, I will be concerned with cases where pronouns can be used anaphorically in a local domain (i.e. the opposite of what is expected) and I will argue that, when they do, they do not have full referential features (to be made precise later). I will also be concerned with cases where specially marked anaphors occur that are bound to arguments outside the local domain (again unexpected). Locality is defined through governing category (Chomsky 1981), or the domain of AGR(eement) (Koster 1993), or the domain of a predicate and its arguments (Reinhart and Reuland 1993). This locality captures a generalization across languages (cf. Faltz 1985) that direct objects are more likely to be specially marked, for instance, through -self, than adjuncts or indirect objects. Thus, one expects (1) and (2) to be grammatical but not (3). Similarly, there are varieties of English where (4) is grammatical because the anaphorically used pronoun is an indirect object (see also Baker 1995; Haiman 1995; van der Leek 1994): (1) (2) (3) (4)

I see myself. I saw a snake near me. *I saw me. I’ll buy me a dictionary.

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Older versions of English do not display this complementarity. In fact, the reverse is true. For instance, in Gawain and the Green Knight and in Chaucer, (a) pronouns are locally bound in direct object position but (b) forms marked with self appear in prepositional object position. Thus, the Middle English domain within which reflexivity is licensed seems very different from the Modern English one. However, rather than doing away with the notion of domain for Middle English and yet to account for (a), I examine the possibility that (Old and) Middle English objects have inherent Case (as in Chomsky 1986). In Old English, objects can be argued to have inherent Case and, in accordance with Reinhart and Reuland’s (1993) Chain Condition, pronominal objects are thus not fully specified and can function anaphorically. Once structural Case is introduced in Middle English (perhaps activating AGRoP), first and second person pronouns continue to be used reflexively, again in accordance with the Chain Condition, because they are also less specified in terms of N-features (i.e. person, number and gender features); third person ones are not. The evidence for the difference in feature strength comes from pro-drop and lack of agreement. With respect to question (b), I argue that self marked forms cannot appear in direct object position, i.e. in structurally Case marked position, because the reflexive forms are not fully specified for structural Case due to the change that takes place in self from adjective to pronoun. Thus, the pronominal form is genitive rather than accusative. This means the Case features continue to be inherent and the self-marked forms only occur in prepositional and indirect object position, i.e. in non-structurally Case marked positions. First and second person forms lag behind here too. After a brief theoretical discussion, the outline of the paper is chronological. I start by discussing two Old English texts (Beowulf and Junius) where specially marked reflexives do not occur, and two where they start to (Alfred and Aelfric). After turning to early Middle English Layamon’s Brut where the morphological change in self from adjective to (pro)noun is taking place, I examine two fourteenth century works (Gawain and the Green Knight and Chaucer). Then, the fifteenth century Paston Letters are addressed as well as some subsequent texts (Shakespeare’s 2 Henry IV and Hume’s Enquiry). The historical texts are examined synchronically rather than diachronically. Thus, I make very few claims as to why one stage would develop into another.

1.–Some theoretical background In this section, I discuss the theoretical background relevant to anaphora as well as to Case.

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Chomsky (1981; 1986) formulates three well-known Binding Principles: (A) an anaphor must be bound in its governing category, (B) a pronoun must be free in its governing category, and (C) an R-expression must be free. The governing domain for an element is the minimal domain containing the governor, the element itself and a subject. The formulation of A and B assumes that anaphors and pronouns are in complementary distribution. One of the problems with principles A and B and one that has prompted reformulations is the cross-linguistic variation with respect to the famous ‘snake’ sentences. It is well-known that in English, as in (2), the pronoun can be coreferential to the subject; in German, as in (5), ihr cannot and the reflexive sich is needed; and in Dutch, as in (6), both are possible (even though some speakers do not accept haar): (5) Sie sah eine Schlange neben sich/*ihr, ‘She saw a snake next to herself/her’. (6) Zij zag een slang naast zich/haar, ‘She saw a snake next to herself/her’. Other languages display a similar variety (cf. de Jong 1995; 1996 for Romance) which is problematic since the governing category for an element should not be so different for different languages. Chomsky’s approach is also problematic for (4). To remedy this, different types of solutions have been proposed. Reinhart and Reuland (1993) argue that Binding Theory should be formulated as a condition on predicates rather than as a condition on anaphors and pronouns. In (1), the predicate is reflexive-marked (one of its arguments has -self) and therefore two of its arguments must be coindexed. This condition is met. Condition B is stated such that a predicate that has two coindexed arguments must have reflexive marking. Hence, (3) is ungrammatical. If, in (2) and (4), me is not a proper argument to the predicates see and buy respectively, reflexive marking is not needed and the sentences should be grammatical. In addition, they claim there is a Chain Condition that allows pronouns to be locally bound if they are not fully marked for Case and N-features. Even though they do not mention (4), the Chain Condition might allow locally bound me if one argues that indirect objects do not check structural Case but have inherent Case connected to thematic structure and would not be fully specified. Similarly, one could argue that prepositions as in (2) assign inherent Case and that is the reason the pronoun can be locally bound.1 As to structural Case assignment, since Pollock (1989) and Chomsky (1989), structural Case is assumed to be checked in a Specifier-Head relationship. Thus, nominative is checked with AGRs and objective is checked with AGRo as in (7):

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AGRsP Spec

AGRs′

AGRs AGRoP Spec

AGRo′

AGRo

VP

Spec

V′

Zoya V saw

NP Bela

Languages differ as to whether or not movement of the subject and object to the Specifier of AGRsP and AGRoP respectively is overt. English is said to have overt movement to the Spec of AGRsP. Inherent Case is assigned under government; it is a lexical Case. Koster (1993) reformulates the notion of governing category in Minimalist terms (cf. Chomsky 1995) and crucially uses Case checking. He argues that morphologically marked anaphors are strong and must be checked with AGR(eement). Languages differ as to where the feature is located: with AGRs as in German (and Slavic) or with AGRo as in English. Thus, in German, the entire sentence is a binding domain and within it, bound pronouns would violate Principle B; in English, there is a smaller domain and pronouns may function anaphorically if they are not direct arguments of the verb. In (5), the reflexive is in the domain of AGRs, i.e. the entire sentence, and checks its feature; in (2), it is not and a pronoun appears. The anaphor in (1) is in the domain of AGRo and checks its structural Case there. Since inherent (or oblique) Case is not checked in AGR, obliquely marked pronouns can function anaphorically. Thus, the domain is crucial for both Reinhart and Reuland and for Koster: languages either choose a domain that only includes direct arguments, or the domain is extended to include adjuncts as well. The Chain Condition, however, focusses on pronouns and the conditions where they are referential. I will present some data that are the opposite of the data in (1)–(4) where specially marked forms and simple pronouns are concerned and then use the Chain Condition to deal with the problems that Middle English poses. I start with some unproblematic Old English texts.

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2.–The data 2.1.–Old English As is well-known, Old English lacks a specially marked reflexive (cf. Penning 1875; Farr 1905; Hermodsson 1952; Ogura 1989). In Beowulf, one of the earliest Old English texts (the manuscript is 10th century but the composition is earlier), simple pronouns function anaphorically as direct, indirect and prepositional objects, as in (8), (9), and (10) respectively: (8) Beowulf, 677–82 No ic me an herewæsmun hnagran talige not I me regarding prowess smaller consider guþgeweorca, þonne Grendel hine wardeeds than Grendel him ‘I think of myself for my prowess and wardeeds no less than Grendel does of himself’. (9) Beowulf, 932–3 þæt ic ænigra me weana ne wende that I any-gen.p me hope not expected ‘that I expected any hope for myself’. (10) Beowulf, 2523–4 forðon ic me on hafu bord ond byrnan therefore I me on have shield and coat-of-mail ‘therefore I shall have on me a shield and a coat of arms’. There is (even though Visser 1963: 420 and Mitchell 1985: 189–90 deny this) an early form of self that marks a reflexive object as in (11). This instance of self is assumed to be an emphatic since it is the only instance; the other forms mainly refer to subjects. If hyne sylfne in (11) were an early instance of a reflexive, this occurrence would be in accordance with the observation that if any anaphors are specially marked, they will be the direct object ones. Thus, Beowulf presents no special problems even though the use of self is probably emphatic to the reflexive object, due to the rarity of (11). self in these early texts is an adjective inflected for person, number and gender modifying the argument pronoun (cf. König and Siemund 1999 for a discussion on the origin of emphatics). For instance, sylfne in (11) is marked for accusative, masculine singular (indefinite declension) and sylfe in (12) for nominative, masculine plural indefinite (cf. Quirk and Wrenn 1955):

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(11) Beowulf, 2875 þæt he hyne sylfne gewræc that he him-acc self-acc.m.s avenged ‘that he avenged himself’. (12) Beowulf, 1995–7 þæt þu . . . lete Suð-Dene sylfe geweorðan guðe wið Grendel that you . . . let Danes self-nom.m.p fight against Grendel ‘that you let the Danes themselves fight against Grendel’. In other Early Old English texts, the same is not true. In the Junius Manuscript (c. 1000 but composed earlier), self does not mark anaphoric direct objects but prepositional objects as in (13). There are 3 possible reflexives, given here: (13) Genesis 438 Sittan læte ic hine wið me sylfne remain let I him-acc with me-acc self-acc.m.s ‘I let him remain with myself’. (14) Genesis, 2628 heht hie bringan to him selfum ordered her-acc bring to him-dat self-dat ‘ordered (them) to bring her to himself’. (15) Genesis 885–6 Nu ic þæs tacen wege // sweotol on me selfum now I the token carry evident on me-dat self-dat ‘Now I clearly carry the sign upon me’. Assuming the forms in (11)–(15) are emphatic, not anaphoric (cf. Faltz 1989), no problems occur. If they were anaphoric, it would be strange that the specially marked form occurs outside the immediate domain in (13). As mentioned above, Visser (1963: 421) says that by the time of Alfred, the reflexive pronoun is often followed by self. The examples he mentions (pp. 421–3) have inflected forms of self and modify genitive and accusative objects as in (16) and (17): (16) Alfred, Pastoral Care 34.7 mon forgit his selfes man forgets his-gen self-gen.s ‘Man forgets himself’.

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(17) Idem, Orosius 166.23 [he] hiene selfne ofslog him-acc self-acc.m.s killed ‘he killed himself’. In Alfred’s Boethius, there are many others, for instance, self modifies a prepositional object as in (18). Wülfing (1894: 358), in his two-volume syntax of Alfred’s works, lists many with all kinds of endings, e.g. modifying an indirect object in (19): (18) Boethius 13.13–4 Wastu oþres bi þe selfum to secganne know-you other by you-dat self-dat to say ‘Do you yourself know to say anything else’. (19) Pastoral Care, 4.22 Ac ic þa sona eft me selfum andwyrde but I then soon after me-dat self-dat answered ‘But soon after, I soon answered myself’. The simple pronoun remains used reflexively as in (20). Wülfing (1894: 356) claims that this is the preferred way of expressing the reflexive and provides several pages of instances, not only where the pronoun is a direct object as in (20) but also as an indirect or prepositional object as in (21): (20) Pastoral Care 409.33 ðu ðin scamige you you-gen shame ‘Be ashamed of yourself’. (21) Orosius 154.15 hie namon heora fultum mid him ‘they took their support with them’. Thus, Alfred’s reflexive use of pronominals is the same as that in other Old English texts even though more forms of self serve as reinforcements of reflexive pronouns (cf. also Wülfing’s 1901: 2–18 lists of reflexive verbs). The late Old English works of Aelfric indicate that self is regularly used to reinforce a reflexive pronoun and could be said to be part of it. Looking through the instances in Aelfric’s Homilies, sylf is used emphatically with singular nominatives as in (22), sylfe with plural nominatives, sylfes with genitives, sylfne with accusatives as in (23) and sylfum with datives as in (24), occur frequently. Accusative and dative forms are possibly reflexive in (23) and (24):

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(22) Hom II 8.173 He sylf clypode to me he self-nom said to me ‘He himself said to me’. (23) Hom II 93.51 Þa beðohte he hine sylfne then bethought he him-acc self-acc ‘Then he reconsidered’. (24) Hom II 45.117 Se ðe him sylfum leofað The that him-dat self-dat loves ‘Who that loves himself’. It is interesting that modification of third person pronouns by forms in -ne or -um predominates. Thus, sylfne almost exclusively occurs with hine and sylfum does with him; both modify direct as well as prepositional objects. In both volumes of the Homilies, there are 121 instances of hine followed by sylfne; 9 of me with sylfne; 86 of him and sylfum and 10 of me with sylfum. In comparison, there are 934 instances of hine, 1608 instances of him, and 516 of me. Noticeable first al all is that even though there are almost twice as many instances of him than of hine, the latter is more often modified by a form of self. Counting him and hine together and comparing these to me, third person singular pronouns are followed by self in eight per cent of the cases; first person singular is in 3.7 per cent. This third person preference, especially of the accusative form, is related to what is the case in later texts, namely that third person pronouns are the first to develop specially marked reflexives. In conclusion, the situation in Old English is one where pronouns can be used reflexively. I will argue in Section 3 that they can be used this way because they are not fully specified and do not violate the Chain Condition of Section 1. The reflexive pronoun, however, is increasingly modified by a form of self. This occurs in all contexts by the time of Alfred and Aelfric, i.e. in direct, indirect and prepositional object positions. 2.2.–Early Middle English In this section, I discuss Layamon’s Brut, which is from the early half of the 13th century.3 The points of interest in this text, two versions of which exist, is (a) that self is grammaticalizing from an adjective into a noun, (b) that the innovations regarding first and second person pronouns lag behind those of third person

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pronouns, and (c) that the introduction of a reflexive is in oblique position (unexpected in the framework sketched in Section 1). In the thirteenth century, there is evidence (cf. van Gelderen 1996a) that the category of self changes from adjective to (pro)noun. The endings on self in both versions (Caligula and Otho) of Layamon’s Brut ‘simplify’ and are reanalyzed as Case markers (non-nominative in (30) and (26) below; cf. Diehn 1901: 60). The reason for this may be the general loss of endings on adjectives. In addition, self is merged with the pronoun (i.e. written as one word) which is genitive rather than accusative. In the early version of Layamon (beginning of the thirteenth century), there are some adjectival endings such as -ne in (25) and 16 self variants preceded by an accusative me occur as in (25); in the later version (second half of the same century), the endings are zero or -e and only 1 form occurs preceded by me: (25) Caligula 4156 ah hit wes þurh me seolfne but it was through me-acc self-acc ‘but it was through myself’. In Caligula, there are 9 forms of mi-self, 2 of þi-self, and 80 of him-self.4 In the somewhat later Otho, the same numbers are 21, 12, and 54. (In Caligula, there is one miseolf, one himseolf and one himsuluen; in Otho, none). Otho is a text that is severely damaged and hence fewer lines are left, but the change from accusative to genitive pronoun is obvious. For instance, (25) becomes (26), (27) becomes (28). Some of the ones that disappear in Otho are (32), (34) and (36), as compared to (31), (33) and (35) in Caligula. Emphatics change as well in pronominal form, as from (29)–(30): (26) Otho 4156 ac hit was þorh mi-seolue ‘but it was through myself’. (27) Caligula 4165 7 me sulfne heo þencheþ quellen and me self-acc they think to kill ‘and they plan to kill me’. (28) Otho 4165 and þench(eþ) mi-seolue cwelle (29) Caligula 1594 þu seolf wurð al hisund you self-nom become all healthy ‘you yourself become healthy’.

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(30) Otho 1594 þou þi-seolf far hol and (sunde). (31) Caligula 5466 7 he seolf him wolden specken wið and he self-nom him wanted speak with ‘and he himself wanted to speak with him’. (32) Otho 5466 he wolde come and speke him wiþ. (33) Caligula 6195 7 heo seolf liðden forð and they self-nom went forth ‘and they themselves slipped away’. (34) Otho 6195 and hii flow forþ. (35) Caligula 10151 and wraðe hine sulfne and angered him-acc self-acc ‘and he angered him self’. (36) Otho 10151 and wreþþede him swiþe.5 I now examine the shape and function of pronouns followed by self. First and second person pronouns followed by self usually function emphatically. Third person pronouns continue to be accusative in form (himself rather than hisself) and about half of these forms are reflexive. I start with first person, then proceed to second and third. In the early, Caligula, version, there are 16 forms with an accusative pronoun followed by self as in (37), (38) and (39), but none are reflexive objects. There are 8 forms of mi-seolf as in (40), one of miseolf as in (41), and one of mi-self, i.e. forms where a genitive pronoun precedes. Seven of these are emphatic as in (41), two are reflexive adverbials, shown in (40), and one is a reflexive following a copula in (42). However, Binding Theory around copulas is different. For instance, in Modern English, Binding Theory exhibits exceptions around copulas: He is Hamlet; Let Clinton be Clinton.Thus, mi-self is introduced in oblique position:

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(37) Caligula 4156 ah hit wes þurh me seolfne but it was through me-acc self-acc ‘but it was through myself’. (38) Idem, 12939 a uolden he me laiden. and lai mid me seoluen but wanted he me lay and laid with me self-acc ‘but he wanted to lay me and he lay with me’. (39) Caligula 14012 and þe leo i þan ulode. iwende wið me seolue and the lion in the water went with me self ‘and the lion went into the water, taking me with her’. (40) Caligula 14004 Buten mi-seolf ich gon atstonden outside myself I started stand ‘I myself stood outside’. (41) Caligula 8511 miseolf ich habbe inowe myself I have enough ‘I myself have enough’. (42) Caligula 4397 Ah ich mi-seolf neore but I myself not-was ‘But I wasn’t myself’. Rather than using self for reflexives, simple pronouns as in (43) and (44) are used. Their functions are both direct and prepositional object. Looking through the entire text, I found 12 such cases, but this is not an exhaustive list: (43) Caligula 9500 and ich me wulle ræsten and I me want rest ‘And I want to rest myself’. (44) Caligula 10967 swa ich here biuoren me. mid æZenen bihælde such I here before me with eyes saw ‘such as I saw here before me with my own eyes’.

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First person plural pronouns are also used reflexively as in (45) and (46); there are four instances of a combination with a self form, as in (47) (and two of these are reflexive) and two with the dual as in (48) (one of which is reflexive): (45) Caligula 2999 Wrake we us on Bruttes Revenge we us on Brits ‘Let us revenge ourselves on the Brittons’. (46) Caligula 9176 7 leten we us ræden. of ure misdeden and let we us council of our misdeeds ‘and let us consider our misdeeds’. (47) Caligula 1656 Vs selve we habbet cokes us self we have cooks ‘Ourselves, we have cooks’. (48) Caligula 11809 þat fehten wit scullen unc seoluen that fight we-dual shall us-dual self ‘That we shell fight each other’. With second persons, simple pronouns continue to be used reflexively; there are only two singular forms preceded by a genitive pronoun as in (49) but both are emphatic. The ten forms preceded by an accusative as in (50) are mainly emphatic as well, even though some are ambiguous as in (51) and 2 are reflexive as in (52). There are nine pronouns that I found (using the same method as with first persons) that function reflexively; two are given in (53) and (54): (49) Caligula 8963 þat weore þu Uðer þi-seolf that was you Uther yourself ‘That was you Uther yourself’. (50) Caligula 14048 and ich æm icumen to þe seoluen and I am come to you self ‘I have come to you’. (51) Caligula 4907 7 þe seoluen 7 þin folc. falleð to grunde and you-acc self-acc and your people fall to ground ‘and you yourself and your people fall to the ground’

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(52) Caligula 9915–6 a brutten þe seoluen. // halden la3en rihte in britain you-acc self-acc hold law right ‘In Britain, (you) hold yourself to the right law’. (53) Caligula 8089 Nu þu scalt þe warmen þer Now you-nom shall you-acc warm there ‘Now you shall warm yourself’. (54) Caligula 8596 7 þat weorc þu scalt bringen. mid þe to þissen londe and that work you-nom shall bring with you-dat to this land ‘and that work you shall bring with you to this land’. With second person plural, I found two combinations with self and one between second dual and self but all are emphatic. Thus, with first and second person singular forms, self marks reflexivity in possibly five cases; whereas simple pronouns do this at least 21 times. The situation with third person pronouns is different. Simple pronouns continue to be used in both prepositional and direct object positions (I found four instances of him and 16 of hine used reflexively in Caligula6). As in Beowulf, hine is used as direct object as in (56) and him as prepositional object as in (55). If hine represents the morphologically inherent Case, this fits with Reinhart and Reuland’s (1993) Chain Condition: only pronouns not completely specified (in this circumstance for Case) function anaphorically. If him is already the structural Case form, it fits that it does not function anaphorically in the direct domain of the verb. Some instances are: (55) Caligula 8908 naðeles he hafede mid him nonetheless he had with him ‘nonetheless he brought with him’ (56) Caligula 3302 he hine vncuð makede he-nom him-acc unknown made ‘he made himself unknown’ (57) Caligula 2291 he hine bi-ðohte he-nom him-acc thought-about ‘he considered’.

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In the later Otho version, the numbers are different because the specially marked accusative is disappearing. In this text, 11 instances of him are used reflexively and 8 instances of hine. The total number of hines in Caligula are 682 and in Otho, 430. I will argue in Section 3 that the decline of the use of hine is related to the loss of inherent Case. Unlike with first and second persons, there are more hims (but not hines or his forms7) combined with a form of self that are used reflexively (mainly as prepositional objects as in (58) and (59) but also as beneficial object as in (60) and (61) and as direct object as in (62).8 The number of instances as in (58)–(62), i.e. reflexive forms of him followed by a form of self, is 30, out of a total of 80 such forms (and 2 fused ones). There are 16 third person plurals and they pattern with the singulars in that half of the forms that are combined with self are reflexive: (58) Caligula 1454 he heo lette nemnen; efter him-seoluan he-nom it-acc let name after himself ‘and had it named after himself’. (59) Caligula 770 Corineus com quecchen. 7 to him-seolfe queð Corineus came collect and to himself said ‘Corineus came collecting spoil and to himself said’. (60) Caligula 5839 he makede him-seluen muchel clond he made himself much pain ‘He made for himself much pain’. (61) Caligula 5604 halde him-seolf þisne dom held himself this doom ‘held for himself this authority’. (62) Caligula 5856 Maximien . . . to resten hine-seolue. ‘Maximilian . . . to rest himself’. The third person singular forms are summarized in Table 1 for the two versions. This table shows (a) that the special accusative form, i.e. hine, starts to disappear and becomes the same as the dative, i.e. him, in the later Otho, and (b) that there is an increase of self marked reflexives, mainly in prepositional object position (note that the hyphen is inserted by Brook and Leslie, see note 4). So far, I have shown that first and second pronouns continue to be used reflex-

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Table 1.–Third person anaphors Caligula

Otho

refl ‘him’ 4 11 refl hine 16 8 himself 2 0 him-self 80 (30 refl) 85 hin-seolf 1 0 hine self 13 0

ively in Caligula and Otho. There are only five combinations of me or þe combined with self that are reflexive, whereas there are 21 reflexively used pronouns. With third person, the figures are 30 with self as against 20 ‘simple’ forms. To summarize the positions in which possibly reflexive compounds with self occur in Layamon: (a) after prepositions as in (63)–(68), (b) in oblique contexts as in (60) above and (70), (c) as ethical dative as in (69) and (72), (d) as direct object as in (62) above, repeated as (71), they are rare: (63) Caligula 214 he heihte his folc sumunen. 7 cumen to him-seoluen he ordered his people together and come to himself ‘he ordered his people together to come to him’. (64) Caligula 770 (is (59) above), Corineus com quecchen. 7 to him-seolfe queð ‘Corineus came collecting spoil and to himself said’. (65) Caligula 977 Ah scupte him nome; æfter him-seluan but created him name after himself ‘But (Brutus) gave him a name after him’. (66) Caligula 1382 iholden mid himself held with himself ‘(he) held with himself’. (67) Caligula 1454 (is (58) above) he heo lette nemnen. efter him-seoluan ‘he it let be named after himself’.

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(68) Caligula 1470 He seide to himsuluen he said to himself ‘He said to himself’. (69) Caligula 309 him-self mid his fenge. he to wode ferde himself with his caught ones he to wood went ‘He himself with his hostages went to the woods’. (70) Caligula 13951 and seide þat he wolde. him-seolue þat lond holde and said that he wanted himself that land hold ‘and seid that he wanted to hold the land for himself’. (71) Caligula 5856–7 Maximien . . . to resten hine seolue Maximien . . . to rest him-acc self ‘Maximilian . . . to rest himself’. (72) Caligula 1102 7 him-seolf . . . ferde into ane watere and himself . . . went into once water ‘and (he) himself went at once into the water’. Thus, in Caligula (and Otho), the introduction of special reflexives is most common with prepositional objects (adjunct as well as complement). This can also be seen in the pronouns accompanied by self that are introduced in Otho. The cases where Otho has special reflexives where Caligula has simple pronouns are in prepositional object position: (73) Caligula 1026 hehte heo nemnen Kaerlud. æfter þone kinge called it name Kaerlud after that king ‘(he) called it (the city) Kaerlud after the king (i.e. himself)’. (74) Otho, idem hehte nemny hine Kairlud. after him-seolue. With the morphological change between Caligula and Otho (shown in Table 2), one might expect a decrease of the reflexive use of the simple pronoun. This is not the case between Caligula and Otho. There are 545 instances of me in Caligula and 12 instances are clearly reflexive. These are direct as well as oblique object. In Otho, the situation does not change, except that the manuscript is damaged

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Table 2.–First person anaphors me refl me self mi-self miself

Caligula

Otho

12: DO + PO 16: emph >> 9: emph + PO >> 1: emph

10: DO + PO 1 21: emph + PO 0

and that, as a result, there are only 402 instances of me and 10 reflexive uses. The situation in Layamon’s Caligula version is perhaps not surprising: if the specially marked form is introduced, it makes pragmatic sense to do so in ambiguous contexts, i.e. third person. One might, however, expect that the introduction would be limited to the direct domain as in (62). This is not the case because it mainly occurs in the oblique (prepositional and indirect object) domain as in (58). In 3.1 I argue that inherent Case is lost last for third person pronouns. Since a special accusative third person hine is still frequent in Caligula (and Otho), this might still be an inherent Case and that might be the reason hine seolf occurs less frequently whereas him-seolf is very frequent. In addition, in Caligula, hine is used reflexively many more often (16 times) in contrast to him (4 times). As for Reinhart and Reuland’s Chain Condition, one could argue that him is becoming the marker of structural Case and can therefore no longer function anaphorically. As to why first and second person simple pronouns continue to function this way, I develop an account in Section 3.3. 2.3.–Middle English Fourteenth century texts such as Gawain and the Green Knight use reflexive pronouns and present a challenge to Binding Theory. Checking first person pronouns, seven simple pronouns occur reflexively as in (75)–(81). Out of a total of five self compounds, two are used reflexively as in (82) and (83): (75) Gawain, 402 And I shal ware alle my wyt to wynne me þeder ‘And I schall employ al my wit to get myself there’. (76) Gawain, 474 I may me wel dres ‘I may prepare myself well’. (77) Gawain, 1009 I pyned me parauenture ‘I troubled myself perhaps’.

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(78) Gawain, 1215 For I 3elde me 3ederly ‘Because I surrender myself promptly’. (79) Gawain, 1964 I 3ef yow me for on of youre3 ‘I give to you myself for one of yours’. (80) Gawain, 2121 And I schal hy3 me hom a3ayn ‘And I shall hasten myself home again’. (81) Gawain, 2159 And to hym I haf me tone ‘And to him I have committed myself’. (82) Gawain, 1540 Bot to take þe toruayle to myself to trwluf expoun But to take the hard-task to myself to expound true-love ‘But to take on the task of interpreting true love’. (83) Gawain, 2434 When I ride in renoun, remorde to myseluen ‘When I ride in glory, (I) call to mind with remorse to myself’. Thus, the simple first person pronoun occurs in object position, except for (80) which is different because it is an ethical dative (cf. Mustanoja 1960), never as prepositional object. Myself/uen only occurs as object of a preposition. This means the simple pronoun is still the reflexive but that the introduction of the self-compound occurs in oblique (i.e. non-direct object) position. These forms are not emphatic since emphatics are no longer formed by adding self but as in (84). If (83) had been emphatic, it might have looked like (85). Such sentences are unattested, as ‘%’ indicates: (84) Gawain, 1052 For I am sumned myselfe to sech to a place ‘For I myself am summoned to seek a place’. (85) %remorde to me myselfue. There are no first person plural self forms and (only) 19 instances of we occur of which none is followed by a reflexive us. The situation is similar with second person singular. The only reflexive form marked with self is given as (86) and is in prepositional object position. The simple pronoun is used reflexively in direct object position in (87):

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(86) Gawain 2141 þat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þyseluen that you want your own harm bring upon yourself ‘that you want to take all your trouble on yourself’. (87) Gawain 2341 halde þe wel payed ‘hold yourself well paid’. The same is true for second person plural, except that the reflexive form in (89) is used without referring to an NP in the same clause. This is possible in impersonal constructions: (88) Gawain 1267 Hit is þe worchip of yourself (89) Gawain 1964 if yowreself lykez ‘If you would like’. (90) Gawain 1394 Where 3e wan þis ilk wele bi wytte of yorseluen where you won this kind wealth by intelligence of yourself ‘where you acquired wealth of this kind through your wisdom’. (91) Gawain 1547–8 As I am hy3ly bihalden, and euermore wylle Be seruaunt to yourseluen, so saue me dry3tyn! ‘For I am highly beholden and evermore shall be the servant of you, so save me God’. Third person self forms as in (92) are different in that even though more hymselfs are prepositional objects than direct objects, there are 3 direct objects out of 24 self forms as in (93). There is also an impersonal subject as in (94); many are nonanaphoric as in (95). The simple pronoun remains in some use: (92) Gawain 1198 Bot 3et he sayde in hymself ‘But still he said to himself’. (93) Gawain 2040 Bot for to sauen hymself ‘But to save himself’.

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(94) Gawain 976 To be her seruaunt sothly, if hemself lyked ‘To be their faithful servant, if it would be pleasing to them’. (95) Gawain 1085 Þer watz seme solace by hemself stille. ‘There was fair pleasure by themselves privately’. Concluding, the data in Gawain and the Green Knight indicate two problems. (a) The domain in which specially marked anaphoric forms appear is not within the immediate domain of the verb. This presents problems for Reinhart and Reuland’s conditions on predicates, as well as for Chomsky’s notion of governing category and for Koster’s AGR-domain. (b) There is a difference between first and second person anaphors on the one hand and third person ones on the other: third person reflexives such as hymself are used as direct objects. I now turn to Chaucer and will show that the data are very similar to Gawain for first and third but not for second person anaphors. With first person singular reflexives, there are more simple pronouns than specially marked ones: 71 forms of ‘myself’ as in (96)–(98) (including emphatics), but at least 125 reflexive me as in (99)–(105): (96) Knight’s Tale 1813 I woot it by myself ful yore agon ‘I knew it by myself long ago’. (97) Pardoner’s Tale 841 this tresor to myself allone ‘this treasure to myself alone’. (98) Boece Bk 1 P4, 105 I ne reservede nevere nothyng to myselve ‘I never reserved anything for myself’. (99) Clerk’s Tale 145 I me rejoysed of my liberte (100) Knight’s Tale 2052 I wol me haste (101) Wife of Bath’s Tale 1231 I put me in your wise . . . (102) Melibee 1058 if I governed me by thy conseil

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(103) Romaunt of the Rose 1807 thanne I avysede me (104) Rom 6297 If I may passen me herby. (105) Troilus and Criseyde, II, 12 Forwhi to every lovere I me excuse The simple pronoun me is only used in direct object position (except in the expression sayde for me); myself is mainly used in oblique position.9 The same distribution occurs in the case of us as in (106) and (107) of which around 20 cases occur. Ourself and us selven are used reflexively in oblique contexts in (108) and (109): (106) Melibee, 1765 we putten us and oure . . . (107) Melibee, 1821 we submytten us to the . . . (108) Bo Bk 3 P12 ben asschamid of ourself (109) Prol WBT, 812 acorded by us selven two Second person self-forms are different. Many are emphatic as in (110); a few are in subject position by themselves as in (111); many are direct objects as in (112)–(114) and many are objects to prepositions as in (115). The same seems true for the second person plural: (110) Boethius Bk 3, P4 and thou thiself hast ysought it mochel (111) Troilus 369, Bk 3 so loth was that thiself it wiste. (112) Merchant’s Tale 1385 Thou lovest thyself. (113) Troilus 528 Bk 4 Why nylt thiselven helpen don redresse (114) Boethius Bk 4 P4 thow hast joyned thiself to the most excellent (115) Troilus 620 Bk 4 Have mercy on thiself for any awe

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The second person simple pronoun thee is used reflexively but as mentioned above much less frequently than with first persons (27 times as opposed to 125 times with first person). A number of simple pronouns function anaphorically, mainly as direct objects. The vast majority of these are reflexive verbs such as repent, shryve ‘confess’, bithink ‘reflect’. When discussing the Paston Letters below, I come back to these. Third person reflexives pattern with second person ones. Even though the majority of the reflexive self forms occurs as object of a preposition as in (116), there are quite a lot of direct objects as in (117): (116) The Knight’s Tale 1773 And softe unto hymself he seyde (117) The Parson’s Tale 1042 and helpen hymself the ofter with the orisoun Again, the instances of him used reflexively occur with reflexive verbs such as shryve. Summarizing Chaucer, the first person simple pronoun is used reflexively in direct object position. Outside that immediate domain, a special indicator, i.e. a self-marked form, is needed. This is not true for second and third person where even though specially marked forms predominate in prepositional object position, some occur as direct objects. The use of second and third person simple pronouns is reduced to reflexive verbs. 2.4.–Later Developments In The Paston Letters (PL), written by various people throughout the 15th century, the simple pronoun ceases to be used reflexively except with what one could call inherently reflexive verbs such as repent. These verbs cannot be other than reflexive and therefore a specially marked reflexive is least necessary. They occur throughout the history of English as (99) above shows. Reinhart and Reuland (1993: 663) assume that a predicate is reflexive-marked if the predicate is lexically reflexive. Hence, a simple pronoun can be coindexed with the subject without having an illformed predicate. The Chain Condition could account for it as well if one argued that the Case assigned by reflexive verbs is inherent and does not fully specify the pronoun. Checking over a hundred instances of hym in the immediate environment of he, I find 5 reflexive hyms, namely (118)–(122): (118) PL, #310 (1478) he repentyd hym ‘He repented’.

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(119) PL, #129 (1448) he xuld repent hym ‘He should repent’. (120) PL, #143 (1452) he shall repente hym (121) PL, #143 (1452) for he shall ell repent hym (122) PL, #165 (1461) he schold bryng wyth hym The several hundreds of instances of I in the immediate environment of me involve almost exclusively the verb recommand. Reflexives such as hym-self are used in all possible environments, for instance in (123) and (124): (123) PL #14 (1445) ho so euer schuld dwelle at Paston shulde have nede to conne defende hymselfe ‘whosoever should dwell at Paston should be able to defend himself’. (124) PL #116 (1461) fore he is not bold y-now to put forthe hym-selfe ‘because he is not bold enough to put forth himself’. Thus, the situation in the Paston Letters is close to that in Modern English and can be accounted for the same way. In a later text, however, the First Folio Edition (1623) of Shakespeare’s 2 King Henry IV, simple pronouns as in (125)–(128) as well as specially marked ones in (129)–(132) function anaphorically in both direct and indirect domains: (125) 2 Henry IV, I, iii He that buckles him in my belt (126) II, ii (sayes he) that takes vpon him not to conceiue? (127) II, iv I feele me much to blame. (128) IV, i I take not on me here as a Physician (129) I, iv That thou prouok’st thy selfe to cast him vp.

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(130) II, iv I dresse my selfe handsome (131) V, i An honest man sir, is able to speake for himselfe (132) II, ii as hee hath occasion to name himselfe. This situation is very different from the one in Gawain and Chaucer and will not be accounted for here. Notice, however, that my and thy are separate from the forms in self whereas himselfe is not. There are 28 instances of independent selfe as in (129) and (130) and all of these involve first, second or neuter pronouns. The four forms of independent selues also involve first or second. All instances of third person are a unit as in (131) and (132). Checking the entire First Folio Edition, I find only two forms of myselfe but hundreds of my selfe; with second person and third neuter and feminine, all instances are morphologically separate. The total numbers of self is 14; of selfe, 1,405; of selfes, 1. With third person masculine, however, there are four instances of himself, 417 of himselfe, seven of him-selfe, but there is never an instance of him selfe. This indicates that even in Shakespeare, where simple pronouns are still used reflexively, the third person (masculine) ones are more grammaticalized. A century and a half after Shakespeare, there is no trace of the reflexive use of simple pronouns in the texts I examined and simple pronouns as in (133) are free. self-forms as in (134) are used exclusively in, for instance, Hume’s Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (1748). Typical instances are: (133) Hume, Enquiry IV, i, 23 Adam . . . could not have inferred from the fluidity and transparancy of water that it would suffocate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it would consume him. (134) Hume, Enquiry XII, ii, 128 And though a Pyrrhonian may throw himself or others into a momentary amazement . . . Checking some Austen texts a century later, the ‘modern’ English situation prevails and simple pronouns are not used reflexively. Concluding Section 2, I have indicated several problems for Binding Theory: the introduction of specially marked reflexives is in prepositional object position, and there is a difference between the different pronouns.

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3.–Middle-English Binding Using Reinhart and Reuland’s (1993) Chain Condition, I will entertain a number of ways to account for the Middle English data, through (a) inherent Case; and (b) feature content of pronouns, and (c) the change of self from adjective to noun. The Chain Condition allows pronouns to be used anaphorically (i.e. they are not referential) if they are not fully marked for structural Case and/or N-features. I will argue that inherent Case is lost first with first and second person pronouns and later with third person. This renders pronouns with inherent Case anaphoric. The N-features of first and second are not fully marked as opposed to third. In Old English, inherent Case makes a pronoun less referential and enables it to function anaphorically; once inherent Case is lost for third person, the pronoun becomes referential and ceases to be reflexive. First and second person pronouns continue to do so longer due to the less fully marked nature of their N-features. I am not focussing on putting referentiality in Minimalist (Chomsky 1995) terms but this can readily be done by arguing that Inherent Case and less marked N-features are Interpretable and not relevant at the level of chains. They are relevant at LF. As the language changes from one with morphological licensing to one with positional licensing (see Kiparsky 1997), the features become Non-Interpretable. 3.1.–Case As shown above, Old English has no specially marked reflexive. However, using the insights the Chain Condition, as in Reinhart and Reuland (1993), or Koster (1993) provide us into inherent Case, this is not surprising. If inherent Case makes a pronoun less referential, it can function anaphorically.10 In Old English, as is argued in e.g. van Gelderen (1996b) and others, the Case of the object is not structural as many Cases are distinguished morphologically: the first person nominative, genitive, dative and accusative forms are ic, min, me, me(c); the third person forms are he, his, him and hine. During the Old English period, the special accusative forms for first and second person disappear (e.g. mec ‘me-acc’ and þec ‘you-acc-sg no longer present in Late Old and Early Middle English), but third person special forms (e.g. hine ‘him-acc’) remain in use in texts of the middle of the 13th century. Many of these Cases are thematically predictable. For instance, in Beowulf, some verbs as forgripan ‘seize’ in (135) and misbeodan ‘do wrong’ have dative objects (cf. Visser 1963: 280ff; Mitchell 1985: 454ff.) because their objects have Goal theta-roles; others such as seon ‘see’ have accusative because the theta-role is Theme; or genitive such as feon ‘rejoice in’ because of the Cause theta-role. This

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thematic relationship indicates that Case is inherent, rather than structural (cf. Chomsky 1986): (135) Beowulf 2353 ond æt guðe forgrap Grendeles mægum and at battle seized Grendel-gen kinsmen-dat ‘and he crushed Grendel’s kinsmen to death in battle’. Another piece of evidence for inherent Case is that Old English has passives as in (136).11 In Beowulf, instances of (136)–(142) can be found where the passivized object him retains its Case rather than getting nominative Case (all the instances found after checking the 200 hims). I take these to be evidence of inherent Case: (136) Beowulf 140 ða him gebeacnod wæs then him indicated was ‘when he was shown by means of a sign’. (137) Beowulf 1192 Him wæs ful boren him was cup given ‘He was given a cup’. (138) Beowulf 1269 þær him aglæca ætgræpe wearð there him monster grabbed became ‘here he was grabbed by the monster’. (139) Beowulf 1330 Wearð him on Heorote to handbanan became him in Heorot to slayer ‘He was slain in Heorot’. (140) Beowulf 1356–7 hwæþer him ænig wæs ær acenned dyrna gasta whether him any was before born bad spirit-gen ‘whether to him before this a bad [ghost] had been born’. (141) Beowulf 2682 Him þæt gifeðe ne wæs (þæt . . .) him that given not was ‘It was not given to him’.

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(142) Beowulf 2696 swa him gecynde wæs so him taught was ‘as he was taught’. It has been argued that Old English lacks transformational passives (cf. Lightfoot 1979 and others, but see Lightfoot 1991 for arguments against this position). Instances where the ‘object’ has nominative Case are argued to be adjectival. Looking at the 284 instances of he in Beowulf, there are 3 such instances (over half fewer than the 7 passives with him as in (136)), listed as (143)–(145). A fourth instance must be disregarded as the parentheses in (146) indicate ‘‘conjecturally inserted letters’’ (Klaeber in his note to the 1922 edition). (143) Beowulf 693 þær he afeded wæs there he grown-up was ‘where he had grown up’. (144) Beowulf 1539 þa he gebolgen wæs then he angred was ‘then he became angry’. (145) Beowulf 2692–3 He geblodegod wearð // sawuldriore he bloodpoured became lifeblood-dat ‘He became stained with blood’. (146) Beowulf 723 ða (he ge)bolgen wæs then he angred was ‘then he was angry’. Not being able to apply tests (cf. Wasow 1977) to native speakers of Old English, e.g. whether the past participle appears after raising verbs and whether it can have an un- prefix, makes it hard to decide. However, looking at the meaning of (136)–(142) versus (143)–(145), one gets a sense that in the former (except for (140)), an agent is involved or overtly mentioned but not in the latter. For instance an agent cannot ‘grow someone up’ in (143). Reading the text around (144), it becomes clear that the anger is not caused by an external agent but by ‘himself’. Thus, I assume that (136)–(142) are true ‘transformational’ passives, rather than (143)–(145), where an underlying object becomes the subject but where the Case remains the original objective Case.

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A third piece of evidence that structural Case marking does not occur is the absence of constructions where a verb of the main clause ‘assigns’ Case to the subject of the embedded clause, e.g. in Accusative-with-Infinitive (hence ACI) constructions. ACIs are constructions where theta-marking is not connected to Case. Thus, a ‘subject’ can get accusative Case from a verb not related to it in theta-marking. ACI-constructions occur much less frequently in Old English and with other verbs than they do in Modern English. As has often been noticed, e.g. Callaway (1913) and Zeitlin (1908), ACI-constructions in Old English occur with verbs of command (e.g. hatan), permission, sense perception and causation and it might be possible to analyze such sentences differently e.g. as double object constructions, like persuade in Modern English: (147) Alfred Pastoral Care 451, 8 he us het ðæt we hit beforan monnum dyden he us commanded that we it before men did ‘he commanded us that we it in the presence of men did’.

(Visser 834)

Hatan ‘command’ in (147) can be argued not to have an ACI and hence, presents no evidence for the existence of structural Case. Let can be regarded the same way even though I have not found an instance of let with a NP-CP complement in Visser. ‘Real’ ACI-constructions, e.g. with believe and want, start to appear in the late fourteenth century, e.g. in Wyclif and Chaucer. In an early Middle English text such as Layamon, they do not yet occur (cf. Funke 1907: 25–6). Thus, the fact that they do not occur is accounted for if Case dependent on a structural rather than a thematic relationship does not (yet) occur. If Old English objects have inherent Case and if me in (8) above has inherent Case, it can form a chain with ic because me is not fully specified. Prepositional objects as in (9) and (10) can also be argued to receive inherent Case. For instance, as in Modern German, certain Cases go with certain prepositions, dependent on their meaning. The early Middle English Caligula version of Layamon’s Brut retains inherent Case and simple pronouns continue to be used anaphorically. The situation in Middle English is different. If Case in Middle English were inherent as well, i.e. tied to theta-marking rather than to structural position, the pronoun could form a Chain with the antecedent without violating Reinhart and Reuland’s (1993) Chain Condition; it would also not need to be marked in Koster (1993) because it would not check its (inherent) Case in Spec AGRo. The reason self would be necessary in prepositional object position might be that prepositions cease to assign inherent Case. However, the existence of inherent Case in Middle English cannot be demonstrated. On the contrary, in van Kemenade (1987), it is argued that inherent Case is lost in Early Middle English. In van Gelderen (1993: 171ff; 1996b), the date is put around 1250, based on morphological and thematic

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Case marking being lost. Thus, in the mid-fourteenth century Gawain, the direct object is not assigned morphologically inherent Case. If this is true, Case to the object is checked in AGRo (as in Kayne 1989 or under government by the verb) and a pronoun should not be able to function anaphorically. In addition, as mentioned above, even though the third person is the last to lose inherent Case, it is the first to develop special reflexives. Thus, Case cannot be directly responsible for the changes with the reflexive. 3.2.–Underspecifie N-features I will argue (but see Collins and Thráinsson 1996: 423 for a different view) that first and second persons have underspecified or less fully marked N-features (e.g. for number and gender) and can therefore continue to function anaphorically even though they lose inherent Case; third person pronouns, on the other hand, have fully marked N-features and when inherent Case disappears, they cease to function anaphorically. The difference between Gawain and Chaucer shows that the features of second person become specified before those of first person. This idea is ‘translatable’ in different frameworks. Thus, Givon (1983) argues for a difference between null-subjects, pronouns, full NPs in terms of topic shift possibilities. Arguing that the person features are weaker or less specified means that they would serve less as topic shifters than third person pronouns. This is borne out by the pro-drop data below, namely third person pronouns are dropped but not first and second in Old English. The weakness or unspecified nature may also show up in prosodic features. Here Dutch is a good instance where phonologically reduced elements function anaphorically, e.g. in (148) and (149). Phonologically reduced third person never loses enough to become weak as (150) shows. In (148) and (149), me and je can be coindexed (or form chains) with their antecedents, but third person ‘m in (150) cannot: (148) Ik waste me I washed me (149) Jij waste je You washed you (150)*Hij waste ’m (hij and ’m coindexed) He washed him The pronouns me, je and ‘m are morphologically weak and their strong counterparts are mij, jou and hem. The latter forms are used as regular pronouns but when as in (148) and (149) they are used reflexively, they become ungrammatical (and (150) remains so):

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(151)*Ik waste mij I washed me (152)*Jij waste jou You washed you (153)*Hij waste hem (hij and hem coindexed) He washed him Thus, Dutch has a set of pronouns weak in N-features, as well as one strong in those features and this distinction may have phonological ramifications. Everaert (1986: 206) formulates this observation in terms of phonologically unmarked. Reuland (1999) argues that me and je have no number specification and are therefore nonreferential. He (p.c.) notices that (152) is worse than (151) and that this indicates that the N-features rather than the phonological strength is relevant. It is interesting that the grammatical form used for third person in Dutch constructions such as (153) is zich and that this form in Yiddish, i.e. zikh, is generalized across the paradigm, i.e. used for first, second and third. I assume the reason is that, in Yiddish, it is unspecified for N-features. Taraldsen (1996: 201) claims that sig/seg in Icelandic and Faroese is unspecified for number. What these forms show is that anaphors are typically less specified than pronouns; and that reflexively used pronouns lack certain features as well. Burzio (1991: 87) puts it in the following terms: ‘‘An NP with no features is an Anaphor’’. He makes it clear (p. 96) that what is meant by ‘no features’ is referential rather than morphological underspecification. As mentioned, one could also argue that there is a split between first/second and third in terms of Interpretable and Non-Interpretable features respectively (cf. Chomsky 1995): the former need not check their N-features whereas the latter do. Thus, languages and stages vary as to which features are Interpretable. I will not elaborate on Interpretable features here. It is sufficient to focus on N-features and Case. Some additional evidence for the claim about the strength or specifiedness of pronouns comes from referential pro-drop data. Following a rich tradition (e.g. Rizzi 1982; Jaeggli and Safir 1989), Ura (1994) argues that pro is licensed by Case or N-features. Iatridou and Embick (1997) argue the same; pro is specified for person and number and cannot refer to an element not specified for these. If, as I argue above, third person is in fact more specified than first and second, one would expect pro-drop with third but not with first and second. This is in fact the case in older varieties of English. Here I rely more on secondary literature and on looking through Old English texts than on absolute figures. Berndt (1956) argues that pro-drop in late Old English occurs more with third person than with first and second (as opposed to Modern English). In his examina-

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tion of late Old English verbal inflection, Berndt also tabulates the increased use of personal pronouns. His tables indicate a clear first/second versus third person split. For instance, in the early 10th century Durham Ritual, which shows fewer pronouns than the other texts examined, 87 per cent of the first person singular pronouns appear; 78 per cent second person singular; 7 per cent of the third singular; 98 per cent of first person plural; 93 per cent of second person plural and 17 per cent of third person plural. Berndt divides The Lindisfarne Gospels and The Rushworth Glosses in two parts each because one part of the latter is from a different dialect area than the other. The figures for indicative constructions for the presence of first person singular are 96 per cent, 99 per cent, 97 per cent and 96 per cent; for second person singular 87 per cent, 93 per cent, 88 per cent, 90 per cent; for third singular 21 per cent, 15 per cent, 54 per cent, 16 per cent; for first plural 100 per cent, 99 per cent, 98 per cent, 98 per cent; for second plural 95 per cent, 95 per cent, 89 per cent, 83 per cent; third plural 29 per cent, 20 per cent, 52 per cent, 19 per cent. Intuitively, the same seems true in Beowulf as well. For instance, in the first 20 lines, there are 5 third person instances of pro-drop but none with first person. Representative instances of both are (154) and (155)/(156) respectively: (154) Beowulf 7–11 He þæs frofre gebad weox under wolcnum weorðmyndum þah oð þæt him æghwylc þara ymbsittendra ofer hronrade hyran scolde gomban gyldan. He that-gen consolation-gen waited grew under clouds-dat honor-dat accepted/grew until him every those-gen people-gen around-gen across sea obey should tribute pay ‘He was consoled for that; grew up; his honor grew until everyone of the neighboring people on the other side of the sea had to obey him; had to pay tribute’. (155) Beowulf 292–3 Ic eow wisige // swylce ic maguþegnas mine hate ... I you will-lead as I men my command (to . . .). ‘I will lead you as I command my men’ (156) Beowulf 335–8 Ic eom Hroðgares ar one ombiht. Ne seah ic elþeodige þus manige men midiglicran Wen ic þæt ge . . .

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elly van gelderen I am Hrothgar-gen messenger and officer. Never saw I foreign-warriors so many men more courageous. hope I that you . . . ‘I am Hrothgar’s messenger and officer. I never saw in foreign warriors so many courageous men. I hope that you . . .’.

Thus, pro-drop in Old English provides evidence that third person features are more specified and that the pronoun can therefore appear as pro.12 More work is needed, however, on pro-drop in later stages. If N-features of first and second person pronouns are less specified than of third person ones, there might be a difference in verbal agreement too. Indeed, agreement reduction occurs with first and second but not with third. I will list some here but see Quirk and Wrenn (1955) and van Gelderen (1997). In (157), (158), (159) and (161) an -að ending is expected whereas in (160) an -st ending is. Since the -e ending is unspecified, I will not gloss it for person or number: (157) Ælfric, Hom I, 88.32 Nelle we ðæs race na leng teon not-want we that story not long teach ‘We do not want to teach that story long’. (158) Idem, 280.4 Nu hæbbe ge gehyred . . . now have you-nom heard ‘Now you have heard’. (159) Idem, 286.15 Ac wite ge ðæt nan man . . . But know you-nom that no man ‘But do you know that noone’. (160) Exeter, Christ 1487 For hwon ahenge þu mec Why hang you-nom me-acc ‘Why are you hanging me’. (161) Caligula 537 Nulle we noht þis on-fon. ah we faren wlle[ð]. Not-want we not this accept. but we go want ‘We do not want to accept this but we want to go’. None of the cases of reduced inflection have a null-subject since pro needs to be licensed by strong features. In 3.2, I argue that first and second person pronouns continue to function reflex-

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ively because they are less specified; third person ceases to do so because, once the Case becomes structural, they are referential. 3.3.–Grammaticalization Even though the loss of inherent Case does not explain why pronouns are used in direct object position, it may explain the use of self marked pronouns in oblique positions. As mentioned in connection with Layamon’s Brut, around 1250, the adjectival nature of self is lost. It is lost earlier in those connected with third person than in those connected to first and second person pronouns. This means that the structure of self changes from modifying adjective to nominal head as in (162): (162) [ NP[ him] AP[ self]] or, using a DP and N-to-D movement: DP[ him AP[ [t] self]] → DP[ his/m NP[ self]]. The fact that himself occurs regularly in the Otho version of Layamon’s Brut but not hineself indicates that, once the form is grammaticalized into a pronoun, only the form associated with structural Case (i.e. him not hine) appears in that complex, cf. Table 1. Thus, the third person form himself can check structural Case due to the pronominal part in the later, Otho version. In a Minimalist framework, Modern English himself has structural Case features that are attached to it. In Middle English, the Case on the first and second person pronominal part is not clear. As mentioned, at the time the change in (162) is taking place, the form changes from ‘me self’ to ‘mi self’ in many instances. For instance, in the earlier Caligula edition of Brut, there are 16 mes followed by self as in (27) and (29) and these change to miseolf in the later text as (28) and (30) show. Another set is (163) and (164), where in the later Otho version, me has been replaced by mi when it precedes self: (163) Caligula 11309 her ich sette þe an hond. me seoluen and mi kine-lond here I place you in hand. myself and my kingly lands (164) Otho 11309 ich sette þe her an hond. mi-seolfe and myn kinelond.. If the Case of miself and thyself (and early on even of himself) is not accusative Case, it cannot be checked in AGRo. In first and second person, the Case on the pronominal part is more clearly genitive than accusative and hence the checking in Spec AGRo is completely impossible in Gawain. It is confirmed by the confusion that Visser (1963: 95) notes about verbal agreement when myself or thyself are the subject of the sentence. It can either agree or be third person. The OED provides some interesting examples with third person endings, as in (165) and (166):

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(165) Chaucer, Wife of Bath, Prol, 175 My self haþ ben þe whippe ‘I have-3.s been the whip’. (166) Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus IV, iv, 74 My selfe hath often heard them say ‘I have-3.s often heard them say’. In Modern English, himself and herself can on occasion be found in subject position. With first and second person, this is harder. However, if a speaker is forced to select the verbal ending she or he will choose the third person indicating that the appropriate person and nominative Case features are not connected with myself and yourself, even though they presumably check the Case. The person features come from the head self. This unclarity in terms of Case provides a possible account for the appearance of specially marked reflexives exclusively as objects to prepositions: this is a position where they can check non-structural Case. Additional evidence can be found in sentences such as (89) and (94) where the impersonal subjects yowreself and hemself check dative and not accusative. In Modern English, the situation is not unclear: anaphors such as himself do check structural Case (even though they are anaphors13). Concluding this section, I have shown that the reflexive use of simple pronouns in Old English is accounted for under a version of Reinhart and Reuland’s Chain Condition. The data in Middle English indicate a difference between first, second and third person pronouns and these can be accounted for by a difference in the strength of N-features. The introduction of specially marked reflexives in oblique position can be accounted for through Case incompatibilities between the first part of the compound and structural Case. The Paston Letters and Hume present no problems for the theory of reflexives since, except for inherently marked reflexive verbs in the former, the situation is as in Modern English. The question remains why the situation could remain ‘unstable’ as late as Shakespeare. In the Shakespeare text examined, first, second and third person simple and self-marked pronouns function both as direct objects and as prepositional objects, even though third masculine forms are more grammaticalized. I leave this stage for further research.

Conclusion I examine stages of English that are very different from Modern English. In Old English, simple pronouns are used anaphorically in all environments. This can be explained using the insight that inherent Case is different from structural Case and

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that it makes a pronoun into an anaphor, i.e. not fully specified structurally. In Middle English, the situation is more complex. Specially marked anaphors are introduced after 1250 (NB: this claim is valid for the texts examined in this paper, but there may be other varieties that have them earlier) but their distribution is unexpected: specially marked anaphors occur outside the immediate domain whereas simple pronouns are used in direct object position. The account valid for Old English cannot hold for e.g. Gawain and the Green Knight since inherent Case is lost in the thirteenth century. I argue that the reason for the unexpected distribution must be sought in the change of self from adjective to noun and its not being connected with accusative Case features that must be checked in the structural position (i.e. Spec AGRo). With respect to the anaphoric use of first and second simple pronouns, I argue that their N-features are incomplete. Additional evidence for this is provided by the absence of first and second person pro-drop. Table 3 summarizes the changes in pronouns (where ‘phi 1’ stands for the N-features of the first person pronoun and ‘C 1’ for the Case features; ‘w’ and ‘s’ stand for weak or not fully marked and strong or fully marked). Table 3.–Feature changes Phi 1 Phi 2 Phi 3 C1 C2 C3

OE

eME: Layamon ME: Gawain

ME: Chaucer

w w s w→ w→ w

w w s s s w→

w s s s s s

w w→ s s s s

Acknowledgements Early versions of this paper were presented during the LINGUIST Binding Theory Conference in October/November 1996, the Comparative Germanic Syntax Workshop at Cornell in July 1997 and the Symposium on Reflexives and Reciprocals in Boulder, Co in August 1997. I would like to thank people in the audiences who commented as well as Jose Bonneau, Aryeh Faltz, Zygmunt Frazyngier for comments and discussion. I use TACT and electronic texts provided by the Oxford Text Archive and the University of Virginia. The non-electronic editions used are Brook and Leslie (1963); Krapp (1931); Klaeber (1922); Blake (1971); Tolkien and Gordon (1925); Kökeritz (1954); Selby-Bigge (1902). For Aelfric, I use the Dictionary of Old English version of Homilies I and II. self is used when orthographic variants are implied, e.g. for self, seolf, sylf etc.

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Notes 1. Pseudo-passives might give a clue as to whether the Case is inherent or structural. Thus, in (ii), the prepositional object has been passivized resulting in an ungrammatical sentence: (i) I looked near him (ii) *He was looked near t.

2.

3.

4. 5.

6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

11.

12.

If near assigns inherent Case, the ungrammaticality is expected since the inherently marked object cannot move to subject position to check nominative. These do not appear in Old English. A note to the glosses. For Old English and Early Middle English, I provide a word-by-word gloss as well as a free gloss. If an Old English word is translated with more than one word, I hyphenate the Modern English word. This way, each Old English word corresponds to one word in the wordby-word gloss. The abbreviations used in the word-by-word gloss for the nominative, genitive, dative and accusative Cases are: nom, gen, dat, acc; for person: 1, 2, 3; for singular, dual and plural number: s, dual and p; and m for masculine. I only mark these when relevant. Two versions remain of this text, Caligula and Otho, and neither is the original. The Caligula version displays a more archaic use of language than Otho and it had therefore been assumed that it was early 13th century whereas Otho was second part of the 13th century. I will assume that Caligula is more archaic in its language use even though it has recently been argued they date from roughly the same time. The hyphens are put in by Brook and Leslie mainly when the first and second person pronoun is genitive. I stick to their notation but consider forms such as mi-seolf as two words. There are several constructions in Caligula where seolf appears after a nominative indicating perhaps the adjectival nature of self: 1 we seolf, 6 he seolf, 4 þu seolf, 1 3e seolf, 3 heo seolf. There is also 1 me seolf and 1 hine seolf. The pronominal forms for the hyphenated ones are mi/þi/him/hire/ hin/heom in Caligula. In Otho, that remains the same (except for hin). I searched he (3,449 occurrences) in the environment of him and hine but since there is a lot of PRO-drop with third persons, this method is not completely reliable. NPs may pattern differently. The exception is l. 15032 where hin-seolf occurs emphatically. The usual form is hine seolf, or hine seolfe, i.e. a non-hyphenated combination. Only one other can be found in l. 1102. For reasons that are unknown to me, the exception is the verb slay which occurs regularly with myself as object. The reason that inherent Case makes the pronoun less referential may be found in the fact that inherent Case needs not be checked in a functional category, but that it is an Interpretable feature in the sense of Chomsky (1995). Since the specially marked hine never occurs in sentences such as hine was ætgræpe ‘he was grabbed’, it may be that only dative and accusative are inherent. However, if accusative were structural, one would expect sentences such as he was seen by Grendel. These do not occur either. Crosslinguistically, there is evidence that first and second person features are weaker. For instance, Solá (1996: 236) presents evidence from Italian dialects where first and second person object pronouns as in (i) need not trigger agreement on the verb whereas third person ones as in (ii) do: (i) Le ha viste/*visto. them has seen-f.p/seen-m.s ‘S/he has seen them.f’. (ii) Ci ha viste/visto. us has seen-f.p/seen-m.s ‘She has seen us.F’.

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13. Reuland and Reinhart (1995: 255ff) argue that English anaphors with self, even though they are assigned accusative Case, lack a specification for Case due to the fact that alternating forms such as heself do not exist.

References Baker, Carl L. 1995. ‘‘Contrast, discourse prominence, and intensification, with special reference to locally free reflexives in British English’’. Language 71(1): 63–101. Berndt, Rolf. 1956. Form und Funktion des Verbums im nördlichen Spätaltenglischen. Halle: Max Niemeyer. Blake, Norman. 1971. Paston Letters and Papers of the Fifteenth Century, part I. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Brook, G.L., and R.F. Leslie (eds). 1963. Layamon: Brut. Oxford: Oxford University Press, [EETS 250]. Burzio, Luigi. 1991. ‘‘The morphological basis of anaphora’’. Journal of Linguistics 27: 81–105. Callaway, Morgan. 1913. The Infinitiv in Anglo-Saxon. Washington, DC: Carnegie Institution. Chomsky, Noam. 1981. Lectures on Government and Binding. Dordrecht: Foris. —— 1986. Knowledge of Language: Its nature, origin and use. New York: Praeger. —— 1989. ‘‘Economy of derivation and representation’’, chapt. 2 in Chomsky (1995). —— 1995. The Minimalist Program. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Collins, Chris, and Hoski Thráinsson 1996. ‘‘VP-internal structure and Object Shift in Icelandic’’. Linguistic Inquiry 27(3): 391–444. Diehn, Otto. 1901. Die Pronomina im Frühmittelenglischen. Heidelberg: Carl Winter. Everaert, Martin. 1986. The Syntax of Refl xivization. Dordrecht: Foris. Faltz, Leonard M. 1985. Refl xivization: A study in Universal Syntax. New York: Garland. —— 1989. ‘‘A role for inference in meaning change’’. Studies in Language 13(2): 317– 31. Farr, James. 1905. Intensives and Refl xives in Anglo-Saxon and Early Middle English. Baltimore: J. H. Furst. Funke, Otto. 1907. Kasus-Syntax bei Ormm und Layamon. Vienna. Gelderen, Elly van 1993. The Rise of Functional Categories. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. —— 1996a. The emphatic origin of reflexives. BLS talk. —— 1996b. ‘‘Case of the object in the history of English’’. Linguistic Analysis 26: 117–33. —— 1997. ‘‘Inflection and movement in Old English’’. In Werner Abraham and Elly van Gelderen (eds), Problemsyntax. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 71–82. Givón, Talmy. 1983. ‘‘Topic continuity in discourse: The functional domain of switch reference’’. In John Haiman and Pamelo Munro (eds), Switch Reference and Universal Grammar. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins: 51–82.

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Haiman, John. 1995. ‘‘Grammatical signs of the divided self’’. In Werner Abraham, Talmy Givón, and Sandra A. Thompson (eds), Discourse Grammar and Typology. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 213–34. Hermodsson, L. 1952. Refl xive und Intransitive Verba. Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell. Iatridou, Sabine, and David Embick 1997. ‘‘Apropos pro’’. Language 73(1): 58–78. Jaeggli, Oswaldo, and Ken Safir (eds) 1989. ‘‘Introduction’’, The Null Subject Parameter. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Jong, Jelly Julia de 1995. ‘‘Local binding and the Minimalist framework’’. In Ale de Boer et al. (eds), Language and Cognition 4. Groningen. —— 1996. The case of bound pronouns in peripheral Romance. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Groningen. Kayne, Richard S. 1989. ‘‘Facets of Romance past participle agreement’’. In Paola Beninca (ed.), Dialect Variation and the Theory of Grammar. Dordrecht: Foris, 85–103. Kemenade, Ans van 1987. Syntactic Case and Morphological Case in the History of English. Dordrecht: Foris. Kiparsky, Paul. 1997. ‘‘The rise of positional licensing’’. In Ans van Kemenade and Nigel Vincent (eds), Parameters of Morphosyntactic Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 460–94. Klaeber, F. (ed.) 1922. Beowulf. Boston: D.C. Heath [1950 edition]. Kökeritz, Helge (ed.). 1954. Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories & Tragedies: A Facsimile Edition. New Haven: Yale University Press. König, Ekkehard, and Peter Siemund 1999. ‘‘Intensifiers and reflexives: A typological perspective’’. This volume. Koster, Jan. 1993. Towards a New Theory of Anaphoric Binding. MS, Groningen University. Krapp, G.P. 1931. The Junius Manuscript. New York: Columbia University Press. Leek, Frederike van der 1994. Dutch Pronominals, paper presented at Stanford University. Lightfoot, David. 1979. Principles of Diachronic Syntax. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —— 1991. How to Set Parameters. Cambridge: MIT Press. Mitchell, Bruce. 1985. Old English Grammar. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mustanoja, Tauno. 1960. A Middle English Syntax. Helsinki. Ogura, Michiko. 1989. Verbs with the Refl xive Pronoun and Constructions with Self in Old and Early Middle English. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer. Penning, Gerhard. 1875. A History of the Refl xive Pronouns in the English Language. Bremen. Pollock, Jean-Yves. 1989. ‘‘Verb-movement, Universal Grammar, and the structure of IP’’. Linguistic Inquiry 20: 365–424. Quirk, Randolph, and Christopher Wrenn 1955 [1977]. An Old English Grammar. London: Methuen. Reinhart, Tanya, and Eric Reuland 1993. ‘‘Reflexivity’’. Linguistic Inquiry 24(4): 657–720. Reuland, Eric. 1999. ‘‘The fine structure of grammar: Encoding anaphoric relations’’. This volume. —— and Tanya Reinhart 1995. ‘‘Pronouns, anaphors and case’’. In Hubert Haider, Susan

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Reflexives and emphasis in Tsaxur (Nakh-Dagestanian) EKATERINA A. LYUTIKOVA Moscow State University

1.–Introduction My aim is to make a contribution toward solving a problem that was raised at least 20 years ago (Edmondson and Plank 1978): the close connection between reflexives and ‘intensifiers’, or ‘emphatic reflexives’, regularly observed cross-linguistically. In many languages (e.g. English and Tsaxur) the same item functions as both a reflexive pronoun and an ‘‘intensifier’’: (1) a. I don’t like him myself. b. I saw myself in the mirror. Edmondson and Plank (1978), using English examples, pointed out: ‘‘On the basis of their inflectional paradigms, intensifiers in English . . . appear to coincide with ordinary reflexive pronouns. This . . . identity raises several questions. Is the relationship between reflexivization and intensification merely a case of accidental homophony? And, if not, what is the common denominator?’’ I believe that a study of the behavior of the Tsaxur pronoun wu#Z in different contexts will help us to explain why ‘‘reflexive’’ and ‘‘emphatic’’ semantics are often amalgamated within the same lexical item. The data for this study were elicited from native speakers of Tsaxur during a field trip to the Tsaxur-speaking area of Daghestan. Most native speakers had acquired Russian as a second language. The majority of the examples come from translations of Russian narrative texts and dialogues; others have been extracted from spontaneous speech. The discussion below is presented in the following format. In Section 2 semantic and syntactic properties of wu#Z are described. First, in Section 2.1, I will present

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examples demonstrating different uses of wu#Z. In Section 2.2 special attention is paid to the semantic characteristics of the ‘emphatic’ wu#Z occurring as a noun phrase modifier. In Section 2.3 anaphoric and pronominal functions of wu#Z are discussed. Section 2.4 is devoted to the characteristics of Tsaxur complex reflexives that I claim to be predictable from the ‘emphatic’ and ‘anaphoric’ wu#Z. Section 2.5 deals with the notion of point of view which helps account for the neutral strategy of reflexivization in Tsaxur. Section 3 contains some typological generalizations.

2.–Tsaxur pronoun wu#Z 2.1.–Uses of the pronoun wu#Z. The pronoun wu#Z, although treated by Ibragimov (1990) as a ‘reflexive pronoun’, seldom occurs in typically reflexive contexts. The range of uses of wu#Z corresponds to Russian on ‘he’ or English he rather than to Russian sebja ‘oneself’ or English himself. In addition, an ‘emphatic’ meaning is readily available with wu#Z. Three possible types of contexts in which wu#Z can occur follow:1 (a) wu#Z can function as an NP adjunct, copying its case 2: (2) Z# u-s¯-e ma|ʔallim-é-s¯-e dj a|-w-X-u ha|lj aʔ-as self:1:obl-ad-el teacher-obl-ad-el neg-3-can-pf 3:solve-pot pérmer, zé ha|lj aʔ-u-na. problem:nom i:erg 3:solve-pf-a.a ‘The teacher himself couldn’t solve the problem, but I did’. (b) wu#Z can occur as head of an NP, marking coreference within a single clause (3.1) and within a complex sentence (4.1); furthermore, wu#Z can be bound by an antecedent from another sentence (3.2, 4.2, 5): (3) icˇ−e:i Z# e-l-ei,j a|qana haʔ-a. girl-erg self:2:obl-sup-el laugh do-ipf 1. ‘The girl is laughing at herself’. 2. ‘The girl is laughing at her’. (4) [cˇo#Z-e:i wu#Zj,k séRocaʔ-as] bajramj razira-wo-r. brother-erg self:1:nom 1:awake-pot Bajram:nom agree-cop-1 1. ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (Bajram)’. 2. ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (another person)’.

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(5) dagpeduniwersitet-e: c’a|X-ni miz-e-n šo|bʔa dpu-in Tsaxur-a.obl language-obl-a department:nom acˇmišaʔ-u. 4:open-pf ‘In DPU (Dagestanian Pedagogical University) the Tsaxur department is established’. cˇi-ncˇe c’a|X-ni miz-e-n ma|ʔallim-a:-r self:4:obl-el Tsaxur-a.obl language-obl-a.pl teacher-pl-nom.pl Go:k-a. hpl:turn.out-ipf ‘From it Tsaxur teachers are being turned out (graduated)’. (c) wu#Z functions as a lexical basis for a so-called complex (otherwise termed ‘compound’, ‘strong’) reflexive that is used to mark coreference within a single clause. Complex reflexives consist of two wu#Z‘s, the first one inheriting the case of the controller of reflexivization, the second one that of the target: wu#Zi get-u. (6) rasul-e:i wu#Z-e: Rasul-erg self:1-erg self:1:nom 1:beat-pf ‘Rasul beat himself’. Here the question is bound to arise: how are these different wu#Z’s related to each other: • occurring as NP modifier (‘emphatic’ wu#Z); • functioning as coreference marker (‘anaphoric’ wu#Z); • occurring within a complex reflexive. Below I will argue that the distribution of complex reflexives can be predicted on the basis of the semantic characteristics of the ‘emphatic’ wu#Z and the distribution of the ‘anaphoric’ wu#Z. 2.2.–Pronoun wu#Z as an NP modifie . Wu#Z can modify an NP, expressing emphatic meaning similar to that of the Russian sam or the English myself in (1a). The emphatic wu#Z here functions as a so-called discourse marker. The characteristic property of such items is that when they occur within a sentence, they do not affect its truth conditions. Rather, discourse markers are used to establish various relationships between a situation described and a speech act. Some discourse markers are used to help a listener adjust the meaning of an utterance to his/her background knowledge or, conversely, modify such knowledge in accordance with the content of an utterance.

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Kibrik and Bogdanova (1995) characterized the Russian emphatic item sam. They suggested five submeanings of sam: • additive (adds the referent of the sam-NP, not expected to participate in event P, to other participants of P); • contrastive (excludes other possible participants of P, favoring the referent of the sam-NP, not expected to participate in P); • self-dependent (excludes external causation for the participation of the referent of the sam-NP in P); • unexpected (confirms the participation of the referent of the sam-NP in P, although properties of this referent make participation unlikely); • discoursive (returns to the reference point). These submeanings are claimed to be particular instances of the core invariable meaning. The choice of submeaning is determined by different factors. Thus, for instance, contrastive and self-dependent sam both have a contrastive stress; unexpected and discoursive sam occur in pre-position to the head noun; sometimes this choice is a matter of context. The Tsaxur emphatic pronoun wu#Z resembles the Russian sam in many respects, and the possible analysis of the Tsaxur item is not essentially different. The only difference is that in Tsaxur, contrastive and self-dependent submeanings are obtained from the additive one by attaching the restrictive particle Z# a-d (‘only’, ‘ultimately’). Therefore for Tsaxur three basic submeanings can be distinguished. Let us consider them in detail. 2.2.1.–Additive wu#Z This kind of wu#Z, as is reflected by the label ‘additive’, is roughly equivalent to English ‘also’, as in (7) below. (7) C(ontext): I didn’t attend classes yesterday, so I don’t know what the homework is. I’d like to ask your brother. jiz-da cˇo#Z wu#Z saniXa hiwa:g8-a-ni:, qidgˇén my-a.a brother:nom self:1:nom yesterday 1:miss-ipf-em question:nom heʔ-e jug-da ixes fat’imat-é-k-e. 4:do:imp good-4 4:be:pot Fatima-obl-cont-el ‘My brother missed classes also (lit. himself); you’d better ask Fatima’. One of the interlocutors (A) declares that he was a participant in situation P ‘miss classes the day before’. Asking about the homework, he expects that B’s brother did attend classes, i.e. that he does not participate in situation P. B claims that his brother does participate in situation P also. As a result, A’s expectations about B’s brother’s attending school turn out to be incorrect (the brother was not in school);

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A must change his expectations about the possibility of getting information concerning the homework. Let us describe the meaning of wu#Z more formally. As wu#Z belongs to the discourse, hence functional, items, its meaning must have a functional nature. A description of this meaning should look like directions that the hearer is to follow under particular circumstances. Accordingly, I suggest a two-part description. The first part contains a characterization of what the speaker assumes to be the hearer’s expectations. In the second part directions to correct these expectations are pointed out. • Hearer’s expectations: There is a set of potential participants (with a particular role) in situation P; X is expected not to be a member of this set. • Direction to the hearer: Correct your expectations; X does participate in P with this particular role. In (8) is an other example of use of additive wu#Z. (8) C: Why did Fatima marry this guy? Nobody respects him. fat’imat-e: ji#Z-e: ma-na aXdy qaʔ-a-na deš. Fatima-erg self:2-erg this-a.a respect-ipf-a.a neg:cop ‘Fatima also (lit. herself) does not respect him’. The situation P here is ‘not to respect the man Fatima married’. A’s utterance shows that there are many people participating in this situation. As to Fatima, who married the young man, A expects that she does respect him, i.e., Fatima does not participate in P. This expectation results from A’s knowledge about marriage: in particular, that one normally marries a person one respects. B’s answer where additive wu#Z appears contains directions to correct this wrong expectation: Fatima also takes part in P. 2.2.2.–Additive wu#Z plus the restrictive particle Z# a-d When the additive wu#Z occurs with the restrictive particle Z# a-d, wu#Z is synonymous with the Russian contrastive and self-dependent sam (as in Ty sam vo vsem vinovat ‘You are guilty yourself of everything’ (contrastive) and Ivan sam pochinil mashinu ‘Ivan himself repaired the car’ (self-dependent)). The use of Z# a-d is exemplified by (9). (9) C: Did you manage to buy everything? zé génej-#Za-d ališ-u. I:erg bread-restr-4 buy-pf ‘I bought only bread’. The example in (9) shows that Z# a-d following the NP génej functions as a counterpart of English only: it restricts the set of potential participants to the subset contain-

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ing those individuals that actually participate in the situation and explicitly excludes every other potential participant. Below I will show how the contrastive and self-dependent meanings of wu#Z develop from the additive one when wu#Z is combined with the restrictive particle Z# a-d. Contrastive wu#Z The contrastive wu#Z is exemplified in (10). The appropriate English equivalent of this meaning of wu#Z is rendered by the cleft-construction. (10) C: My brother was afraid I would tell father about his bad mark. He asked me not to tell him but . . . . . . gojne-r jiz-da cˇo#Z k’elerXén wu#Z-#Za-r . . . then-ass:1 my-a.a brother:nom 1:forget:pf self:1:nom-restr-1 jišonxa-na. 1:tell:pf-a.a ‘. . . then my brother forgot, and it was he himself who told (it)’. Let the situation P be ‘to tell father about the bad mark’. The number of potential participants in this situation includes everyone possessing the information about this bad mark, i.e., the speaker, the teacher, the schoolmates, and also the brother himself. The brother is nevertheless less likely to take part in this situation than anybody else; that is why the hearer does not expect the brother’s participation in P. The speaker, taking these expectations of the hearer into account, points out that they are wrong and it is the brother who participates in P. The difference between the additive and the contrastive wu#Z is as follows: whereas the additive wu#Z adds only an unexpected X to other participants of P, the contrastive wu#Z excludes all other potential participants of P, favoring an unexpected X; this exclusion is due to the restrictive particle Z# a-d. The more formal description of contrastive wu#Z looks as follows: • Hearer’s expectations: X is one of the potential participants of P with a particular role but s/he is the least probable among them. • Direction to the hearer: Correct your expectations; it is X who participates in P with this role. The example in (11) demonstrates contrastive wu#Z-NP in the attributive position. Situation P here is ‘to be responsible for the bad mark’. A is sure that the teacher was unjust to Sara and that therefore he, and not Sara, participates in situation P. B’s utterance with contrastive wu#Z is intended to change A’s opinion: it is only Sara, not the teacher, who is responsible, that is, Sara and only Sara participates in P.

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C: The teacher was unjust to Sara. saraʔ-in Z# e-n-#Za-d wo-d-un taXsir, sanixa Sara-a self:2:obl-a-restr-4 cop-4-a fault yesterday ji#Z-e: darsé-bé haʔ-u deš. self:2-erg homework-pl do-pf neg:cop ‘It is Sara’s own fault; she did not do her homework yesterday’.

The crucial point here is that when the emphatic particle Z# a-d is omitted, wu#Z in (11) is treated as an additive. (11) b. C: The teacher was unjust to Sara. saraʔ-in Z# e-n wo-d-un taXsir, sanixa ji#Z-e: Sara-a self:2:obl-a cop-4-a fault yesterday self:2-erg darsé-bé haʔ-u deš. homework-pl do-pf neg:cop ‘Sara is also at fault; she did not do her homework yesterday’. In (11b) wu#Z does not exclude the teacher from the set of participants in situation P, but simply adds Sara to this set. It means that both the teacher and Sara are responsible for the bad mark. (11) seems to support the claim that the additive meaning of wu#Z is basic, whereas the contrastive meaning is derived, and that it is the restrictive particle that is responsible for this semantic development. In fact, whereas the additive wu#Z signals that the referent of the NP it modifies (say, X) must be added to the set of the participants in the situation (‘unexpected X (also) takes part in P’), Z# a-d indicates that no individual other than X participates in the situation (‘only X participates in P’). The combination of these two meanings not surprisingly results in the interpretation ‘only unexpected X participates in P’ which is observed in (10)–(11). Self-dependent wu#Z When used with this submeaning, wu#Z is roughly synonymous to ‘on one’s own’. The action here is claimed to be performed without any external causation or help. Let us consider (12). (12) C: There will be nobody at home. ¯ jicˇ8-e: ji#Z-e:-#Za-d dak-i-s kar oxan-as. sister-erg self:2-erg-restr-4 father-obl-dat thing 4:feed-pot ‘The sister will feed the father herself’. This utterance can be produced if the interlocutors do not expect the sister to take part in situation P ‘feed the father’. The hearer’s expectation here is that the sister on her own, without somebody helping her, is not able to feed the father. The

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speaker, taking these expectations into account, uses the self-dependent wu#Z and thus claims that, despite the hearer’s expectation, the sister can feed the father without external help. In (13) one can observe another type of action performed by an individual ‘on his own’. Here we are dealing with Bajram’s own willingness to participate in P ‘go away’. The hearer assumes that Bajram does not want to go away and therefore that some external causation is necessary to take him away. The speaker gives the hearer the direction to correct his assumptions: he claims that Bajram will participate in P on his own. (13) lj azim-ra deš-da bajram qéRah-i:. bajram needful-1 neg:cop-a.a Bajram:nom 1:chase:pf-msd Bajram:nom wu#Z-#Za-r a|lj ha:s-da. self:1:nom-restr-1 go.away:pot-a.a ‘It isn’t necessary to chase Bajram. Bajram will go away himself’. Thus, the formal description of the self-dependent wu#Z is the following: • Hearer’s expectations: Without external causation or help, X cannot participate in situation P with a particular role. • Direction to the hearer: Correct your expectations; X does participate in P with this role; no external causation or help is required. The function of Z# a-d here is similar to that obtained with contrastive wu#Z: it excludes all possible participants in the situation except those denoted by wu#Z-NP. Contrastive and self-dependent intensifiers exhibit similar behavior cross-linguistically. 3 They have much in common: both signal that X and only X, which is not expected to participate in P, really does. The difference between them is as follows: although in the case of contrastive wu#Z other possible participants of P with the same role are excluded, self-dependent wu#Z excludes their participation in P with other roles, for instance, with the role of the causer (as in (13) above). In the expression ‘emphatic wu#Z + Z# a-d’, wu#Z signals that an unexpected individual X participates in P; the restrictive particle Z# a-d reflects the fact that expected ones are excluded, favoring X. 2.2.3.–Unexpected wu#Z Unexpected wu#Z usually occurs in pre-position;4 it roughly corresponds to English even. (14) pat’imat-e: pis-da qa|d¯ qan, amma hama-na pérmer hama|Xu-b Fatima-erg poorly-4 4:learn:ipf but this-a.a problem such-3

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raha|t-na w-uxa, Z# e-s¯-e-b fat’imat-i-s¯-e-b easy-a.a 3-aux:pf self:2:obl-ad-el-ass3 Fatima-obl-ad-el-ass3 hama-na ha|lj a:ʔ-as w-a|X-a-na. this-a.a solve-pot 3-can:ipf-a.a ‘Fatima is a poor student, but this problem was so easy that even Fatima could solve it’. The example in (14) is an example of the use of the unexpected wu#Z. Both the hearer and the speaker know that Fatima is a poor student. This characteristic of Fatima implies that Fatima is not expected to participate in situation P ‘solve the problem’. The unexpected wu#Z signals that despite this characterization Fatima participates in P. The more formal description of unexpected wu#Z would be: • Hearer’s expectations: X has a characteristic Q so that s/he is not expected to participate in situation P with a particular role. • Direction to the hearer: Correct your expectations; X does participate in P with this role. A characteristic Q may refer to different properties of an individual. In (14) Q is Fatima’s poor abilities. Another kind of characteristic is found in (15). The characteristic Q in this example results from common knowledge about the social structure of the village. The school director is one of the most respected persons; the interlocutors, on the contrary, are socially inferior. For this reason the director’s participation in the situation P ‘invite interlocutors to the wedding’ is not expected. (15) C: We are very proud that . . . ši qopt’ul-ém-mé dawat-bi-š-e:-qa we:nom hpl:invite:pf-a-pl wedding-pl-obl.pl-in-all maktab-ni direktur-ni Z# u-ni Xa:-qa. school-a.obl director-a.obl self:1:obl-a.obl house-in ‘. . . we are invited to the wedding at the house of the school director himself’. Let us compare the additive and the unexpected wu#Z. They both signal that an individual X, not expected to take part in situation P, does participate in this situation. The difference between these two is as follows: in the case of the additive wu#Z, the unexpectedness of X’s participation in P results from the preference of other individuals; in the case of the unexpected wu#Z, other individuals are of no importance. Here the unexpectedness stems only from the characteristic Q pertaining to an individual in question.

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2.2.4.–Discoursive wu#Z The discoursive wu#Z functions at the text level. The typical use of the discoursive wu#Z is exemplified in (16). (16) haj-na rasul, jiz-da Gonši wo-r-na. haj-na dp-a.a Rasul:nom my-a.a neighbour:nom cop-1–a.a dp-a.a Z# u-na xuna¶se, ark’én-na maktab-e:-qa. hama-na haša self:1:obl-a.a wife:nom go:pf-a.a school-in-all this-a.a there išlemiše:x-e wo-r-na ma|ʔallim-ni walli. wu#Z rasul 2:work-ipf cop-2-a.a teacher-a.obl as self:1:nom Rasul:nom cˇoban, hama-n-cˇi-lj alla Z# u-ni Xa: shepherd:nom this-a-obl.4-sup because.of self:1:obl-a.obl home sék’érra d-exe-na, amma ušaR-a-ši-k8a often neg-aux:ipf-a.a but child-pl-obl.pl-comit e:X8-a-na-xe jicˇo Z# u-ni xuna¶se-na. 2:stay-ipf-a-hab sister:nom self:1:obl-a.obl wife-a.a ‘This is Rasul; he is my neighbor. This is his wife; she is going to the school. She works there as a teacher. Rasul himself is a shepherd; that is why he is often out. It is his wife’s sister who stays with the children’. In this short narrative text the speaker tells about Rasul’s family. Rasul is the main topic of this passage. The narrative starts by introducing Rasul; other members of the family (his wife, his children) are represented from Rasul’s point of view. Current topics change, however. Starting with Rasul, the speaker then passes to his wife, who becomes the current topic. Then the discoursive wu#Z marks the return of the main topic, Rasul, to the position of current topic. The discoursive wu#Z therefore differs from other emphatic meanings. In Sections 2.2.1–2.2.3 the unexpectedness signaled by the wu#Z-NP results from some extralingual knowledge about the referent of the wu#Z-NP. Now we are dealing with expectations based on knowledge of the discourse development rules. Indeed, the speaker does not expect the additional information about Rasul to follow the information about his wife; passing to Rasul’s wife, the speaker seems to have already said everything he wanted to say about Rasul himself. In other words, if in Sections 2.2.1–2.2.3 we dealt with the unexpectedness of X’s participation in some situation P, the case at hand is another kind of unexpectedness, namely, that of X being a current topic, no matter in which situation or in which role X is involved. So for the discoursive wu#Z, the hearer’s expectations do not refer to participation in any situation but rather to ‘participation’ in discourse as a current topic. • Hearer’s expectations: The current topic will be Y. • Direction to the hearer: Correct your expectations; return to the main theme X in the topic position.

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The notion of reference point, suggested by Langacker (1991), looks promising for the analysis of the discoursive wu#Z. Reference point is defined as a conceptualization that is used to access other, secondary, conceptualizations. Langacker pointed out that topics can be regarded as reference points that build the discourse structure. Topic is the salient conceptualization that functions as a some kind of ‘cognitive anchor’. Secondary conceptualizations are involved in discourse due to their relatedness to reference points. It seems that for topics describing a situation, rather than a referent, it is more correct to speak about reference frames or scenarios. Let us analyze (17) and (18) in these terms. (17) inj a: sa#Zu cˇo#Z wo-r-na rasul-na, wu#Z rasul here only brother:nom cop-1–a.a Rasul-a.a self:1:nom Rasul:nom wo-r-na Xiw-e:. cop-1–a.a village-in ‘Only Rasul’s brother is here; Rasul himself is in the village’. In (17) it is definitely Rasul, apparently well known to the interlocutors, who can be regarded as such a reference point. Rasul’s brother is introduced through his relation to this cognitive anchor (Rasul → his brother). The discoursive wu#Z signals a return to the starting reference point. In (18) the frame ‘house’ can be characterized as a starting reference point. (18) jiš-in Z# iga Xe-d-én wo-d-un, amma ji#Z Xaw our-a place big-4-a cop-4-a but self:4:nom house:nom wo-d-un k’él-én. cop-4-a little-a ‘Our lot is big, but the house itself is little’. Due to the activation of this frame the hearer receives cognitive access to one of its slots, a lot related to the house. The return to the ‘head’ of the frame is marked by the discoursive wu#Z. 2.2.5.–Invariant The types of meaning of wu#Z distinguished above have much in common. They correspond to the same communicative task of the speaker. I assume that the occurrence of wu#Z in (7)–(17) signals that the speaker is going to draw the hearer’s attention to the fact that information about X in a current piece of discourse contradicts his expectations/knowledge and that, therefore, knowledge about X should be modified. Furthermore, wu#Z is especially oriented to a very particular kind of hearer’s

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knowledge about X and his expectations based on it. Let P be a situation described by a particular sentence, q be a pragmatic scale representing the probability of participation in P. Thus, in (10) for instance, such a scale is associated with the situation ‘Y tells father that . . .’. Let an individual X occupy the lowest position on q, i.e., X is not expected to participate in P. In (10) the speaker’s brother is definitely one who occupies this position. Then wu#Z-NP denoting X signals that, despite expectations, X does participate in P. What is corrected is not a position on the scale, but the probabilistic implication that X does not participate in P. 2.3.–Pronoun wu#Z—anaphor or pronominal? It is commonly known that languages usually possess different devices to mark coreference within a single clause versus within a complex sentence or within two independent sentences. This fact is captured by the binding theory, where three kinds of NPs are distinguished, that is, referential NPs, locally bound anaphors, and locally free pronominals. Tsaxur data provide evidence that the distribution of wu#Z does not fit into this scheme. Indeed, wu#Z in (3)–(5), repeated here as (19)–(21), is obviously not a referential NP. Z# e-l-ei,j a|qana haʔ-a. (19) icˇ-e:i girl-erg self:2:obl-sup-el laugh do-ipf 1. ‘The girl is laughing at herself’. 2. ‘The girl is laughing at her’. The sentence in (19) is ambiguous: the antecedent of Z# e-l-e may be identified in different ways. First, the NP icˇ-e: ‘girl’ may be recognized as coreferential to Z# e-l-e. Another interpretation involves some NP in the preceding piece of discourse as an antecedent of Z# e-l-e. In the same way (20) suggests two interpretations, the first involving NP wu#Z in the subordinate clause bound by the NP bajram in the main clause, the second establishing the antecedent of wu#Z outside the whole sentence. (20) [cˇo#Z-e:i wu#Zj,k séRocaʔ-as] bajramj razira-wo-r. brother-erg self:1:nom 1:awake-pot Bajram:nom agree-cop-1 1. ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (Bajram)’. 2. ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (another person)’. Example (21) demonstrates wu#Z referring to the NP c’a|X-ni miz-e-n šo|bʔa ‘Tsaxur language department’ in the preceding sentence.

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(21) dagpeduniwersitet-e: c’a|X-ni miz-e-n šo|bʔa i DPU-in Tsaxur-a.obl language-obl-a department:nom acˇmišaʔ-u. 4:open-pf ‘In DPU (Dagestanian Pedagogical University) the Tsaxur department is established’. cˇi-ncˇei c’a|X-ni miz-e-n ma|ʔallim-a:-r self:4:obl-el Tsaxur-a.obl language-obl-a.pl teacher-pl-nom.pl Go:k-a. hpl:turn.out-ipf ‘From it Tsaxur teachers are being turned out (graduated)’. Assuming that wu#Z is a locally bound anaphor in (19.1), one is not able to account for the occurrence of wu#Z in (21), (20.2), and (19.2) and, vice versa, counting wu#Z in (21) as a free pronominal, one finds oneself wondering of how wu#Z is possible in (19.1). What the uses of wu#Z in (19)–(21) seem to have in common is an absence of the feature ‘obligatory boundedness in the local domain’. Depending on different factors, different NPs may be recognized as antecedents of wu#Z, as (19)–(21) clearly show. That the same pronoun functions as both anaphor and pronominal is indeed striking. It may seem to disprove the thesis of the universality of the reflexive. The fact, however, is that the distribution of wu#Z, although unusually wide, is not unrestricted. These restrictions have to do with the distribution of wu#Z and the complex reflexive wu#Ze: wu#Z within a single clause; they will be discussed in Section 2.4. When wu#Z is not bound by an NP in the same clause, it behaves much like pronominals in other languages. The antecedent of wu#Z is always looked for ‘up’ and ‘to the left’. That means that wu#Z can be bound either by an NP relating to the main clause (structural criterion) or by an NP preceding wu#Z linearly (linear criterion). The following examples demonstrate this thesis. In (22) the situation is the easiest. The same NP (bajram) will be chosen as the antecedent of wu#Z on the basis of both structural and linear criteria. No ambiguity arises here. (22) bajrami razira-wo-r [cˇo#Z-e: wu#Zi séRocaʔ-as]. Bajram:nom agree-cop-1 brother-erg self:1:nom 1:awake-pot ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (Bajram)’. In (23) wu#Z appears in the main clause, so the structural criterion is of no use. Looking to the left, one finds two NPs that could be antecedents of wu#Z—cˇo#Z-e: ‘brother’ and bajram. Because in Tsaxur the coreference of Actors is usually

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expressed by zero, the NP cˇo#Ze: cannot be coreferential with wu#Z. So the only possibility left is that wu#Z is bound by bajram. (23) [cˇo#Z-e: bajrami séRocaʔ-as] wu#Zi razira-wo-r. brother-erg Bajram:nom 1:awake-pot self:1:nom agree-cop-1 ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (Bajram)’. In (24) ambiguity arises. The structural criterion requires wu#Z to be bound by the NP in the main clause (bajram); the linear criterion requires the antecedent in the preceding piece of discourse. Hence two different interpretations of (24) are possible. séRocaʔ-as] bajrami razira-wo-r. (24) [cˇo#Z-e: wu#Zi,j brother-erg self:1:nom 1:awake-pot Bajram:nom agree-cop-1 1. ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (Bajram)’. 2. ‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother wakes him (another person)’. In (25) both structural and linear criteria do not allow wu#Z to be bound by the NP bajram (this NP is in the subordinate clause and follows wu#Z). That is why the antecedent of wu#Z must be found in the preceding discourse. (25) wu#Zj razira-wo-r [cˇo#Z-e: bajrami séRocaʔ-as]. self:1:nom agree-cop-1 brother-erg Bajram:nom 1:awake-pot *‘Bajram agrees that (his) brother awakes him (Bajram)’. ‘He (another person) agrees that (his) brother awakes Bajram’. 2.4.–Tsaxur complex refl xives In this section I am going to discuss the structure and use of the form wu#Ze: wu#Z (complex reflexives) on the basis of two main functions of wu#Z—those of adjunctive intensifier and anaphoric pronoun. As was already mentioned, the complex reflexives consist of two wu#Z‘s, one marked with the case of the controller, the other marked by the case of the target of reflexivization. Cf. (26): ¯ ¯-e (26) dak-i-s Z# u-s¯ -e wu#Z k’ele-r-xén-na. father-obl-ad-el self:1:obl-ad-el self:1:nom 1-forget:pf-aa ‘Father forgot himself’. Phonologically this complex is indivisible and possesses a single stress. No constituent can intervene between its components:

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¯ ¯-e (27)*dak-i-s Z# u-s¯-e sanixa wu#Z father-obl-ad-el self:1:obl-ad-el yesterday self:1:nom k’ele-r-xén-na. 1-forget:pf-aa ‘Yesterday father forgot himself’. At first glance it seems not impossible to characterize wu#Ze: wu#Z as a single NP. This characterization is wrong, however. Let us consider constructions with ‘Masdars’ (nominalized verbs) that can occur as heads of different types of complement clauses. The characteristic property of Masdars in Dagestanian languages is that the case marking of their arguments is normally the same as that of the arguments of the corresponding finite verb. In Tsaxur, however, one of the arguments of a Masdar can change its initial case for so-called attributive (roughly corresponding to genitive). For example, (28) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

¯ ¯-e dak-i-s fat’imat k’ele-r-xén. father-obl-ad-el Fatima:nom 2-forget:pf ‘Father forgot Fatima’. ¯ ¯-e bajram-é-s q’abéle:xe-wo-r dak-i-s fat’imat Bajram-obl-dat 2:like:ipf-cop-2 father-obl-ad-el Fatima:nom k’ele-r-xén-i. 2-forget-msd ¯ bajram-é-s q’abélexe-wo-d dak-i-n fat’imat Bajram-obl-dat 4:like:ipf-cop-4 father-obl-a Fatima:nom k’ele-r-xén-i. 2–forget-msd ¯ ¯-e bajram-é-s q’abélexe-wo-d dak-i-s fat’imat-én Bajram-obl-dat 4:like:ipf-cop-4 father-obl-ad-el Fatima-a k’ele-r-xén-i. 2-forget-msd ¯ *bajram-é-s q’abélexe-wo-d dak-i-n fat’imat-én Bajram-obl-dat 4:like:ipf-cop-4 father-obl-a Fatima-a k’ele-r-xén-i. 2-forget-msd ‘Bajram is pleased that father has forgotten Fatima’.

The example in (28e) shows that attributivization of both arguments is not appropriate. If a subordinate clause headed by a Masdar contains a complex reflexive (29a), only NPs with the same case marking can undergo attributivization, so (29b) but not (29c) is possible:

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bajram inj ammišex-e-wo-r fat’imat-e: ji#Z-e: Bajram:nom believe-ipf-cop-1 Fatima-erg self:2-erg ji#Z get8-i-l-qa. self:2:nom 2:beat-msd-sup-all b. bajram inj ammišex-e-wo-r fat’imat-ni Z# e-ni Bajram:nom believe-ipf-cop-1 Fatima-a.obl self:2:obl-a.obl ji#Z get8-i-l-qa. self:2:nom 2:beat-msd-sup-all c. *bajram inj ammišex-e-wo-r fat’imat-e: Z# e-ni Bajram:nom believe-ipf-cop-1 Fatima-erg self:2:obl-a.obl Z# e-ni get8-i-l-qa. self:2:obl-a.obl 2:beat-msd-sup-all ‘Bajram believes that Fatima has beaten herself’. Thus, (29) shows that the complex reflexive from a structural point of view splits into two components. The possible explanation of this phenomenon is that diachronically one of the components of the complex reflexive could function as a pronominal and the other one as an emphatic element. Below I will formulate a hypothesis on how the emphatic element became obligatory in the environments where the complex reflexive is actually used. In order to get to such a hypothesis I would like to examine two closely related problems. Given that generally both single and complex reflexives are attested when a controller of reflexivization occurs in the same clause, let us consider how the choice of either of these options is motivated. Two crucial points here are: • whether a target of reflexivization is a core or an oblique argument of the verb; • whether a situation described is inwardly or outwardly oriented. (29) a.

2.4.1.–Core vs. oblique arguments The complex reflexive normally marks coreference of NP’s that are arguments of prototypically transitive verbs (for example, those with the case frame [erg, nom]). In contrast, if the target of reflexivization is an oblique argument or a postpositional phrase, the complex reflexive is hardly available: (30)

(31)

rasul-e: wu#Z-e: wu#Z jaralamišaʔ-u-na. Rasul-erg self:1-erg self:1:nom wound-pf-a.a ‘Rasul wounded himself’. rasul iljaq-é-na (wu#Z) Z# u-qa Rasul:nom 1:look-pf-a.a self:1:nom self:1:obl-all ¯ naX8ar-e:-nc ˇ e. mirror-in-el ‘Rasul looked at himself in the mirror’.

reflexives and emphasis in tsaxur gade-j-k’le Ga#Ze-jn dal boy-obl-aff 4:see:pf-a stick:nom b. *gade-j-k’le Ga#Ze-jn dal boy-obl-aff 4:see:pf-a stick:nom Z# u-ni k’ane. self:1:obl-a.obl near ‘The boy saw a stick near him’.

(32) a.

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Z# u-ni k’ane. self:1:obl-a.obl near Z# u-k’le self:1:obl-aff

How can the different behavior of core and oblique arguments as targets of reflexivization be explained? Syntactic explanation may be based on the principle of Co-argument Disjoint Reference (CDR) (Farmer and Harnish 1987). Farmer and Harnish argue that pronominal co-arguments of the same predicate are necessarily non-coreferential. Given that Tsaxur wu#Z can exhibit pronominal behavior (see Section 2.3), according to the CDR-principle it cannot be used in cases like (30) when two arguments of the predicate ‘wound’ are coreferential. Instead, the target of reflexivization in (32) is an oblique argument; that is why the single wu#Z is appropriate. I can suggest that in (31), where the situation in question is not prototypically transitive, the locative NP can be treated as an intermediate case between core and oblique arguments of the verb, and therefore, both single and complex reflexives are appropriate. Note that since generally the degree of transitivity corresponds to the degree of control over a situation exercised by an agent, it is not surprising that constructions where the single wu#Z is appropriate are exactly those with a low degree of control. Thus, according to the CDR-principle, wu#Z in a core argument position cannot be treated as coreferential to another core NP within the same predication. Therefore syntactically the function of the second wu#Z is to overrule the CDR-principle and make coreference possible. This explanation produces further questions. First, what is the functional nature of the CDR-principle? Second, what is the exact mechanism of overruling the CDR-principle, and in particular, how does the second wu#Z function? Prototypically (see Section 2.4.2 for further discussion) the main participants of a situation described by a predicate are different.5 The case when participants coincide is, however, pragmatically marked. That is why analyzing, for instance, (33) (33) rasul-e: wu#Z get-u. Rasul-erg self:1:nom 1:beat-pf ‘Rasul beat him’. a hearer, assuming that a coincidence of core participants of a situation is unlikely, infers that wu#Z here is linked to some other referent established in the preceding piece of discourse. In order to describe a more pragmatically marked situation of

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coreference of central participants, one should use a more marked form than a single wu#Z. How is this form built up? It consists of a wu#Z that copies the case of the target of reflexivization, thus corresponding to its pronominal function, and a wu#Z that copies the case of the controller of reflexivization, thus corresponding to the emphatic function. The second wu#Z turns the hearer’s attention to the fact that information about the referent of the first wu#Z contradicts his expectations (he expects noncoreference) and that his assumptions about the referent of the first wu#Z should, accordingly, be corrected (inferring coreference as a result). Going back to the invariant of the meaning of the emphatic wu#Z (Section 2.2), one can observe that wu#Z-NP denoting X signals that despite expectations X does participate in P. What is corrected is not a position on the scale, but the probabilistic implication that X does not take part in P. In (30) the participation of Rasul as undergoer in the situation ‘‘be wounded by Rasul’’ has the lowest probability. In fact, if all individuals who may be wounded by Rasul are arranged on a pragmatic scale of probability of participating in this situation, Rasul definitely occupies the lowest point on the scale (Rasul can wound someone else rather than himself). The emphatic wu#Z doesn’t change Rasul’s position on this scale, but only gives information that the hearer’s inference (‘‘Rasul occupies the lowest point’’ → ‘‘Rasul does not participate’’) is wrong. The examples (34)–(35) provide further support for this hypothesis. Thus, although in (34) the antecedent of the single wu#Z is found in the superordinate clause, the complex reflexive in (35) signals explicitly that an antecedent must be an NP in the same clause. (34) rasuli inj ammišex-e-wo-r bajram-e:j wu#Zi Rasul:nom believe-ipf-cop-1 Bajram-erg self:1:nom get8-i-l-qa. beat-msd-sup-all ‘Rasul believes that Bajram has beaten him’. (35) rasuli injammišex-e-wo-r bajram-e:j wu#Z-e: wu#Zj Rasul:nom believe-ipf-cop-1 Bajram-erg self:1-erg self:1:nom get8-i-l-qa. beat-msd-sup-all ‘Rasul believes that Bajram has beaten himself’. 2.4.2.–Outwardly vs. inwardly oriented actions General assumptions about non-coincidence of participants does not hold for every verb. There is a group of verbs that denote situations where non-coincidence is not the most unmarked option. In particular, verbs like defend, wash, dress (in contrast

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with attack, accuse, hate) are equally compatible with either coreference or noncoreference of their arguments.6 Accordingly, one can distinguish between outwardly and inwardly oriented actions (außengerichtete versus eigenorientierte Handlungen, according to König 1993). The crucial difference between these two is as follows: For an outwardly oriented situation P, the fact that a particular individual is involved as Agent of P implies that the same individual is extremely unlikely to be involved as Patient. For inwardly oriented situations such an implication does not hold. One can predict, then, that a single wu#Z marking coreference within a clause headed by an inwardly oriented predicate is more readily available than that in the environment of an outwardly oriented predicate. Cf. (36) where the outwardly oriented predicate ‘to know‘ does not allow the single wu#Z, and (37) where the wu#Z being a complement of the inwardly oriented predicate ‘to wash‘ allows an antecedent either within or outside the clause: wu#Zj ac’a. (36) rasul-u-k’lei Rasul-obl-aff self:1:nom know:ipf *‘Rasul knows himself’./‘Rasul knows him’. (37) gad-e:i wu#Zi,j hojRal. boy-erg self:1:nom 1:wash:ipf ‘The boy is washing’./‘The boy is washing him’. The above examples show that the distribution of wu#Z and wu#Ze: wu#Z differs appreciably from that of pronominals and anaphors in SAE languages. In SAE languages the use of the anaphor (himself) or the pronominal (him) is exhaustively motivated at the level of syntactic structure. The former marks coreference within the same clause (that is to say, it is bound in its local domain); the latter marks coreference across clauses (or, in other words, is free in its local domain). The distribution of wu#Z versus wu#Ze: wu#Z cannot be accounted for in syntactic terms such as ‘same clause’ versus ‘different clause’. I argue that the use of wu#Z is the default case, that is, wu#Z is used every time when there are no special conditions triggering the use of wu#Ze: wu#Z. The necessary conditions of the use of wu#Ze: wu#Z are functional rather than structural: they involve the hearer’s expectations about possible coreference of arguments of a predicate and, therefore, are sensitive to the distinctions between core and oblique arguments and between inwardly and outwardly oriented predicates. 2.5.–Neutral strategy of refl xivization in Tsaxur: the problem of point of view As was discussed above, when two NPs within the same clause are coreferential,

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one of them remains unchanged whereas the complex reflexive substitutes for the other one. The complex reflexive contains two wu#Z’s, the first copying the case of the trigger, the second, that of the target of reflexivization: (38) jed-i-s¯-e Z# e-s¯-e ji#Z k’elerxén. mother-obl-ad-el self:2:obl-ad-el self:2:nom 2:forget:pf ‘Mother forgot about herself’. The question, then, is which of the coreferential NPs is replaced and which remains. One can observe that normally the most agentive NP remains. Another option is also available, however. Cf. (39)–(40): (39) Xorbi himaʔa, bajram-e: wu#Z-e: wu#Z get-u lie:nom do:prh Bajram-erg self:1-erg self:1:nom 1:beat-pf še-na deš. other:nom-a.a neg:cop ‘Don’t deceive (me), Bajram beat himself (Bajram didn’t beat any other person)’. (40) Xorbi himaʔa, bajram wu#Z-e: wu#Z get-u lie:nom do:prh Bajram:nom self:1-erg self:1:nom 1:beat-pf menni šawa-#Za-r deš. more who:erg-restr-1 neg:cop ‘Don’t deceive (me), it’s Bajram who beat himself (no other person beat Bajram)’. Both (39) and (40) have the same truth conditions and describe the same situation: ‘Bajram beat Bajram’. The verb getu ‘beat’ is transitive; it requires arguments with the semantic roles of Agent and Patient. One can see that in (39) the Agent NP in the Ergative (bajrame:) remains. This means that another NP denoting Patient undergoes reflexivization. Sentence (40) is a kind of mirror-image of (39), where the source and target of reflexivization are opposite: what remains now is the Patient NP, whereas the complex reflexive substitutes the for Agent NP. Because in Tsaxur, as in other Dagestanian languages, the case marking of transitive verb reflects semantic roles rather than syntactic relations, the Agent is always encoded by the Ergative case and the Patient by the Nominative (see Kibrik 1997 for details). In addition, in Tsaxur there is no syntactic derivation (such as Passive or Antipassive) that can either promote Patient or demote Agent. This means that we are not dealing in (39) with a promoted Patient or in (40) with a demoted Agent. As case marking unambiguously signals the semantic role of an NP, one can conclude that whereas in (39) the Agent controls reflexivization, in (40) the Patient

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does. Let us consider how the choice of the controller of reflexivization is specified. One can possibly account for (39)–(40) on a pragmatically oriented basis, namely, that involving the notion of point of view, or empathy focus.7 The general suggestion here is that an NP that remains is within the scope of empathy focus. Thus, in (40) Bajram is taken into account as a person who is beaten: a speaker ‘‘looks’’ at the situation from the point of view of the Patient. Accordingly, the precise meaning conveyed by this sentence is that it is not another person who has beaten Bajram but he on his own. However, in (39) the empathy focus changes: Bajram is now regarded as a person who beats; the relevant meaning here is that there is no other possible candidate to be beaten by Bajram than Bajram himself. One can arrive at the following conclusion: the situation is unmarked if the most agentive role in a clause is in the empathy focus. This possibility corresponds to the actor strategy of the coreferential deletion. On the other hand, different pragmatic conditions can be responsible for choosing another strategy where the event is described from the point of view of a semantic role other than Agent. Accordingly, if a non-agentive semantic role is emphasized, one obtains more marked constructions such as (40). It should be mentioned that ‘point of view’ does not constitute an equipollent opposition. On the contrary, taking a look at a particular situation from a point of view of the most ‘‘active’’ participant is normally chosen by default. I argue, then, that the construction in (39) is unmarked, whereas that in (40) is marked. In fact, one can obtain the former construction containing an Agent within the scope of empathy focus in a wider range of syntactic and semantic environments than the latter, with the Patient focused. Thus, certain semantic roles (such as, for instance, Beneficiary or Locative) are so ‘‘weak’’ that one can hardly look at a situation from their points of view, as (41) clearly shows.8 rasul wu#Z Z# u-l-e jišonaʔ-a-wo-r. Rasul:nom self:1:nom self:1:obl-sup-el speak-ipf-cop-1 b. *rasul-u-l-e wu#Z Z# u-l-e jišonaʔ-a-wo-r. Rasul-obl-sup-el self:1:nom self:1:obl-sup-el speak-ipf-cop-1 ‘Rasul is speaking to himself’.

(41) a.

At any rate, wide range of possible strategies of reflexivization observed in Tsaxur differs considerably from that in many other languages; the fact that the choice of one of these strategies depends on the semantic roles of coreferential NPs is also very characteristic of Tsaxur. In contrast with Russian and English, where the strategy of reflexivization is motivated syntactically (the controller is chosen in accordance with the position of coreferential NPs in the syntactic structure), Tsaxur reflexivization is not sensitive to any syntactic constraint and has, therefore, primarily semantic and pragmatic motivation.

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To conclude, the following oppositions are distinguished in Tsaxur: • complex versus single reflexive; • empathy focus on Agent versus Patient. The complex reflexive, as was shown above, is used to signal a pragmatically marked case of coreference that is not likely to be expected by a listener. One of the two wu#Z‘s the complex reflexive consists of marks the pragmatically neutral coreference in independent use (a listener has no negative expectations). Another wu#Z when modifying a NP conveys the emphatic meaning dealt with in Section 2.2. One can suggest that this second wu#Z occurring within complex reflexives modifies the whole construction and, therefore, that its language-specific morphological properties may differ. Thus, in Tsaxur it is doubling of the controller’s case. Another opposition important for Tsaxur is based on which semantic role is in the scope of empathy focus. This information is conveyed by the case of a remaining referential NP; such an NP possesses a semantic role from whose point of view the situation is described.

3.–Typological generalizations The previous section contains detailed descriptions of different uses of wu#Z in Tsaxur with special attention paid to complex reflexives. According to the analysis of complex reflexives, their properties are predictable from the two main functions of wu#Z, namely, emphatic on the one hand and marking coreference on the other. In addition, complex reflexives are found to be sensitive to the empathy focus. Here we come to another problem: what is the relationship between the emphatic function and the function of marking coreference in those languages that combine these two functions within the same lexical item (English, Tsaxur)? I believe I can point out at least two parameters unifying these functions. The first parameter is the discourse expectations of a listener. It seems clear that interlocutors should have common conventionalized knowledge of discourse development rules. One can suggest that the development of discourse can be normally compared (using a geometrical metaphor) with a vector that goes out of the point of mutual knowledge of the speaker and the hearer before communication and that is directed to a point representing their knowledge after communication. The development of discourse is not a ‘‘disordered roaming’’ in this cognitive space; a hearer, therefore, expects that every new quantum of discourse moves him forward along this vector. The common feature of emphatic elements and items that mark coreference is the explicit indication of unexpected return in discourse process, re-activating those points and referential entities that have been already ‘‘passed by’’ by interlocutors.

reflexives and emphasis in tsaxur

Return to a referent (anaphoric wu#Z)

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Return to the reference point (discoursive wu#Z)

CORE: unexpected return in discourse

Unexpected wu#Z

Return to a situation (additive wu#Z)

Return to the argument slot filling (contrastive wu#Z, self-dependent wu#Z)

Figure 1.

Another cognitive parameter unifying emphatic elements and coreference markers is their high accessibility. Kemmer (1995), analyzing English himself, pointed out that ‘‘. . . the discourse referent that the -self NP is linked to is highly proximal, in the sense that it is easily accessible mentally (i.e. identifiable as the intended referent) due to the conceptual prominence of its antecedent.’’ The antecedent of an anaphoric element in discourse is easily accessible because it has been recently activated in the preceding piece of discourse. In the same way, an emphatic selfmarked NP is highly accessible: such an NP is a reference point that supports the access to other referents activated in discourse process. The fact that in some languages emphatic and anaphoric functions are combined within the same lexical item may be regarded as evidence supporting a cognitiveoriented model of the polysemy of such elements. Their central cognitive function is to mark an unexpected return to one of the preceding points of discourse, the unexpectedness resulting from conventionalized knowledge about discourse organization. Therefore, it is not a pure coincidence that in many languages the emphatic and reflexive semantics form a cluster. Let us consider the polysemy model represented by the scheme above. It looks very similar to the radial model of polysemy suggested by Lakoff (1988). To the extent that the item in question is functional, all the meanings are also functionally defined. All the meanings forming this structure are in some degree related to the core. I suggest that the core meaning is an unexpected return in discourse. Let us see how the different meanings of wu#Z are related to its core meaning.

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It seems that the meaning of the unexpected wu#Z correlates with only one component of the core, namely ‘unexpected’. Other functions of wu#Z are derived from the component ‘return in discourse’. The more transparent relation to the core obtains with the anaphoric and the discoursive wu#Z. The discoursive wu#Z, as discussed in Section 2.2.4, marks the return to the reference point. If the development of discourse is represented as a chain of topics, the discoursive wu#Z will appear in those links of the chain where the repetition of the topic being to the left in this chain takes place. As for the anaphoric wu#Z, its function seems to be the same as that of all anaphoric pronouns. That is to say, the anaphoric wu#Z is used to denote the referent that has already been mentioned. In this sense the functional meaning of the anaphoric wu#Z is to mark a return to the same referent. Let me explain the relation between the core meaning and that of the additive wu#Z. As was pointed out in Section 2.2.1, the additive wu#Z appears if the participation of some other referents (Y, Z, . . .) in situation P does already belong to the common knowledge of the interlocutors. Going back to (7), repeated here as (42), one can see that B’s utterance with the additive wu#Z takes the interlocutors back to the situation ‘miss classes’, which was already mentioned in discourse with some other individual participating in this situation. Now the hearer must re-analyze this situation, adding the brother to other participants. (42) C(ontext): I didn’t attend classes yesterday, so I don’t know what the homework is. I’d like to ask your brother. jiz-da cˇo#Z wu#Z sanixa hiwa:g8-a-ni:, my-a.a brother:nom self:1:nom yesterday 1:miss-ipf-em qidgˇén heʔ-e jug-da ixes fat’imat-é-k-e. question:nom 4:do:imp good-4 4:be:pot Fatima-obl-cont-el ‘My brother missed classes also (lit. himself); you’d better ask Fatima’. It seems not impossible to analyze the meaning of the contrastive and the selfdependent wu#Z as a return to the argument slot filling. Let us consider, for instance, (10), repeated here as (43). (43) C: My brother was afraid I would tell father about his bad mark. He asked me not to tell him but . . . gojne-r jiz-da cˇo#Z k’elerXén wu#Z-#Za-r then-ass:1 my-a.a brother:nom 1:forget:pf self:1:nom-restr-1 jišonxa-na. 1:tell:pf-a.a ‘. . . then my brother forgot, and it was he himself who told (it)’.

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Analyzing this utterance, the hearer must fulfill two cognitive operations. First, he must analyze the proposition (‘my brother told father about the bad mark’) and then he must return to this proposition again, analyzing the contrastive wu#Z-NP. The ‘‘cognitive periphrasis’’ of (43) may look as follows: ‘My brother told father about the bad mark; it is precisely he who did it’. In the same way, the derivation of the self-dependent wu#Z from the core can be accounted for. In (13) wu#Z signals that the hearer having understood the meaning of the proposition (‘Bajram will go away’) must return to the filling of the argument slot (‘. . . and he will do it on his own, without anybody causing him’). Cf. (13), repeated here as (44): (13) lj azim-ra deš-da bajram qéRah-i:. bajram needful-1 neg:cop-a.a Bajram:nom 1:chase:pf Bajram:nom wu#Z-#Za-r a|lj ha:-s-da. self:1:nom-restr-1 go.away-pot-a.a ‘It isn’t necessary to chase Bajram. Bajram will go away himself’. Thus, it is possible to account for the polysemy of the emphatic and the anaphoric elements. Moreover, the typological research of this problem can be further extended. It is commonly assumed that cross-linguistically two strategies of reflexivization—verbal and nominal—are possible. Nevertheless, languages do not possess devices specially ‘‘reserved’’ for marking coreference within a single predication. In fact, the coincidence of the central participants of a situation is encoded by means (or combinations of means) that are typically used in other functions. Thus, the verbal strategy of reflexivization is maintained with the help of voice transformations; the nominal strategy, as I tried to show, utilizes a particular device of marking coreference, combined with an emphatic item.

Acknowledgements This paper would have never appeared without the help from my Tsaxur informants, Ismail Mamedov and Solmaz Mamedova. I am also very much indebted to my collegue Sergei Tatevosov, who helped me to prepare the English version of this paper. Contacts with Zygmunt Frajzyngier and Traci Curl, organizers of the Colorado Symposium on Reflexives and Reciprocals and editors of the present volume, are a source of cherished memories for me. Special thanks to Ekkehard König and Zygmunt Frajzyngier for the useful comments on an earlier version of this paper.

Notes 1. Although wu#Z can be used in radically different functions, for the readers’ convenience I use the same label self in morpheme-by-morpheme interlinear glosses.

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2. An NP can be modified also by the anaphoric wu#Z in the attributive form (equivalent to the possessive pronoun), but in this case the case percolation does not take place. 3. As for Russian data, contrastive and self-dependent sam are similarly stressed (contrastive stress) and both follow the head noun. Other uses of sam exhibit completely different behavior (for details see Kibrik and Bogdanova 1995). 4. It is worth noting that in languages where an intensifier can occur both in pre-position and post-position to the NP, e.g. Russian or German, it is the ‘‘unexpected’’ intensifier that occur in the pre-position. Compare Russian unexpected (i) and contrastive (ii) sam and German unexpected (iii) and contrastive (iv) selbst: (i) Sam Chomskij ne smog by objasnit’ eto javlenije. self Chomsky neg can:pf:pst conj explain:inf this phenomenon ‘Chomsky himself won’t explain this phenomenon’. (ii) Pozvol’te mne samomu eto objasnit’. let:imp I:dat self:dat this explain:inf ‘Let me explain this myself’. (iii) Begräbnisse sind immer etwas Fürchterliches. Auf dem Zentralfriedhof begraben zu sein – das wäre selbst mir entsetzlich. (Bernhard) ‘Funeral are always somewhat frightful. To be buried in a central cemetery—that would be awful even to me’. (iv) Was er sich denn so aufregt, hat Maria gefragt, wo er doch selber schuld ist, wenn jetzt ein anderer was geworden ist und nicht er. (Wolfgruber) ‘Why is he so upset, asked Maria, when he himself is at fault that another person made something of himself, and he did not’. 5. As far as oblique NPs are concerned, they are neutral with respect to the coreference; for example, Bill killed him is in a certain sense more ‘‘natural’’ than Bill killed himself, but Bill came to John and Bill came to himself represent equally common situations. 6. In this respect Russian data are of a particular interest. The characteristic property of inwardly oriented verbs in Russian is that they allow the verbal strategy of reflexivization (zashchishchat’-sja ‘to defend oneself’, odevat’-sja ‘to dress [oneself, not another]’, myt’-sja ‘to wash [oneself, not another]’), while for outwardly oriented verbs the strategy of reflexivization is nominal (*obvinjat’-sja, but obvinjat’ [samogo] sebja ‘to accuse oneself’). The -sja in an environment of outwardly oriented verbs is mostly interpreted as a maker of Passive Voice (Raskol’nikov obvinjajet-sja v ubijstve ‘Raskolnikov is charged with murder’) or yields a reciprocal meaning (tselovat’-sja ‘to kiss each other’, obnimat’-sja ‘to embrace each other’). 7. It should be noted that empathy focus or point of view is a particular instance of reference point, a notion that is frequently used for the characterization of emphatic meanings. 8. More evidence supporting this hypothesis is found in Russian. Russian possesses complex reflexives of the form sam sebja, as in (i): (i) Ivan obmanul sam sebja. Ivan deceive:pst self:nom self:acc ‘Ivan deceived himself’. Constructions of this kind are distinct from those containing the reflexive sebja and post-nominal sam, as in (ii):

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(ii) Ivan sam obmanul sebja. Ivan self:nom deceive:pst self:acc lit. ‘Ivan himself deceived himself’ The difference between (i) and (ii) is that sam sebja in the former has a single stress , whereas both sam and sebja in (ii) are stressed. Complex reflexives are generally available in two different forms, as is shown in (iii)–(iv). (iii) Ivan pogubil sam sebja. Ivan ruin:pst self:nom self:acc (iv) Ivan pogubil samogo sebja. Ivan ruin:pst self:acc self:acc ‘Ivan ruined himself’. What motivates the choice between one of these forms is precisely the empathy focus. In (iii) containing sam sebja, with sam in the Nominative, the Patient is within the scope of empathy focus. (iv), conversely, contains samogo (Accusative of sam) and represents the situation described from the point of view of the Agent. When samogo sebja occurs as an argument of imperative, however, it is definitely much more appropriate than sam sebja; for sam sebja a pragmatically loaded context is required (cf. (v)–(vi)). (v) Poznaj samogo sebja. know:imp self:acc self:acc sam sebja. (vi) ?Poznaj know:imp self:nom self:acc ‘Know yourself’. Indeed, in such constructions the participant that exercises control over an action prescribed, i.e. the Agent is normally whithin the scope of empathy focus.

References Edmondson, Jerry A., and Frans Plank. 1978. ‘‘Great expectations: An intensive SELF-analysis’’. Linguistics and Philosophy 2: 373–413. Farmer, Ann K., and Robert M. Harnish. 1987. ‘‘Communicative reference with pronouns’’. In M. Papi and J. Verschueren (eds), The Pragmatic Perspective. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 547–65. Ibragimov, Garun H. 1990. Tsakhurskij Jazyk [Tsaxur]. Mosow. Kemmer, Suzanne. 1995. ‘‘Emphatic and reflexive -self: expectations, viewpoint and subjectivity’’. In Dieter Stein and Susan Wright (eds), Subjectivity and Subjectivization in Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 55–82. Kibrik, Aleksandr A. 1997. ‘‘Beyond subject and object: Toward a comprehensive relational typology’’. Linguistic Typology 1(3). —— and Ekaterina Bogdanova. 1995. ‘‘Sam kak operator korrektsii ožidanij adresata’’. [Russian sam as operator of correction of hearer’s expectations]. Voprosy jazykoznanija 3: 4–47. König, Ekkehard. 1993. Distribution und Bedeutung von Reflexivpronomina im Englischen: Versuch einer historischen Erklärung. Lecture, Free University of Berlin.

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Lakoff, George. 1988. ‘‘Cognitive semantics’’. Meaning and Mental Representations. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Langacker, Ronald W. 1991. Concept, Image and Symbol: The cognitive basis of grammar. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

Appendix 1.–Abbreviations Abbr. 1 2 3 4 a a.a a.obl acc ad aff all -ass.Cl aux comit conj cont cop-Cl dat dp el em erg hab hpl imp in inf ipf msd

Meaning First class singular Second class singular Third class singular Fourth class singular Attributive fourth class singular or first–fourth class plural Attributive first-third class singular Attributive oblique Accusative ‘ad’ (localization) Affective Allative Coherence marker Auxilary verb Comitative Conjunctive ‘cont’ (localization) Copula Dative Deictic particle Elative Epistemic marker Ergative Habitual Human plural Imperative ‘in’ (localization) Infinitive Imperfective Masdar (nominalized predicate)

Tsaxur morpheme

-én/-in/-n -na -ni -sana; -s-qa; -¶s-e: -k’le -qa -(é)d éxa; ejxe; ixes -k8a -kj; -kj-qa; k-e wo-d -s haj-e/-encˇe -ni: -e(:)/-n -xe -e -e:; -e:-qa; e-ncˇe -a/-e -i:

reflexives and emphasis in tsaxur neg nom obl pf pl poss-Cl pot prh pst restr-Cl sup

Negation marker Nominative Oblique stem Perfective Plural Possessive Potential Prohibitive Past Restrictive particle ‘super’ (localization)

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-(i)d-

-é/-u -qa-d -as/-es -(i)m-#Za-d -lj; lj-qa; l-e

Appendix 2. Inflectional paradigm of the pronoun wu#Z Class Singular 1 2

3

4

Plural 1/2 3/4

Nominative wu#Z ji#Z wu#Z ji#Z Z# o ji#Z-bé Ergative wu#Z-e: ji#Z-e: cˇiš–e: / cˇi-n Z# o cˇiš–e Oblique stem Z# uZ# ecˇiZ# o- cˇiAll the case forms except Nominative and Ergative are built from the oblique stem by adding an appropriate case marker. For example, Affective of wu#Z (first class singular) is Z# u- + k’le = Z# uk’le.

What it means to deceive yourself: The semantic relation of French reflexive verbs and their corresponding transitive verbs RICHARD WALTEREIT University of Tübingen

1.–Introduction Linguistic research on French reflexives has studied extensively the syntax of the reflexive element se (e.g. Kayne 1975; Legendre 1994), its polyfunctionality (e.g. Stéfanini 1962; Ruwet 1972; Melis 1990) and its status with respect to argument structure (e.g. Grimshaw 1982, 1990; Wehrli 1986; Legendre 1994). But one particular semantic problem has to my knowledge not yet been addressed. Many transitive verbs that can take the reflexive marker to express coreference of subject and object (e.g. tromper ‘to deceive’) have an inherently reflexive variant (se tromper ‘to be mistaken’) that is semantically not equivalent but in some way related to the transitive form. The nature of this semantic relation cannot always easily be captured. This is the starting point of my investigation. My aim is to propose principles that make this relation a predictable one or, if that should not be possible, that enable us at least to determine a certain semantic domain out of which the meaning of the inherently reflexive variant must be selected. French, and Romance in general, is a very suitable language for such a project as its history is excellently documented and allows for fine-grained diachronic observations and analyses—and diachronic evidence will indeed be crucial for my analysis. This paper is organized as follows. Section 2 discusses two uses of the reflexive element relevant to my analysis. Section 3 formulates the issue as a problem of diachronic lexical change. Section 4 distinguishes three types of coreference, which are claimed to be relevant for the above-mentioned semantic contrast. The interplay

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of grammaticalization and lexicalization as diachronic processes will be briefly considered in Section 5. The three types of coreference will be studied in a diachronic perspective in order to explain the semantic contrast (Sections 6 to 8) and they will be compared with respect to semantic transitivity (Section 9).

2.–Reflexive constructions and reflexive verbs The French reflexive morpheme se (henceforth reflexive marker or reflexive) has a commonly recognized variety of functions, two of which will be central in this paper. Firstly, as a direct object clitic pronoun, se serves as a marker of semantic reflexivity (coreference of arguments) and reciprocity with transitive verbs. In that case, its uses will be referred to as reflexive constructions:1 Reflexive construction: (1) Jean-Luc se bat pour être sûr de ne pas rêver. Jean-Luc refl beat:3sg for be:inf sure of not dream:inf ‘Jean-Luc beats himself in order to be sure that he is not dreaming.’ (2) Marie se regarde dans la glace. Marie refl look:3sg in the mirror ‘Marie looks at herself in the mirror.’ With the reflexive construction, the reflexive marker has many properties of a verbal argument like any other clitic pronoun or full NP. (Differences between reflexive and non-reflexive arguments will be addressed below.) The verb’s meaning is the same as with any other direct object, and the reflexive marker easily commutes with other arguments: (1′) Jean-Luc bat son petit frère. Jean-Luc beat:3sg his little brother ‘Jean-Luc beats his little brother.’ (2′) Marie le regarde. Marie him look:3sg ‘Marie looks at him.’ The semantics of the reflexive construction in (1) and (2) is therefore compositionally predictable from the verb’s meaning and the meaning of the reflexive marker. In its second function considered here, the reflexive marker is not a pronoun, but an affix of the verbal stem. It is morphologically bound to the verbal stem. It does

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not represent an argument, and it is not referential. Most dictionaries list these uses of the reflexive marker as separate entries. They will be referred to as reflexive verbs. Since the reflexive marker in this case is not referential, reflexive verbs are much like intransitive verbs. To complicate things further, the stem of a reflexive verb very often exists independently as a transitive verb. Therefore, it is sometimes not easy to decide whether a reflexive marker in a given sentence belongs to a reflexive verb or to a reflexive construction. Reflexive verb without a transitive counterpart: (3) Marie se souvient de son enfance. Marie refl remember:3sg of her childhood ‘Marie remembers her childhood.’ Reflexive verbs with a transitive counterpart: (4) Jean-Luc s’est rendu à la gare. Jean-Luc go:3sg:perf to the station ‘Jean-Luc has gone to the station.’ (5) Avec ce contrat, Jean-Luc s’est trompé. with this contract Jean-Luc be-mistaken:3sg:perf ‘When concluding this contract, Jean-Luc was mistaken.’ With sentence (3), a commutation of the reflexive marker with a pronoun or a full NP is not possible, and with (4) and (5) the commutation does not preserve the verb’s meaning. This indicates that the reflexive marker is in fact an inseparable part of the lexical formative: (3′) *Marie le souvient de son enfance. Marie him remember:3sg of his childhood. ‘Marie reminds him of his childhood.’ (4′) Jean-Luc l’a rendu à la gare. Jean-Luc it return:3sg:perf at the station ‘Jean-Luc returned it at the station.’ (5′) Avec ce contrat, Jean-Luc l’a trompé. with this contract Jean-Luc him deceive:3sg:perf ‘When concluding this contract, Jean-Luc has deceived him.’ It has been said that reflexive verbs resemble intransitive verbs. But, as is well known, also reflexive constructions behave syntactically like intransitives in many respects, e.g. in the causative construction. Already Kayne (1975: 269, 407f) noted the following contrast:

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(6) Elle fera partir {Jean/*à Jean}. she 3sg:caus:fut leave:inf {Jean/to Jean}. ‘She will have Jean leave.’ (7) Elle fera manger ce gâteau {*Jean/à Jean}. she 3sg:caus:fut eat:inf this cake {Jean /to Jean}. ‘She will have Jean eat this cake.’ (8) La crainte du scandale a fait se tuer The fear of-the scandal 3sg:perf:caus refl kill:inf {le frère du juge /*au frère du juge}. {the brother of:the judge/to:the brother of the judge}. ‘Fear of scandal made the judge’s brother kill himself.’ (9) La crainte du scandale l’a fait tuer {au juge/ The fear of-the scandal him 3sg:caus:perf kill:inf {to-the judge *le juge}. the judge} ‘Fear of scandal made the judge kill him.’ The reflexive construction as well as the intransitive verb requires a bare NP causee (examples (6) and (8)), whereas the transitive constructions have a à + NP causee, regardless of whether the transitive verb has a full NP (7) or clitic (9) object. This syntactic patterning has led some scholars to assume that Romance reflexive constructions also have an argument structure similar to those of ‘‘real’’ intransitive verbs, i.e. that they are one-place predicates (cf. Grimshaw 1982, 1990; Wehrli 1986). What kind of argument structure of reflexive constructions one assumes is of course highly theory-dependent, so I do not want to contradict these analyses in principle. But the fact that the reflexive marker is referential clearly indicates that reflexive constructions are semantically not like intransitives (irrespective of their syntactic behavior). The referential status of the reflexive marker in the reflexive construction can be shown also on syntactic grounds. The referent of the reflexive marker in (2) can be questioned, whereas a similar question concerning the reflexive marker in (4) is not textually coherent (it is only possible with the reading rendre ‘to give back’):2 (2′′) Marie se regarde dans la glace. Elle regarde qui? Marie refl look:3sg in the mirror she look:3sg whom? ‘Marie looks at herself in the mirror. Whom does she look at?’ (4′′) Jean-Luc s’est rendu à la gare. #Il a rendu qui? Jean-Luc go:3sg:perf to the station. He return:3sg whom? Jean-Luc went to the station. #He returned whom?

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These assumptions on the functional variety of se indicate a return to the traditional distinction of inherently reflexive verbs vs. reflexive uses of transitive verbs (cf. Ruwet 1972; Melis 1990). That reflexive constructions and reflexive verbs differ in their argument structure is a prerequisite crucial for the analysis developed here. In deciding whether a sequence ‘‘verb + reflexive marker’’ is a reflexive construction or a reflexive verb, I will adopt the criterion of semantic predictability. If the semantics of the sequence follows compositionally from the verb’s lexical meaning and the grammatical meaning of the reflexive marker, the sequence will be considered a reflexive construction (see (1), (2) above). If the semantics of the sequence deviates from what can be inferred from the transitive verb’s lexical meaning and the grammatical meaning of the reflexive marker, it will be considered a reflexive verb (see (4)–(5) above).

3.–Grammaticalization of the reflexive marker vs. lexicalization of reflexive verbs The crucial point is the lexical difference between a transitive verb and its reflexive verb counterpart. The synchronic semantic relation between a reflexive verb and its corresponding transitive verb is of course a reflex of a certain historical development. We are thus dealing with lexical semantic change. It is a natural assumption that the reflexive verbs have grown out of reflexive constructions and are therefore historically related to transitive verbs. A reflexive verb is the product of a diachronic lexicalization process. This lexical change must be related, but not equated, to a grammatical change: A necessary precondition for the emergence of reflexive verbs is a certain degree of grammaticalization of se as a middle marker (see especially Kemmer 1993 for an in-depth study on the middle and on grammaticalization paths of reflexive markers). Only if the reflexive marker has somewhat reduced its syntagmatic scope and variability can it fuse with a transitive verb to form a reflexive verb (cf. Lehmann 1985 for the parameters of grammaticalization). Proof of this is the fact that in (Classical) Latin as the precursor of French the reflexive marker se had not yet grammaticalized to a middle marker (Hatcher 1942; Kemmer 1993: 161); correspondingly, reflexive verbs in Latin are not attested. Most scholars agree that the crucial steps of that grammaticalization process occurred before the emergence of the first Old French texts, i.e. before the 9th/10th century (cf. Stéfanini 1962: 583, Kemmer 1993: 154). But note that the grammaticalization of se as a middle marker is not a sufficient condition for the emergence of reflexive verbs. Many French reflexive verbs have arisen only much later than se had become available as a middle marker, even if the transitive counterpart existed long before. Examples of reflexive verbs of this kind

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are se disposer à ‘to prepare oneself to’ (attested since 1393),3 se négliger ‘to neglect one’s physical appearance’ (attested since 1671), se ruiner ‘to lose all one’s money’ (attested since 1559). Their transitive counterparts existed long before these first attestations. Lots of examples of other ‘‘late’’ reflexive verbs are provided in Hatcher (1942: 149–202). These observations strongly suggest that every reflexive verb has its individual history. Reflexive verbs require a previous grammaticalization process of the reflexive marker to a middle marker, but are not automatically triggered by that process. Sometimes scholars have not been entirely clear about this difference (cf. Kemmer 1993: 160–1, who equates the progressively extending marking of middle type verbs by the reflexive marker with the grammaticalization of se). The emergence of reflexive verbs is primarily a lexical, not a grammatical, matter. In order to account for these lexical changes, I will crucially rely on the theory of semantic transitivity outlined in Hopper and Thompson (1980) on the one hand and on traditional instruments of lexical description on the other (selection restrictions, thematic roles). Furthermore, I assume that thematic roles of a verb are a lexical projection of conceptually represented participants of an event frame (cf. Kemmer 1993: 8–9). Event frames are pieces of encyclopedic knowledge; they stand for how people typically model the situations associated to the use of determinate verbs. ‘‘Event frame’’ and similar notions (propositional frame, Givón 1984: 31) are concepts employed in Cognitive Linguistics. They will serve here as explanatory tools to the extent that they can help to understand independently detectable morphological and semantic facts. As for event frames, particular attention will be paid to the conceptual relation between the participants representing the subject and the direct object. With the direct object being a reflexive marker, this conceptual relation is usually referred to as coreference (cf. Faltz 1985: 34, Kemmer 1993: 43–4). This may be illustrated as in Figure 1 (according to Kemmer 1993: 52).

A/B

Figure 1–Coreference The figure symbolizes that the two chief participants A and B (corresponding to subject and direct object in a reflexive construction, respectively) are token-identical, i.e. coreferent. In the event frame of a typical semantically transitive situation, A and B correspond to an Agent and a Patient. (See Kemmer 1993: 49–52; Langacker 1987: 231–42; Givón 1984: 96–7 for discussions of event frames of

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typical transitive situations.) Along the lines of this paper it will be argued that coreference as a conceptual relation in reflexive constructions may be fruitfully analyzed in a more nuanced way. Coreference covers several different conceptual relations which become highly relevant especially in the diachronic perspective.

4.–Three types of coreference It now seems plausible to assume that the key to the semantic difference between reflexive construction and reflexive verb should lie in some semantic features of the involved verbs. Since the reflexive constructions are the input for the change yielding the reflexive verbs, it must be some properties of the transitive verb that determine the particular semantic design of the resulting reflexive verb. In this article, I will distinguish three types of reflexive constructions that correspond to three forms of coreference: (10) Direct-reflexive construction Elle s’enfermait en son bureau. She refl:lock:3sg:impf in her office ‘She locked herself in her office.’ With this reflexive construction, the two chief participants are strictly coreferent in the sense that the self is highly affected by the event and that in the event frame, the Agent and the Patient are identical (Figure 2).

A/B

Figure 2–Agent and Patient identity The coreference relation is less evident in the next case: (11) Partitive-reflexive construction L’avantage c’est qu’on n’a pas besoin de se raser tous les the:advantage is that:one need:neg:3sg of refl shave:inf all the matins.4 morning:pl ‘The good thing is, you don’t have to shave every morning.’

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A B

Figure 3.–Agent and Patient in part-whole relation The conceptual relation in this case is a part-whole (meronymic) relation between the two participants: the shaved body part is understood as a part of the person doing the shave. The B participant is a part of the A participant. Therefore the conceptual relation can be referred to as coreference only in a wider sense. It is clearly possible to distinguish the agent and the patient participant in the event frame (see Figure 3). Distinctness of participants increases even more in the last kind of reflexive construction: (12) Metonymic-reflexive construction Elle se cherche contre l’expressionisme abstrait. she refl search:3sg against the-expressionism abstract ‘She looks for her way outside abstract expressionism.’ Here it would be counter-intuitive to speak of coreference as the conceptual relation between the participants. Rather, the relation between a person (the A participant) and her ‘‘way’’ (the B participant) are usually thought of as a mere ‘‘one having to do with each other’’, not even one being a part of the other. Therefore this conceptual relation cannot appropriately be called a coreferent nor a meronymic relation. I will speak of a ‘‘metonymic’’ relation in this case (cf. Zribi-Hertz 1978; Melis 1990) (Figure 4).

A B Figure 4.–Agent and Patient in metonymic relation The notion ‘‘distinctness of participants’’ should not be confused with the concept

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of ‘‘distinguishability of participants’’ as defined by Kemmer (1993: 66–70; 1994: 206–9). By ‘‘distinguishability of participants’’ she means ‘‘the degree to which a single physico-mental entity is conceptually distinguished into separate participants’’ (1993: 66). A natural consequence hereof is that participants are better distinguishable in reflexive events than in middle events (1994: 73). Many of my ‘‘direct-reflexive’’ uses correspond to what is often called reflexive event and some of my ‘‘partitive-reflexive‘‘ uses to what is often called middle event. This means that distinguishability of participants should decrease as distinctness increases and vice versa. How does this come about? One thing is the degree to which an entity is conceptually distinguished into separate participants; another thing is the actual relation of these participants to each other. It is this latter relation I focus on. With the direct-reflexive situation, the participants are coincident, because the event is conceptualized as affecting a person entirely; with the partitive-reflexive situation, the participants are conceptualized as ‘‘overlapping’’, because the event is conceptualized as affecting (or highlighting) only a part of a person. Another difference between distinguishability and distinctness should be noted: while distinguishability is a property of the conceptualization of the event itself, distinctness relies more heavily on its linguistic coding. Talking about distinctness of participants makes sense only when dealing with constructions where a reflexive marker is actually there, because otherwise there is no second participant. One could not, for example, apply this theory to English, a language that uses a reflexive marker normally only with direct-reflexive constructions.

5.–From reflexivity to self-affectedness: grammaticalization and the diachronic rise of reflexive verbs Having said that a certain degree of grammaticalization of the reflexive marker is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for the emergence of reflexive verbs, an obvious question arises: if it is not the grammaticalization process itself that triggers the lexicalization process of reflexive verbs, what then does trigger it? Given that in the reflexive construction the reflexive marker is a clitic argument like any other, and that at least in Romance there are other (non-reflexive) clitic pronouns, it is not at all clear why so many reflexive clitics fused with the transitive verb to form a reflexive verb and why only a few non-reflexive clitics did so. (Examples for the latter are l’emporter ‘to win’, se la couler douce ‘lead a cushy life’.) Since lexicalization is primarily a semantic matter, it is necessary to distinguish it carefully from the semantic effects of grammaticalization. This seems to be possible along the lines of Detges’ (to appear) pragmatic approach to grammaticalization. According to Detges, the semantic mechanism in grammaticalization is neither ‘‘bleaching’’ nor metaphor, but metonymy. The metonymy in grammaticalization

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processes is a conversational implicature. This conversational implicature is not just an accidental inference made by the hearer but is employed actively by speakers in order to meet certain pragmatic needs. Now, a conversational implicature associated with reflexivity (coreference of arguments) is self-affectedness. Someone saying, e.g., ‘‘I stabbed myself’’ may do so in order to convey that she is hurt, i.e. by literally transmitting a coreference of arguments the speaker actually expresses self-affectedness. A pragmatic motivation for this may be that it is often polite to express selfaffectedness only indirectly, thereby giving a reason for it. The grammaticalization consists in the conventionalization of this conversational implicature (cf. Traugott and König 1991: 210–2). A corollary of the grammaticalization process is that reflexive markers can combine with non-human subjects, because affectedness—as the new, grammaticalized meaning of the reflexive marker—is not restricted to humans. (Note in passing that the old, reflexive meaning of the reflexive marker does not necessarily have to fade away; it can perfectly coexist with the new meaning in a polysemy relation—which is the case e.g. in French.) It is important to see that with the self-affectedness interpretation, the reflexive construction is no longer a coreference construction (i.e. one participant is suppressed). Again: this process does not automatically create reflexive verbs. It does create, however, the possibility to form two semantic types of reflexive constructions with transitive verbs according to the selected reflexive marker function: one coreferent reflexive construction with the old, reflexive, function; the other one with the ‘‘new’’, self-affectedness (middle) function. Now, reflexive verbs seem to arise when the semantic relation between these two types of reflexive construction becomes opaque, i.e. when they are no longer felt as constructions of one and the same verb. This should be likely to occur, because the self-affectedness reading deviates somewhat from the lexical content of the transitive verb. Since the self-affectedness reading is often semantically difficult to relate to the transitive verb, that reading may rapidly ‘‘disconnect’’ from the verb and form a separate lexical entry. Apparently, it is because of the semantic deviation that reflexive clitics—and not other clitic pronouns—fuse so often with the verb. This will be illustrated in the subsequent sections of this paper. I will now study each of the three above-mentioned types of two-participant reflexive constructions in greater detail. My main point will be that the conceptual relations of the participants in the reflexive construction reflect structural properties of the respective transitive verbs that crucially determine the semantic pathway of their lexicalization to a reflexive verb.

6.–Direct-reflexive constructions and patient-oriented reflexive verbs Direct-reflexive constructions are the test case for reflexivity insofar as they repre-

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sent event types that people usually do not perform on themselves but on others (cf. Faltz 1985: 7): (13) Il ne faudrait pas que Tours se punisse de son audace. expl must:3sg:neg that Tours refl punish:3sg:subj of its audacity ‘It isn’t necessary that the city of Tours punishes itself for its audacity.’ (14) Se regarder ainsi dans la glace devient vite fastidieux. refl look:inf so in the mirror become:3sg fast boring ‘To look at oneself like that in the mirror quickly becomes boring.’ (15) Il ne s’aime plus. He neg refl love:3sg more ‘He doesn’t like himself anymore.’ These clauses are relatively high in semantic transitivity: a human agent performs an action on an affected object. Although semantic transitivity is usually considered a property of clauses, not of verbs, it seems legitimate and useful to apply the notion also to verbs only, because some of the parameters of semantic transitivity as discussed in Hopper and Thompson (1980) depend (at least to a large extent) on lexical properties of verbs (number of participants, action/non-action, volitional/non-volitional, agency, affectedness and individuation of the object). Since I am concerned with properties of verbs here, I will therefore employ the notion of semantic transitivity also when talking about verbs. In this sense, not only the clauses but also the verbs in constructions of the kind exemplified in (13)–(15) are high in semantic transitivity. Put differently: the clauses are high in transitivity because the verbs are so too. Note, however, that the verb in these reflexive constructions cannot be maximally transitive. The maximally transitive event would imply an inanimate object. But the coding of direct-reflexive constructions requires a ‘‘conceptual separation’’ (Kemmer 1994: 206) of one entity into an actor and an acted-on participant; and only humans are usually thought to be able of such a conceptual separation. Therefore the verbs in the direct-reflexive construction must allow [+human] arguments in their object position and they cannot be maximally transitive.5 Here again we see the difference between distinguishability and distinctness: the direct reflexive event requires a conceptual separation into an actor and an acted-on participant, yielding two distinguishable participants. But no particular part of the object participant is highlighted, so that these participants are not distinct. This again is a reflex of a certain semantic property of the implied verbs, namely that their selection restrictions allow [+human] direct objects. Since the object can be [+human] in general, the construction will not focus on a particular part of the object argument. What happens when these verbs are used with the self-affectedness reflexive

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marker function? By its very nature, self-affectedness as related to reflexivity focuses on the result of the event because self-affectedness is a result of a self-directed action. By the same token, the implicature of self-affectedness fades out the subject participant of the reflexive construction. Only one participant remains conceptually represented; the reflexive construction resembles therefore an unaccusative intransitive verb. Very often, the self-affectedness reflexive construction rather seems to be semantically unrelated to the transitive verb; therefore the self-affectedness reflexive construction may, if it is often used, rapidly lexicalize and turn into a reflexive verb. An example for a non-lexicalized self-affectedness reflexive construction is (16): (16) Jean-Luc s’est tué dans un accident. Jean-Luc refl kill:3sg:perf in a accident ‘Jean-Luc has died in an accident.’ The construction is clearly felt as related to the transitive verb tuer ‘to kill’. The reflexive marker is used productively in the self-affectedness function. The selfaffectedness interpretation (unintentional death) apparently requires a context excluding agentivity, here the adjunct dans un accident ‘in an accident’, otherwise the construction would probably be interpreted as referring to a suicide. In my corpus (Le Monde on CD-ROM) all self-affectedness interpretations of se tuer have a linguistic context that excludes agentivity (mostly an adjunct of the type in (16)). The self-affectedness interpretation is triggered by the context; it is not available independently. This can be taken as evidence for its non-lexicalized status. An example for a lexicalized self-affectedness interpretation (i.e. a reflexive verb) is (5), repeated here: (5) Avec ce contrat, Jean-Luc s’est trompé. with this contract Jean-Luc be-mistaken:3sg:perf ‘When concluding this contract, Jean-Luc was mistaken.’ The self-affectedness interpretation is available independently from any linguistic element excluding agentivity. Hence it must be considered as part of the semantic content of the verb itself. The reflexive verb se tromper has only one participant. It is felt as semantically related to the transitive verb tromper ‘to deceive’, but at first sight, the relation seems to be less clear than in the tuer/se tuer case. But the relation is nevertheless of the same kind. Se tromper ‘to be mistaken’ is the result of se tromper ‘to deceive oneself’ as se tuer ‘to die’ is the result of se tuer ‘to kill oneself’: anybody who deceives herself is mistaken just as anybody who kills herself is dead. The distinction between the reflexive verb and its corresponding transitive verb is like the distinction between an inchoative verb and its causative

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counterpart. This seems to hold for all reflexive verbs based on direct-reflexive reflexive constructions. Some more examples: L’angoisse, le stress la réveillent la nuit. the-fear, the stress her wake-up:3pl the night ‘Fear and stress wake her up during the night.’ b. Le chanteur se réveille à peine. the singer wake-up:3sg hardly ‘The singer is hardly waking up.’

(17) a.

Il lève l’ancre pour un autre îlot. he raise:3sg the anchor for another island ‘He weighs anchor, leaving for another island.’ b. Je me lève facilement le matin. I rise:1sg easily the morning ‘I get up easily in the morning.’

(18) a.

The apparent reason for this semantic patterning is the strong implicature of selfaffectedness conveyed by the two-participant reflexive construction use of this verb—recall that with the direct-reflexive two-participant reflexive construction, two participants are clearly distinguishable. The focusing on the second participant ‘‘decomposes’’ the meaning of the predicate into a caused event and its causation. The suppression of the subject participant takes away the causation part, leaving behind the caused (= inchoative) event alone. This diachronic process corresponds to what Geniušiene˙ (1987: 319–24), in a synchronic perspective, called the decausative reflexive. It makes the reflexive verb a patient-oriented verb (comparing it to the agent and the patient of the underlying transitive verb).

7.–Partitive-reflexive constructions Let’s now turn to the reflexive construction referred to above as partitive-reflexive. The object participant is conceptualized as a part of the subject participant. Naturally, verbs of this type usually correspond to grooming or ‘‘body action’’ events: (19) Ils se peignent comme devant leur glace. They refl comb:3pl like in front of their mirror ‘They comb their hair as if they were standing in front of their mirror.’ (20) Cet enfant se gratte trop. This child refl scratch:3sg too much ‘This child scratches himself too much.’

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The two participants are not entirely coreferent—one is conceptualized as a part of the other one. The two participants (as the respective referents of the subject and the reflexive marker) are therefore distinct. But note that in the corresponding event frame, they are less distinguishable than in the direct-reflexive construction (cf. Kemmer 1993: 65–70). In the body action domain, people most often perform the relevant action onto themselves, not on others—as opposed to the transitive event. A verb of the ‘‘body action’’ domain requires its direct object to be a body part, i.e. has very narrow selection restrictions for it. At least in French, verbs that are able to enter the partitive reflexive construction also allow the external possessor construction (which has a dative reflexive marker): (19′) Ils se peignent les cheveux. They refl:dat comb:3SG the hair ‘They comb their hair’. (20 ′) Cet enfant se gratte trop les bras. This child refl:dat scratch:3sg too much the arm:pl ‘This child scratches his arms too much.’ Surprisingly, it is very difficult to find reflexive verbs based on the partitive-reflexive construction. Sequences like se raser ‘to shave’, se gratter ‘to scratch oneself’, se laver ‘to wash (oneself)’ are constructions of the respective transitive verbs.6 Already the possibility to enter the external-possessor-construction can be taken as evidence for this claim. If the sequences (18′)–(20′) were not reflexive constructions, their reflexive marker could not commute with the dative reflexive without changing the verb’s interpretation. The reason for this seems to be the following: the implicature of self-affectedness, crucial in the development of reflexive verbs based on direct-reflexive reflexive constructions, plays no role in partitive-reflexive reflexive constructions. Whereas with direct-reflexive reflexive constructions, it is the reflexive use (and no other construction) of the transitive verb that triggers the implicature of self-affectedness, the self-affectedness in body action verbs is the standard case and therefore part of their lexical content. Since self-affectedness is inherent in grooming and other body action events, it is not associated with a particular construction of those verbs. It is therefore not an implicature restricted to the reflexive construction. Now, recall that the lexicalization of reflexive verbs starts from the self-affectedness reading becoming difficult to relate to the transitive meaning (cf. Sections 2 and 3). Since with body action verbs, self-affectedness is the standard case, the reflexive construction cannot deviate semantically from the transitive form and is therefore unexpected to form a separate lexical entry.

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8.–Metonymic-reflexive constructions and agent-oriented reflexive verbs The third type of two-participant reflexive construction involves a metonymic relation between the subject participant and some other conceptually related entity: (21) Heureusement il commence à se confesser. happy:adv he start:3sg to refl confess:inf ‘Fortunately, he begins to confess [his deeds].’ (22) Je ne me suis pas raconté dans ce roman. I refl tell:1sg:perf:neg in this novel ‘I didn’t tell my life in that novel.’ (23) Nous, on veut se compléter. we indef want:3sg refl complete:inf ‘We want to complete our table-service.’ (Heard in a French table-ware shop). Clearly, subject antecedent and reflexive marker are not really coreferent in these constructions. The selection restrictions of these verbs would normally exclude humans in the object position (cf. Zribi-Hertz 1978). The reflexive construction requires therefore, at any rate, a non-literal interpretation. It is the hearer’s task to infer the object participant, mainly on the basis of the object’s selection restrictions. Such an inference process, e.g. for example (21), could run like this: an object of the verb confesser ‘to confess’ must be a sin, a crime or some other forbidden action. Furthermore, the reflexive marker signals that the object must have something to do with the subject participant. These two steps could yield ‘his crimes’ as a possible reading for the reflexive marker in (21). Example (23) nicely demonstrates that the interpretation of metonymic-reflexive reflexive constructions is often semantically underspecified and that additional contextual information may be required for a successful interpretation to be possible. The actual referent of the reflexive marker can be anything within the semantic range of the direct object, provided it can be related to the subject participant. In the case of (23), this was the customer’s table service.7 These are cases of metonymy: the second participant is referred to not literally, but obliquely, via an expression that is in an experiential (contiguity) relation with it. Recent studies on contiguity and metonymy include Traugott and König (1991: 210–2) and Koch (1999). A concept related to metonymy is the notion of active zone familiar in Cognitive Linguistics (cf. Langacker 1984; 1987: 271–4; 1993: 29–35). The examples in (21)–(23) are similar to the standard examples of active zones like We all heard the trumpet or Bring me the red pencil (Langacker 1987: 271) in that the intended referent does not match the semantic content of the

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object argument, but is only in a contiguity relation to it. The metonymic process, being a referential process, indicates that the reflexive marker really does refer, i.e. that two participants are actually involved in the reflexive construction. This in turn indicates that the selected reflexive marker function is coreference, not selfaffectedness. Therefore it is never difficult to see the semantic link from a metonymic-reflexive reflexive construction to its corresponding transitive verb. Contrary to what one might think at first sight, the metonymic-reflexive construction is clearly distinguishable from the partitive-reflexive construction. The most salient distinctive feature seems to be that the metonymic-reflexive construction normally does not allow the external-possessor-construction: (21′)*Heureusement il commence à se confesser les crimes. happy:adv he start:3sg to refl:dat confess:inf the crime:pl ‘Fortunately, he begins to confess his crimes.’ (22′)*Je ne me suis pas raconté la vie dans ce roman. I tell:1sg:perf:refl:dat:neg the life in this novel ‘I didn’t tell my life in that novel.’ Now, there are many reflexive verbs in French that apparently derive from metonymic-reflexive reflexive constructions. Below I list some of them together with their corresponding transitive verbs: (24) se déclarer ‘to declare oneself’ s’exercer ‘to train’ se rendre ‘to go’ s’exprimer ‘to express one’s thinking’

déclarer ‘to declare’ exercer ‘execute’ rendre ‘to give back’ exprimer ‘to express’

Let’s compare now these reflexive verbs to their transitive counterparts. Their semantic relation seems straightforward in some cases (se déclarer, s’exprimer), but less clear in other ones (s’exercer, se rendre). How is this possible? It has been said that the semantic relation between a metonymic-reflexive reflexive construction and its transitive counterpart is not difficult to see. But the construction may nevertheless be semantically underspecified (cf. example (23)), because the actual referent of the reflexive marker can be chosen from the entire semantic range allowed by the object’s selection restrictions. The lexicalization process of an reflexive verb selects one interpretation out of this range and fixes it, thereby narrowing down the referential potential of the entire construction. Consequently, the reflexive marker referent cannot be chosen freely any more. The reflexive marker, which was formerly an argument of the verb, is now part of the predicate and the verb loses its object participant. As a consequence, the reflexive verb resemble the absolute uses of certain transitive verbs (like to eat instead of to eat something).

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If the interpretation selected by the lexicalization process is a very particular and specialized one, the reflexive verb meaning may not be easy to relate to its transitive counterpart. This is the case e.g. for se rendre (cf. example (4) above). From Old French on, rendre meant ‘to give back’ and was initially used especially in military contexts. When used with the reflexive marker in a metonymic-reflexive reflexive construction, the reflexive marker could refer to e.g. the arms of a person. The event of ‘rendering one’s arms’ was metonymically reinterpreted as ‘to surrender’. In another metonymic step, this reading changed to ‘to go [somewhere]’. The relation between the reflexive verb and its transitive counterpart is more transparent e.g. in se déclarer. Se déclarer as a reflexive verb (with a human subject) has several interpretations all of which are choices out of the semantic range allowed by the underlying metonymic-reflexive construction. It can mean: ‘to give one’s view’ and—as a very specific choice from the possible objects of déclarer–‘to declare one’s love’.8 Of course, it is not possible to predict which interpretation the lexicalization process will select from the semantic range allowed by the object’s selection restrictions. But whatever way the lexicalization process will take, the subject participant remains unaffected. Only the object semantics changes. This makes the resulting reflexive verb an agent-oriented reflexive verb (compared to the agent and the patient of the underlying transitive verb). Interestingly, metonymic-reflexive reflexive verbs emerged much later than the other reflexive verbs. Direct-reflexive and partitive-reflexive reflexive verbs are abundantly attested from early Old French on (cf. Kemmer 1993: 153–62). But most of today’s metonymic-reflexive reflexive verbs arose only in the Modern French period (cf. the verbs mentioned in Hatcher 1942: 155–6). This seems to indicate that se had attained a more advanced stage of grammaticalization by that period.

9.–The reversal of the Transitivity gradient After studying the different reflexive constructions and their corresponding reflexive verbs in some detail, I would like to take an overall look at their transitivity patterning. It will turn out that both reflexive constructions and reflexive verbs of the direct-reflexive, partitive-reflexive and metonymic-reflexive type can be ordered with respect to semantic transitivity, but that the rankings of transitive verbs (as used in reflexive constructions) and reflexive verbs are inverse (recall from Section 2 that also verbs, not only clauses, can be classified with respect to transitivity). The verbs tromper ‘to deceive’, gratter ‘to scratch’ and exprimer ‘to express’ will serve as examples for transitive verbs that can be used in direct-reflexive, partitive-reflexive and metonymic-reflexive constructions, respectively. Their reflexive

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Table 1.–Individuation features Individuated

Non-individuated

Proper Human, animate Concrete Singular Count Referential, definite

Common Inanimate Abstract Plural Mass Non-referential

verb counterparts are se tromper ‘to be wrong’ and s’exprimer ‘to express oneself’ (recall that reflexive verbs deriving from partitive-reflexive constructions are unexpected and will therefore not be taken into consideration). Hopper and Thompson (1980) lay out a number of morphological and semantic parameters of semantic transitivity. The parameters number of participants, agentivity and individuation of the object will prove most relevant for my comparison. The importance of the participants parameter is self-evident, as the number of participants is precisely the most salient difference between reflexive constructions and reflexive verbs (reduction of the number of participants is a part of the lexicalization process). Agentivity as a feature of transitive and reflexive verbs has been discussed as well in this paper. The relevance of the individuation parameter is less clear at first sight. This parameter ‘‘refers both to the distinctness of the patient from the A [subject participant, RW] [. . .] and to its distinctness from its own background’’ (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 253). Now, distinctness of the object participant from the subject participant and from its own background seems to be the conceptual counterpart of certain selection restrictions which are relevant for the choice of the type of coreference as discussed above. This becomes immediately clear when taking a look at the list of components of individuation proposed by Hopper and Thompson (1980: 253) (see Table 1). Some of these features ([±human], [±concrete] are also selection restrictions as discussed in Sections 4–8. Table 2.–Transitivity ranking of refl xive verbs and their transitive counterparts Overall transitivity

High

tromper Participants 2 S agentive yes Individuation of O concrete, distinct

Low gratter 2 yes concrete

exprimer 2 yes abstract

s’exprimer 1 yes –

se tromper 1 no –

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I propose the transitivity ranking of the above-mentioned transitive and reflexive verbs, as set out in Table 2. It seems natural to assume that the number of participants is the ‘‘master feature’’ of transitivity, already because this criterion captures the intuition underlying the traditional distinction of transitive vs. intransitive verbs. Accordingly, every transitive verb should be, all other things being equal, higher in transitivity than its reflexive counterpart. The lexicalization of a reflexive verb is always a de-transitivization. This is reflected in Table 2. The syntactically transitive verbs do not differ in agentivity. Therefore it is the individuation of the object that is the relevant parameter for their transitivity ranking. Tromper is high in transitivity because its object must be [+ human] and therefore concrete. It is distinct from its background. The object of gratter is much less individuated. The ‘‘scratched body part’’ is concrete, but not very distinct from its background, as it is not always saliently profiled against the entire body. Exprimer is even less transitive, because the object of a verb of saying is not even concrete. Turning now to the corresponding reflexive verbs, a puzzling situation is to be observed. The transitivity ranking of the transitive verbs is inverted. The reflexive verb se tromper is clearly lower in transitivity than s’exprimer. Here, the relevant feature is agentivity, because the verbs do not differ with respect to the other features. They have both only one participant, and there isn’t an object any more that could be evaluated for individuation. S’exprimer has an agentive subject (recall that with metonymic-reflexive reflexive verbs, the subject participant of the underlying reflexive construction remains unaffected). On the contrary, se tromper is low in agentivity. This difference in agentivity is precisely an effect of the lexicalization process of reflexive verbs: the subject participant of the direct-reflexive construction ‘‘fades away’’, whereas with the metonymic-reflexive construction, it remains as it is.

10.–Conclusion In this paper I have tried to show that it is possible to explain the semantic difference between transitive verbs and their corresponding reflexive verbs. Crucial for the lexicalization of reflexive verbs are the selection restrictions for the object of the underlying transitive verbs. Depending on whether these selection restrictions allow or exclude [+ human] objects, the lexicalization process eliminates the subject or the object participant. Especially in the latter case, the reflexive verb and its underlying transitive verb may differ considerably in meaning because the metonymic-reflexive construction is often semantically underspecified. The respective pathways of lexicalization determine also the differences with respect to semantic transitivity.

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Acknowledgements This paper builds on a chapter of my Ph.D. dissertation Metonymie und Grammatik: Kontiguitätsphänomene in der französischen Satzsemantik (Free University of Berlin, 1997). Many thanks to the participants of the Colorado Symposium on Reflexives and Reciprocals for their comments and questions. Special thanks to Ulrich Detges, Zygmunt Frajzyngier, Donna B. Gerdts and Pierre Pica for comments on an earlier version of this paper.

Notes 1. The following abbreviations are used in the examples: 1 = first person, 2 = second person, 3 = third person, sg = singular, pl = plural, refl = reflexive, dat = dative, perf = past perfect, impf = imperfective, fut = simple future, inf = infinitive, caus = causative, subj = subjunctive, neg = negation, indef = indefinite subject, expl = expletive subject, # = textually incoherent. 2. Further evidence for this distinction is provided by a contrast noted by Kotschi (1974: 46). The reflexive marker in the reflexive construction, but not in the reflexive verb, can be replaced by an emphatic reflexive: Elle se regarde. Elle n’a regardé qu’elle-même. ‘She looks at herself. She has looked only at herself.’ But: Jean s’est rendu à la gare. #Il n’a rendu que lui-même. ‘Jean went to the station. #He has returned only himself.’ 3. The first attestations reported in this article are taken from Alain Rey et al. (1992): Dictionnaire historique de la langue française. Paris: Le Robert. 4. The French examples from here on, if not indicated otherwise, are taken from Le Monde sur CD-ROM 1994. Reading: Research Publications International. 5. The collective argument in (13) is only a figurative (metonymic) deviation of that constraint. 6. An exception might be s’habiller in the sense of ‘to dress [in a certain way]’, as in elle s’habille élégamment ‘she dresses in an elegant way’. 7. Other examples of this kind are attested in other languages, e.g. German wir wollen uns vergrößern ‘we are looking for a bigger house’ (literally ‘we want to make ourselves bigger’). This sentence is already a kind of idiom (and therefore acceptable even out of context), while the (authentic) French example (23) is apparently an ad-hoc innovation and acceptable only in the appropriate context. 8. This example also shows that in real communication the semantic underspecification of metonymicreflexive constructions need not always be a disadvantage, because it enables speakers to address by way of suggestion certain referents they may not want to name directly.

References Detges, Ulrich. To appear. ‘‘Wie entsteht Grammatik? Kognitive und pragmatische Determinanten der Grammatikalisierung von Tempusmarkern’’. In Jürgen Lang and Ingrid Neumann-Holzschuh (eds), Reanalyse und Grammatikalisierung in romanischen Sprachen. Faltz, Leonard M. 1985. Refl xivization: A study in Universal Syntax. New York: Garland.

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Geniušiene˙, Emma. 1987. The Typology of Refl xives [Empirical Approaches to Language Typology 2]. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Givón, Talmy. 1984. Syntax: A functional-typological introduction, vol. i. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Grimshaw, Jane. 1982. ‘‘On the lexical representation of Romance reflexive clitics’’. In Joan Bresnan (ed.), The Mental Representation of Grammatical Relations. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 87–148. —— 1990. Argument Structure [Linguistic Inquiry Monograph 18]. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press. Hatcher, Anna Granville. 1942. Refl xive Verbs. Latin, Old French, Modern French [The John Hopkins Studies in Romance Literatures and Languages 43]. Baltimore: The John Hopkins Press. Hopper, Paul, and Sandra A. Thompson. 1980. ‘‘Transitivity in grammar and discourse’’. Language 56: 251–99. Kayne, Richard S. 1975. French Syntax. The transformational cycle. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press [Current Studies in Linguistics Series 6]. Kemmer, Suzanne. 1993. The Middle Voice [Typological Studies in Language 23]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. —— 1994. ‘‘Middle voice, transitivity, and the elaboration of events’’. In Barbara Fox and Paul J. Hopper (eds), Voice: Form and function [Typological Studies in Language 27]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 179–230. Koch, Peter. 1999. ‘‘Frame and contiguity. On the cognitive bases of metonymy and certain types of word formation’’. In Günter Radden and Klaus-Uwe Panther (eds), Metonomy in Language and Thought [Human Cognitive Processing 4]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 139–67. Kotschi, Thomas. 1974. Probleme der Beschreibung lexikalischer Strukturen. Untersuchungen am Beispiel des französischen Verbs [Linguistische Arbeiten 19]. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Langacker, Ronald W. 1984. ‘‘Active zones’’. Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society 10: 172–88. —— 1987. Foundations of Cognitive Grammar, vol. i. Theoretical Prerequisites. Stanford: Stanford University Press. —— 1993. ‘‘Reference-point constructions’’. Cognitive linguistics 4: 1–38. Legendre, Géraldine. 1994. Topics in French Syntax. New York and London: Garland. Lehmann, Christian. 1985. ‘‘Grammaticalization: Synchronic variation and diachronic change’’. Lingua e stile 20: 303–18. Melis, Ludo. 1990. La voie pronominale. La systématique des tours pronominaux en français moderne. Paris and Gembloux: Duculot. Ruwet, Nicolas. 1972. ‘‘Les constructions pronominales en français. Restrictions de sélection, transformations et règles de redondances’’. Le Français Moderne 40: 102– 25.

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Stéfanini, Jean. 1962. La voix pronominale en ancien et en moyen français. Aix-enProvence: Ophrys. Traugott, Elizabeth Closs, and Ekkehard König. 1991. ‘‘The semantics-pragmatics of grammaticalization revisited’’. In Elizabeth Closs Traugott and Bernd Heine (eds), Approaches to Grammaticalization, vol. i [Typological Studies in Language 19]. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 189–218. Wehrli, Eric. 1986. ‘‘On some properties of French clitic se’’. In Hagit Borer (ed.), The Syntax of Pronominal Clitics [Syntax and Semantics 19]. New York: Academic Press, 263–83. Zribi-Hertz, Anne. 1978. ‘‘Economisons-nous: A propos d’une classe de formes réflexives métonymiques en français’’. Le Français Moderne 55: 23–54.

Subject index

N-features 188, 189, 211, 216 fully marked 189, 211, 215 accomplishments 166 accusative 194, 196, 198, 200, 203, 219, 220 Accusative-with-Infinitive 214 active zones 271 adjectival 219 adjective 195, 211 adnominal intensifiers 45, 58, 66 affectedness 265 of subject 141 agent performance 166 AGR(eement) 190 AGRo 215, 219, 221 Aktionsart 174 anaphoric 115 anaphors 187 antecedent properties 67 anticausative 59, 63 areal influences 108 argument of the verb 161 argument loss reflexives 163 aspect 161 aspectual marker 161 se 166 autophoric 106 base 156 benefactive emphatic se 183 benefactive 154, 155, 163, 184 Beowulf 188, 191, 199, 212 binding 189 Binding Theory 41, 196 Binding Principle B 80 bodily motion 59 body part 55, 105, 111, 112, 113 bounded object 180, 182 bounded noun 164 bounded events and objects 177 boundedness 165, 169

calquing 108, 109 case 188, 189, 211, 216 case markers 195 structural case 212 categorizing 111 Chain Condition 188, 190, 194, 199, 208, 211 cleft construction 232 clitic se 158 cliticization 115 coargument disjoint reference 243 cognitive domains 156 Cognitive Grammar 155 comitative markers 112 completive 153, 154, 163, 182 completive middle 162 completive se 183 completiveness 182 completives 153, 154, 155, 164, 166, 169, 170, 175, 177 complex reflexives 229, 240, 252 conceptual 114 conceptual shift 113 conceptualizing 111, 113 construal 156 consumption telic verb 182 contiguity 271 conventional imagery 156 coreference 258, 262, 263, 265, 266, 271 coreferent 262, 270 coreferential pronouns 183 coreferentiality 140 dative 220 decategorialization 114 deleted 161 derived transitivity 63 detransitivization 63 diachronic 104 discourse marker 229 distinctness 264, 267 distinctness of participants 264, 265, 269 distinguishability of participants 264, 267

280

subject index

distinguishable 269 ditransitive constructions 156, 160 domain 190, 206 Domain Properties 64 dominion 156, 157, 158, 160, 167, 170, 177, 178 empathy focus 247 emphatic reflexives 41, 227 emphatic 187, 191, 192, 195, 204 emphatic pronouns 106, 111, 116 emphatic benefactives 182 emphatic pronoun 106, 114 endophoric pronoun 58 endophoric unspecified bindable 61 ethical dative 201 etymology of intensifiers 55 event elaboration 157, 158 event frame 262, 263, 269 experiencer performance 166 external possessor construction 269, 270, 271 feature content 211 features 187, 221 first 188, 194, 196, 198, 199, 200, 203, 204, 206, 216, 220 focal participants 159 focalized benefactives 167, 170, 175, 177, 180 focus 44, 159, 185 focus particles 44 focus markers 44 focus logophors 53 focusing se 174, 175 focusing function 161, 182 focusing function of se 174 full exploitation 169 full scope interpretation 172 full involvement 153, 154, 155, 163, 175 full involvement se 183 full scope 174 full involvement constructions 163, 175, 177 with effected objects 182 Full Involvement Construction 178, 182 Gawain and the Green Knight 188, 203, 206, 210, 215, 221 gender 188, 215 genitive 219 governing category 189, 190 graduality condition 172 grammatical construction 157

grammaticalization 103, 104, 107, 114, 219, 261, 265, 273 grammaticalization areas 111 grammaticalization processes 107, 111, 114 grammaticalization pattern 110 grammaticalization strategy 108, 111, 116 grammaticalization phenomena 111 grammaticalized 104, 106, 112, 220, 261 grammaticalizing 107, 194 homomorphic 172 homonymy 116 identifier of content 85 identifier of discourse antecedent 85 imperative 253 imperfect 177 imperfect habitual 177 imperfective verbs 174 imperfective situations 174 impersonal 183, 205 impersonal se constructions 183 inceptive aspectual meanings 159 inchoative 159 incorporative sense 167 incorporative verbs 178, 181 incorporative meaning 167, 174 incorporative transitive verbs 174 indirect object's dominion 157 indirect reflexive clitic se 158 indirect middle 158 indirect reflexive 153, 158, 163, 184 inherent case 188, 190, 203, 211, 212, 214, 219, 220 intensified benefactives 166 intensifiers 41, 227 interpretable 216 intransitive 107 isoglosses 111 landmark 156, 160 lexicalization 261, 265, 266, 270, 272, 274, 275 lexically reflexive 208 licensed 188 linguistic processes 112 local domain 65 locality 65 locally free self-forms 53, 54 locally free reflexives 53 locative 111 locative se 183 locative prepositions 106, 110, 116

subject index

281

logophoric 53, 55 logophoricity 42, 45, 55 logophors 53 long-distance binding 65 long-distance bound reflexives 53

oblique 196, 201, 202, 207 other-directed situations 58 other-directed 60 outwardly and inwardly oriented actions 245 Overlap Model 113

Masdar 241 mass noun 177 maximal prominence 159 maximal exploitation condition 174 mental scope 172, 174 mental spaces 157 metaphor 113 metonymy 113, 271 metonymic 264, 270, 271, 272, 273, 275, 276 middle indirect constructions 153 middle se completive marker 164 middle 59, 63, 153, 155, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 163, 167, 169, 184 se middle construction 160 middle schema 160, 183 middle se marker 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 174, 180, 183 middle se transitive constructions 160, 164, 180 middle transitive constructions 163, 180 Minimalist 211 morphological 106, 114 morphological complexity of anaphors 59, 65 morpho-syntactic 115

part-whole relation 263, 264 participant differentiation 158 partitive 263, 269, 271, 273 partitive reflexive 264, 270 passive 59, 63, 183, 212, 252 Paston Letters 188, 208, 220 perfective situations 174 perfective aspect 182 perfective verbs 161, 174 performing verbs 177 person 188 person marker 145 personal pronoun 107 perspective logophors 53 plural 198, 199 point of view 128, 247 polysemy 116, 182 possessive 115 possessive modifier 113 possessive relationship 156 possessor's concrete or abstract dominion 156 predicates 189 prepositional object 192, 194, 202 prepositional 193, 199 prepositions 201 presumption of disjoint reference 58 pro-drop languages 52 pro-drop 216, 218 process of grammaticalization 107 profile 156, 160 Prominence 157 pronominal possessive modifier 114 pronouns 187, 191, 217 prototypes 112

neutral strategy of reflexivization 245 non-interpretable 216 non-other-directed situations 60 non-transitive middles 167 noun 164 (pro)noun 195 Novelty Condition 81 NtoD movement 219 number 188, 215 numeral systems 111 object individuation 161 object 156, 159, 204, 207 cognate object 180 direct object 193, 194, 199 effected object 183 se 178 indirect object 193, 194 indirect object clitic le 158, 162, 163 as secondary landmark 156 object personal pronouns 105

quantized transitive 164 reanalysis 63 receiver 160 reciprocal 252 reference point 237 referential 187 reflexive 153, 154, 155, 157, 158, 161, 183, 184, 187, 229 reflexive marked 189 reflexive markers 183 reflexive passives 167, 183

282

subject index

reflexive verbs 193 reflexively marked transitive constructions 162, 167 relations 156, 263 restrictive particle 231 Romance se 183 se middle construction see middle se anaphors 41, 59 second 188, 194, 196, 198, 199, 200, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 216, 220 secondary landmark 156 self anaphors 41, 59 self-affectedness 265, 266, 267, 268, 270, 271 semantic transitivity 262, 266, 267, 273 semantic change 261 sentential 173 Shakespeare 188, 209, 220 source dominion 160 speech event 158 split 217 spontaneous events 167 strategies of reflexivization 60 strategy of reflexivization is nominal 252 structural case 189, 199, 214, 220 subject 158, 159 subject-object asymmetries 52 subject-object conceptual proximity 160 subject agentivity 161 subject involvement 178, 180 subject’s dominion 174

subject of consciousness 55 synecdoche 113 syntactic properties 114 target dominion 160 telic verbs 166, 180 telicity 161 temporal markers 111 thematic structure 189 third person 194 Third 196, 199, 205, 206, 216, 220 trajector 156, 160 transformational passives 213 transitivity 155, 160, 161, 243, 267, 273, 274 hypertransitive verbs 164, 165, 166 transitive verbs 174 transitive event 160 transitive construction 156, 160 unbounded objects 173 unexpected events 167 universal 114 untriggered reflexives 53 verbal agreement 218, 219 verbal strategy of reflexivization 252 verbal inflection 217 verbs of motion 159, 166 verbs of transmission 160 verbs of consumption 182 well-bounded objects 174

Author index

Abraham, Werner 149 Al-Amin, Abu-Manga 113 Alfred 188, 192, 193 Arce, Manuel 162, 166, 164 Austen, Jane 210 Ælfric 188, 193 Baker, Mark 45, 54, 55, 187 Berndt, Rolf 216 Bickerton, Derek 41 Bogdanova, Ekaterina 47, 230 Borgman, Donald M. 105 Browning, Marguerite A. 57 Bryan, Margret A. 104, 106, 110 Buchholz, Oda 103 Burzio, Luigi 41, 64, 89, 216 Callaway, Morgan 214 Chapman, Shirley 105 Chaucer 188, 206, 210 Chomsky, Noam 79, 187, 188, 189, 190, 211, 212 Cinque, Guglielmo 92 Cole, Peter 65 Collins, Chris 215 Comrie, Bernard 75, 79, 97 Danyenko, Andrii 117 de Jong, Jelly Julia de 189 Derbyshire, Desmond 105 Detges, Ulrich 251, 265, 275 Diehn 1906 195 Dimmendaal, Gerrit 112 Eckl, Andreas 118 Edet, Usak 109 Edmondson, Jerry A. 47, 227 Embick, David 216 Enç, Myrvet 76, 83 Everaert, Martin 41, 83, 93, 216 Faltz, Leonard 59, 60, 64, 79, 91, 105, 107,

114, 115, 125, 183, 187, 262, 266 Farmer, Ann K. 58, 243 Farr, James 191 Fauconnier, Gilles 157 Frajzyngier, Zygmunt 95, 107, 251, 275 Fromm, Hans 107 Funke, Otto 1907 214 García, Erica 162, 183 Geniušiene˙, Emma 269 Gerdts, Donna B. 251, 275 Givón, Talmy 125, 215, 262 Goldberg, Adele 182 Grimshaw, Jane 161, 257, 260 Haiman, John 187 Harnish, Robert M. 58, 243 Haspelmath, Martin 59 Hatcher, Anna Granville 261 Heine, Bernd 104, 106, 107, 111, 113, 114, 118 Hermodsson, L. 191 Hirschbühler, P. 81 Holzknecht, Susanne 116 Hopper, Paul 161, 262, 267, 273 Huang, Yan 42, 65 Hume, David 188, 210, 220 Iatridou, Sabine 216 Ibragimov, G. 228 Jackendoff, Ray 49 Jaeggli, Osvaldo 216 Jaggar, Philip J. 135 Jungraithmayr, Herrmann 113 Junius 188, 192 Kayne, Richard 215, 257, 259 Keesing, Roger M. 106 Kemmer, Suzanne 59, 77, 157, 158, 183, 249, 261, 262, 264, 267 Kibrik, Aleksandr 230, 246

284

author index

Kiparsky, Paul 211 Koch, Peter 271 König, Ekkehard 44, 45, 46, 55, 83, 145, 149, 187, 191, 245, 265, 271 Koster, Jan 187, 190, 206, 211, 214 Kotschi, Thomas 275 Krifka, Manfred 164, 172 Krönlein, Johann Georg 112 Kuteva, Tania 118 Lakoff, George 249 Langacker, Ronald 156, 164, 237 Larsen, Uffe B. 67 Layamon 194, 203, 214, 219 Legendre, Géraldine 257 Lehmann, Christian 106, 261 Lichtenberk, Frantisek 125 Lidz, Jeffrey 48, 49, 57 Lightfoot, David 213 Lødrup, Helge 63 Maldonado, Ricardo 157, 159, 162, 167, 183, 184 Manzini, Rita 161 Melis, Ludo 257, 260, 264 Mitchell, Bruce 191, 211 Moravcsik, Edith 55 Mustanoja, Tauno 204 Mycielski, Jan 126 Nishida, Chiyo 162, 164, 166, 169, 171 Ogura, Michiko 191 Penning, Gerhard 191 Pica, Pierre 41, 64, 251, 275 Plank, Frans 47, 227 Pollock, Jean-Yves 189 Primus, Beatrice 47 Quine, Willard 164 Quirk, Randolph 14, 191, 218 Reh, Mechtild 114, 116 Reinders-Machowska, Ewa 130 Reinhart, Tanya 41, 42, 49, 51, 53, 57, 59, 60, 63, 75, 77, 79, 125, 128, 187, 189, 190, 199, 203, 206, 208, 211, 214, 220

Reuland, Eric 41, 42, 48, 49, 51, 53, 57, 59, 60, 63, 75, 77, 79, 125, 128, 145, 187, 189, 190, 199, 203, 206, 208, 211, 214, 216, 220 Rizzi, Luigi 216 Rosen, Carol 161 Ruwet, Nicolas 257, 260 Safir, Ken 216 Saltarelli, Mario 113 Santandrea, Stefano 104 Schladt, Matthias 113 Siemund, Peter 45, 57, 145, 149, 187, 191 Sohn, Ho-min 115 Spagnolo, Lorenzo M. 115 Stéfanini, Jean 257, 261 Strozer, Judith 164, 171 Subbarao, K.V. 67 Sung, Li-May 65 Szent-Iványi, Béla 114 Taraldsen, Tarald 216 Thompson, Sandra 161, 262, 267, 273 Thráinsson, Höskuldur 215 Traugott, Elizabeth 265, 271 Tucker, Archibald N. 104, 106, 110 Vakulenko, Serhii 117 van der Leek, Frederike 187 van Kemenade, Ans 214 van Gelderen, Elly 195, 211, 214, 218 Vergnaud, Jean-Roger 76, 83 Visser, F. 191, 192, 211, 219 Wali, Kashi 67 Wasow, Thomas 81, 213 Wehrli, Eric 257, 260 Wierzbicka, Anna 125, 126, 130, 133 Williams, Edwin 81 Wiltschko, Martina 76, 81, 83, 84, 85, 86 Wolff, Ekkehard 116 Wrenn, Christopher 218, 191 Wülfing, J.E. 193 Zeitlin, Jacob 214 Zribi-Hertz, Anne 42, 55, 61, 65, 145, 264, 271 Zubizarreta, Maria Luisa 76, 83

Language index

Abaza 108 Abkhaz 108 Albanian 103 Amharic 51 Anywa 114 Arabic Classical Arabic 51 Modern Arabic 114 Awoyale 115

German 49, 50, 59, 65, 106, 107, 189, 252 Middle High German 87 Modern German 86, 87, 214 Gidar 109, 138 Gisiga 109

Barambu 110 Bari 115 Basque 113 Bolanci 109 Bura 109

Ibibio 109 Icelandic 67, 216 Igbo 109

Cahuilla 108 Carinthian 87 Caucasian languages 108 Central Sudanic 104 Chadic 108, 109, 110, 116 Cupeño 108 Danish 65 Dutch 48, 49, 64, 189, 215, 216 Ebira 109 Efik 109 English 105, 146, 227, 229, 247, 248 Old English 56, 57, 87, 188, 191, 215, 216, 218 Middle English 188 Early Modern 55 Irish English 55 Faroese 216 Finnish 105, 107 French 44, 61 Frisian 107 Ful 113 Georgian 108

Hausa 110 Hebrew 51 Hungarian 51, 114

Kabuverdiano 105, 110 Kanuri 104 Kara 104 Kawaiisu 108 Kikuyu 111 Korean 115 Kposo 117 Krongo 116 Kwa languages 109 Kwaio 106 Kwami 110 Lamang 109, 116 Lele 109 Lisu 114 Luiseño 108 Mandarin 50 Margi 110 Markham languages 116 Proto-Markham 116 Mina 110, 141 Morumadi languages 104 Mupun 144 Nama 112 Norwegian 63, 66, 95 Nzakara 110

286 Oron 109 Papago 108 Papiamentu 118 Paumarí 105 Pero 109 Polish 130 Portuguese 110 Romance languages 44, 189 Russian 62, 229, 247, 251, 252 Samoan 105 Sanuma 105 Serrano 108 Shoshone 108 Southern Lwo languages 104 Swedish 62

language index Turkana 112 Turkish 51, 62 Twi 109 Ubangi languages 110 Ukrainian 116 Ura 216 Urhobo 109 Uto-Aztecan 108, 116 West-Germanic 50, 56 Western Saharan languages 104 Xdi 109, 135 Yiddish 216 Yoruba 109, 115 Zande 106, 110

Tamazight 115

In the series TYPOLOGICAL STUDIES IN LANGUAGE (TSL) the following titles have been published thus far: 1. HOPPER, Paul J. (ed.): Tense-Aspect: Between semantics & pragmatics. 1982. 2. HAIMAN, John & Pamela MUNRO (eds): Switch Reference and Universal Grammar. Proceedings of a symposium on switch reference and universal grammar, Winnipeg, May 1981. 1983. 3. GIVÓN, T.: Topic Continuity in Discourse. A quantitative cross-language study. 1983. 4. CHISHOLM, William, Louis T. MILIC & John A.C. GREPPIN (eds): Interrogativity: A colloquium on the grammar, typology and pragmatics of questions in seven diverse languages, Cleveland, Ohio, October 5th 1981-May 3rd 1982. 1984. 5. RUTHERFORD, William E. (ed.): Language Universals and Second Language Acquisition. 1984 (2nd ed. 1987). 6. HAIMAN, John (Ed.): Iconicity in Syntax. Proceedings of a symposium on iconicity in syntax, Stanford, June 24-26, 1983. 1985. 7. CRAIG, Colette (ed.): Noun Classes and Categorization. Proceedings of a symposium on categorization and noun classification, Eugene, Oregon, October 1983. 1986. 8. SLOBIN, Dan I. & Karl ZIMMER (eds): Studies in Turkish Linguistics. 1986. 9. BYBEE, Joan L.: Morphology. A Study of the Relation between Meaning and Form. 1985. 10. RANSOM, Evelyn: Complementation: its Meaning and Forms. 1986. 11. TOMLIN, Russel S.: Coherence and Grounding in Discourse. Outcome of a Symposium, Eugene, Oregon, June 1984. 1987. 12. NEDJALKOV, Vladimir (ed.): Typology of Resultative Constructions. Translated from the original Russian edition (1983). English translation edited by Bernard Comrie. 1988. 14. HINDS, John, Shoichi IWASAKI & Senko K. MAYNARD (eds): Perspectives on Topicalization. The case of Japanese WA. 1987. 15. AUSTIN, Peter (ed.): Complex Sentence Constructions in Australian Languages. 1988. 16. SHIBATANI, Masayoshi (ed.): Passive and Voice. 1988. 17. HAMMOND, Michael, Edith A. MORAVCSIK and Jessica WIRTH (eds): Studies in Syntactic Typology. 1988. 18. HAIMAN, John & Sandra A. THOMPSON (eds): Clause Combining in Grammar and Discourse. 1988. 19. TRAUGOTT, Elizabeth C. and Bernd HEINE (eds): Approaches to Grammaticalization, 2 volumes (set) 1991 20. CROFT, William, Suzanne KEMMER and Keith DENNING (eds): Studies in Typology and Diachrony. Papers presented to Joseph H. Greenberg on his 75th birthday. 1990. 21. DOWNING, Pamela, Susan D. LIMA and Michael NOONAN (eds): The Linguistics of Literacy. 1992. 22. PAYNE, Doris (ed.): Pragmatics of Word Order Flexibility. 1992. 23. KEMMER, Suzanne: The Middle Voice. 1993. 24. PERKINS, Revere D.: Deixis, Grammar, and Culture. 1992. 25. SVOROU, Soteria: The Grammar of Space. 1994. 26. LORD, Carol: Historical Change in Serial Verb Constructions. 1993. 27. FOX, Barbara and Paul J. Hopper (eds): Voice: Form and Function. 1994.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47.

GIVÓN, T. (ed.) : Voice and Inversion. 1994. KAHREL, Peter and René van den BERG (eds): Typological Studies in Negation. 1994. DOWNING, Pamela and Michael NOONAN: Word Order in Discourse. 1995. GERNSBACHER, M. A. and T. GIVÓN (eds): Coherence in Spontaneous Text. 1995. BYBEE, Joan and Suzanne FLEISCHMAN (eds): Modality in Grammar and Discourse. 1995. FOX, Barbara (ed.): Studies in Anaphora. 1996. GIVÓN, T. (ed.): Conversation. Cognitive, communicative and social perspectives. 1997. GIVÓN, T. (ed.): Grammatical Relations. A functionalist perspective. 1997. NEWMAN, John (ed.): The Linguistics of Giving. 1998. RAMAT, Anna Giacalone and Paul J. HOPPER (eds): The Limits of Grammaticalization. 1998. SIEWIERSKA, Anna and Jae Jung SONG (eds): Case, Typology and Grammar. In honor of Barry J. Blake. 1998. PAYNE, Doris L. and Immanuel BARSHI (eds.): External Possession. 1999. FRAJZYNGIER, Zygmunt and Traci S. CURL (eds.): Reflexives. Forms and functions. 2000. FRAJZYNGIER, Zygmunt and Traci S. CURL (eds): Reciprocals. Forms and functions. 2000. DIESSEL, Holger: Demonstratives. Form, function and grammaticalization. 1999. GILDEA, Spike (ed.): Reconstructing Grammar. Comparative Linguistics and Grammaticalization. 2000. VOELTZ, F.K. Erhard and Christa KILLIAN-HATZ (eds.): Ideophones. n.y.p. BYBEE, Joan and Paul HOPPER (eds.): Frequency and the Emergence of Linguistic Structure. 2001. AIKHENVALD, Alexandra Y., R.M.W. DIXON and Masayuki ONISHI (eds.): Noncanonical Marking of Subjects and Objects. 2001. BARON, Irene, Michael HERSLUND and Finn SORENSEN (eds.): Dimensions of Possession. n.y.p.