Voice And Grammatical Relations: In Honor of Masayoshi Shibatani (Typological Studies in Language)

Voice and Grammatical Relations Typological Studies in Language (TSL) A companion series to the journal Studies in ...

Author: Masayoshi Shibatani | Tasaku Tsunoda | Taro Kageyama

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Voice and Grammatical Relations

Typological Studies in Language (TSL) A companion series to the journal Studies in Language

General Editor

Michael Noonan

Assistant Editors

Spike Gildea, Suzanne Kemmer

Editorial Board Wallace Chafe (Santa Barbara) Bernard Comrie (Leipzig) R. M. W. Dixon (Melbourne) Matthew Dryer (Buﬀalo) John Haiman (St Paul) Bernd Heine (Köln) Paul Hopper (Pittsburgh) Andrej Kibrik (Moscow) Ronald Langacker (San Diego)

Charles Li (Santa Barbara) Edith Moravcsik (Milwaukee) Andrew Pawley (Canberra) Doris Payne (Eugene, OR) 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 65 Voice and Grammatical Relations: In Honor of Masayoshi Shibatani Edited by Tasaku Tsunoda and Taro Kageyama

Voice and Grammatical Relations In Honor of Masayoshi Shibatani

Edited by

Tasaku Tsunoda University of Tokyo

Taro Kageyama Kwansei Gakuin University

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam/Philadelphia

8

TM

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

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Voice and Grammatical Relations : In Honor of Masayoshi Shibatani / edited by Tasaku Tsunoda and Taro Kageyama. p. cm. (Typological Studies in Language, issn 0167–7373 ; v. 65) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. 1. Grammar, Comparative and general--Voice. 2. Grammar, Comparative and general--Grammatical categories. I. Shibatani, Masayoshi. II. Tsunoda, Tasaku. III. Kageyama, Taro, 1949- . IV. Series. P281.V559 2006 415’.6--dc22 isbn 90 272 2976 7 (Hb; alk. paper)

2005055572

© 2006 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microﬁlm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

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Professor Masayoshi Shibatani

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Table of contents

List of contributors

ix

Preface

xi

Selected bibliography of Masayoshi Shibatani

xv

The Hawaiian passive/imperative particle Kenneth William Cook

1

Indiscrete grammatical relations: The Lunda passive T. Givón and Boniface Kawasha

15

Valency sets in Kashmiri Peter E. Hook and Omkar N. Koul

43

Property description as a voice phenomenon Taro Kageyama

85

Dimensions of defocusing Ronald W. Langacker

115

On grammatical relations as constraints on referent identification Randy J. LaPolla

139

Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations Christian Lehmann

153

Information focus in relational clause structure Elena Maslova

175

Voice without subjects, objects, or obliques: Manipulating argument structure in Agent/Patient systems (Mohawk) Marianne Mithun Chukchi reciprocals (with an appendix on Koryak and Itelmen) Vladimir P. Nedjalkov The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction, illustrated from German Frans Plank

195 217

247

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 Table of contents

Auxiliation of ‘give’ verbs in Russian: Discourse evidence for grammaticalization Vera I. Podlesskaya

271

Reflexive and middle constructions of Warrungu (Australia) Tasaku Tsunoda

299

Language index

335

Name index

337

Subject index

339

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List of contributors

Kenneth William Cook Center for English Language Programs, Hawai‘i Pacific University, 1188 Fort Street Mall, Honolulu, Hawaii 96813, USA E-mail: [email protected]

Ronald W. Langacker Department of Linguistics, 0108, University of California, San Diego 9500 Gilman Drive, La Jolla, CA 92093-0108, USA E-mail: [email protected]

T. Givón Distinguished Professor (Emeritus) of Linguistics and Cognitive Science, University of Oregon, Eugene, OR 97403, and White Cloud Ranch, P.O. Box 1694, Ignacio, CO, 81137, USA E-mail: [email protected]

Randy J. LaPolla Linguistics, La Trobe University, Bundoora, Victoria 3086, Australia E-mail: [email protected]

Peter E. Hook Department of Asian and Middle Eastern Languages and Cultures, University of Virginia, P.O. Box 400781, B027 Cabell Hall, Charlottesville, VA 22904-4781, USA E-mail: [email protected] Taro Kageyama School of Humanities, Kwansei Gakuin University, 1-1-155 Uegaraha, Nishinomiya 662-8501, Japan E-mail: [email protected] Boniface Kawasha Department of Linguistics, University of Oregon, Eugene, OR 97403, USA Omkar N. Koul Indian Institute of Language Studies, C-13 Greenview Apartments, 33 Sector 9 Rohini, Delhi 110085, India E-mail: [email protected]

Christian Lehmann Faculty of Letters, University of Erfurt, 99105 Erfurt, Germany E-mail: [email protected] Elena Maslova Stanford University and University of Bielefeld, 2000 Walnut Ave, J307 Fremont, CA 94538, USA E-mail: [email protected] Marianne Mithun Department of Linguistics, University of California, Santa Barbara, CA 93106, USA E-mail: [email protected] Vladimir P. Nedjalkov Institute of Linguistic Studies, St. Petersburg (Russian Academy of Sciences), Tuchkov per. 9, 199053 St. Petersburg, Russia E-mail: [email protected]

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List of contributors

Frans Plank Linguistics, University of Konstanz, D-78457 Konstanz, Germany E-mail: [email protected] Vera I. Podlesskaya Research Center for Linguistic Typology, Institute of Linguistics, Russian State University for the Humanities, Miusskaya

pl., 6-2, Moscow, 125267, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Tasaku Tsunoda Graduate School of Humanities and Sociology, University of Tokyo, Bunkyo-ku, Tokyo, 113-0033, Japan E-mail: [email protected]

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Preface

This collection of papers is intended as a respectful tribute to Professor Masayoshi Shibatani, or “Matt” as affectionately called by his colleagues and students, in celebration of his sixtieth birthday. The two keywords in the title of this book, “voice” and “grammatical relations”, directly reflect the prominent role these notions have played in Professor Shibatani’s scholarship. The contributions included in this volume deal with a wide range of issues that concern voice and/or grammatical relations and cover diverse languages from almost every continent of the world. The title and the contents are thus most fitting for this occasion, and it is our greatest honor and pleasure to present this festschrift to Professor Shibatani. Matt was born in Shanghai, China in 1944 and was raised in the Wakayama and Osaka area in Japan. He studied linguistics at the University of California, Berkeley, where he finished his undergraduate course in three years in 1970 with “Summa cum laude” (Great Distinction) – a truly outstanding achievement for a young Japanese. After entering the graduate school of the same university, he received a Ph.D. only three years later, in 1973, with his ever-memorable doctoral dissertation A linguistic study of causative constructions (circulated by the Indiana University Linguistics Club). This work, together with his launching of the journal Papers in Japanese Linguistics (later renamed Journal of Japanese Linguistics) as the founding editor, gained him international renown as a leading specialist both in syntax and semantics and in Japanese linguistics. Professor Shibatani’s teaching career started at the University of Southern California in 1973, and after his return to Japan in 1979, he taught at Kobe University for twenty-four years. While on the faculty of Kobe University, Matt served as the foundation chair of its Linguistics Department and produced several Ph.D.’s under his supervision, and outside the university community, he served as the Editor of Gengo Kenkyu or the journal of The Linguistic Society of Japan (1991–1993), and subsequently as the President of the same society (1997–2000). The Linguistics Department of Kobe University and The Linguistic Society of Japan saw new and dynamic developments under Matt’s leadership. While in Japan, however, his intellectual eyes were always open to the linguistic activities on the world stage, thus teaching as a visiting professor at various universities in a variety of countries (UCLA, Stanford University, University of Illinois, University of London, La Trobe University, Australian National

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Preface

University, Moscow State University for the Humanities) and participating in international conferences at many countries. In 2003, Matt left Kobe University and joined the faculty of the Linguistics Department at Rice University (Texas, Houston) as Deedee McMurtry Professor of Humanities and currently works as department chair. Matt has a truly wide range of research interests, in which he has made outstanding contributions to the science of linguistics with emphasis on a variety of languages including Japanese, Korean, Ainu, Philippine languages, and Balinese. One should not forget the phonology papers he published when he was a graduate student at Berkeley – notably, “The non-cyclic nature of Japanese accentuation” (1972) and “The role of surface phonetic constraints in generative phonology” (1973), both of which appeared in Language. Nonetheless, it will be appropriate to say that his main interests and his most outstanding contributions have been in the area of syntax, more specifically, syntactic theory and language typology. While he has worked on a wide range of issues in syntax, voice and grammatical relations have always been prominent in his publications, as manifested in the following articles: a. causative constructions: “Semantics of Japanese causativization” (1973), “Lexical versus periphrastic causatives in Korean” (1973), “Causativization” (1976), “The grammar of causative constructions: A conspectus” (1976); b. grammatical relations: “Grammatical relations and surface cases” (1977); c. passive constructions: “Passives and related constructions: A prototype analysis” (1985), “A. A. Xolodovic on Japanese passives” (1995); d. the focus system of Philippine languages: “Voice in Philippine languages” (1988); e. benefactive constructions: “Benefactive constructions: A Japanese-Korean comparative perspective” (1994), “An integrational approach to possessor raising, ethical datives, and adversative passives” (1995), “Applicatives and benefactives: A cognitive account” (1996). Beside these articles, Matt has written a large number of books in and outside Japan, including the best-seller The languages of Japan (Cambridge University Press, 1990), which provides an insightful survey of Ainu, an endangered language in Japan, as well as Japanese itself. It is also important to mention that Matt has edited a large number of volumes, including Japanese Generative Grammar: Syntax and semantics 5 (Academic Press, 1976), The grammar of causative constructions: Syntax and semantics 6 (Academic Press, 1976), Passive and voice (John Benjamins, 1988), The grammar of causation and interpersonal manipulation (John Benjamins, 2002), as well as several books written in Japanese. Like his articles, all these volumes have been highly influential and are still cited many years after

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Preface 

their publication. In addition, he has served on the editorial boards of an almost innumerable number of journals and series all over the world. Finally, let us quickly add that the present book is one of the two festschrift volumes dedicated to Professor Shibatani, the other volume being published by Kurosio Publishers in Japan in 2004 with thirty-three papers written by his students, friends and colleagues, under the title Nihongo no bunseki to gengo ruikei: Shibatani Masayoshi Kyoju kanreki kinen ronbunshu (Analysis of Japanese and language typology: Anthology presented to Professor Masayoshi Shibatani on the occasion of his 60th birthday), edited by Taro Kageyama and Hideki Kishimoto. Matt turned 60 years of age in February 2004. In the Japanese tradition, the 60th birthday is an auspicious occasion, on which a person is said to be re-born and start a new life. It was initially planned to present the present volume to Matt in February 2004. Unfortunately, its preparation has been delayed by a number of factors. We regret this delay, but we believe that the present volume is truly worthy of the outstanding contributions Matt has made to the science, in terms of research, teaching, and service to academic associations and journals/series. Tasaku Tsunoda and Taro Kageyama

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Selected bibliography of Masayoshi Shibatani

Books and monographs Japanese Generative Grammar. (Syntax & Semantics 5) New York: Academic Press. (Editor) (1976) The Grammar of Causative Constructions. (Syntax & Semantics 6) New York: Academic Press. (Editor) (1976) A Linguistics Study of Causative Constructions. (University of California, Berkeley Doctoral Thesis 1973) Bloomington: Indiana University Linguistics Club. (1976) Nihongo no Bunseki. (Analysis of Japanese) Tokyo: Taishukan. (1978) Gengo no Kôzô: Onsei-on’in hen. (Structure of Language: Phonetics and Phonology) Tokyo: Kuroshio Shuppan. (Co-authors: Taro Kageyama, Ikuhiro Tamori) (1981) Gengo no Kôzô: Imi-tôgo hen. (Structure of Language: Syntax and Semantics) Tokyo: Kuroshio Shuppan. (Co-authors: Taro Kageyama, Ikuhiro Tamori) (1982) Studies in Japanese Linguistics. (Lingua Special Issue) Amsterdam: North-Holland. (Editor) (1982) Passive and Voice. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (Editor) (1988) Nihongogaku no Shintenkai. (New Developments in Japanese Linguistics) Tokyo: Kuroshio Shuppan. (Co-editor: Susumu Kuno) (1989) Eigogaku Kanrenbun’ya: Ruikeiron, shinri-gengogaku, shakai-gengogaku (English Linguisticsrelated fields: Typology, psycholinguistics, sociolinguistics) Tokyo: Taishukan. (Co-authors: Yukio Otsu, Aoi Tsuda) (1989) The Languages of Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. (1990) Approaches to Language Typology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. (Co-editor: Theodora Bynon) (1995) Essays in Semantics and Pragmatics. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (Co-editor: Sandra A. Thompson) (1995) Grammatical Constructions: Their form and meaning. Oxford: Oxford University Press. (Coeditor: Sandra A. Thompson) (1996) Nihongo no Bunpo (Japanese Grammar: Vol. 1 Clause Structure) Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. (Coauthors: Yoshio Nitta, et al.) (2000) The Grammar of Causation and Interpersonal Manipulation. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (Editor) (2002)

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Selected bibliography of Masayoshi Shibatani

Articles The phonological representations of English inflectional endings. Glossa, 6, 117–127. (1972) Three reasons for not deriving ‘kill’ from ‘cause to die’ in Japanese. In J. Kimball (Ed.), Syntax & Semantics, 1 (pp. 125–137). New York: Academic Press. (1972) Remarks on the controversy over the Japanese passive. Papers in Japanese Linguistics, 1(1) 145– 166. (1972) The non-cyclic nature of Japanese accentuation. Language, 48, 584–595. (1972) Ga-o conversion and an output condition. Papers in Japanese Linguistics, 1(2), 296–300. (1972) The role of surface phonetic constraints in generative phonology. Language, 49, 327–373. (1973) Semantics of Japanese causativization. Foundations of Language, 9, 281–297. (1973) Lexical versus periphrastic causatives in Korean. Journal of Linguistics, 9, 281–297. (1973) Where morphology and syntax clash: A case of Japanese aspectual verbs. Gengo Kenkyu, 64, 65–96. (1973) On the status of blank features in phonology. Glossa, 8, 261–270. (Co-author: John Crothers) (1974) Pre-lexical versus post-lexical raising in Japanese. Papers from the 11th Regional Meeting of Chicago Linguistic Society, 514–529. (1975) Perceptual strategies and the phenomena of particle conversion in Japanese. Proceedings of the Functionalism Parasession, Chicago Linguistic Society, 469–481. (1975) On the fundamental concepts of phonology. In D. Goyvaerts & G. Pullum (Eds.), Essays on the Sound Pattern of English (pp. 505–535). Ghent: E. Story Scientia. (Co-author: John Crothers) (1975) On the nature of synonymy in causative expressions. Language Research, 11, 267–274. Seoul National University. (1975) Causativization. In M. Shibatani (Ed.), Japanese Generative Grammar (pp. 239–294). New York: Academic Press. (1976) The grammar of causative constructions: A conspectus. In M. Shibatani (Ed.), The Grammar of Causative Constructions (pp. 1–40). New York: Academic Press. (1976) Syllabification phenomena in Korean. Language Research, 12, 91–98. (Co-author: Kong-on Kim) (1976) Relational grammar and Korean syntax: So-called ‘double-subject’ and ‘double-object’ constructions revisited. Language Research, 12, 241–251. (1976) Grammatical relations and surface cases. Language, 53, 789–809. (1977) Remarks on double nominative sentences. Papers in Japanese Linguistics, 5, 261–278. (Coauthor: Chiseko Cotton) (1977) Mikami Akira and the notion of ‘subject’ in Japanese grammar. In J. Hinds & I. Howard (Eds.), Problems in Japanese Syntax and Semantics (pp. 52–67). Tokyo: Kaitakusha. (1978) Where analogical patterning fails. Papers in Japanese Linguistics, 6, 287–307. (1979) Issues in the description of Turkish vowel harmony. In R. Vago (Ed.), Issues in Vowel Harmony (pp. 66–88). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (Co-author: John Crothers) (1980) Japanese grammar and universal grammar. Lingua, 57, 103–123. (1982) Toward an understanding of the typology and function of case-marking. Proceedings of the 13th International Congress of Linguistics, 432–458. Tokyo: Editorial Committee. (1983) Passives and related constructions: A prototype analysis. Language, 61, 821–848. (1985)

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On the transitivity of the stative predicate constructions. In S.-Y. Kuroda (Ed.), Working Papers from the First SDF Workshop in Japanese Syntax (pp. 147–168). Department of Linguistics, University of California, San Diego. (1985) Problems of ergativity. Gengo Kenkyu, 90, 75–96. (1985) Japanese. In B. Comrie (Ed.), The World’s Major Languages (pp. 855–880). London: CroomHelm. (1987) [Reprinted in B. Comrie (Ed.), The Major Languages of East and South-East Asia. London: Routledge (1990)] Word formation in a modular theory of grammar: Postsyntactic compounds in Japanese. Language, 64, 451–484. (Co-author: Taro Kageyama) (1988) Voice in Philippine languages. In M. Shibatani (Ed.), Passive and Voice (pp. 85–142). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (1988) Some empirical issues in linguistic typology – A Philippine perspective. Linguistics in the Morning Calm, 2, 79–117. Seoul: Hanshin. (1988) On parametric syntax. Studies in Generative Grammar, 1, 243–270. Seoul, Korea. (1990) Grammaticization of topic into subject. In E. Traugott & B. Heine (Eds.), Approaches to Grammaticalization (pp. 93–133). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (1991) Japanese. In W. Bright (Ed.), Oxford International Encyclopedia of Linguistics (pp. 248–253). New York: Oxford University Press. (1992) Voice. In R. E. Asher et al. (Eds.), The Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics (pp. 4398–4943). Oxford: Pergamon Press. (1994) Honorifics. In R. E. Asher et al. (Eds.), The Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics (pp. 1600–1608). Oxford: Pergamon Press. (1994) [Reprinted in Concise Encyclopedia of Sociolinguistics, 552–558. Pergamon Press. (2001)] Ainu. In R. E. Asher et al. (Eds.), The Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics (pp. 60–62). Oxford: Pergamon Press. (1994) Japanese. In R. E. Asher et al. (Eds.), The Encyclopedia of Language and Linguistics (pp. 1809– 1811). Oxford: Pergamon Press. (1994) Benefactive constructions: A Japanese-Korean comparative perspective. In N. Akatsuka (Ed.), Japanese/Korean Linguistics, 4 (pp. 39–74). Stanford: CSLI. (1994) Chinese benefactive constructions – Toward a formal analysis of the schema-based cognitive approach. Essays in honor of William S.-Y. Wang, 459–477. Taipei: Pyramid Press. (Coauthors: Zhang Qin, Lu Tao). (1994) A. A. Xolodovic on Japanese passives. In D. Bennett et al. (Eds.), Subject, Voice and Ergativity (pp. 7–19). SOAS, London. (1995) Approaches to language typology: A conspectus. In M. Shibatani & T. Bynon (Eds.), Approaches to Language Typology (pp. 1–26). Oxford: Oxford University Press. (Co-author: T. Bynon) (1995) An integrational approach to possessor raising, ethical datives, and adversative passives. Proceedings of the 20th Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society, 461–486. (1995) Applicatives and benefactives: A cognitive account. In M. Shibatani & S. A. Thompson (Eds.), Grammatical Constructions: Their form and meaning (pp. 157–194). Oxford: Oxford University Press. (1996) Benefactive constructions: A scheme-based approach. Papers from the 32nd Regional Meeting, Chicago Linguistic Society, 319–334. (1996) Voice parameters. In L. Kulikov & H. Vater (Eds.), Typology of Verbal Categories (pp. 117–138). Tübingen: Max Niemeyer. (1998)

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Linguistic structures and communication – A functional-typological perspective. Proceedings of the 16th International Congress of Linguists, Paris, 20–25 July 1997. Pergamon Press. (CDRom Version) (1998) Dative subject constructions twenty-two years later. Studies in the Linguistic Sciences, 29(2), 45– 76. (Papers from the Forum Lecture Series of the 1999 Linguistics Institute). Department of Linguistics, University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. (1999) Voice system: East and West. Proceedings of the Twelfth International Conference of the New Zealand Asian Studies Society, 230–241. (2000) Non-canonical constructions in Japanese. In A. Aikhenvald, R. M. W. Dixon, & M. Onishi (Eds.), Non-Canonical Marking of Subjects and Objects (pp. 307–354). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (2001) Dative subject constructions in South Asian languages. In P. Bhaskararao & K. V. Subbarao (Eds.), The Yearbook of South Asian Languages and Linguistics (pp. 311–348). New Delhi: Sage Publications. (Co-author: Prashant Pardeshi) (2000) Linguistic typology. International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences, 8922–8929. Amsterdam: Elsevier Science. (2001) Japanese and Korean causatives revisited. In N. Akatsuka & S. Strauss (Eds.), Japanese/ Korean Linguistics, 10 (pp. 32–49). Stanford: CSLI. (Co-author: Sung Yeo Chung) (2002) Introduction: Some basic issues in the grammar of causation. In M. Shibatani (Ed.), The Grammar of Causation and Interpersonal Manipulation (pp. 1–22). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (2002) The causative continuum. In M. Shibatani (Ed.), The Grammar of Causation and Interpersonal Manipulation (pp. 85–126). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (Co-author: Prashant Pardeshi) (2002) Passive. International Encyclopedia of Linguistics (2nd edition), 279–281. Oxford: Oxford University Press. (2004) Voice. In G. Booij, C. Lehmann, & J. Mugdan (Eds.), 2003, Morphology. An International Handbook on Inflection and Word Formation. Vol. 2. Berlin: W. de Gruyter. (2004) Directional verbs in Japanese. In E. Shay & U. Seibert (Eds.), Motion, Direction and Location in Languages: In Honor of Zygmunt Frajzyngier (pp. 259–283). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (2003) The middle voice in Balinese. Proceedings of the XIIIth Meeting of the Southeast Asian Linguistics Society. (Co-author: Ketut Artawa) (in press) On the conceptual framework for voice phenomena. Linguistics. (in press)

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The Hawaiian passive/imperative particle Kenneth William Cook Hawai‘i Pacific University

Elbert and Pukui’s (1979: 83) analysis of the Hawaiian morpheme ‘ia as a passive/imperative particle raises the question why the same particle should be used in both passive and imperative constructions. This paper proposes that the particle ‘ia occurs in these two construction types because semantically both constructions entail an agent and yet that agent is regularly omitted (cf. Shibatani 1985). The particle also occurs, though rarely, with stative verbs. In this case, it is claimed that the particle indicates a process that leads up to a resulting state. The free morpheme ‘ia is contrasted with the older bound morpheme Cia (consonant-ia), and an historical explanation is given for why the particle occurs in both declarative and imperative passives.

.

Introduction1

The Hawaiian morpheme ‘ia is analyzed by Elbert and Pukui (1979: 83) as a passive/imperative particle. This analysis raises the question as to why the same particle should be used in both passive and imperative constructions. There are other mysteries associated with the particle. It competes with (and sometimes co-occurs with) the presumably older passive suffix Cia (consonant-ia), which unlike ‘ia is a bound morpheme. Although it happens rarely, ‘ia also co-occurs with stative and intransitive verbs. As illustrated in (1a, b) the Hawaiian particle ‘ia occurs in sentences that are either passive declarative or passive imperative (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 83–86). These sentences stand in contrast with active transitive declarative and active transitive imperative sentences, such as those in (2a, b).2 (1) a.

Ua ‘ike ‘ole ‘ia ke keiki. (passive declarative) perf see not pas/imp the child ‘The child was not seen.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 83)

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Kenneth William Cook

b. E¯ K¯anewahineikiaoha ¯e, lawe ‘ia mai ka voc K¯anewahineikiaoha voc bring pas/imp hither the moena. (passive imperative) mat ‘Oh, K¯anewahineikiaoha, bring the mat.’ (Elbert 1959: 41; Elbert & Pukui 1979: 85) (2) a.

Ua ‘ai ke kanaka i ka poi. (active transitive declarative) perf eat the man obl the poi ‘The man ate the poi.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 39) b. E ‘ai ‘oe i ka poi. (active transitive imperative) imp eat you obl the poi ‘Eat the poi.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 48)

In this paper I propose that the Hawaiian particle ‘ia occurs in both declarative and imperative passives because they both involve agent omission. In English, as in many languages, the agent, i.e. the addressee, is normally omitted in a command. (It does occur, however, when a contrast is drawn, for example between the first and second person, as in “You stay here; I’ll go get the car”.) Numerous studies have also observed that, in general, passives without agents are more common than passives with agents. Shibatani (1985), in fact, claims that agent defocusing is the primary function of passives. In sum, both passives and imperatives semantically entail an agent, and yet that agent is usually not overt. It is this commonality, I propose, that motivates the use of the particle ‘ia in both constructions in Hawaiian. It should be pointed out early in this discussion, however, that the imperative use of the passive/imperative particle is currently close to non-existent in spoken and written Hawaiian, but it is found in chants, songs, and older literature. For example, sentence (b) above is from a chant. Also, many traditional Hawaiian songs have (3) as their next-to-last line (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 85).3 (3) Ha‘ina ‘ia mai ka puana. tell p/i hither the refrain ‘Tell the refrain.’

(Elbert & Pukui 1979: 85)

The Hawaiian active imperative is unusual in that it commonly includes the subject (Elbert 1970: 30; Elbert & Pukui 1979: 61; Hopkins 1992: 24; Kaman¯a & Wilson 1977: 87). Since crosslinguistically it is not normal to include the subject in imperatives, I can see how the language would look for other ways of expressing commands, and the passive is a likely candidate in this respect in that passives usually omit agents. As to why speakers would stop using the passive imperative in favor of the active imperative, I suggest that pressure from English could

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The Hawaiian passive/imperative particle

have favored the active. In addition, passive imperatives are rare in the world’s languages. What one might call passive imperatives do exist in English with words like may and let in expressions such as “May your soul be blessed” and “Let us be reminded”. Notice, however, that the agent that is supposed to carry out the action in these expressions is not uniquely the addressee. To illustrate this point, in English, for example, we would not normally address a listener saying, “May that book be brought to me” instead of “Please bring me that book”. In what follows, I will first discuss the Hawaiian active imperative and then the passive/imperative particle.

. The active imperative Active imperatives are generally preceded by the marker e, or by the less common but more polite marker o¯. These imperative markers are often dropped in informal speech (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 61).4 As previously noted, the subject of the Hawaiian active imperative is commonly encoded. This subject may be any one of the three second person pronouns, i.e. the singular, dual, or plural. This is illustrated in (4a–c).5 (4) a.

E Kalani, e heluhelu mai ‘oe ia‘u i ka leka. voc Kalani imp read hither 2sg to.me obl the letter ‘(you 1) Kalani, read the letter to me.’ (Cleeland 1994: 138) b. E hana pono ‘olua i ka ha‘awina o k¯eia l¯a. imp work properly 2dl obl the lesson of this day ‘(you 2) Do today’s lesson properly.’ (Cleeland 1994: 138) c. E noho ‘oukou i lalo i k¯eia manawa. imp sit 2pl obl down obl this time ‘(you 3+) Sit down now.’ (Cleeland 1994: 138)

The active imperative construction is not limited to second person subjects. As illustrated in (5a, b), the subject may also be either the dual or plural inclusive first person pronoun k¯aua or k¯akou. In this case the imperative is customarily glossed as a suggestion with let’s or (less frequently) as a statement with should or ought to (Cleeland 1994: 140). (5) a.

E hele k¯aua i kahakai i k¯eia ‘auinal¯a. imp go 1dl.inc obl beach obl this afternoon ‘Let’s (we 2 incl.) go to the beach this afternoon.’ (Cleeland 1994: 140) b. E heluhelu k¯akou i ka puke ‘¯olelo Hawai‘i. imp read 1pl.inc obl the book language Hawaii ‘Let’s (we 3+ incl.) read the Hawaiian language book.’ (Cleeland 1994: 140)



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If the subject is first person exclusive, whether singular, dual or plural, the speakeras-subject is offering to carry out the activity expressed by the verb. See (6a–c). (6) a.

E k¯okua wau i¯a Keola. imp help I obl Keola ‘I’ll help Keola.’ b. E h¯imeni m¯aua i¯a “Maika‘i Kaua‘i.” imp sing 1dl.exc obl good Kaua‘i ‘We (2 excl.) will sing “Maika‘i Kaua‘i.”’ c. E m¯alama m¯akou i n¯a kamali‘i. imp take-care 1pl.exc obl the children ‘We (3+ excl.) will take care of the children.’

(Cleeland 1994: 141)

(Cleeland 1994: 141)

(Cleeland 1994: 141)

As shown in (7a–c), the imperative marker can also be used with the third person pronouns. In this case, the responsibility for carrying out the activity expressed by the verb is asserted about the subject. (7) a.

E hana ‘o ia i n¯a ha‘awina. imp do nom 3sg obl the lesson ‘S/he will do the lessons.’ b. E lawe mai l¯aua i ka poi. imp bring hither 3dl obl the poi ‘They (2) will bring the poi.’ c. E m¯alama l¯akou i¯a Lei. imp take.care 3pl obl Lei ‘They (3+) will take care of Lei.’

(Cleeland 1994: 142)

(Cleeland 1994: 142)

(Cleeland 1994: 142)

Sentences (8a, b) show that the marker can be used with common nouns and proper names. Again, the responsibility for carrying out the activity is asserted about the subject.6 (8) a.

E hana n¯a haumana a pau i n¯a ha‘awina. imp do the students until done obl the lesson ‘All the students will do the lessons.’ (Cleeland 1994: 142) b. E lawe mai ‘o Kamuela i ka poi. imp bring hither nom Kamuela obl the poi ‘Kamuela will bring the poi.’ (Cleeland 1994: 142)

Although the English glosses make sentences (5)–(8) look like they are in the future tense, they are not. They are assertions of commitment or responsibility for carrying out the activity expressed by the verb (Cleeland 1994: 140). As for the encoding of future events, since Hawaiian has aspect rather than tense, English future sentences are translated with the Hawaiian imperfect aspect, which is designated by the discontinuous morpheme e. . . ana. Sentence (9) illustrates this. See Hawkins (2003) for more on ana.

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(9) E komo ana ‘o Lei i k¯ona p¯apale hou. ImA wear ImA nom Lei obl her hat new ‘Lei is going to wear her new hat.’

(Cleeland 1994: 191)

. The passive/imperative particle Let us turn now to the passive/imperative particle. The most common use of this particle today is that of marking declarative sentences with transitive verbs as passive. Sentences (10a, b) illustrate this usage. Sentence (10b), which is (1a) repeated, also illustrates that the passive/imperative particle ‘ia is a free morpheme in that it can be separated from the verb by certain verbal modifiers. In (10b) it is separated from the verb by the negative particle ‘ole. (10) a.

E lawe ‘ia mai ana n¯a lei e ko‘u ‘anakala. ImA bring p/i hither ImA the lei by my uncle ‘The leis will be brought by my uncle.’ (Cleeland 1994: 278) b. Ua ‘ike ‘ole ‘ia ke keiki. perf see not p/i the child ‘The child was not seen.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 83)

According to Elbert (1970: 116), “Hawaiian favors passive constructions”.7 Hopkins (1992: 156) observes that “Hawaiians are often interested in the outcome of an action, rather than who performs it” and states that the use of the passive is an expression of this interest. She also states that in Hawaiian “it is rare for inanimate objects to be agents”.8 Although declarative passive clauses are common in Hawaiian, as previously mentioned, the imperative use of the passive/imperative particle is rare today. Also rare is the use of the particle with intransitive and stative verbs. In (11) we see the imperative use of the particle with the intransitive verb hele ‘go.’ Note the presence of the agentive e k¯aua ‘by us’ in (11), which provides evidence that the clause is indeed passive. (11) E hele ‘ia e k¯aua. imp go p/i by 1dl.inc ‘We should go/Let’s go.’

(Elbert & Pukui 1979: 85)

Kaman¯a and Wilson (1977: 197) provide examples of declarative passives with intransitive verbs and affected locatives (see (12)), and they claim that although an affected locative can be the subject of a passivized intansitive verb, a goal of motion cannot.



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(12) Ua noho ‘ia kona hale e K¯uhi¯o. perf live p/i his house by K¯uhi¯o ‘His house was lived in by K¯uhio.’

(Kaman¯a & Wilson 1977: 197)

As for stative verbs, this verb type, which often corresponds to adjectives in other languages, appears in clauses like (13a) in which the subject is a patient, and the “stative agent,” i.e. the participant responsible for the condition in which the subject finds itself, is marked with oblique case (i before common nouns and i¯a before proper nouns and pronouns). Sentence (13b) illustrates the use of the ‘ia particle with the stative verb wela ‘hot, burned’. (13) a.

Ua piha ke alanui i n¯a ka‘a. perf full the road obl the car ‘The road is full of cars.’ (Kaman¯a & Wilson 1977: 216) b. Ua wela ‘ia kona ‘¯a‘¯i i ka pauda. perf hot p/i his throat obl the powder ‘His throat was burned by the powder.’ (Kelekona 1906: 95)

Hopkins (1992: 157) observes that it is illogical for the passive particle to be used with stative verbs since such verbs do not express action, and she attributes the use of the passive in such clauses to the fact that the corresponding English sentences are often passive. My own analysis of (13b) is that since wela means both ‘hot’ and ‘burned’, the ‘ia particle disambiguates the use of wela by indicating that a process (that of burning) led up to the resulting state (that of being burned). Without ‘ia the sentence could mean either ‘His throat was hot (or burned) due to the powder’. Note also that the cause of the burning is marked i and not e in (13b). According to Wilson (1976: 68), e is not possible in sentences with stative verbs and ‘ia. The presence of a cause marked i makes the clause look identical in morphology to a stative clause like (13a) without the particle. The contrast that I have drawn for wela vs. wela ‘ia also works for ‘eha ‘hurt’ and ‘eha ‘ia ‘be injured’ in (14a, b). In (14a), ‘eha just describes the state of being painful; in (14b), ‘eha ‘ia describes the state that results from the process of being injured. (14) a.

‘Eha maoli ku‘u kua. hurt truly my back ‘My back hurts terribly.’ (Kahananui & Anthony 1974: 191) b. Ua ‘eha ‘ia ko‘u manamana lima. perf hurt p/i my digit hand ‘My finger is injured.’ (Kahananui & Anthony 1974: 191)

Wilson (1976: 69) gives the sentences in (15) as examples of the rare usage of ‘ia with spontaneous transitive verbs. He states that ‘ia does not add to the meaning

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of such clauses. In other words, the clauses are active transitive whether or not ‘ia is present. (15) a.

Ua aloha ‘ia au i¯a Kalalau. perf love p/i I obl Kalalau ‘I love Kalalau.’ b. Ua huh¯u ‘ia anei ‘oe ia‘u? perf angry p/i qm you obl.me ‘Are you angry with me?’

(Kelekona 1906: 76)

(Kapu 1904: 11)

I’m not so sure that aloha and huh¯u in (15a, b) are being used transitively. They could actually be used as stative verbs in those clauses.9 The same oblique case markers i and i¯a (i before common nouns and i¯a before proper nouns and pronouns) mark both direct objects and stative agents.10 Hence the clauses could very well be glossed ‘I am in love or enamored with Kalalau’ and ‘Are you angered or offended by me’. That being the case, the ‘ia particle would again indicate that a process has led up to a state.11 The example sentences in (16) are further examples of stative verbs with the ‘ia particle. These sentences are a little more challenging for my analysis, but I still think it is possible that ‘ia here also indicates a process that leads up to a state. In (16a), the person’s anger increased until it reached a state of being very great. In (16b), the inside wasn’t just hollow; there was a process leading up to that state. (16) a.

Ua nui loa ‘ia kona inaina. perf big very Cia his anger ‘He was very, very angry.’ b. Ua p¯uh¯a ‘ia ‘o loko. perf hollow p/i nom inside ‘The inside was hollow.’

(Kolekona 1906: 76)

(Kolekona 1906: 83)

Wilson (1976: 69) suggests a different analysis of the ‘ia particle in clauses like (15) and (16). He suggests that “‘ia might be attributed to a connection in the speaker’s mind that has ‘ia marking the subject of a sentence as being something other than a controller”. Gary Kah¯aho‘omalu Kanada (personal communication) has suggested that ‘ia in these clauses and elsewhere may be a marker of agency and/or adversity. Emily Hawkins (personal communication) believes that when ‘ia is used with statives, it “emphasizes a past or completed state of affairs”. This analysis was recently supported in an interview with a native speaker from Miloli‘i. Because these clauses are so rare, it is hard to gather enough data to decide between these competing analyses. The obvious observation is that ‘ia does more than just mark passives and imperatives in Hawaiian (cf. Langacker’s 1982 multivalued analysis of the English perfect passive participle).



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. An idiomatic use of the passive/imperative particle An idiomatic use of the ‘ia particle is illustrated in (17a). In order to indicate that all of an entity is affected by some transitive event, the entity is made the subject of the stative verb pau ‘finished’ and the event is encoded as a stative agent in the form of a nominalization of the transitive verb followed by the passive/imperative particle. Sentence (17b) shows that if the event is not transitive, the particle is not used. (17) a.

Ua pau ka pia i ka inu ‘ia. perf finished the beer obl the drink p/i ‘The beer was all drunk up.’ b. Ua pau n¯a keiki i ka ho‘i. perf finished the children obl the go.home ‘The children have all gone home.’

(Cleeland 1994: 280)

(Cleeland 1994: 280)

. The use of ‘ia in noun modifiers Since ‘ia marks passive in Hawaiian, the question comes up as to whether forms with ‘ia would be used as noun modifiers the way perfect passive participles are used as attributive adjectives in many Indo-European languages (e.g., “fried” in “fried fish”). The answer to this question is that sometimes such forms are used as such, and sometimes plain forms are used instead. In Pukui and Elbert’s (1986) Hawaiian Dictionary, one finds both ‘Amelika Huip¯u (p. 23) and ‘Amelika Huip¯u ‘Ia (p. 87) for the ‘United States of America’. Likewise one finds lama pa‘ipa‘i and lama pa‘ipa‘i ‘ia for ‘cocktail’, lit. ‘mixed rum’ (p. 416) and pipi k¯o‘ala (p. 332) and pipi k¯o‘ala ‘ia (p. 399) for ‘broiled beef ’. I suspect that the forms without ‘ia represent an older form of Hawaiian and that the forms with ‘ia are the result of efforts to make Hawaiian expressions match up with corresponding English expressions. One fact that supports this suspicion is that there are names for numerous food items in the dictionary that are made up of a noun plus a transitive verb without ‘ia, for example, ipu k¯alua ‘baked pumpkin or squash’ (p. 398), pipi palai ‘beefsteak’, lit. ‘fried beef ’ (p. 332) and palaoa palai ‘pancake’, lit. ‘fried flour’ (p. 309). Also, of all the expressions cited here, only ipu k¯alua ‘baked pumpkin or squash’ is made up of solely native words. The lack of ‘ia in this expression indicates that the older way of forming these expressions was without ‘ia.12 As for why ‘ia would not occur natively in these expressions, I would say that that has to do with the tendency for ‘ia to mark processes rather than states, which gibes with what I have said about its role in clauses with stative verbs.

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. The evolution of the particle The particle ‘ia supposedly evolved out of the Proto-Polynesian suffix Cia (consonant plus ia), which has reflexes in nearly all Polynesian languages. The Cia suffix itself in Hawaiian survives in lexicalized forms although at some time in the nottoo-distant past it was syntactically equivalent to the current passive/imperative ‘ia. Elbert and Pukui (1979: 79, 84–86) list the Hawaiian variants of Cia as a, na, hia, kia, lia, mia, nia, and ia and give many examples of forms with the different suffixes. They also give three reasons why the term “passive/imperative” is not completely appropriate for the Cia-suffixed forms. First is the fact that suffixed forms are often followed by the ‘ia particle. See (18).13 (18) ‘Ai-na ‘ia ke aku e l¯akou. eat-Cia p/i the bonito by them ‘The bonitos were eaten by them.’

(Elbert & Pukui 1979: 85)

The second reason is that some of the suffixed forms are passive only if they bear the causative prefix ho‘o-. An example is ho‘ohahauhia ‘to be struck’, given in (19). (19) Ua ho‘o-hahau-hia ka l¯a‘au e ke kanaka. perf caus-strike-Cia the stick by the man ‘The stick was struck by the man.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 85)

The third reason is that some suffixed forms are used as regular stative, transitive, and intransitive verbs (see (20a–c)). Haehia in (20a) is from hae which, among other things, means ‘to bark, growl, and snap, as a dog’. Inuhia from inu ‘drink’ in (20b) looks like a passive imperative, but the nominals are marked as they would be in an active clause, i.e. the subject is unmarked and the direct object is preceded by the oblique marker i.14 Ua hae-hia ka ‘¯ilio. perf bark-Cia the dog ‘The dog was angry.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 86) b. E inu-hia iho ‘oe i ka wai. imp drink-Cia down you obl the water ‘Drink the water.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 86) c. Ua komo-hia ka mana‘o i loko ona. perf enter-Cia the thought obl inside of.him ‘A thought occurred to him.’ (Elbert & Pukui 1979: 86)

(20) a.

To these three observations I would add that in some cases the suffixed form has taken on a related nominal usage, which makes it look even less like a passive verb form. Examples include pilikia ‘trouble’, maluhia ‘peace’ and hihia ‘law suit’ from pili ‘stick’, malu ‘peaceful’ and hihi ‘entangle’.



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The history of the Cia suffix is a controversial issue. Hale (1968), Hohepa (1969), Chung (1978) and Cook (1988) have claimed that Proto-Polynesian was accusative, and like in Hawaiian, Cia was a passive suffix. Clark (1973, 1976), and Ota (1999) have argued that Proto-Polynesian was ergative with at least the Ci part of the Cia suffix having a transitivizing function. Thus what are passive clauses in Hawaiian today would have been active transitive with the case marker e marking an ergative subject.15 In Eastern Polynesian (of which Hawaiian is a member) such clauses evolved into passive clauses, while in Western Polynesian they remained ergative. If Clark’s and Ota’s hypothesis is correct, then we could say that the passive imperative construction is a remnant from the age when the Cia suffix was a transitive (rather than passive) suffix. In other words, it would not have been so unusual to have a transitive (rather than a passive) suffix in an imperative construction. There is, however, another possible historical explanation. In Samoan, a Western Polynesian language, we find imperatives with either ‘ia before the verb or ia (without the glottal stop) after the verb or with both (Churchward 1951: 88). See (21). (21) a.

‘Ia sau. imp come ‘Come.’ b. Sau ia. come imp ‘Come.’ c. ‘Ia vave ia. imp quick imp ‘Be quick.’

(Churchward 1951: 88)

(Churchward 1951: 88)

(Churchward 1951: 88)

Churchward (1951: 154) states that preverbal ‘ia corresponds to kia in Maori and Rarotongan and to ‘ia in Tahitian and Marquesan. (All three of these Eastern Polynesian languages are closely related to Hawaiian.) He also states that “the imperative particle ia (postposed) is found in Maori as a suffix following a thematic or pseudo-thematic consonant”. In other words, he is analyzing the ia of the Cia suffix, when used as an imperative marker in Maori, as cognate with the Samoan postverbal imperative marker ia.16 Sentences (22a, b) exemplify the Maori imperative with the Cia suffix. Sentence (22b) is interesting because the Cia form does not have a thematic consonant; in other words, it is simply ia, which looks exactly like the Samoan postverbal imperative marker. (22) a.

Whakahua-tia te kupu nei. pronounce-Cia the word here ‘Pronounce this word.’

(Sinclair 1976: 19)

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b. T¯o-ia mai te waka. pull-Cia hither the canoe ‘Pull hither the canoe.’

(K¯arena-Holmes 1995: 81)

Interestingly enough, Samoan has forms that end in Cia, but it doesn’t use the Cia suffix as an imperative marker.17 Assuming that Churchward is right and using the Samoan forms to represent the older system, what I suggest happened is that in Maori, the ia of the Cia suffix was reinterpreted as equivalent to the postverbal imperative ia, and the free-standing imperative postverbal ia dropped out of usage. In Hawaiian, however, it is plausible that the current passive/imperative marker ‘ia is actually a descendant of the Samoan postverbal imperative marker ia (or a blend of both the Samoan preverbal ‘ia and postverbal ia), which wound up competing with the Cia suffix as a marker of both passives and imperatives.18 This would explain two things: (1) why the current passive/imperative particle begins with a glottal stop and not one of the thematic consonants of the Cia suffix and (2) why ‘ia is a free morpheme.

. Summary In this paper I have proposed that the Hawaiian passive/imperative particle ‘ia occurs in both imperatives and passive clauses because both clause types involve agent omission. The Hawaiian active imperative is unusual in that it commonly includes the agentive subject. Since crosslinguistically it is not normal to include such a subject in imperatives, it is plausible that the passive, which regularly omits agents, came to be used as an imperative. The passive/imperative particle also occurs with intransitive and stative verbs. With stative verbs its function is unclear, and several analyses have been proposed. Here I have proposed that with stative verbs it indicates that the subject has undergone a process leading up to a final state. I have also described an idiomatic use of the particle and its use in noun modifiers. Finally I have offered some suggestions as to how the Hawaiian passive/imperative particle might have come into existence.

Notes . This paper was first presented at the Seventh International Cognitive Linguistics Conference, which was held at the University of California at Santa Barbara in July of 2001, and at the Fifth Conference on Oceanic Linguistics, which took place at the Australian National University in Canberra in January of 2002. I thank Gary Kah¯aho‘omalu Kanada and Albert Schütz for comments on early versions of this paper. All errors in this paper are, of course, my own.



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Kenneth William Cook . Abbreviations used in the close glosses are: CAUS: causative, DL: dual, EXC: exclusive, ImA: imperfect aspect, IMP: imperative, INC: inclusive, NOM: nominative, OBL: oblique, PAS/IMP (or P/I): passive/imperative, PERF: perfect, PL: plural, QM: question marker, SG: singular, VOC: vocative, 1: first person, 2: second person, and 3: third person. In the Hawaiian examples, an opening single quotation mark indicates a glottal stop, and a macron over a vowel indicates a long vowel. . Ha‘ina in (3) is actually the verb ha‘i ‘tell’ plus a form of the Cia suffix. This point will be discussed below. . Elbert and Pukui (1979: 61–62) call e and o¯ “imperative intentive markers” and include i as such a marker. Given their examples, however, I would say i is a marker of purpose. . There is disagreement in current texts as to whether the vowel of the vocative marker is long or short. For example, Cleeland (1994: 138) writes it short, while Elbert and Pukui (1979: 146–147) represent it as long. Hence it is given as long in (1b) but short in (4a). . The imperatives in (7) and (8) are known in traditional grammar as third person imperatives (e.g. God save the queen). The glosses in (8a, b) are mine. Cleeland (1994: 142) does not supply glosses for these sentences. . Elbert and Pukui (1979: 147–150) propose that the so-called actor-emphatic construction (illustrated in [i]) without the oblique marker on the semantic object is also passive even though the ‘ia particle does not appear in the sentence. Elbert and Pukui (1979) are the only scholars to analyze such sentences as passive, and I do not agree with their analysis. The only evidence that I can see for (i) being passive is that the agent is expressed as a prepositional phrase and the semantic object (ka leka) can be unmarked (like common-noun subjects), but as shown in (i), the semantic object can also be marked i like other direct objects. (i)

Na Pua i k¯akau (i) ka leka. by Pua perf write obl the letter ‘Pua wrote the letter.’

(Elbert & Pukui 1979: 147–149)

. Because inanimate agents in clauses with ‘ia are rare, it is difficult to determine what prepositions they follow. Sentence (13b) below exemplifies an inanimate agent marked i in a sentence with a stative verb followed by ‘ia. Relative clause (i) illustrates the use of the preposition me ‘with’ to mark an inanimate passive agent. This clause occurs in the tale “Ka Mo‘olelo o Kaluaokahawali” as told by L. K. Kalawe. The story itself is included in a packet of class materials used by Professor Marvin Puakea Nogelmeier in his Hawaiian 426 class, which he taught at the University of Hawaii, Manoa, in the spring of 1993. (i)

ka luahine ho‘i i hailuku ‘ia aku nei me n¯a ‘¯olelo h¯a‘ili‘ili he nui,. . . the old.lady also perf hurt p/i while ago with the word curse a lot ‘also the old lady who had just had her feelings hurt by many curse words,. . . ’

. See Elbert and Pukui (1979: 51–52) for discussion of aloha as a stative as well as a transitive verb. . The ia‘u that appears in (13b) is an obligatory contraction of the oblique marker i¯a and the first person singular oblique pronoun a‘u. . Emily Hawkins (personal communication) agrees that aloha is a stative verb in (15a) and states that the clause could be glossed as “I have been loved because of or by Kalalau” or “I have known love because of Kalalau”.

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The Hawaiian passive/imperative particle . Note that this pattern also occurs in English as it is spoken in Hawaii. Thus what the mainland US calls a “snow cone” in Hawaii is “shave ice” and not “shaved ice”. A reader pointed out that the “loss of the participle ending is common in English”, citing as an example “ice cream”, which was originally “iced cream”. I think the two cases are different, however, in that, as far as I know, “shave ice” was never “shaved ice”. . Note, however, that all four of the examples that Elbert and Pukui (1979: 85) give for this observation are suffixed with -na. Although -na is a Cia form, it certainly is phonologically quite different from the other Cia forms. Hence it’s very probable that the -na on these forms has been reinterpreted as part of the verb itself. . Elbert and Pukui (1979: 86) show that inuhia in (20b) could also be inumia, an alternate Cia form for inu ‘drink’. . The a of the Cia sufix has been analyzed as a stative/durative suffix and as an incorporated third person pronoun (Clark 1973: 585, 593). . Maori, like Hawaiian, also uses the Cia suffix as a marker of passive (K¯arena-Holmes 1995: 81). . In Cook (1996) I have argued that Cia in Samoan does not mark prototypical passives, i.e. personal passives with transitive verbs, but it does mark impersonal passives with transitive verbs and personal passives with intransitive verbs. . At the Seventh International Cognitive Linguistics Conference mentioned in Note 1, Ross Clark stated that he was not in agreement with this analysis.

References Chung, Sandra (1978). Case Marking and Grammatical Relations in Polynesian. Austin: University of Texas Press. Churchward, Spencer (1951). A Samoan Grammar (2nd ed.). Melbourne: Spectator. Clark, Ross (1973). “Transitivity and case in Eastern Oceanic languages”. Oceanic Linguistics, 12, 559–605. Clark, Ross (1976). Aspects of Proto-Polynesian Syntax. Auckland: Linguistic Society of New Zealand. ¯ ¯ Cleeland, H¯ok¯ulani (1994). ‘Olelo ‘Oiwi: Ke Kahua. Hilo: ‘Aha P¯unana Leo. Cook, Kenneth W. (1988). A Cognitive Analysis of Grammatical Relations, Case, and Transitivity in Samoan. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, San Diego. Cook, Kenneth W. (1996). “The Cia suffix as a passive marker in Samoan”. Oceanic Linguistics, 35, 57–76. Elbert, Samuel H. (1959). Selections from Fornander’s Hawaiian Antiquities and Folk-lore. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Elbert, Samuel H. (1970). Spoken Hawaiian. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Elbert, Samuel H. & Pukui, Mary Kawena (1979). Hawaiian Grammar. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Hale, Kenneth (1968). “Review of Hohepa 1967”. Journal of the Polynesian Society, 77, 83–99. Hawkins, Emily ‘Ioli‘i (2003). “Distribution and function of Hawaiian ana”. Rongorongo Studies: A Forum for Polynesian Philology, 13, 3–19.



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Hohepa, Patrick (1969). “The accusative to ergative drift in Polynesian languages”. Journal of the Polynesian Society, 78, 295–329. Hopkins, Alberta Pualani (1992). Ka Lei Ha‘aheo: Beginning Hawaiian. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Kahananui, Dorothy M. & Anthony, Alberta P. (1974). E Kama‘ilio Hawai‘i K¯akou (Let’s Speak Hawaiian) (2nd ed.). Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Kaman¯a, Kauanoe & Wilson, William H. (1977). N¯a Kai ‘Ewalu: Beginning Hawaiian Lessons. Hilo: Hale Kuamo‘o. Kapu, W. H. (1904). Ka Naauau ana no Kaala, ka Pua Aala o Lanai a me ke Puhi o ka Pali o Kaholo. Honolulu: Paredaiso o ka Pakipika. K¯arena-Holmes, David (1995). M¯aori Language: Understanding the Grammar. Dunedin: University of Otago. Kelekona, Kahikini (John G. M. Sheldon) (1906). Kaluaiko‘olau. Honolulu: Gazette Print. Langacker, Ronald W. (1982). “Space grammar, analysability, and the English passive”. Language, 58, 22–80. Ota, Hiro J. (1999). Aspects of Case Marking and Transitivity in Polynesian. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Hawai‘i at M¯anoa. Pukui, Mary Kawena & Elbert, Samuel H. (1986). Hawaiian Dictionary. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Shibatani, Masayoshi (1985). “Passives and related constructions”. Language, 61, 821–848. Sinclair, M. B. W. (1976). “Is Maori an ergative language?” Journal of the Polynesian Society, 85, 9–26. Wilson, William H. (1976). The O and A Possessive Markers in Hawaiian. M.A. thesis. University of Hawai‘i at M¯anoa.

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Indiscrete grammatical relations The Lunda passive T. Givón and Boniface Kawasha University of Oregon

Lunda is a Bantu language of the NW province of Zambia and ajascent areas of the eastern Congo. The language, like many of its immediate neighbors, has a distinct type of passive clause, a syntactic blend of two extant constructions: (i) the impersonal-subject construction with ‘they’; and (ii) the object L-dislocation construction. On the surface, this construction appears to be a purely promotional passive, with no subject properties vested in the non-agent topic. In this paper we show that if one takes into account behavior-and-control properties, the construction is relationally mixed, with some subject properties already invested in the non-agent topic. These observations are consonant with E. Keenan’s well-known work on subjecthood and GRs (1975, 1976), as well as with more recent work by M. Haspelmath. We discuss all these observations in the light universals of language and, in particular, of diachronic syntactic change (grammaticalization).

.

Promotional vs. non-promotional passives*

One of the most general typological distinction in passivization seems to be that of promotional vs. non-promotional passives. In the first type, as in the English BE-passive, the non-agent that becomes the topic of the passive also acquires the relational properties of the subject of the active clause. In the second types (e.g. Spanish impersonal se-, French impersonal on-, English impersonal one, German impersonal man, as well as in Ute, Tolowa-Athabaskan, etc.), it does not. The distinction between a promotional and non-promotional passive need not, of course, be absolute. Indeed Ed Keenan, in his classical paper on passives and grammatical relations (1975), already noted cases of ‘partial promotion’, thus ‘partial subjecthood’ in the passive-clause subject’s overt coding properties, expressing this in terms of a well-documented implicational hierarchy: (1) case-marking > pronominal agreement > word-order

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Keenan’s equally seminal paper on subject properties (1976) then supplied a basket-of-properties framework for grammatical relations, one that easily accommodates both prototypicality and graduality. One can make fairly strong predictions about promotional and non-promotional passives as to the likelihood of their applying to various active-clause types, thus also about the likelihood of making various active-clause arguments into subjects (or topics) of the passive clause. These predictions may be couched in terms of constraints on promotional passives (Givón 1979: Ch. 4, 1981, 1990: Ch. 14): (2) Constraints on promotional passives: a. Direct-object only: Promotional passives tends to impose a strong restrictions on passivization, often allowing direct objects only to become the subjects of the passive. b. Transitive verbs only: Consequently, promotional passivization is restricted to transitive verbs.

In contrast, no such constraints seem to apply to non-promotional passives. They can be applied to transitive and intransitive verbs alike, and their topics may be any argument of the clause.

. The Lunda passive Lunda (Ndembu), a language spoken in the Northwestern Province of Zambia, belongs to a cluster of Bantu languages on the Zambia-Congo-Angola border (Kimbundu, Kaonde, Lovale, Lunda) that display, at first glance, a clear non-promotional passive. It is derived rather transparently from the conflation of two object-topicalizing constructions, object L-dislocation and the impersonal ‘they’ clause: (3) a.

Active-transitive: Joni w-a-mona Mari John 3s-past-see Mary ‘John saw Mary’ b. Anaphoric object: Joni w-a-mu-mona John 3s-past-3s.obj-see ‘John saw him/her’ c. Anaphoric object (PL subject): anyaana a-a-mu-mona children 3p-past-3s.obj-see ‘the children saw him/her’

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d. Anaphoric object, anaphoric or impersonal subject: a-a-mu-mona 3p-past-3s.obj-see ‘they saw him/her’ (anaphoric) ‘someone saw him/her’ (impersonal) ‘s/he was seen’ (impersonal) e. Object L-dislocation: Mari, Joni w-a-mu-mona Mary John 3s-past-3s.obj-see ‘Mary, John saw her’ f. Ambiguous passive/L-dislocation: Mari, a-a-mu-mona Mary 3p-past-3s.obj-see ‘Mary, they saw her’ ‘Mary, she was seen’ ‘Mary was seen’ g. Unambiguous passive (VO): a-a-mu-mona Mari kudi-Joni 3p-past-3s.obj-see Mary dat-John ‘Mary was seen by John’ h. Unambiguous passive (OV): Mari a-a-mu-mona kudi-Joni Mary 3p-past-3s.obj-see dat-John ‘Mary was seen by John’

There is a strong restriction, however, against 1st and 2nd person agents-ofpassive: (4) a.

Active: n-a-mona Mari 1s-past-(3s.obj)-see Mary ‘I saw Mary’ b. *Passive, 1/2 AGT (VO): *a-a-mu-mona Mari kud-aami 3p-past-3s.obj Mary dat-me (*‘Mary was seen by me’) c. *Passive, 1/2 AGT (OV): *Mari a-a-mu-mona kud-aami Mary 3p-past-3s.obj-see dat-me (*‘Mary was seen by me’)

This restriction hints at the possibility that this construction does not only function as a passive, but also, when the agent is present, as an inverse, a construc-

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tion where the person hierarchy and other topicality hierarchies are well known (Dahlstrom 1986; Thompson 1989; Givón ed. 1994). What we have seen so far is that the non-agent topic NP of the Lunda passive conforms to Keenan’s (1975) ‘semi promotion’ predictions. It can assume the characteristic word-order position of the subject (SV). But takes the pronominal agreement of a direct object, and the subject pronoun slot is taken by the impersonal ‘they’. What is more, when the agent is overtly expressed, it is marked by an oblique (dative) preposition and can only appear post-verbally in this strict SVO language. In sum, with the exception of the pre-verbal position, the topic of the Lunda passive seems to display the morphological coding properties of a direct object.

. Transitivity and passivization The fact that the Lunda passive arises from object L-dislocation, however, has some immediate typological consequences for this seemingly-impersonal passive, since it perforce restricts it to transitive verbs. In other words, the Lunda passive, however non-promotional it may appear, seems to abide by restriction (2b), above, characteristic of promotional passive. The two most salient overt coding properties of direct objects in Lunda are: a. post-verbal, verb-adjacent position b. characteristic verb-prefixal pronominal set Indirect-object NPs always follow the direct-object NP. And indirect-object pronouns occupy either a verb-suffix position, or as oblique independent pronouns: (5) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

Joni w-a-ya kudi-Mari John 3s-past-go dat-Mary ‘John went to Mary’ *Joni w-a-mu-ya John 3s-past-3s.obj-go (*‘John went her’) Joni w-a-ya kudi-yeena John 3s-past-go dat-3s ‘John went to her’ Joni w-a-ya ku-Lusaka John 3s-past-go loc-Lusaka ‘John went to Lusaka’ *Joni w-a-ku-ya John 3s-past-3s.obj-go (*‘John went to it’)

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f.

g.

h.

i.

j.

k.

l.

Joni w-a-ya-ku John 3s-past-go-loc/io ‘John went there’ Mari w-a-zuña na-Joni Mary 3s-past-fight with-John ‘Mary fought with John’ *Mari w-a-mu-zuña Mary 3s-past-3s.obj-fight (*‘Mary fought him’) Mary w-a-zuña n-iindi Mary 3s-past-fight with-3s ‘Mary fought with him’ Joni w-e-enda na-mbwechi John 3s-past-walk with-cane ‘John walked with a cane’ *Joni w-a-y-eenda John 3s-past-it-walk (*‘John walked it’) Joni w-e-enda na-yu John 3s-past-walk with-it ‘John walked with it’

It is thus not exactly a surprise that such intransitive verbs cannot be passivized in Lunda, given that they accommodate no direct-object pronoun, a salient morphological feature of the Lunda passive: (6) a. *Mari a-a-mu-ya kudi-Joni Mary 3p-past-3s.obj-go dat-John (*‘Mary was gone by John’) b. *Lusaka a-a-ku-ya kudi-Joni Lusaka 3p-past-loc/obj-go dat-John (*‘Lusaka was gone by John’) c. *Joni a-a-mu-zuña kudi-Mary Mary 3p-past-3s.obj-fight dat-Mary (*‘John was fought by Mary’) d. *mbwechi a-a-y-enda kudi-Joni stick 3p-past-it-walk dat-John (*‘the stick was walked by John’)

In the next section we will show that the Lunda passive also abides, rather consistently, by restriction (2a) on promotional passives. That is, only direct objects can be the topics of the passive clause.

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. Direct objecthood and passivization The clearest way of showing the properties of the direct object in Lunda is by contrasting it with indirect objects in the various types of bi-transitive clauses. We will survey those in order. . Bi-transitives with an inherent dative For a small class of verbs with an obligatory human dative, the dative participant can only appear as direct object of the active clause (‘obligatory promotion’), in terms of both pronominalization and verb-adjacency. We will illustrate the properties of these verbs with ‘give’: (7) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

f.

g.

n-e-enka mwaana mukaanda 1s-past-give child book ‘I gave the child a book’ *n-e-enka mukaanda (kudi-)mwaana 1s-past-give book (dat-)child (*‘I gave the book (to) the child’) n-a-mw-iinka mukaanda 1s-past-3s.obj-give book ‘I gave him/her a book’ *n-a-w-iinka (kudi-)mwaana 1s-past-it.obj-give (dat-)child (*‘I gave it (to) the child’) *n-a-w-iinka kudi-yeena 1s-past-it.obj-give dat-3s (*‘I gave it (to) him/her’) n-a-mw-iinka-wu 1s-past-3s.obj-give-it.io ‘I gave it (to) him/her’ *n-a-w-iinka-yi 1s-past-it.obj-give-3s.io (*‘I gave it (to) him/her’)

In passivization, only the dative DO of ‘give’ can become the topic of the passive, but not the patient indirect-object: (8) a.

mwaana a-a-mw-iinka mukaanda kudi-Joni child 3p-past-3s.obj-give book dat-John ‘the child was given a book by John’ b. *mukaanda a-a-w-iinka mwaana kudi-Joni book 3p-past-3s.obj-give child dat-John (*‘The book was given to the child by John’)

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c.

a-a-mw-inka-wu kudi-Joni 3p-past-3s.obj-give-it.io dat-John ‘s/he was given it by John’ d. *a-a-wu-iinka-yi kudi-Joni 3p-past-3s.obj-give-1s.io dat-John (*‘it was given (to) him/her by John’)

. Bi-transitives with a non-human locative Bi-transitive verbs with an inanimate locative object display the converse behavior of ‘give’. That is, only their patient can be the direct object: (9) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

f.

n-a-twaala wuña ku-mukala 1s-past-take flour loc-village ‘I took the flour to the village’ *n-a-twaala ku-mukala wuña 1s-past-take loc-village flour (*‘I took (to) the village flour’) n-a-wu-twaala ku-mukala 1s-past-it.obj-take loc-village ‘I took it to the village’ *n-a-ku-twaala wuña 1s-past-loc/obj-take flour (*‘I took it the flour’) n-a-wu-twaala-ku 1s-past-it.obj-take-loc/io ‘I took it there’ *n-a-ku-twaala-wu 1s-past-loc/obj-take-it.io

Predictably, only the patient DO of such verbs can be made topic of the passive: (10) a.

wuña a-a-wu-twaala ku-mukala kudi-Mari flour 3s-past-it.obj-take loc-village dat-Mary ‘the flour was taken to the village by Mary’ b. *mukala a-a-ku-twaala wuña kudi-Mari village 3s-past-loc/obj-take flour dat-Mary (*‘the village was taken flour by Mary’) c. a-a-wu-twaala-ku kudi-Mari 3s-past-it.obj-take-loc/io dat-Mary ‘it was taken there by me’ d. *a-a-ku-twaala-wu kudi-Mari 3s-past-loc/obj-take-it.io dat-Mary (*‘it was taken it by Mary’)

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. Bi-transitive with a human locative With a human locative-goal, the very same bi-transitive verbs exhibit a double pattern – one like ‘give’, the other like ‘take’ with a non-human locative. In pattern I (locative), the human goal is the indirect object: (11) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

f.

n-a-twaala wuña kudi-taata 1s-past-take flour dat-father ‘I took the flour to my father’ *n-a-twaala kudi-taata wuña 1s-past-take dat-father flour (*‘I took (to) my father flour’) kudi-taata n-a-wu-twaala 1s-past-it.obj-take dat-father ‘I took it to my father’ *n-a-mu-twaala wuña 1s-past-3s.obj-take flour (*‘I took him the flour’) *n-a-mu-twaala-wu 1s-past-3s.obj-take-it.io (*‘I took him it’) n-a-wu-twaala kudi-yeena 1s-past-it.obj-take dat-3s ‘I took it to him/her’

Out of this pattern, only the patient DO can become the topic of the passive, but not the human locative IO. Further, the passive pattern is sometimes subverted here by the presence, post-verbally, of two human participants marked by the dative preposition kudi- – the dative-goal and the agent-of-passive. This explains the unacceptability of (12a), as compared to (12b) with an inanimate locative. The unacceptability of (12c) is due to the missing locative argument, since a single human oblique marked with kudi- can only be interpreted as the agent-of-passive. The locative pronoun in (12d) restores the clause to a pronominal version of (12b): (12) a. *wuña a-a-wu-twaala kudi-taata kudi-Joni flour 3s-past-it.obj-take dat-father dat-John (*‘the flour was taken to my father by John’) b. wuña a-a-wu-twaala ku-mukala kudi-Joni flour 3s-past-it.obj-take loc-village dat-John ‘the flour was taken to the village by John’ c. *wuña a-a-wu-twaala kudi-Joni flour 3s-past-it.obj-take dat-3s (*‘the flour was taken to John’)

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d. wuña a-a-wu-twaala-ku kudi-taata flour 3s-past-it.obj-take-loc dat-father ‘the flour was taken there by my father’

In contrast with the patient DO, the dative-goal IO cannot become the topic-ofpassive out of this pattern. That is: (13) a. *taata a-a-mu-twaala wuña kudi-Mari father 3s-past-3s.obj-take flour dat-Mary (*‘my father was taken flour by Mary’) b. a-a-wu-twaala kudi-yeena kudi-Mari 3s-past-it.obj-take dat-3s dat-Mary ‘it was taken to him/her by Mary’ kudi-Mary c. *a-a-mu-twaala-wu 3s-past-3s.obj-take-it.io dat-Mary (*‘he was taken it by Mary’)

Syntactic pattern II follows that of ‘give’, with the human-goal now promoted to direct object. In the process, the verb must be marked with the benefactive (‘applied’) suffix -ila/-ela: (14) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

f.

n-a-twaal-ila taata wuña 1s-past-take-ben father flour ‘I took father some flour’ *n-a-twaal-ila wuña taata 1s-past-ben flour father (*‘I took flour (to) my father’) wuña n-a-mu-twaal-ila 1s-past-3s.obj-take-ben flour ‘I took him/her some flour’ *n-a-wu-twaala-ila taata 1s-past-it.obj-take-ben father (*‘I took it (to) my father’) n-a-mu-twaala-ila-wu 1s-past-3s.obj-take-ben-it.io ‘I took it to him/her’ *n-a-wu-twaal-ila-yi 1s-past-it.obj-take-ben-3s.io (*‘I took it (to) him/her’)

Predictably, only the human goal DO can be made the topic of the passive in this pattern, but not the patient IO: (15) a.

taata a-a-mu-twaal-ila wuña kudi-Mari father 3s-past-3s.obj-take-ben flour dat-Mary

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‘father was taken/brought flour by Mary’ b. *wuña a-a-wu-twaal-ila taata kudi-Mari flour 3s-past-it.obj-take-ben father dat-Mary (*‘the flour was taken (to) my father by Mary’) c. a-a-mu-twaal-ila-wu kudi-Mari 3s-past-3s.obj-take-ben-it.io dat-Mary ‘s/he was taken/brought it by Mary’ d. *a-a-wu-twaala-ila-yi kudi-Mari 3s-past-it.obj-take-ben-3s.io dat-Mary (*‘it was taken (to) him by Mary’)

. Bi-transitives with derived direct objects Three syntactic processes can derive a direct object from a non-patient argument. We will survey them and their passivization patterns in order. .. Benefactive derived DOs When an optional benefactive appears in the clause, it must obligatorily assume the direct-object role. When the verb is already transitive, the resulting derived bi-transitive falls into the ‘give’-type pattern: (16) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

f.

g.

w-a-tuuña itala 3s-past-build house ‘s/he built a house’ w-a-di-tuuña 3s-past-it.obj-build ‘s/he built it’ w-a-tuuñ-ila Mari itala 3s-past-build-ben Mary house ‘s/he built Mary a house’ *w-a-tuuñ-ila itala kudi-Mari 3s-past-build-ben house dat-Mary (*‘s/he built a house for Mary’) w-a-mu-tuuña-ila itala 3s-past-3s.obj-build-ben house ‘s/he built her/him a house’ *w-a-di-tuuña-ila kudi-Mari 3s-past-it.obj-build-ben dat-Mary (*‘s/he built it for Mary’) w-a-mu-tuuñ-ila-du 3s-past-3s.obj-build-ben-it.io ‘s/he built him/her that one’

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h. *w-a-di-tuuñ-ila-yi 3s-past-it.obj-build-ben-3s.io (*‘s/he built it for him/her’)

The benefactive DO, when present, is the only object that can become the topic of the passive: (17) a.

itala a-a-di-tuuña kudi-Mari house 3p-past-it.obj-build dat-Mary ‘the house was built by Mary’ b. taata a-a-mu-tuuñ-ila itala kudi-Mari father 3p-past-3s.obj-build-ben house dat-Mary ‘Father was built a house by Mary’ taata kudi-Mari c. *itala a-a-di-tuuñ-ila house 3p-past-it.obj-build-ben father dat-Mary (‘*The house was built for father by Mary’)

.. Causee derived DOs When the causative derivation is applied to a transitive verb, the resulting bitransitive assumes the ‘give’-type pattern. That is, the human causee becomes the direct-object, and the underlying patient becomes an indirect object: (18) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

f.

g.

mwaana w-a-da ikondi child 3s-past-eat banana ‘the child ate the banana’ mwaana w-a-di-da child 3s-past-it.obj-eat ‘the child ate it’ n-a-d-isha mwaana ikondi 1s-past-eat-caus child banana ‘I fed the child a banana’ *n-a-d-isha ikondi (kudi-)mwaana 1s-past-eat-caus banana dat-child (*‘I fed the banana (to) the child’) n-a-mu-d-isha ikondi 1s-past-3s.obj-eat-caus banana ‘I fed him/her a banana’ *n-a-di-d-isha kudi-mwaana 1s-past-it.obj-eat-caus dat-child (*‘I fed it to the child’) *n-a-di-d-isha kudi-yeena 1s-past-it.obj-eat-caus dat-3s (*‘I fed it to him/her’)

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h. n-a-mu-d-isha-du 1s-past-3s.obj-eat-caus-it.io ‘I fed it to him/her’ i. *n-a-di-d-isha-yi 1s-past-it.obj-eat-caus-3s.io (*‘I fed it to him/her’)

In passivizing such a construction, only the causee DO can become the topic of the passive: (19) a.

mwaana a-a-mu-d-isha ikondi kudi-Mari child 3p-past-3s.obj-eat-caus banana dat-Mary ‘the child was fed a banana by Mary’ b. *ikondi a-a-di-d-isha mwaana kudi-Mari banana 3p-past-3s.obj-eat-caus child dat-Mary (*‘the banana was fed (to) the child by Mary’) kudi-Mari c. a-a-mu-d-isha-du 3p-past-3s.obj-eat-caus-it.io dat-Mary ‘s/he was fed it by Mary’ d. *a-a-di-d-isha-yi kudi-Mari 3p-past-it.obj-eat-caus-3s.io dat-Mary (*‘it was fed (to) him/her by Mary’)

.. Possessor derived DOs The promotion of the possessor-of-object to direct object is optional with both alienable and inalienable possessed objects in Lunda, requiring the same benefactive (‘applied’) suffix seen in the promotion of benefactive arguments: (20) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

w-o-ocha itala d-a mwaana 3s-past-burn house poss child ‘he burned the child’s house’ *w-o-ocha mwaana itala d-iindi 3s-past-burn child house poss-3s (*‘s/he burned the child his/her house’ w-a-och-ela mwaana itala d-iindi 3s-past-burn-ben child house poss-3s ‘s/he burned the child his/her house’ *w-a-och-ela itala d-iindi mwaana 3s-past-burn-ben house poss-3s child (*‘s/he burned his/her house on the child’) w-a-mu-och-ela itala d-iindi 3s-past-3s.obj-burn-ben house poss-3s ‘s/he burned him/her his/her house’

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f. *w-a-d-och-ela mwaana 3s-past-it.obj-burn-ben child (*‘s/he burned it on the child’) g. w-a-mu-och-ela-du 3s-past-3s.obj-burn-ben-it.io ‘s/he burned it on him/her’ h. *w-a-di-och-ela-yi 3s-past-3s.obj-burn-ben-it.io (*‘s/he burned it on him/her’)

Since only the direct object can become the topic of the passive, either the entire possessed-object phrase or the promoted possessor claim that role, but not the unpromoted possessed: (21) a.

b.

c.

d.

e.

itala da-mwaana a-a-d-ocha kud-ikombi house poss-child 3p-past-it.obj-burn dat-thief ‘the child’s house was burned by the thief ’ mwaana a-a-mu-och-ela itala d-iindi kud-ikombi child 3p-past-3s.obj-burn-ben house poss-3s dat-thief ‘the child had his house burned by the thief ’ *itala (d-iindi) a-a-di-och-ela mwaana kud-ikombi house (poss-3s) 3p-past-3s.obj-burn-ben child dat-thief (*‘his/the house was burned (on) the child by the thief ’) a-a-mu-och-ela-du kudi-ikombi 3p-past-3s.obj-burn-ben-it.io dat-thief ‘s/he had it burned-on-him/her by the thief ’ *a-a-di-och-ela-yi kudi-ikombi 3p-past-it.obj-burn-ben-3s.io dat-thief (*‘it was burned on him/her by the thief ’)

. Subject properties of the topic-of-passive As noted earlier above, the topical argument of the Lunda passive clause retains one strong direct-object overt coding property – the direct-object pronoun. As for word-order, it can occupy either the subject (SV) or object (VO) position, with the former more prevalent. In this section we will investigate the behavior of the topic-of-passive, using three complex-clause environments. The three are a sub-set of Keenan’s (1976) list of behavior-and-control properties of subjects: a. coreference under EQUI b. reflexivization c. relativization.

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. Passive and coreference under EQUI In some purpose clause complements, the subject of the passive can be zeroed out under coreference with the main-clause subject just as the subject of the active: (22) a.

Active main clause: Mari w-e-enka mwaana mukaanda Mary 3s-past-give child book ‘Mary gave the child a book’ b. Active purp-complement: Mari w-a-lond-eli kw-iinka mwaana mukaanda Mary 3s-past-come.for-asp inf-give child book ‘Mary came to give the child a book’ c. ACTIVE purp-clause, obj pronoun: Mari w-a-lond-eli kw-mw-iinka mukaanda Mary 3s-past-come.for-asp inf-3s.obj-give book ‘Mary came to give him/her a book’ d. Passive main clause: mwaana a-a-mw-eenka mukaanda kudi-Mari child 3s-pass-give book dat-Mary ‘the child was given a book by Mary’ e. Passive purp-clause complement: w-a-lond-eli ku-mw-iinka mukaanda kudi-Mari 3s-past-come.for-asp inf-3s.obj-give book dat-Mary ‘s/he came in order to be given a book by Mary’ f. Passive purp-clause complement, with IO pronoun: w-a-lond-eli ku-mw-iinka-wu kudi-Mari 3s-past-come.for-asp inf-3s.obj-give-it dat-Mary ‘s/he came in order to be given it by Mary’

What is, of course, puzzling about the passive interpretation of (22e) is that if one removes the agent (‘by Mary’), the clause becomes indistinguishable from the active (22c). In other words, the only surviving clue for passive structure in the non-finite complement clause is the oblique-marked agent. . Passive and reflexivization The Lunda reflexive is direct-object dependent, given the DO slot of the reflexive pronoun. Indirect objects thus do not reflexivize: (23) a.

w-a-mona mwaana 1s-past-see child ‘s/he saw the child’

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b. w-a-mu-mona 3s-past-3s.obj-see ‘s/he saw him/her’ c. w-a-di-mona 3s-past-refl-see ‘s/he saw himself/herself ’ d. w-a-hosha kudi-Mari 3s-past-talk dat-Mary ‘s/he talked to Mary’ e. *w-a-di-hosha (kudi-yeena) 3s-past-refl-talk (dat-3s) (*‘s/he talks to himself/herself ’) f. w-a-zuña na-Joni 3s-past-fight with-John ‘s/he fought with John’ g. *w-a-di-zuña (n-iindi) 3s-past-3s.obj-fight (with-3s) (*‘s/he fought with himself/herself ’)

Reflexive-passives are unacceptable in Lunda: (24) a.

mwaana w-a-di-mona child 3s-past-refl-see ‘the child saw himself/herself ’ b. mwaana a-a-mu-mona kudi-Mari child 3p-past-3s.obj-see dat-Mary ‘the child was seen by Mary’ c. *mwaana a-a-di-mona (kudi-yeena) child 3p-past-refl-see (dat-3s) (*‘the child was seen by himself/herself ’)

The same restriction is seen with bi-transitive verbs: (25) a.

n-a-mu-telek-ela mwaana nshima 1s-past-3s-prepare-ben child food ‘I prepared the child food’ b. n-a-di-telek-ela nshima 1s-past-ref-prepare-ben food ‘I prepared myself food’ c. mwaana a-a-mu-telek-ela nshima kudi-Mari child 3p-past-3s.obj-prepare-ben food dat-Mary ‘the child was prepared food by Mary’ d. *mwaana a-a-di-telek-ela nshima (kudi-yeena) child 3p-past-refl-prepare-ben food (dat-3s) (*‘the child was prepared food (by himself/herself)’)

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The Lunda passive thus behaves much like the promotional English passive, where reflexivization is equally unacceptable: (26) a. b. c. d. e. f.

She saw herself She was seen by someone *She was seen by herself She gave herself a present She was given a present by someone *She was given a present by herself

In contrast, non-promotional impersonal passives readily admit reflexivization: (27) English: a. I find myself often in such a bind b. One finds oneself often in such a bind (28) French: a. il se-voit dans le miroir he refl-sees in the mirror ‘he sees himself in the mirror’ b. on le-voit dans la rue impers him-sees in the street ‘one sees him in the street’ c. on se-voit dans le miroir impers refl-find in the mirror ‘one sees oneself in the mirror’ (29) Spanish: a. María se-vio en el espejo Maria refl-see.past.3s in the mirror ‘Maria saw herself in the mirror’ b. se-le-vio a-María en la calle impers-3s.dat-see.past.3s obj-Maria in the street ‘Mary was seen in the street’ c. *se-se-ve (a si mismo) en el espejo impers-refl-see.3s (obj refl self) in the mirror d. uno se-ve (a si mismo) en el espejo one refl-see.3s (obj refl self) in the mirror ‘one sees oneself in the mirror’ (30) Ute (Givón 1980): a. mamach tuach-i punikya-pga woman.subj child-obj see-rem ‘the woman saw the child’

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b. mamach nanöös punikya-pga woman.subj refl see-rem ‘the woman saw herself ’ c. mamach-i punikya-ta-pga woman-obj see-pass-rem ‘someone saw the woman’ ‘the woman was seen’ d. nanöös punikya-ta-pga refl see-pass-rem ‘someone saw himself/herself ’ (31) Tolowa-Athabaskan (Bommelyn & Givón 1999): a. shu-R-tuR 1s.obj-l-kick ‘s/he is kicking me’ b. yu-R-tuR 3s.obv-l-kick ‘s/he is kicking him/her’ c. du-D-R-tuR refl-d-l-kick ‘s/he is kicking her/himself ’ d. du-sh-D-R-tuR refl-1s.subj-d-l-kick ‘I am kicking myself ’ e. shu-tr’u-R-tuR 1s.obj-pass-l-kick ‘someone is kicking me’ f. du-tr’u-D-R-tuR refl-pass-d-l-kick ‘someone is kicking themselves’

In all of the non-promotional (impersonal) passives above, the unpromoted object retains its object morpho-syntactic properties. Among them, the Lunda impersonal passive stands out like a sore thumb, rejecting reflexivization the way a promotional passive would. . Passive and relativization Lunda has three distinct pronominal patterns in relativization – for subject, direct object, and indirect object(s). Subject-REL morphology is nearly indistinct from that of the simple clause:

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(32) a.

Simple: mwaana w-a-mona chisalu child 3s-past-see mat ‘the child saw the mat’ b. Subject rel: mwaana ona w-a-mona chisalu child that 3s-past-see mat ‘the child who saw the mat’

Direct-object relativization exhibits two main patterns, one with 3rd-person subjects, the other with 1st/2nd person subjects: (33) a.

Direct-object rel (3rd person subj): chisalu ch-a-mona-yi (mwaana) mat it.obj-past-see-3s.subj (child) ‘the mat that s/he (the child) saw’ b. Direct-object rel (1st/2nd person subj): chisalu chi-n-a-mona mat it.obj-I-past-see ‘the mat that I saw’

The 3rd-person pattern (33a) thus has two striking features: a. the subject pronoun shifts to a V-suffix position b. the subject NP is placed post-verbally (VS)1 In relativizing passive clauses, the impersonal plural ‘they’ assumes the V-suffix pronominal slot of the subject/agent of active object REL-clause. The topic-ofpassive – object of active – cannot take the old DO pre-verbal pronoun slot of the active. Rather, it now takes the external prefix position characteristic of the active OBJ-REL-clause: (34) a.

Main-clause passive: chisalu a-a-chi-mona kudi-Mari mat 3p-past-it.obj-see dat-Mary ‘the mat was seen by Mary’ b. rel-clause passive: chisalu ch-aa-mona-wu kudi-Mari mat 3s.obj-past-see-3p.subj dat-Mary ‘the mat that was seen by Mary’

In bi-transitive active clauses, both direct and indirect objects are accessible to relativization. Consider first the case where the underlying patient – presumably the indirect object – is the focus of relativization:

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(35) a.

Simple, active: w-a-mu-tuuñ-ila taata itala 3s-past-3p.obj-build-ben father house ‘s/he built my father a house’ b. pat-obj relativization, active: itala d-a-mu-tuuñ-ila-yi Joni house it.obj-past-3p.obj-build-ben-3s.subj John ‘the house that John built him’ c. pat-obj relativization, active: itaala d-a-tuuñ-ila-yi taata house it.obj-past-build-ben-3s.subj father ‘the house that s/he built my father’

Because of the potential ambiguity between two post-verbal human arguments, (35c) cannot be rendered with a full-NP subject/agent of the active, hence the unacceptability of (36a) below. But in the passive the agent acquires oblique (dative) marking, which now rendering the meaning of (36a) possible as the passive (36b): (36) a. *pat-obj relativization, active: *itala d-a-tuuñ-ila-yi taata (kudi-)Joni house 3s.obj-past-build-ben-3s.subj father (dat-)John (*‘the house that John built my father’) b. pat-obj relativization, passive: itala d-a-tuuñ-ila-wu taata kudi-Joni house it.obj-past-build-ben-3p.subj father dat-John ‘the house that was built for my father by John’

Example (36b), however, is rather perplexing. The benefactive is still, presumably, the direct object of the ‘underlying’ active. And as noted earlier, in simple passive clauses the benefactive – DO of the active clause – is the only possible topicof-passive. The acceptability of (36b) suggests that this restriction is relaxed in relativization, so that both the benefactive and patient can be the topic-of-passive – when they are the focus of relativization: (37) a.

Simple passive: Mari a-a-mu-tuuñ-ila itala kudi-Joni Mary 3p-past-3s.obj-build-ben house dat-John ‘Mary was built a house by John’ b. Simple passive (patient = IO pronoun): Mari a-a-mu-tuuñ-ila-du kudi-Joni Mary 3p-past-3s.obj-build-ben-it.io dat-John ‘Mary was built it by John’

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c.

Simple passive (alternative pattern): Mari a-mu-tuuñ-ila-wu itala kudi-Joni Mary past-3s.obj-build-ben-3p.subj house dat-John ‘Mary was built a house by John’ d. ben-obj relative clause, active: muuntu a-a-tuuñ-ila-yi Joni itala person 3s-past-build-ben-3s.subj John house ‘the person for whom John build a house’ e. ben-obj relative clause, passive (ben topic-of-passive): muuntu a-tuuñ-ila-wu itala kudi-Joni person past-3s.obj-build-ben-3p.subj house dat-John ‘the person who was built (-for) a house by John’ f. pat-obj relative clause, active: itala d-a-mu-tuuñ-ila-yi Joni house it.obj-past-3p.obj-build-ben-3s.subj John ‘the house that John built him/her’ g. pat-obj relative clause, passive (pat topic-of-passive): itala d-a-tuuñ-ila-wu Mari kudi-Joni house it.obj-past-build-ben-3p.subj Mary dat-John ‘the house that was built for Mary by John’

With the verb ‘give’, a similar relaxation on the ‘DO-only’ restriction in passivization is also observed. In the active, both objects are accessible to relativization. But if both the benefactive and the agent-of-passive are full NPs when the patient is the focus of relativization, either the benefactive must be L-dislocated, as in (38c) below, or the subject-agent must be post-posed and take the oblique (dative) marking – like the agent-of-passive, as in (38e): (38) a.

pat-obj relative clause, active (pronominal AGT): mukaanda w-e-enka-yi mwaana book 3s.obj-past-give-3s.subj child ‘the book that s/he gave the child’ b. pat-obj relative clause, active (pronominal dat): mukaanda w-a-mu-inka-yi Joni book 3s.obj-1s.subj-past-3s.ben-give-3s.subj John ‘the book that John gave him/her’ c. pat-obj relative clause, active (full-NP AGT): mwaana, wuna mukaanda w-a-mu-inka-yi child that book 3s.obj-past-3s.ben-give-ben-3s.subj Joni John ‘the child, the book that John gave him/her’

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d. *pat-obj relative clause (full-NP AGT): *mukaanda w-e-enka-yi mwaana kudi-Joni book it.rel-past-give-3s.subj child dat-John (‘*the book that John gave the child’) e. pat-obj relative clause, active/passive (full-NP AGT): mukaanda w-e-enka-wu mwaana kudi-Joni book it.rel-past-give-3p.subj child dat-John ‘the book that John gave the child’ ‘the book that was given to the child by John’ f. dat-obj relative clause, active: muuntu e-e-enka-yi Joni mukaanda person 3s.obj-past-give-3s.subj John book ‘the person to whom John gave a book’

In the passive, again both the dative (DO of the active) and the patient can be relativized, the latter along the pattern seen in (38e) above: (39) a.

dat-obj relative clause, passive: muuntu e-e-enka-wu mukaanda kudi-Joni person 3s-past-give-3p.subj book dat-John ‘the person who was given a book by John’ b. pat-obj relative clause, passive: mukaanda w-e-enka-wu mwaana kudi-Joni book it.obj-past-give-3p.subj child dat-John ‘the book that was given (to) the child by John’)

The facts of Lunda passive REL-clauses may be summed up as follows: a. In the relativization of passive clauses, the topic-of-passive follows the object relativization pattern. b. In bi-transitive passive clauses, both objects, dative/benefactive and patient, are equally accessible to relativization. This is in spite of the fact that the patient cannot be the direct object of simple active bi-transitives; nor can it be the topic of simple passive bi-transitives. Put another way, the pattern of accessibility in relativization follows that of the active.

. Discussion . Diachrony and hybrid grammatical relations The Lunda passive is fascinating to general theorists for a number of reasons. At first glace, it appears to have the overt morpho-syntactic characteristics of a

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non-promotional passive. But it abides by the objecthood and transitivity constraints (2a, b) that characterize promotional passives. And the topic NP of the Lunda passive is a relational hybrid, with some subject properties and some object properties. Table 1. Grammatical role of the Lunda topic-of-passive Properties Overt coding: position anaphoric pronoun Behavior and control: EQUI reflexive relativization Functional properties: topicality

subject

object

x

x x

x x x x

Given the hybrid relational properties of the Lunda topic-of-passive, it is only to be expected that the construction as a whole is also a typological hybrid, with some of its syntactic properties conforming to the promotional prototype, others to the non-promotional prototype. Table 1 may be now augmented and re-cast as Table 2. Table 2. Typological status of the Lunda passive Properties Overt coding: SUBJ word-order OBJ pronominal agreement impersonal SUBJ pronoun Behavior and control: EQUI zero control (SUBJ) reflexivization (SUBJ) relativization (OBJ) Pragmatic functional: topicality Typological restrictions: oblique AGT present transitivity restrictions

promotional

non-promotional

x x x x x x x x x

The split typological status of the Lunda passive conforms, in the main, to Keenan’s (1975, 1976) prediction. All object properties of the Lunda topic-ofpassive reflect the more conservative, fossilized aspects of bound morphology

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(pronominal agreement, relativization pattern). All its subject properties, in contrast, reflect the more dynamic aspects of grammatical relations (pragmatic function, behavioral constraints, word-order). Keenan’s implicational hierarchy (1) may be now re-drawn as the expanded predictions (Givón 1995: Ch. 6): (40) Subject properties of the topic-of-passive: case-marking > pronominal agreement > word-order > behavior-and-control > pragmatic function

The implicational-hierarchic predictions in (40) are, in essence, diachronic. First, they recapitulate old observations (Givón 1971, 1979: Ch. 6, 2000) concerning the diachronic conservatism of grammatical morphology, as against the more progressive nature of functional reanalysis. Second, the relative ease with which behavior-and-control properties change is but a testimony to their more direct connection to the functional substratum of GRs – topicality (Givón 1995: Ch. 6; Haspelmath 1999). In the same vein, wordorder, the least conservative of the overt coding properties of GRs, is more directly relevant to topicality. Something similar may be said, in passing, about morphological vs. syntactic ergativity. Morphological-ergative languages are older ergative languages, where behavior-and-control properties have already re-aligned back to the pragmatic function of topicality, thus nominativity. Only their morphology still persists in its ergative-absolutive alignment. Syntactic-ergative languages are much younger ergative languages, where at least some behavior-and-control properties in the ergative clause still reflect the inverse origin of the ergative construction – topicalized object. The Lunda passive may also serve as a cautionary tale to functionalists, who in their approach to grammatical relations often ignore governed behavioral properties, electing to focus almost exclusively on overt coding properties. This myopic view of GRs tends to down-play the considerable synchronic realities of grammar, allowing the diehard relics of diachrony to remain relevant forever. While the relics of morpho-syntax are of great importance for reconstructing diachronic change, at some point one needs to concede that sometimes they are just that – relics. . Inverse or passive? The Lunda de-transitive clause is a hybrid in yet another, diachronic, sense, having acquired its most recalcitrant overt morpho-syntactic properties from its two source constructions – L-dislocation and the impersonal-subject (‘they’) clause. Both of these are quintessential non-promotional constructions, but of radically different sort. L-dislocation is a well-known pragmatic inverse construction (Givón ed. 1994), whose object is clearly topicalized, but whose agent retains both con-

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siderable topicality and subjecthood. The impersonal clause, on the other hand, de-topicalizes the agent radically, and does not always topicalize the object all that much (Hidalgo 1994). But the Lunda passive turns out to conform functionally to neither the inverse nor the impersonal passive prototype, but rather to the promotional passive prototype (Kawasha 2000). But why? The answer is surprisingly transparent. The Lunda passive arose gradually as a replacement for, and no doubt in close interaction with, the older Bantu promotional passive, the one marked by the suffix -iwa/-ewa. One may say that the older construction ‘trained’ the new one by syntactic analogy. Consequently, the nascent de-transitive has been doing its level best to emulate its analogical progenitor. It is the cumbersome relics of morphology that have not yet allowed it go to all the way. . Non-discreteness, markedness and syntactic prototypes Recently an attempt has been made (Dryer 1995, 1997) to suggest that grammatical relations display too much cross-language variability to be ‘truly’ universal. Dryer argues that the only ‘truly’ universal features of GRs are their functional dimensions – topicality. But typology, by its very definition, presupposes that the same (universal) functional features can be grammaticalized differently in different languages (Givón 1995: Ch. 3). What is universal in syntax is thus not particular morpho-syntactic features, but rather the general principles that motivate and constrain both functional and syntactic organization, as well as the bounds of possible typological diversity.2 Indeed, if one were to draw Dryer’s argument to its logical conclusion, there would be no ‘true’ syntactic universals, only functional universals and syntactic distributional tendencies. It is of course true that reliable statistical tendencies, even the most lopsided ones, are not of themselves universals. Rather, distributional tendencies are one of the observable manifestations of universals. As methodological entities, they are also the evidence that hints at, validates, or must be explained by universals. But this pattern of interaction between observable features, distributional tendencies and invisible universals is not exactly new in science, where universal principles (Carnap’s ‘general propositions’) are by definition more abstract than the concrete phenomenology they govern or purport to explain.3 Apart from the rather wobbly logical scaffolding of Dryer’s argument, can the Lunda passive, with its messy, indiscrete grammatical relations, be one more piece of evidence in support of the non-universality of GRs? Before jumping on the bandwagon, a few reflections are perhaps in order. To begin with, only a few clause types – most conspicuously the passive/inverse and existential-presentative – display, universally, such a messy pattern of nondiscrete GRs.4

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Further, the deviant GRs of these constructions are far from arbitrary, but rather are the natural consequence of the fact that these clause-types also deviate from two core functional features of the subject prototype (Keenan 1976): a. Topicality: The agent in the passive/inverse is not the main topic. b. Anaphoricity: The subject in the existential-presentative is not definite. These errant constructions are thus highly marked both structurally and functionally, a fact that is underscored by their low text frequency. As a corollary, in the vast majority of syntactic constructions, the GRs subject and object are much more discrete, stable and well-behaved. Such constructions, with topical agents and highly anaphoric subjects, are also much more frequent in discourse. Lastly, the grammatical relations ‘subject’ and ‘object’ score best where it counts most – as high-frequency prototypes. As elsewhere, one expects the highfrequency members that cluster around the category’s mean, its prototype core, to be more grammaticalized, thus more rule-governed. This contrasts sharply with the category’s low-frequency outliers that are indiscrete and disorderly. Put another way, GRs behave like other natural categories.

Abbreviations 1S = 1st person singular (subject); 3S = 3rd person siongular (subject); 3P = 3rd person plural (subject); ASP = aspect; BEN = benefactive; CAUS = causative; D = Athabaskan “D classifier”; DAT = dative; IMPERS = impersonal (passive); INF = infinitive; IO = indirect object; L = Athabaskan “L-classifier”; LOC = locative; REL = relative; REM = remote; OBJ = direct object; OBV = obviate; PAS = passive; PASS = passive; POSS = possessive; REFL = reflexive; SUBJ = subject.

Notes * We are indebted to Matt Shibatani, Martin Haspelmath and Bernd Heine for comments on an earlier version of the manuscript, all along absolving them from any responsibility for the final product. . The subject post-posing feature of Lunda object relativization echoes a feature found in a number of Bantu languages of the Congo (Givón 1972) as well as in Biblical Hebrew (Givón 1977), Classical Arabic, Spanish, or German (Vennemann 1973). Fundamentally, this syntactic phenomenon amounts to de-topicalizing the subject when a non-subject is topicalized, by either Y-movement, relativization, Cleft-focus or WH-questions. The so-called subject-AUX inversion in some English constructions is a diachronic relic of the same feature, as in:

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Only now do I see this. Never before have I seen such rubbish. Where did she put it? Why are you leaving? . Chomsky (1992) makes essentially the same argument in his introduction to Minimalism, albeit in the process also disavowing the reality of concrete surface features. . Dryer’s argument also amounts to a claim that only 100% generalizations are valid in syntax, thus implicitly subscribing to Chomsky’s generativity. . With essentially the same generative logic as Dryer’s – of 100% or nothing – but aimed at the opposite direction, Bresnan and Kanerva (1989) insist that the fronted locative NP in a type of presentative construction in ChiChewa was ‘the’ subject because it displayed some subject properties (word-order, verb agreement), rather than concede that the GRs in such construction, for both the locative and ‘logical’ subject, are messy and indiscrete.

References Bommelyn, N. & Givón, T. (1999). “The evolution of de-transitive voice in Tolowa Athabaskan”. In V Encuentro de Linguistica en el Noroeste. Hermosillo, Mexico: Universidad de Sonora. Bresnan, J. & Kanerva, J. (1989). “Locative inversion in Chichewa: ˆ A case study of factorization in grammar”. Linguistic Inquiry, 20, 1–50. Chomsky, N. (1992). A Minimalist Program for Linguistic Theory [MIT Occasional Papers in Linguistics 1]. Cambridge, MA: MIT. Dahlstrom, A. (1986). Plains Cree Morphosyntax. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California at Berkeley. Dryer, M. (1995). “Grammatical relations in Ktunaxa (Kutenai)”. The Belcourt Lecture. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba. Dryer, M. (1997). “Are grammatical relations universal?” (Unpublished paper.) State University of New York at Buffalo. Givón, T. (1971). “Historical syntax and synchronic morphology: An archaeologist’s field trip”. In Papers from the Seventh Regional Meeting Chicago Linguistic Society April 16–18, 1971 (pp. 394–415). Chicago: Chicago Linguistics Society. Givón, T. (1972). “Pronoun attraction and subject postposing in Bantu”. In P. M. Peranteau, J. N. Levi, & G. C. Phares (Eds.), The Chicago Which Hunt [:] Papers from the Relative Clause Festival April 13, 1972 (pp. 190–197). Chicago: Chicago Linguistics Society. Givón, T. (1977). “The drift from VSO to SVO in Biblical Hebrew: The pragmatics of tenseaspect”. In C. N. Li (Ed.), Mechanisms of Syntactic Change (pp. 181–254). Austin: University of Texas Press. Givón, T. (1979). On Understanding Grammar. New York: Academic Press. Givón, T. (1980). Ute Reference Grammar. Ignacio, CO: Ute Press. Givón, T. (1981). “Typology and functional domains”. Studies in Language, 5, 163–193. Givón, T. (1990). Syntax: A Functional-Typological Introduction, Vol. 2. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Givón, T. (Ed.). (1994). Voice and Inversion. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Givón, T. (1995). Functionalism and Grammar. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

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Givón, T. (2000). “Internal reconstruction: As method, as theory”. In S. Gildea (Ed.), Reconstructing Grammar: Comparative Linguistics and Grammaticalization (pp. 107–159). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Haspelmath, M. (1999). “Overt coding and behavior-and-control properties in grammaticalization”. Paper presented at the Conference on New Directions on Grammaticalization, Potsdam, June 1999. Hidalgo, R. (1994). “The pragmatics of de-transitive voice in Spanish: From passive to inverse?” In T. Givón (Ed.), Voice and Inversion (pp. 169–186). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kawasha, B. (2000). “Functional analysis of the Lunda de-transitive clause”. (Unpublished paper.) Eugene: University of Oregon. Keenan, E. L. (1975). “Some universals of passive in relational grammar”. In R. Grossman, L. San, & T. Vance (Eds.), Papers from the Eleventh Regional Meeting Chicago Linguistic Society April 18–20, 1975 (pp. 340–352). Chicago: Chicago Linguistics Society. Keenan, E. L. (1976). “Toward a universal definition of ‘subject”’. In C. N. Li (Ed.), Subject and Topic (pp. 303–333). New York: Academic Press. Thompson, C. (1989). Voice and Obviation in Athabaskan and Other Languages. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Oregon. Vennemann, T. (1973). “Topic, subject and word-order: From SXV to SVX via TVX”. Paper read at the First International Congress of Historical Linguistics, Edinburgh (Sept. 1973).

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Valency sets in Kashmiri Peter E. Hook and Omkar N. Koul Universities of Michigan and Virginia / Indian Institute of Language Studies

An analysis of the derived transitive and causative verbs of the Indo-Aryan language Kashmiri demonstrates that its morphological causative displays morphosyntactic features that in other languages are usually associated with phrasal causatives. With respect to verb agreement, case-marking, its person hierarchy, and passivization Kashmiri treats causees as direct objects rather than as oblique ones, a set of facts suggesting that at some level the causee acts as if it were the subject of an embedded clause. In this Kashmiri is the only Indo-Aryan language (besides Sanskrit) to exhibit a “push-down” syntax for the case-marking of causees and to allow the occurrence of “chômeurs”.

Introduction1 A general problem in the description of Indian languages is the proper treatment of sets of morphologically related sets2 of verb stems which share lexical meaning but govern differing numbers of actants. For example, Hindi-Urdu diikh ‘be visible’ (one actant), dekh ‘see y’ (two actants), dikhaa ‘show y to z’ (three actants), dikhvaa ‘have x show y to z’ (four actants). One source of confusion is that the same morphological differences do not always make the same semantic differences: compare Hindi-Urdu khilaa/khilvaa ‘feed y to z’ / ‘have x feed y to z’ with dilaa/dilvaa both meaning ‘have x give y to z’. Kashmiri is even less transparent in this respect than Hindi-Urdu. Moreover, compared to other South Asian languages, valency in Kashmiri is made more complex by a richer set of interactions with case, with a system of pronominal suffixes, and with a Person Hierarchy which is otherwise absent from Indo-Aryan. While the interactions of these systems with valency provide attractive possibilities for analysis within various theoretical frameworks, the chief aim of the authors is to give as complete and coherent a presentation of the Kashmiri data as we possibly can from the perspectives of comparative Indo-Aryan and cross-linguistic typological analysis of valency phenomena like those so carefully described and insightfully interpreted by the honoree of this volume.

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In addition to describing the valency system of Kashmiri, this paper presents those features of the systems of ergativity, pronominal suffixes and voice that interact with it and shows how Kashmiri’s system of causatives differs syntactically from that found in other modern Indo-Aryan languages while preserving part of the system in OIA. The paper is organized as follows: Section 1. Conceptual and terminological preliminaries Section 2. Derived monovalent predicates (“anticausatives”) Section 3. Bivalent predicates derived from monovalents Section 4. The syntax of bivalents derived from monovalents Section 5. Trivalents derived from bivalents Section 6. The syntax of derived trivalent predicates Section 7. Causatives: Morphology Section 8. Causatives: Semantics and lexical structure Section 9. Ambiguities in the system Section 10. Causatives with two intermediate agents Section 11. Derived trivalents and the ergative Section 12. Causatives and the ergative Section 13. Valency sets, the Person Hierarchy and pronominal suffixes Section 14. Valency sets and the passive Section 15. Noun incorporation and valency Section 16. The phrasal causative Section 17. Compound verbs and the causative Section 18. Kashmiri valency and New Indo-Aryan Section 19. Kashmiri valency and Old Indo-Aryan Section 20. Kashmiri’s valency and linguistic theory

.

Conceptual and terminological preliminaries

In order to accommodate our discussion of valency sets in Kashmiri we have made decisions about terminology which reflect certain theoretical assumptions. While we are not interested in building theories, we believe our use of these terms and concepts is necessary for a transparent and systematic presentation of the Kashmiri data. In this system we recognize three ways to classify a noun or noun phrase: by its (1) case, (2) clause function, and (3) syntactic role. The first of these is fairly obvious: Kashmiri nouns and their concordant adjectives must bear one or another of five cases: nominative, ergative, dative, ablative, or oblique. The other two ways require some discussion. Clause function: A noun or noun phrase may be the subject or the direct object of its clause. Notice that we are saying subject or direct object of a clause, not of

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a verb or a predicate. Furthermore, not every noun phrase has a clause function. Perhaps half the noun phrases that a typical clause contains are neither subjects nor direct objects and thus have no clause function. However, if a noun phrase without a clause function corresponds (in ways to be defined) to a noun phrase that does have one we will term it a “chômeur”. Clauses with direct objects in them are called “transitive” clauses. Those without are “intransitive”. We restrict the use of the two terms “transitive” and “intransitive to clauses. We do not use them of lexical verbs (aka predicates). Syntactic roles are associated with lexical verbs or predicates. We discriminate six of them: agent, patient, experiencer, recipient, stimulus, and other. Which syntactic role a noun phrase has is lexically determined by its predicate. These syntactic roles, defined for Kashmiri, are as follow: 1. Agent: The noun phrase which occurs in the nominative case when governed by a monovalent predicate; or in the ergative case when governed by a polyvalent predicate3 in a clause that is in an ergative tense-aspect; or is the corresponding noun phrase in other finite and non-finite environments. Except for those that have experiencers all predicates have agents. 2. Patient: The noun phrase which occurs in the nominative case in clauses that have a noun phrase in the ergative; and the corresponding noun phrase in other environments. No monovalent predicate has a patient. All polyvalent predicates that have an agent have a patient. Derived polyvalents may have more than one of them. 3. Experiencer: The noun phrase that invariably occurs in the dative case with polyvalent predicates that do not have agents. (These predicates are known from a list.) 4. Recipient: The noun phrase which invariably occurs in the dative case with predicates that do have agents. 5. Stimulus: The noun phrase which invariably occurs in the nominative case with predicates that have experiencers. 6. Other: A noun phrase required by its predicate but which does not meet the definitions of agent, patient, experiencer, recipient, or stimulus. Examples to illustrate this system of cross-cutting classifications follow: (1) bi koor gatshi? I [+Nom, +Subj, +Agent] where go-fut.1sg ‘Where shall I go?’ (intransitive clause with monovalent predicate)

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(2) yi chu jaan zyi eeTh this [+Nom, +Subj, +Agent] is good that eight [+Nom, +Subj, +Agent] chi bajaan are striking ‘It is good that it is striking eight.’ (intransitive clauses with monovalent predicates) (3) swa cha caay cevaan she [+Nom, +Subj, +Agent] is tea [+Nom, +DirObj, +Patient] drinking ‘She is having tea.’ (transitive clause with bivalent predicate) (4) tyimav kor mye they [+Erg, +Subj, +Agent] did me [+Dat, +Recipient] yihisaan grace [+Nom, +DirObj, +Patient] ‘They did me a favour.’ (transitive clause with trivalent predicate) (5) tyiman hyety mye them [+Dat, +Recipient] took I [+Erg, +Subj, +Agent] pEEsi money [+Nom, +DirObj, +Patient] ‘I took the money from them.’ (transitive clause with trivalent predicate) (6) tyemis cha nyendir yivaan him [+Dat, +Experiencer] is sleep [+Nom, +Subj, +Stimulus] coming ‘He is feeling sleepy.’ (intransitive clause with bivalent predicate) (7) tsye kyaa chu-y you [+Dat, +Experiencer] what is-2sg.dat nav? name [+Nom, +Subj, +Stimulus] ‘What is your name?’ (intransitive clause with bivalent predicate) (8) avtaar aav-ni ath mukaabal-as manz Avatar [+Nom, +Subj, +Patient] came-neg this comparison-dat in Seemyil kar-ni include do-inf (intransitive clause with bivalent predicate) ‘Avatar was not included in this comparison.’ (Aziz 1998: 85)

It should be kept in mind that syntactic roles like agent, patient, and recipient are not semantic categories. Since the linguistics literature sometimes uses these terms in ways that suggest that they have some (necessary) semantic content, we have selected some of the examples to reinforce the statement that role categories are syntactic, not semantic: See (2) for non-agential agents; (5) for a non-receptive recipient; and (7) for a non-experiencing experiencer and non-stimulating stimulus.

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While a noun phrase must have one case and may have no more than one grammatical function it may have a second syntactic role with respect to a second predicate. In (9) the pronoun bi ‘I’ is the agent of both the predicate hyech ‘learn’ and the predicate vaay ‘play (a musical instrument)’. In (10) mye ‘me’ is simultaneously the experiencer4 of pye ‘have to V’ and the agent of an ‘bring’. In (11) bi ‘I’ is the patient of vaatinaav ‘make x arrive, deliver; bring’ as well as the agent of khye ‘eat’: (9) bi hyech-i nay vaay-iny I [+Nom, +Subj, +Agent (hyech)] learn-fut.1sg flute play-inf [+Agent (vaay)] ‘I will learn to play the flute.’ (10) swa pye-yi mye she [+Nom, +Subj, +Patient (an)] fall-fut me [+Dat, +Experiencer (pye)] [+Agent (an)] an-iny bring-inf ‘I will have to bring her.’ (11) vyentyiyav vaat-inoovu-s requests.erg arrive-val.pst-1sg.nom bi vyeh khye-n.as I [+Nom, +DirObj, +Patient (vaatinaav)] poison eat-inf [+Agent (khye)] ‘(Your) “requests” have driven me to drink!’ (Kemmu 1997: 30)

. Derived monovalent predicates (“anticausatives”) In Hindi-Urdu are found a large number of monovalent predicates which are lexically and semantically related to a corresponding set of bivalent predicates from which they are derived phonologically.5 While the noun phrase that is governed by these monovalent predicates corresponds to the patient of the bivalents from which these monovalents are derived it is regarded (i.e., treated syntactically6 ) as if it were their agent.7 For example in (12a) the word kapaRe ‘clothes’ is the lexical patient of dho ‘wash’: (12) a.

dhobii kapaRe dho rahaa hai washerman clothes wash -ing is ‘The dhobi is washing the clothes.’

The word kapaRe in (12b) is the agent of dhul but its referent is usually related to the objective situation in the same way as the referent of the patient of the basic bivalent dho is in (12a):

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(12) b. kapaRe dhul rahe hAI clothes wash -ing are ‘The clothes are being washed.’

Predicates like that in (12b) are termed ‘anticausative’ by Masica (1976: 56) and ‘antitransitives’ by Hook (1979: 143, 1996). Formations of this kind are not so widespread in South Asia as are other categories in the taxonomy of valency. (They are much less numerous in, for example, Marathi8 than they are in Hindi-Urdu). In Kashmiri, too, they are largely absent with two sets of exceptions: (i) A few derived monovalents that may have been borrowed as such from Hindi-Urdu: viz, chap ‘be printed’ (< chaap ‘print’) and lad ‘be loaded’ (< laad ‘load’): (13) a.

prasivool chu kitaab chaapaan printer is book printing ‘The printer is printing the book.’ b. kitaab cha chapaan book is being.printed ‘The book is being printed.’

(ii) In Kashmiri phrasal (or ‘conjunct’) verbs in kar ‘do’ have counterparts in gatsh ‘go’: khatim kar ‘finish’ ↔ khatim gatsh ‘be finished’, barbaad kar ‘ruin’ ↔ barbaad gatsh ‘be ruined’, etc.: asyi ker yi kyitaab yistyimaal9 we.erg made.f.sg this book(f.sg) use ‘We used this book.’ b. yi kyitaab geyi yistyimaal this book went.f.sg use ‘This book was used.’

(14) a.

The corresponding “antitransitives” in Hindi-Urdu have ho ‘be; become’: xatam ho, barbaad ho and istimaal ho. But the use, typical in Hindi-Urdu, of antitransitives to express incapacity is not found in Kashmiri: (15) mujh se yah kitaab xatam nahII hotii me by this book finish not be ‘I can’t finish this book.’

Rather incapacity in Kashmiri10 is expressed with the passive in yi11 (16) or hyek ‘be able’ (17): (16) mye cha-ni yivaan yi kyitaab khatim kar-ni me.dat is-not coming this book finish do-inf.abl ‘I can’t finish this book.’

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(17) bi chus-ni hyekaan yi kyitaab khatim keryith I am-not being.able this book finish do ‘I can’t finish this book.’

. Bivalent derived from monovalent predicates Much more frequently encountered in South Asian languages is the derivation of bivalent from monovalent predicates: (18) a.

jangal jal rahaa hai jungle burn -ing is ‘The jungle is burning.’ b. sipaahii jangal jal-aa rahe hAI soldiers jungle burn-val -ing are ‘The soldiers are burning the jungle.’

(Hindi-Urdu)

(Hindi-Urdu)

In (18a) the monovalent predicate jal ‘burn’ is taken as basic since (in contrast to the antitransitive dhul ‘be washed’) presupposing an instigator of the action of burning is not necessary to a full understanding of the situation. Similarly, in the situation presented in (19a) the action expressed by bal ‘heal’ does not necessarily depend on the intervention of a second actant (i.e., a doctor): (19) a.

su byemaar chu bal-aan that sick.person is recover-ing ‘That sick person is getting better.’

(Kashmiri)

An overt morphological alternation in the verb stem (bal → bal-iraav) signals the presence of a healer in the conceptualization of the situation: (19) b. DaakTar chu byemaaras bal-iraav-aan doctor is sick.man heal-val-ing ‘The doctor is making the patient better.’

(Kashmiri)

Kashmiri is very rich in formations of this type. There are at least six phonological patterns12 relating monovalent predicates to their derived bivalent counterparts. In addition there are a few partly similar pairs as well as suppletive ones. The six patterns are: (20) a.

Addition of suffix -inaav door → doorinaav vad → vadinaav as → asinaav nats → natsinaav vuD → vuDinaav

‘run’ → ‘make x run’ ‘weep’ → ‘make x weep’ ‘laugh’ → ‘make x laugh’ ‘dance’ → ‘make x dance’ ‘fly’ → ‘make x fly’

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Dul → Dulinaav yiir → yiirinaav byeh → byeh(i)naav phaT → phaTinaav grak → grakinaav vaat → vaatinaav hwakh → hwakhinaav khoots → khoots(i)naav

‘roll’ → ‘make x roll’ ‘float’ → ‘make x float’ ‘sit down’ → ‘seat x’ ‘drown; burst’ → ‘sink x; make x burst’ ‘boil’ → ‘make x boil’ ‘arrive’ → ‘deliver x’ ‘dry’ → ‘make x dry’ ‘be afraid’ → ‘frighten x’

b. Addition of suffix -inaav with lengthening of stem vowel phaT → phaaTinaav ‘drown; burst’ → ‘sink x; burst x’ c.

Addition of -iraav tsal → tsaliraav zev → zeviraav gal → galiraav phuT → phuTiraav tshen → tsheniraav bal → baliraav krehan → kreh(e)niraav nyik → nyikiraav vyeTh → vyeThiraav hwats → hwatsiraav buD → buDiraav nyiil → nyiiliraav

[cf. (20g)]

‘run away, flee’ → ‘chase x away’ ‘be born’ → ‘give birth to x’ ‘melt’ → ‘make x melt’ [cf. (20g)] ‘break’ → ‘make x break’ ‘rip’ → ‘rip x’ ‘get better’ → ‘make x get better’ ‘turn black’ → ‘blacken x’ ‘become thin’ → ‘cut x into pieces’ ‘become fat’ → ‘fatten x’ (cf. voTh ‘fat’) ‘rot’ → ‘make x rot’ ‘age, get old’ → ‘age x, make x get old’ ‘turn blue; become bruised’ → make x blue; bruise x’ d. Addition of -iraav with change in vowel and/or final consonant13 of basic stem (many of which are stative or change-of-state predicates derivable from adjectives) tshwaT → tshwaTiraav ‘become short’ → ‘shorten x’ (cf. tshoT ‘short’) gaT → geTiraav ‘become dim’ → ‘darken x’ mat → metsiraav ‘go wild’ → ‘make x wild’ (cf. mot ‘crazy; wild’) tat → tetsiraav ‘be hot’ → ‘heat x’ (cf. tot ‘hot’) kal → kejiraav ‘stammer’ → ‘make x stammer’ (cf. kol ‘dumb’) chat → chetsiraav ‘turn grey’ → ‘make x grey’ (cf. chot ‘albino’) lwat → lwatsiraav ‘become light’ → ‘make x lighter’ (cf. lot ‘light’) thad → theziraav ‘grow tall’ → ‘make x grow tall’ (cf. thod ‘tall’) and → enz(i)raav ‘come to an end’ → ‘bring x to an end’ pap → pepiraav ‘ripen’ → ‘make x ripen’ (cf. pop ‘ripe’) dar → deriraav ‘be stable’ → ‘stabilize x’ (cf. dor ‘tight’) al → eliraav ‘move’ → ‘make x move’

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e.

Addition of -aav ruk → rukaav ‘stop’ → ‘stop x’ haT → haTaav ‘go away’ → ‘drive x away’ edir → ediraav ‘get wet’ → ‘wet x, drench x’ lyedir → lyediraav ‘yellow’ → ‘make x sick’ (cf. lyedir ‘turmeric’) zazir → zaziraav ‘wither’ → ‘make x wither’ (cf. zazur ‘dry’) tambil → tambilaav ‘be attracted’ → ‘attract x’ phas → phasaav ‘get stuck’ → ‘entrap x’ f. Addition of -aav with change in vowel of basic stem vwazal → vwazilaav ‘blush’ → ‘make x red’ (cf. vwazul ‘red’) maan → manaav ‘agree’ → ‘persuade x; cajole x’ pye → paav ‘fall; trip’ → ‘make x fall’ zar pye → zar paav ‘become dumb’ → ‘deafen x’ vwapad → vwapidaav ‘grow up, grow’ → ‘raise x’ g. Lengthening of stem vowel (with no suffix added) mar → maar ‘die’ → ‘kill x’ tar → taar ‘cross’ → ‘make x cross’ gal → gaal ‘melt’ → ‘make x melt’ [cf. (20c)] Dal → Daal ‘move x’ → ‘move x’ phaT → phaaT ‘drown; burst’ → ‘sink x; burst x’ [cf. (20b)] lag → laag ‘apply / stick (to y)’ → ‘apply x / stick x (to y)’ lad → laad ‘be loaded (onto y)’ → ‘load x (onto y)’14 chap → chaap ‘be printed’ → ‘print x’ (21) Partly related and suppletive pairs khas → khaar ‘climb’ → ‘lift x, raise x’ vas → vaal ‘descend’ → ‘bring x down; lower x’ daz → zaal ‘burn’ → ‘burn x’ (thod) vwath → (thod) tul ‘get up’ → ‘pick x up; make x stand’ pye → traav15 ‘fall’ → ‘drop x’ nyeer → kaD ‘exit; come out, emerge; leave’ → ‘take x out; bring x out’ ats → tsaan ‘enter’ → ‘insert x; make x go in’ yi → an ‘come’ → ‘bring x’ SOng → saav ‘sleep; lie down’ → ‘put x to sleep; lay x down’ tshyen → tsaT ‘break apart’ → ‘cut x apart

. The syntax of bivalent predicates derived from monovalents Inanimate agents of basic monovalent predicates figure as patients of the corresponding derived bivalent predicates:

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(22) a.

gaav cha pakaan cow is going ‘The cow is moving.’ b. guur chu gaav pak-inaav-aan cowherd is cow move-val-ing ‘The cowherd is driving the cow.’

Human agents of basic monovalent predicates usually appear as patients of the corresponding derived bivalents. In an active clause in a non-ergative tense if the agent-subject does not outrank an animate patient on the Person Hierarchy, the patient gets the dative case (23b): (23) a.

swa cha door-aan she is runn-ing ‘She is running.’ b. maasTar chu temyis door-inaav-aan teacher is her.dat run-val-ing ‘The teacher is making her run.’

If the agent in such clauses does outrank an animate patient, the latter gets the nominative case and an accusative pronominal suffix must be used: (23) c.

tsi chuh-an swa door-inaav-aan you are-3sg.acc her.nom run-val-ing ‘You are making her run.’

. Trivalents derived from bivalents The same sorts of phonological changes as we have listed in (20a) through (20f) allow the derivation of trivalent from certain basic bivalent predicates. (24) a.

raam chu hyisaab par-aan Ram is math study-ing ‘Ram is studying math.’ b. swa cha raamas hyisaab par-inaav-aan she is Ram.dat math study-val-ing ‘She is teaching Ram arithmetic.’

In (24) par ‘study x’ is a basic bivalent, and parinaav ‘make y study x; teach x to y’ is a derived trivalent predicate. The latter is derived from the former by amplifying it with the valency-increasing “causative” affix -inaav. However, while the use of parinaav presupposes a situation involving three actants rather than two, it is not to be taken as a causative predicate in the strict sense. The agent of parinaav is not having Ram do something that she would herself have to do or get someone else to

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do were Ram not present. Furthermore, while the trivalent parinaav ‘teach x to y’ is a derived predicate, by adding yet another valency-increasing affix, we may derive from it the quadrivalent, proper causative parinaavinaav ‘have y teach x to z’: (25) swa cha maasTaras-athyi raamas hyisaab par-inaav-inaav-aan she is teacher.dat-through Ram.dat math learn-val-val-ing ‘She is having Ram taught math by the teacher.’

The set of bivalent predicates from which we may derive non-causative trivalent predicates has been termed “ingestive” (Masica 1976: 48). These are either verbs of physical, cognitive, or sensory ingestion (‘eat’, ‘drink’, ‘understand’, ‘experience’, ‘see’, ‘hear’, etc.) or verbs of reflexive action, action oriented towards the referent of the agent (‘catch’, ‘grasp’, ‘dress oneself ’, etc.). To avoid the kind of objections16 raised by Klaiman (1981) we shall refer to these predicates as “ingesto-reflexives”. In both Kashmiri and Hindi-Urdu ingesto-reflexives have a lexico-semantic peculiarity which sets them apart from other bivalent verbs: They do not appear as polars (or ‘main verbs’) in compound verbs where the auxiliary is homophonous with a lexical verb meaning ‘give’:17 dyi in Kashmiri and de in Hindi-Urdu. In Kashmiri we have khyeth nyi (lit.: ‘eat TAKE’) but no khyeth dyi (‘eat GIVE’); in Hindi-Urdu, khaa le (‘eat TAKE’) but no khaa de (‘eat GIVE’); in Kashmiri, buuzyith nyi (‘listen TAKE’) but no buuzyith dyi (‘listen GIVE’); in Hindi-Urdu, sun le (‘listen TAKE’) but no sun de (‘listen GIVE’), etc. The list of non-causative trivalents formed from ingesto-reflexive bivalents, includes predicates derived by: (26) a.

Suffixing -inaav par → parinaav hech → hyechinaav booz → boozinaav raT → raTinaav tsih → tsihinaav tsaap → tsaapinaav nuun vuch → nun vuchinaav mazi vuch → mazi vuchinaav mehsuus kar → mehsuus karinaav

pasand kar → pasand karinaav b. Suffixing -iraav mwaT → mwaTiraav

‘study x’ → ‘teach x to y’ ‘learn x’ → ‘teach x to y’ ‘hear x’ → ‘tell x to y; narrate x to y’ ‘catch x; seize x’ → ‘throw x to y’ ‘suck x’ → ‘give x to suck to y’ ‘chew x’ → ‘make y chew x’ ‘taste x’ → ‘make y taste x’ ‘taste x’ → ‘make y taste x’ ‘experience x’ → ‘make y experience x’ ‘like x’ → ‘make y like x’ ‘agree (to y)’ → ‘persuade x (of y)’

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c.

Suffixing -aav samij → samijaav khye → khyaav ce → caav

‘understand x’ → ‘explain x to y’ ‘eat x’ → ‘feed x to y’ ‘drink x’ → ‘give x to drink to y; serve x to y’

On the basis of syntactic and semantic parallels to the sets in (26a–c), we can identify suppletives: (26) d. khye → aapir vuch → haav

‘eat x’ → ‘feed x (by hand) to y’ ‘see x’ → ‘show x to y’

There are a number of bivalent predicates in Kashmiri governing experiencers: (27) a.

mye cha yi kath yaad pyev-aan me.dat is this thing memory fall-ing ‘I remember this.’

(28) a.

mye cha Saraarat khas-aan me.dat is anger climb-ing ‘I am getting angry.’

From such bivalent predicates governing experiencers we may derive noncausative trivalents: (27) b. su chu mye yi kath yaad p-aav-aan he is me.dat this thing memory fall-val-ing ‘He is reminding me of this thing.’ (28) b. swa cha mye Saraarath khaar-aan she is me.dat anger lift-ing ‘She is making me angry.’

The pair maS / meSiraav ‘forget x; for x to slip one’s mind’ / ‘forget x; put x out of one’s mind’ is unusual in that the derived form meSiraav remains bivalent: The experiencer of bivalent maS corresponds to the agent-subject of the derived bivalent meSiraav. The latter expresses the conscious intention to forget while its basic counterpart maS expresses involuntary forgetting: (29) a.

mye cha yi kath maS-aan me.dat is this thing forget-ing ‘I forget this.’ b. bi chus yi kath meS-iraav-aan I am this thing forget-val-ing ‘I am / making myself // trying to / forget this.’

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. The syntax of derived trivalent predicates Generally the agent of an ingesto-reflexive bivalent predicate corresponds to the patient of the corresponding derived trivalent. We give examples here and leave discussion for Section 13. (30) a.

leDki chu tsUUTh khyav-aan boy is apple eat-ing ‘The boy is eating an apple.’ b. bi chus-an leDki tsUUTh khy-aav-aan I am-3sg.acc boy.nom apple eat-val-ing ‘I am feeding an apple to the boy.’

(31) a.

kuur cha baal raTaan girl is ball catching ‘The girl is catching the ball.’ b. tsi chuh-an kuur baal raT-inaav-aan you are-3sg.acc girl.nom ball catch-val-ing ‘You are tossing the ball to the girl.’

(32) a.

tsi chukh syinyis nuun vuch-aan you are curry.dat salt see-ing ‘You are tasting the curry.’ b. bi chus-ath tsi syinyis nuun vuch-inaav-aan I am-2sg.acc you.nom curry.dat salt see-val-ing ‘I am giving you a taste of the curry.’

. Causatives: Morphology Causatives are derived from monosyllabic vowel-final predicates by adding the suffix -aav: (33) a.

dyi → dyaav hye → hyaav nyi → nyaav

‘give x to y’ → ‘have z give x to y’ ‘buy x’ → ‘have y buy x’ ‘take x’ → ‘have y take x’

If a predicate stem, whether basic or derived, ends in a consonant, the causative suffix is -inaav: (33) b. kar → karinaav tool → toolinaav ganD → ganDinaav pakinaav → pakinaavinaav nyikiraav → nyikiraavinaav

‘do x’ → ‘have y do x’ ‘weigh x’ → ‘have y weigh x’ ‘tie x’ → ‘have y tie x’ ‘drive x’ → ‘have y drive x’ ‘cut x into pieces’ → ‘have y cut x into pieces’

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tetsiraav → tetsiraavinaav vwapidaav → vwapidaavinaav maar → maarinaav khaar → khaarinaav

‘heat x’ → ‘have y heat x’ ‘raise (a child)’ → ‘have y raise (a child)’ ‘kill x’ → ‘have y kill x’ ‘lift x; make x get up’ → ‘have y lift x or get x up’ kaD → kaDinaav ‘take x out’ → ‘have y take x out’ parinaav → parinaavinaav ‘teach x to y’ → ‘have z teach x to y’ sam(i)jaav → sam(i)jaavinaav ‘explain x to y’ → ‘have z explain x to y’ khyaav → khyaavinaav ‘feed x to y’ → ‘have z feed x to y’ traav → traavinaav ‘leave x; quit x’ → ‘have y leave x; get y to quit x’

. Causatives: Semantics and lexical structure Causative predicates in the strict sense are semantically distinguishable from derived bivalent or trivalent predicates in that the agent of a causative has some intermediary carry out an action without having to directly participate. Thus in a clause such as that in (34a) featuring the derived trivalent caav ‘give x to drink to y’ the host causes the guests to drink, no doubt. But the host is himself a direct participant in the action, too: (34) a.

su c-aav-yi tyiman caay he drink-val-fut.3sg them.dat tea ‘He will give them tea to drink.’

With caavinaav ‘have z give x to y to drink’ (34b) the host has someone else perform the action of getting something for the guests to drink. He himself does not directly participate in that action.18 He need not even be present at the time and place of the action:19 (34) b. su c-aav-inaav-yi tyiman nookar-as athyi caay he drink-val-val-fut.3sg them.dat servant-dat through tea ‘He will have the servant give them tea to drink.’

A causative in sensu strictu may be termed “indirect” to distinguish it from derived trivalents such as that in (34a) and from “sociative” causatives20 in (35) where the causal agent helps the causee: (35) su lyeekh-inaav-yi nookar-as khat he write-val-fut.3sg servant-dat letter ‘He will help the servant write a letter.’

Structurally this difference is reflected in the presence of the postposition athyi (< the ablative singular of ath ‘hand’) with the noun or pronoun representing

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the intermediate agent or causee of a causative predicate. This postposition never appears with a derived bivalent: (36) a.

meej cha Suryis (*athyi) dwad c-aav-aan mother is child.dat through milk drink-val-ing ‘Mother is feeding the child (its) milk.’ (derived trivalent) b. meej cha byenyi athyi Suryis dwad c-aav-inaav-aan mother is sister through child.dat milk drink-val-val-ing ‘Mother is having sister give the child its milk.’ (causative)

The number of additional valents governed by a derived predicate [in (36b) there are two: byenyi ‘sister’ and Sury ‘child’] usually matches the number of occurrences of the valency-increasing affix -(in)aav in the stem. But, as we shall see in the next section, the number of additional valents and the number of valency markers do not always correspond.

. Ambiguities in the system The system of derived polyvalents and causatives in Kashmiri is rendered less transparent by the fact that (unlike -vaa in Hindi-Urdu) Kashmiri’s suffix -inaav does not always have strictly causative meaning. It is also used to form derived bivalents [see list (20a) in Section 3] as well as derived trivalents [see list (26a) in Section 5]. The relation of form to function in Kashmiri’s valency system is further obscured by back formations and analogical formations that lead to doublets and redundant occurrences of -inaav. For instance, Kashmiri has an underived predicate aapir which is a near synonym of khyaav ‘feed y to z.’ (Note that aapir further specifies that the feeding be done by hand.) In analogy with the morphological relation between khye and khyaav speakers have created a derived form aapir-aav from aapir. While aapir has the same meaning as khyaav, the derived form aapir-aav is a closer parallel to khy-aav in form: (37) underived khye ‘eat’ : derived khy-aav ‘feed’ :: underived aapir ‘feed’ : derived aapir-aav ‘feed’

Then from the doublet aapir/aapiraav ‘feed x to y (by hand)’ has arisen the causative doublet aapirinaav/aapiraavinaav ‘have z feed x to y (by hand)’. The derivation of a causative like pak-inaav-inaav ‘have y drive x’ from a derived bivalent like pak-inaav ‘drive x’ and of hyech-inaav-inaav ‘have z teach x to y’ (where the second occurrence of -inaav serves to derive a causative from a trivalent which is itself derived from a bivalent hyech ‘learn’ by the first occurrence of -inaav) from hyech-inaav has led by analogy to the derivation of causatives from basic bivalents using two -inaav’s where strictly speaking only one is needed:

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(38) kar ‘do x’ → kar-inaav and kar-inaav-inaav (both mean ‘have y do x’) tool ‘weigh x’ → tool-inaav and tool-inaav-inaav (both mean ‘have y weigh x’)

This in turn has led to causative doublets formed on those derived polyvalents that happen not to contain -inaav or -iraav. Thus from khy-aav ‘feed x to y’ and c-aav ‘give x to y to drink’ we have: (39) khye ‘eat’ → khy-aav ‘feed y’ → khy-aav-inaav and khy-aav-inaav-inaav (‘have z feed y’) ce ‘drink’ → c-aav ‘make y drink’ → c-aav-inaav and c-aav-inaav-inaav (‘have z make y drink’)

For the few causatives in -aav (rather than the ones in -inaav), there are triplets: (40) dyi ‘give x to y’ → dy-aav and dy-aav-inaav and dy-aav-inaav-inaav (‘have z give x to y’) nyi ‘take x from y’ → ny-aav and ny-aav-inaav and ny-aav-inaav-inaav (‘have z take x from y’)

As in Hindi-Urdu,21 a morphological causative of the second degree (i.e., one with two valency-increasing affixes) that is derived from a basic ingesto-reflexive may have either a quadrivalent causative interpretation (see Section 8) or may be interpreted as a trivalent. Compare (41) to (42) where the preferred interpretations depend on knowledge of and expectations about the real world: (41) DaakTar chu leDkas Thuul khy-aav-inaav-aan doctor is boy.dat eggs eat-val-val-ing A. ‘The doctor is having someone feed the boy eggs.’ (more likely reading) B. ‘The doctor is having the boy eat eggs.’ (42) DaakTar chu maajyi Thuul khy-aav-inaav-aan doctor is mother.dat eggs eat-val-val-ing A. ‘The doctor is having the mother eat eggs.’ (more likely reading) B. ‘The doctor is having someone feed the mother eggs.’

Trivalents derived from ingesto-reflexive bivalents also may allow a sociative causative reading: (43) mool chu nyecivyis baal raT-inaav-aan father is son.dat ball catch-val-ing A. ‘Father is tossing the ball to his son.’ B. ‘Father is making his son catch the ball.’

(derived trivalent) (sociative causative)

The presence of athyi, however, is an unambiguous signal of the causative in the strict sense:

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(44) mool chu nyecivyis athyi gaaDi raT-inaav-aan father is son.dat through fish catch-val-ing ‘The father is having his son catch fish.’

(indirect causative)

. Causatives with two intermediate agents Comparatively rare among the world’s languages, examples of causatives with two intermediate agents (causees) can be contrived for Kashmiri. The number of inaav suffixes in the stem need not correspond to the number of intermediaries22 in the situation: (45) raami chu kar-inaav-aan / kar-inaav-inaav-aan mohninyi zeryiyi Ram is do-val-ing / do-val-val-ing Mohan’s through Saamas (athyi) keem Shyam (by) work ‘Ram is having Mohan make Shyam work.’

. Derived polyvalents and the ergative One of the areas where Kashmiri syntax differs from Hindi-Urdu is in the interaction of the valency system and the ergative. Like Hindi-Urdu, Panjabi, Marathi and other western23 NIA languages, in active clauses in the perfect and the simple past tenses (i.e., in tenses built on a reflex of the OIA past participle in -ta) finite forms of polyvalents in Kashmiri agree not with the agent-subject but with the direct object: (46) tyimav treev kyitaab Tyeebalas pyaTh they.erg left.f.3sg book(f.sg) table.dat on ‘They left the book on the table.’

In (46) the form treev ‘left’ is feminine singular to agree with kyitaab ‘book’. Compare (47): (47) tyimav troovu-s bi syiTyeeSanas pyaTh they.erg left.m.sg-1sg.nom I(m.sg) station.dat at ‘They left me at the station.’

In (47) the form troovus is masculine singular first person24 to agree with bi ‘I’. In preterite or perfect tenses of a trivalent derived from a basic bivalent, the finite verb agrees, not with the patient of the corresponding basic bivalent, but with whatever would have been the basic bivalent’s agent:

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(48) a.

asyi hyech-ineev kuur hyisaab we.erg learn-val.f.sg girl math(m.sg) ‘We taught the girl math.’

In (48a) the form hyechineev ‘taught’ is feminine singular to agree with kuur, and not masculine singular to agree with hyisaab ‘math’. Compare the Kashmiri agreement pattern to the Hindi-Urdu pattern illustrated in (48b) where the finite form sikhaayaa ‘taught’ is masculine singular to agree with hisaab, not feminine singular to agree with laRkii ‘girl’: (48) b. ham-ne laRkii-ko hisaab sikh-aa-yaa we-erg girl-dat math(m.sg) learn-val-pst.m.sg ‘We taught the girl math.’

(Hindi-Urdu)

In (49a) the form hyechinoov ‘taught’ is masculine singular to agree with leDki ‘boy’, and not feminine singular to agree with jagraaphyii. Contrast the HindiUrdu in (49b) where the form sikhaaii ‘taught’ is feminine singular to agree with jaagrafii, not masculine singular to agree with laRkaa ‘boy’: (49) a.

asyi hyech-inoov leDki jagraaphyii we.erg learn-val.m.sg boy geography(f.sg) ‘We taught the boy geography.’ b. ham-ne laRke-ko jaagrafii sikh-aa-ii we-erg boy-dat geography(f.sg) learn-val-pst.f.sg ‘We taught the boy geography.’

(Hindi-Urdu)

Kashmiri has an alternate25 case regime where by putting kuur ‘girl’ and leDki ‘boy’ in the dative we obtain an agreement pattern similar to Hindi-Urdu’s: (50) asyi hyech-inoov kooryi hyisaab we.erg learn-val.m.sg girl.dat math(m.sg) ‘We taught the girl math.’ (51) asyi hyech-ineev leDkas jagraaphyii we.erg learn-val.f.sg boy.dat geography(f.sg) ‘We taught the boy geography.’

In Hindi-Urdu the actant which is the agent of the basic bivalent predicate siikh ‘learn’ corresponds to a recipient in the derived trivalent sikh-aa ‘teach’ and gets the dative case in all tenses and moods. In its Kashmiri counterpart hyech-inaav the actant corresponding to the Hindi-Urdu recipient surfaces as the patient. Since in active clauses the patient is also the direct object, it is this actant in Kashmiri which in ergative tenses gets nominative case and which controls verbal agreement. Consequently, the other “nuclear” actant, the patient of the basic predicate [i.e., hyisaab in (50) and jagraaphyii in (51)], the one which, in Hindi-Urdu and Marathi, for the purpose of verb agreement in ergative tenses is treated as direct

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object,26 in Kashmiri is demoted to the status of “chômeur” [a term (borrowed from Relational Grammar) meaning that the actant can no longer control grammatical processes such as agreement], while the “new” patient assumes the role of controller of agreement. The interesting thing is that this happens only with those “ex-agent” patients which accompany derived trivalent predicates and are themselves in some sense derived. Parallel actants of basic, underived trivalent predicates like dyi ‘give’ surface as recipients, take the dative case in all tenses and aspects, and cannot control agreement in ergative tenses: (52) asyi dyits leDkas kyitaab we.erg gave.f.sg boy.dat book(f.sg) ‘We gave the boy a book.’

For all speakers of Kashmiri the preterite form dyits in (52) must agree with the direct object kyitaab (a feminine singular noun) while the recipient leDki must be in the dative. The syntactic difference at issue here shows up strikingly in a comparison of derived versus suppletive pairs. In Kashmiri the the pair booz/boozinaav ‘hear’/‘tell’ is derived (cf. Hindi-Urdu’s sun/sunaa ‘hear’/‘tell’), whereas the pair vuch/haav ‘see’/‘show’ is suppletive (contrast Hindi-Urdu’s dekh/dikhaa ‘see’/‘show’): (53) a.

asyi vuch phyilyim we.erg saw.f.sg film(f.sg) ‘We saw the film.’

(54) a.

asyi buuz kath we.erg heard.f.sg story(f.sg) ‘We heard the story.’

(53) b. leDkan heev asyi phyilyim boy.erg showed.f.sg us.dat film(f.sg) ‘The boy showed us the film.’ (54) b. leDkan boozineevy esy kath boy.erg told.m.pl we.nom story(f.sg) ‘The boy told us the story.’

In (53b) the finite preterite form of the underived trivalent haav ‘show’ must agree with phyilyim ‘film’ (leaving asyi ‘us’ in the dative) whereas the finite form of the derived trivalent boozinaav ‘tell’ may agree with esy ‘we’ in the nominative case (54b). Alternatively the finite form may follow the general western NIA patttern and agree with kath ‘story’ leaving asyi in the dative (54c): (54) c.

leDkan boozineev asyi kath boy.erg told.f.sg us.dat story(f.sg) ‘The boy told us the story.’

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. Causatives and the ergative In Section 11 we have seen that Kashmiri may treat as patients what other northern and western Indo-Aryan Languages invariably treat as recipients. In this section we shall see that Kashmiri in its causative predicates may treat as patient what other Indo-Aryan languages treat as instrument (Hindi-Urdu) or some other oblique adjunct.27 Kashmiri has a causative construction quite parallel to the ones that are found in Hindi-Urdu, Gujarati and other NIA languages,28 one in which the causee (nookar ‘servant’) is the instrument: (55) a.

temy kar-ineev nookras-athyi keem he.erg do-val.pst.f.sg servant.dat-through work(f.sg) ‘He had the work done by the servant.’

However, in Kashmiri one may also say essentially the same thing by using (55b): (55) b. temy kar-inoov nookar keem he.erg do-val.pst.m.sg servant(m.sg).nom work(f.sg) ‘He had the servant do the work.’

In (55b) the form karinoov is masculine singular third person, to agree with nookar, the causee, which in the preceding sentence’s regime, comes with athyi ‘through; by’, a postposition which is itself homophonous with the ablative form of athyi ‘hand’. In (55b) using the nominative with the causee has a contrastive sense [‘He made the servant work (not the clerk)’]. It is possible that it is functioning here in the same sense that the dative of causee has in non-ergative tenses [see Section 8, ex. (35)]. Unless followed by athyi [as in (55a)], the causee must appear in the nominative case and the finite form of the causative predicate in ergative tenses must agree with it [as in (55b)]. Contrast is not the only possible interpretation of the use of nominative case for the causee. Consider example (56a) from a story by Ratanlal Shant in which the finite form of the derived quadrivalent dy-aav-inaav ‘have x give y to z’ (note the extra suffix) agrees with the first person masculine singular nominative causee bi (elided) rather than with the feminine singular patient Sahaadat ‘evidence’ of the trivalent predicate dyi ‘give’ from which dyaavinaav is derived: (56) a.

emyiy nyiSaanan dy-aav-inaav-yoo-s makhan-laalas this.emp mark.erg give-val-val-pst-1sg.nom Makhan-Lal.dat khalaaf thaanas manz Sahaadat against station in evidence(f.sg) ‘This same mark made me give evidence against Makhan Lal at the police station.’

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Unlike (55b) the meaning of (56a) in its context is not contrastive. The presentation of the elided causee29 in (56a) as a patient-object is required nonetheless: The causal agent nyiSaan ‘mark’ refers to an inanimate entity which by its nature is not capable of causative action in the strict sense of having something done ‘through’ a causee. Thus, the structure of (55a) is not possible for (56a): (56) b. *emyiy nyiSaanan dy-aav-inaav-yeeyi mye-athyi m-l khalaaf this.emp sign.erg give-val-val-pst.f.sg me-through M-L against thaanas manz Sahaadat station in evidence(f.sg) ‘This hint had (!) me give evidence against Makhan Lal at the police station.’

In (57a) we have a causative derived from a trivalent which is in turn derived from a bivalent: (57) a.

maaji c-aav-inoovu-s bi kooryi dwad mother.erg drink-val-val.pst-1sg.nom I.nom girl.dat milk ‘Mother had me give milk to the girl.’

In (57a) the finite verb form caavinoovus is in the masculine singular first person to agree with bi ‘I’. As an alternate to (57a) we may have (57b) where finite form caavineev is in the feminine singular third person to agree with kuur ‘girl’: (57) b. maaji c-aav-ineev mye-athyi kuur dwad mother.erg drink-val-val.f.sg I.dat-through girl.nom milk.nom ‘Mother had the girl given milk by me.’

We may also have (57c) where caavinoov agrees with dwad ‘milk’ (masculine singular): (57) c.

maaji c-aav-inoov mye-athyi kooryi mother.erg drink-val-val.msg I.dat-through girl.dat dwad milk(m.sg).nom ‘Mother had the milk given to the girl by me.’

Occasionally we may also find the somewhat less felicitous (57d) which is like the first alternative (57a) except that kuur appears in the nominative rather than the dative: (57) d. maaji c-aav-inoovu-s bi kuur dwad mother.erg drink-val-val-1sg.nom I.nom girl.nom milk.nom ‘Mother had me give the girl milk.’

Especially worth noting in dataset (57) is that the verb agrees with that noun in the nominative case whose referent is closest to the highest causal agent (here meej

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‘mother’) in the chain of causation. Thus in sentence (57d), the verb cannot agree with kuur or dwad because the referent of bi comes immediately under the referent of meej in the causal chain. Similarly, in sentences (57a) and (57b) the verb must agree with kuur rather than with dwad. In (57a, b, c) dwad ‘milk’ is the patient of the basic bivalent ce ‘drink’. In (57d) kuur ‘girl’ is the patient of the derived trivalent caav ‘give x to y for drinking’, or more precisely kuur is the patient of -aav, the valency-increasing affix in caav. All these nominative patients are chômeurs, ‘idlers; those without work’, unable to control agreement. In the next two sections we show that this inability is predictive of others.

. Valency sets, the Person Hierarchy and pronominal suffixes Kashmiri has a complex system of pronominal suffixes (Grierson 1895; Hook & Koul 1984a) which encode information in the finite verb about the number and person of two or more actants. (58) a.

bi chus-an-ay swa gari sooz-aan I.nom am-3sg.acc-2sg.dat she.nom home send-ing ‘I am sending her home to (or for) you.’

Furthermore, in non-ergative tenses, the case of animate direct object is determined by the person of the agent-subject. If the person of the direct object is outranked by that of the subject, the direct object gets the nominative case [as in (58a)]. If not the direct object gets the dative [as in (58b)]: (58) b. tyim chi-y temyis gari sooz-aan they.nom are-2sg.dat her.dat home send-ing ‘They are sending her home to (or for) you.’

In this section we shall examine the interaction of Kashmiri’s system of pronominal suffixes and Person Hierarchy with causative and other derived predicates. In Section 12 we saw that the ergative interacts with causatives in such a way as to give either two (for most causatives) or four (for causatives of trivalents derived from “ingesto-reflexive” bivalents) alternating case regimes in the simple past. It is in a similar but not identical fashion that the Person Hierarchy and the pronominal suffixing system interact with causative predicates to yield two or three alternate case regimes in non-ergative tenses. We will illustrate this with the present tense habitual-progressive aspect using the auxiliary aas ‘be’ and the durative participle in -aan ‘-ing’. In dataset (59) we illustrate the three case regimes found for causatives of trivalents derived from ingesto-reflexive bivalents:

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(59) a.

bi chus-an tsye-athyi raami tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-aan I am-3sg.acc you-through Ram.nom apricots eat-val-val-ing Instrument DirObj Chômeur ‘I am having Ram fed apricots by you.’ b. bi chus-ath tsi raamas tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-aan I am-2sg.acc you.nom Ram.dat apricots eat-val-val-ing DirObj Chômeur ‘I am having you feed apricots to Ram.’ c. bi chusath tsi raami tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-aan I am-2sg.acc you.nom Ram.nom apricots eat-val-val-ing DirObj Chômeur Chômeur ‘I am having you feed Ram apricots.’

In (59a) the pronominal suffix -an cross-references the (derived) direct object raami ‘Ram’ of khyaav ‘feed y to z’, while in (59b) the pronominal suffix -ath refers to the (derived) direct object of khyaavinaav ‘have x feed y to z’. Example (59c) with nominative forms for both tsi and raami, is judged to be less felicitous than either (59a) or (59b). However, (59d) is impossible: (59) d. *bi chus-an tsi raami tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-aan I am-3sg.acc you.nom Ram.nom apricots eat-val-val-ing Chômeur DirObj Chômeur ‘I am having you feed Ram apricots.’

These facts are congruent with what we saw with dataset (57) in Section 12: The pronominal suffix must always encode the person and number of that direct object (or candidate for the post of direct object) which is nearest the highest causal agent in the chain of causality.

. Valency sets and the passive The passive in Kashmiri is formed with the ablative form of the infinitive plus a conjugated form of the passive auxiliary yi [related historically to the root yi ‘come’] (compare similar constructions in Marathi and Gujarati30 ): (60) tsoT cha dway-av ath-av kar-in-i yiv-aan bread is two-abl hands-abl make-inf-abl com-ing ‘Bread is made with two hands.’ (Pompur 1986: 58)

As one might suspect from reading the discussion in Sections 12 and 13, Kashmiri again differs from other Indo-Aryan languages in allowing a number of alternatives in the passivization of a causative sentence. Let us take (59c) [renumbered (61)] as an instance of a causative in the active voice:

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(61) bi chusath tsi raami tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-aan I am-2sg.acc you.nom Ram.nom apricots eat-val-val-ing ‘I am having you feed apricots to Ram.’

Corresponding to the situation represented in (61) we find the following passive alternants: (62) a.

tsi chukh yivaan raamas tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-ini you are coming Ram.dat apricots eat-val-val-inf.abl ‘You are being made (by me) to feed Ram apricots.’ b. raami chu yivaan tsye-athyi tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-ini Ram is coming you-through apricots eat-val-val-inf.abl ‘Ram is being caused (by me) to be fed apricots by you.’ raamas khy-aav-inaav-ini c. tsyeeri chi yivaan tsye-athyi apricots are coming you-through Ram.dat eat-val-val-inf.abl ‘Apricots are being caused (by me) to be fed to Ram by you.’

From the dataset in (62), it would seem that that derivation of alternate case regimes through the pronominal suffixing system neither predicts nor is predicted by the promotion of direct objects (basic or derived) to subject of a passive. It is true that (62a) can be considered the passive counter-part to (59b) in Section 13 and the passive in (62b) can be mapped onto the active in (59a), but the passive counterpart of (61) [(59c) in Section 12] is not grammatical: (62) d. *tsi chukh yivaan raami tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-ini you are coming Ram.nom apricots eat-val-val-inf.abl ‘You are being made (by me) to feed Ram apricots.’

Moreover, Kashmiri speakers hesitate to accept the active counterpart of (62c): (63) ?*bi chus tsye-athyi raamas tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-aan I am you.dat-through Ram.dat apricots eat-val-val-ing ‘I am having apricots fed to Ram by you.’

While (63) is not absolutely ungrammatical, some pronominally suffixed version [either (59a), (59b), or (59c)] is much to be preferred. This means that the choices speakers make in pronominal suffixing must come after choice of voice. Furthermore, it seems that passive blocks the use of accusative pronominal suffixes: (64) bi chus tsye tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-ini yivaan I am you.dat apricots eat-val-val-inf.abl coming ‘I am being made (by someone) to feed you apricots.’

In (64) while bi is the direct object of an imputed predicate of causation it is the agent-subject of feeding whose direct object is tsye. In such a situation (at least, in the active voice) the accusative pronominal suffixing system must apply:

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(65) a.

bi chus-ath tsi tsyeeri khy-aav-aan I am-2sg.acc you.nom apricots eat-val-ing ‘I am feeding you apricots.’ b. *bi chus tsye tsyeeri khy-aav-aan I am you.dat apricots eat-val-ing ‘I am feeding apricots to you.’

but in (64) it cannot apply: (66) a. *bi chus-ath tsi tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-ini yivaan I am-2sg.acc you.nom apricots eat-val-val-inf.abl coming ‘I am being made (by someone) to feed you apricots.’ ? b. * bi chus-ay tsye tsyeeri khy-aav-inaav-ini yivaan I am-2sg.dat you.dat apricots eat-val-val-inf.abl coming ‘I am being made (by someone) to feed you apricots.’

Thus we may conclude that the system(s?) of accusative (and dative?) pronominal suffixes is (are?) restricted to situations where the subject is an independent agent, not one which is simultaneously the patient of -inaav.

. Noun incorporation and valency In Kashmiri there are polyvalent predicates in which one of the valents is an incorporated noun. For example in (67), although the predicate Dulengy dyi (lit.: ‘rollings give’) contains a noun Dulengy ‘rollings’ which is the lexical patient of dyi ‘give’, it is incorporated and the expression as a whole functions as the equivalent of the monovalent predicate Dulang ‘roll’: (67) pati dyi-kh rwapiyan manz Dulengy; aa, tsi Dulang-akh later give-fut.2sg rupees.dat in rollings yes you roll-fut.2sg rwapiyan manz rupees in ‘Later you will roll in money! Yes, you will roll in money!’

Despite the appearance of trivalency in the base, the addition of a valent to noun-incorporating stems yields an expression whose morphosyntactic properties remain those of a derived trivalent: (68) pati dy-aav-a-th inSaalaa rwapiyan manz Dulengy later give-val-fut.1sg-2sg.acc God.willing rupees.dat in rollings ‘Later on I’ll have you, God willing, rolling in rupees!’ (Malmohi 1998)

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. The phrasal causative In view of the complexities and ambiguities of the morphological causative it is perhaps not surprising that Kashmiri has developed a competing phrasal causative construction composed of hye ‘get; buy; take; begin’ as the auxiliary31 with the main verb in its conjunctive participle form: (69) mozuuran hyets mye cithy per-yith worker.erg took me.dat letter read-cp ‘The worker had me read the letter (for him).’

The phrasal causative, when used with -inaav, provides a way of filling the gap in the valency system discussed in Section 10 (“Causatives with two intermediary agents”): (70) tamyi hyets myaanyi zeryiyi raamas athyi keem kar-ineev-yith she took my means Ram.dat through work do-val-cp ‘She had me get Ram to do the work.’

The phrasal causative cannot be used when A causes B to do something for B’s (rather than A’s) benefit: (71) a. *?DaakTar chu mye maaz khyeth hyevaan doctor is me.dat meat eat.cp taking ‘The doctor is having me eat meat.’

To express such situations the morphological causative must be used: (71) b. DaakTar chu mye maaz khy-aav-inaav-aan doctor is me.dat meat eat-val-ing ‘The doctor is having me eat meat.’

Furthermore, the phrasal causative does not interact with the systems of pronominal suffixes in the same manner as the morphological causative: The accusative system (see Section 13), obligatory for morphological causatives (72a), with phrasal causative is blocked: (72) a.

bi chus-ath tsi kwakur maar-inaav-aan I am-2sg.acc you.nom chicken kill-val-ing ‘I am having you slaughter the chicken.’ b. bi chus(-an*) tsye kwakur meer-yith hyevaan I am(-3sg.acc) you.dat chicken kill-cp taking ‘I am getting you to slaughter the chicken.’

What this means is that the morphological causative system treats the causee as a patient-object while the phrasal causative does not. This can perhaps be related to the fact that the phrasal system does not involve derivation of a morphologi-

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cally and semantically more complex verb stem from a simpler one: Compare the differences in the pairs booz/boozinaav and vuch/haav in Section 11 with those in the pairs maar/maarinaav and maar/meeryith hye. From this it also follows that a given phrasal causative in the active will have only one counterpart in the passive: (73) a.

kwakur chu tsye (athyi) meer-yith hye-ni yivaan chicken is you.dat (by) kill-cp take-inf coming Lit.: ‘The chicken is being gotten killed through you.’ b. *tsi chukh kwakur meer-yith hye-ni yivaan you.nom are chicken kill-cp take-inf coming Lit.: ‘You are being gotten to kill the chicken.’

There is a second phrasal causal in vaatinaav ‘cause to reach’: (74) a.

caanyev vyentyiyav vaat-inoovu-s bi vyeh your.erg requests.erg arrive-val.pst-1sg.nom I.nom poison khye-n-as eat-inf-dat ‘Your “requests” have driven me to drink!’ (Kemmu 1997: 30) Lit. ‘Your “requests” have delivered me to a state where I had to eat poison.’

We have not been able to undertake a full investigation of this second phrasal construction. (It may turn out to be limited in its productivity.) Notice that the construction in (74a) is actually a combination of a phrasal and a lexical causative which is composed of a complement-governing inchoative vaat ‘arrive’ whose valency may be increased (cf. English be able to V → enable x to V). Compare (74a) with its implicatum in (74b): (74) b. bi vootu-s vyeh khye-n-as I.nom arrived-1sg.nom poison eat-inf-dat ‘I was driven to drink!’ [i.e., ‘I reached a state where I had no other option but to eat poison.’]

. Compound verbs and the causative Among the languages of South Asia, Kashmiri is unusual in allowing (at times requiring) valency suffixes to be added to the vector, and not to the main verb, if the verb is compound:32 (75) a.

kuuDi tshunu-m treev-yith garbage(m.sg) threw.m.sg-1sg.erg throw.away-cp ‘I threw out the garbage.’

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b. kuuDi tshun-ineevi-m kuur treev-yith garbage(m.sg) throw-val.pst.fsg-1sg.erg girl throw.away-cp ‘I had the girl throw out the garbage.’ c. *kuuDi tshunyi-m kuur traav-ineev-yith garbage threw.fsg-1sg.erg girl throw.away-val-cp ‘I had the girl throw out the garbage.’

This property (limited to polyvalent vectors) may follow from the compound verb construction’s being relatively less developed in Kashmiri than in Hindi-Urdu, Panjabi, Gujarati,33 etc. Or it may reflect the ability of the valency-increasing morpheme -(in)aav to take a phrasal (as an option to a lexical) constituent as its host. The following example taken from a text (Ramzan 1988: 113) describes the habits of the Kashmiri poet Khazar Malik “Safaayi”, who used to have women wear ornaments while they were husking rice so that he could enjoy the sound: (75) d. kunyi.saati oos gehni leeg-yith zanaanan-athyi daanyi kanzas sometimes was ornaments wearing women-by paddy mortar manz mun-inaav-aan in husk-val-ing ‘Sometimes he would have women put on ornaments and husk rice in a (stone) mortar.’

. Kashmiri valency and modern Indo-Aryan Kashmiri differs syntactically from Hindi-Urdu and other New Indo-Aryan languages known to the authors in the occurrence in it of what relational grammarians (at one time, at least) called chômeurs: When that actant which (with reference to the basic predicate) is agent corresponds (or in dynamic terms, gets promoted) to the patient of the derived predicate, this non-basic (or derived) patient possesses (or assumes) the syntactic powers and privileges of direct object (in an active clause) or of subject (in a passive clause) while the basic patient is found not to have (or loses) those syntactic powers and privileges. Thus in (76a) the noun raami, the derived patient-object of -inaav (and agent of booz ‘hear’), controls gender and number in the finite verb: (76) a.

eky-zeny booz-inoov raami kath one.erg-person.erg tell-val.pst.m.sg Ram(m.sg) story(f.sg) ‘Some one told Ram a story.’

The other nominative noun kath ‘story’ cannot control gender and number unless raami remains unpromoted to patient, as in (76b) where the finite form of the verb is in the feminine singular to agree with the patient-object kath ‘story’ of the basic predicate booz ‘tell’:

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(76) b. eky-zeny booz-ineev raamas kath one.erg-person.erg tell-val.pst.f.sg Ram.dat story(f.sg) ‘Someone told a story to Ram.’

Contrast the agreement pattern in (76a) with the agreement pattern in this Gujarati passage from Desai (1993: 30) in which the finite verb must agree with upvaas ‘fasts’, the patient-object of the basic bivalent predicate kar ‘do’, and not with the causee luTaavan sing ‘(a name)’: (77) luTaavan-sing-ne mE upvaas kar-aav-yaa ane pachi bhaat-upar Lutavan-Singh-dat I.erg fasts do-val-pst.m.pl and then rice-on e.ne raakhyo him.dat put.msg ‘I had Lutavan Singh keep fasts and then put him on a rice (and milk) diet.’

The appearance of chômeurs occurs as well in the system of pronominal suffixes (Section 13) and in the system of voice (Section 14). In this Kashmiri is unique among modern Indo-Aryan languages: While the presence of chômeurs is certainly characteristic of English, the only other Indian language we know to have them is Sanskrit (see discussion in Section 19 below). The second syntactic feature that distinguishes Kashmiri from other IndoAryan languages is the covert contrast between basic and derived recipients. In Hindi-Urdu, a step up in valency creates recipients [bacce ko in (78b)] out of basic agents [bacce-ne in (78a)]: (78) a.

bacce-ne roTii khaaii boy-erg bread(f.sg) ate.f.sg ‘The boy ate bread.’ b. naukar-ne bacce ko roTii khil-aa-ii servant-erg boy dat bread eat-val-pst.f.sg ‘The servant fed bread to the boy.’

In Hindi-Urdu, the derived recipient bacce ko ‘to the boy’ is treated syntactically in the same way as basic recipients are treated.34 Like them, for instance it cannot become the subject of a passive sentence. (79) a. *baccaa roTii khil-aa-yaa gayaa boy.nom bread eat-val-ppp went.m.sg ‘The boy was fed food.’ b. *baccaa kitaab diyaa gayaa boy.nom book given went.m.sg ‘The boy was given a book.’

In Kashmiri, however an erstwhile recipient that is, with reference to a basic verb, an agent, retains the option of being able to be the subject of its clause [as in (80a)]:

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(80) a.

leDki aav tsoT khy-aav-ini boy(msg).nom came.m.sg bread(f.sg) eat-val-inf ‘The boy was fed bread.’

[cf. (79a)]

Or (as in Hindi-Urdu and other NIA languages) it may surface as a dative in a clause where the finite form of the derived predicate khyaav ‘feed’ agrees in gender and number with the patient tsoT ‘bread’ of the basic predicate khye ‘eat’: (80) b. tsoT aayi leDkas khy-aav-ini bread(f.sg) came.f.sg boy.dat eat-val-inf ‘The bread was fed to the boy.’

Basic recipients, as in all of Indo-Aryan (but unlike English) cannot be made subjects: (81) *leDki aav tsoT dyi-ni boy.nom came.m.sg bread give-inf ‘The boy was given bread.’

[cf. (79a)]

Rather, in Kashmiri, as in Hindi-Urdu, basic recipients must leave control of gender and number in the verb form to some other actant, either the agent (82) or the patient (83): (82) a.

esy dyi-mav leDkas tsoT we give-fut.1pl boy.dat bread(f.sg) b. ham bacce-ko roTii d-E-g-e we boy-dat bread(f.sg) give-1pl-fut-m.pl ‘We will give bread to the boy.’

(83) a.

leDkas aayi tsoT dyi-ni boy.dat came.f.sg bread(f.sg) give-inf ‘To the boy was given bread.’ b. bacce ko roTii d-ii ga-ii boy dat bread(f.sg) give-pp.f.sg went-f.sg ‘To the boy was given bread.’

The syntax of the Kashmiri causative differs from the rest of New Indo-Aryan in a similar way. Only in Kashmiri can the causee be made patient-subject of a causative in the passive voice: (84) amyi muujuub aayi swa tyi sakuul traav-inaav-ini this reason came.fsg she.nom too school give.up-val-inf ‘For this reason she too was made to give up school.’ (Malmohi 1998)

The only New Indo-Aryan language (other than Kashmiri) to have similar causative syntax is Gujarati and in it the promotion of causee to subject is limited to a phrasal causative (85a).

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(85) a.

maaraa-thi tem-ne aa kaam kar-taa naa my-from them-acc this work-n.sg mak-ing neg kar-aa-yaa make-pass-m.pl.pst ‘They couldn’t be made by me to do this job.’ b. maaraa-thi tem-ni-paase aa kaam naa my-from them-gen-near this work(n.sg) neg kar-aav-aa-yU make-val-pass-n.sg.pst ‘This job couldn’t be got done by me through them.’

Even a phrasal causative (for instance, Marathi’s) may bar the promotion of the causee to subject: (86) (raam-kaD-un) Saam-laa patr lih-aaylaa laav-la (Ram-near-abl) Sham-dat letter(n.sg).nom write-inf make-pp.n.sg ge.l-a went-n.sg ‘(By Ram) a letter was made to be written through Sham.’ [Prashant Pardeshi, per. com.]

When derived polyvalent or causative predicates are passivized in Hindi-Urdu or other Indo-Aryan languages the speaker has no choice35 but to make the basic predicate’s patient into the subject, even if, in the context of the given discourse or narrative, it would make more sense to present the causee as the subject. The speaker of Hindi-Urdu is left to indicate the centrality of the causee as best he or she can by moving it into the position normally occupied by the subject: (87) is vajah se us-se bhii skuul chuR-vaa-yaa this reason from her-from also school(m.sg) give.up-val-ppp.m.sg ga-yaa went.m.sg ‘For this reason she too was made to give up school.’ [cf. example (84)]

. Kashmiri valency and old Indo-Aryan As we have seen in the preceding section Kashmiri distinguishes itself from its NIA (New Indo Aryan) siblings in making the causee the patient of its causative predicates. In this Kashmiri preserves a feature of OIA (Old Indo-Aryan) syntax that its NIA congeners seem to have lost. Compare (88) [Kashmiri] with (89) [from late Vedic]:

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(88) brehmun tyi aav an-inaav-ni siity kEh baTi ti baTnyi Brahman.nom too came bring-val-inf along some bhats and bhatins ‘The Brahman was made to bring along some priests and their wives.’ (Saroor 1998: 50) (89) br¯ahman.ah. p¯ay-ayi-tavyah. Brahman.nom drink-val-fpp.nom ‘The Brahman is to be given (something) to drink.’ (maitr¯ayan.i samhit¯a 2.3.936 )

While the causee in the future passive participle p¯ayayitavyah. ‘to be made to drink’ of the derived causative predicate p¯ayi ‘to make drink’ has indeed been promoted to subject of its clause in (89), there is no accompanying noun phrase denoting the substance to be drunk. So we cannot be sure from (89) that the language of the Vedic and Brahmanic periods had causative syntax fully parallel to that of modern Kashmiri.37 However, there is one other example from the maitr¯ayan.i samhit¯a of the passive of a causative in which the causee is subject and the basic predicate’s patient is present: (90) agnyupasth¯anam v¯ac-ayi-tavyah. agnyup¯asthana.acc say-val-fpp.nom ‘[He] should be made to recite the agnyupasth¯ana.’ (maitr¯ayan.i samhit¯a 1.6.1038 )

While the data from the Vedic and Brahmana literature is sparse and inconclusive, when we turn to the so-called ‘Classical’ language we find an abundance of examples that are congruent in all relevant respects to Kashmiri. In (91) the causee sa ‘he’ of the derived trivalent gr¯ah-i ‘cause y to take x’ has surfaced as the nominative subject of a clause in the passive voice while the patient sakhyam ‘friendship’ of the basic bivalent predicate grah ‘take x’ appears as a chômeur: (91) sa may¯a . . . sakhyam gr¯ah-i-ta-h. he.nom me.instr friendship.acc take-val-pst-m.sg.nom ‘He was made by me to make friends. . . ’ (mudr¯ar¯aks.asa 1.15.16-1839 )

Interpreting the grammarians in modern terms we may say that the promotability of causee to subject is lexically determined. Panini provides a list of these predicates in his As..ta¯ dhy¯ayi I.4.51-52. Illustrations together with discussion appear in the commentaries. According to the commentaries if L (the desinence or finite verbal affix) expresses a karman ‘patient’ (i.e., if the clause is in the passive voice) and if there are two karman’s, one belonging to the basic predicate and one derived (corresponding to the agent of the basic predicate), then for the causative (or derived trivalent) of a listed predicate it is the derived karman (the causee) that is selected for expression by L. The root kr. ‘make’ is among those listed as allowing

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karmatva ‘patienthood’ of causees when kr. is causative (k¯ar-i). Accordingly in the passive k¯ar-i’s causee becomes subject: (92) a.

sv¯amin¯a m¯an.avakah. kat.am ak¯ar-ya-ta master.instr boy.nom rug-acc make.val-pass-imprf.3sg ‘The boy was made to make a rug by the master.’

Although starred examples are rarely found in the literature of the Paninian tradition, we may interpret the rule and the discussion in the commentaries on it40 as excluding the promotion of the patient of the non-causal base to subject in the passive of the causative.41 That is, (92b) was not acceptable to speakers of Panini’s day (circa 500 BCE): (92) b. *sv¯amin¯a m¯an.avakam kat.o ‘k¯ar-ya-ta master.instr boy.acc rug.nom make-pass-imprf.3sg (Lit.: ‘The rug was made the boy to make by the master.’)

. Kashmiri’s valency and linguistic theory For general syntactic theory, the behavior of the causative in Kashmiri has consequences, too. In particular, it supports the autonomy of syntax and the integrity of the lexeme. From a purely semantic perspective, the derivation of haav ‘show’ from vuch ‘see’ + [cause] should be no more or less complex than that of boozinaav ‘tell’ from booz ‘hear’ + [cause]. But, in Kashmiri the syntactic properties of haav and boozinaav differ in a way that is consonant with the patent morphological difference that boozinaav is a derived form of booz while haav is not a derived form of vuch. As a consequence the third actant of haav (i.e., the one who is made to see) is not related syntactically to the agent of vuch while the corresponding actant of boozinaav (i.e., the one who is made to hear) is relatable to the agent of booz as seen in its capacity to function as a direct object in active clauses [(93) and (95)] and as subject in passive ones (97): (93) mye booz-inoov raami kath I.erg hear-val.pst.m.sg Ram(m.sg).nom story(f.sg).nom ‘I told Ram a story.’ (see Section 11) (94) a. *mye hoov raami phyilyim I.erg showed.m.sg Ram(m.sg).nom film(f.sg).nom ‘I showed Ram a film.’ b. mye heev raamas phyilyim I.erg showed.f.sg Ram.dat film(f.sg).nom ‘I showed a film to Ram .’

(see Section 11)

(see Section 11)

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(95) bi chus-ath (tsi) kath booz-inaav-aan I am-2sg.acc (you.nom) story hear-val-ing ‘I am telling you a story.’

(cf. Section 13)

(96) a. *bi chus-ath (tsi) phyilyim haav-aan I am-2sg.acc (you.nom) film(f.sg) show-ing ‘I am showing you a film.’ b. bi chus-ay (tsye) phyilyim haav-aan I am-2sg.acc (you.dat) film show-ing ‘I am showing a film to you.’

(cf. Section 13)

(97) raami chu kath booz-inaav-ini yivaan Ram.nom is.m.sg story(f.sg) hear-val-inf coming ‘Ram is being told a story.’

(cf. Section 14)

(98) a. *raami chu phyilyim haav-ini yivaan Ram.nom is.m.sg film(f.sg) show-inf coming ‘Ram is being shown a film.’ b. raamas cha phyilyim haav-ini yivaan Ram.dat is.f.sg film(f.sg) show-inf coming ‘A film is being shown to Ram.’

(cf. Section 13)

(cf. Section 14)

(cf. Section 14)

In sum, Kashmiri valency provides further evidence against deriving kill from + .

Abbreviations ABL – ablative; ACC – accusative; CP – conjunctive participle; DAT, Dat – dative; DirObj – direct object; EMP – emphasis; ERG, Erg – ergative; F – feminine; FUT – future; FPP - future passive participle; GEN – genitive; IMPER – imperative; IMPRF – imperfect; INF – infinitive; INSTR – instrumental; LOC – locative; M – masculine; N – neuter; NEG – negative; NOM, Nom – nominative; OBL – oblique; PASS – passive; PL – plural; PP – past participle; PPP – past passive participle; PST – past; SG – singular; Subj – subject; VAL – valency marker; 1 – first person; 2 – second person; 3 – third person.

Notes . This paper derives from a primordial version drafted in Srinagar during the spring of 1979. A later version was completed in 1981 at the Northern Regional Language Centre, Patiala, Panjab, and appeared as Hook and Koul (1984b). Its present avatar is the result of rethinking and rewriting at the Institute for the Study of the Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa at the Tokyo University of Foreign Studies during 1999–2000. In this rewriting we have been concerned in

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particular with drawing a clearer distinction between causative forms and causative meanings and with clarifying our conception of valency. We have retained some of the elicited examples from the 1984 paper while adding new ones from literary works published in Kashmiri. This paper has benefitted from critical reading by and discussions with Masayoshi Shibatani and Prashant Pardeshi. . In this paper we call morphologically related sets “valency sets”. A preliminary description of valency in Kashmiri may be found in Koul (1977: 48–49); more in Wali and Koul (1997: 211– 218). Masica (1976) has detailed discussion of valency in South and Central Asian languages. Pray (1970) and Shapiro (1976) are studies of valency in Hindi-Urdu. . Kashmiri has a few (listable) monovalents that require the ergative case of their agents in ergative tense-aspects: as ‘laugh’, vad ‘cry’, nats ‘dance’, tsuv ‘quarrel’, etc. . The stimulus of pye is the infinitival complement swa aniny ‘to bring her’. . See Hook (1996) for detailed discussion of the arguments for positing two different directions of phonological derivation. . For discussion of this point for Hindi-Urdu, see Hook (1979: 177–180) and Sahay (1976). . It is to be kept in mind that as used in this study the term “agent” has no uniform semantic content. The agent of any non-experiential predicate “V” (be this derived or underived) is its Vne-vaalaa ‘V-er’: (12a)’s dhobii as the dhonevaalaa is the agent of dho ‘wash’ while in (12b) the clothes, as dhulnevaale, are the agents of dhul ‘be washed; come out clean’. The term “subject” refers to that noun (together with its modifiers) with which the finite verb agrees in person and number in non-ergative tenses. . See Pardeshi (2000) on causatives in Marathi where in a section titled The spontaneous construction (pp. 51–60) he discusses impersonal passives together with a very few items of the kind that we refer to here as derived monovalents. Their number might be as few as 14 out of the 300 or so valency sets he lists. . As in Hindi-Urdu there is an alternant pair of constuctions in which the incorporated noun yistimaal of (14a) and (14b) corresponds to a noun phrase headed by yistimaal: (a) asyi kor yemi kyitaabyi.hund yistimaal we.erg made.m.sg this book’s.m.sg use(m.sg) ‘We made use of this book.’ (b) yemi kyitaabyi.hund gav yistimaal this book’s.m.sg went.m.sg use(m.sg) ‘This book was made use of.’ . A claim could be made that in comparison with other northern Indo-Aryan languages Kashmiri shows a preference for the use of bivalent over monovalent predicates for the representation of situations that are not within the control of human participants. For instance, where other Indic languages use a monovalent in the expression of bewilderment or astonishment Kashmiri uses a polyvalent (laay ‘apply x to y; knock x down’) in the passive voice: (a) mye yuthuy tas kun nazar pyey mye aav cakar ti me as.soon her toward look fell me came dizziness and hyot-n-as pathar laay-ini yun took-3sg.erg-1sg.nom down hit-inf come ‘As soon as I saw her I felt dizzy and started to keel over.’

(Athar 1985: 88)



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Peter E. Hook and Omkar N. Koul . The use of an oblique case of the infinitive together with a finite form of a verb homophonous with one meaning ‘come’ is a frequent construction for the passive voice in Gujarati (Joshi 1980) and in Marathi. (a) e kaam karvaa-mAA aave che (b) he kaam karnyaa-t yet aahe this work doing-in coming is ‘This job is being done.’

(Guj) (Mar)

. Grierson (1973, Vol. I: 61–62) provides two rules for predicting which kind of roots get which kind of affix: A. Polysyllabic roots get -aav (transcriptions ours, not his). B. Verbs of the third conjugation get -iraav (or -ir). While we have found no counter-examples to the first of these rules it should be kept in mind that many monosyllabic stems also get -aav [see sets (20e) and (20f)]. The second rule while not wrong [see sets (20c) and (20d)] is less helpful since the 3rd conjugation is defined as all monovalent predicates minus some 65 items which belong to the second conjugation (1973, Vol. I: 42). We have yet to find any bivalents which are derived from monovalents by the addition of -ir. (Grierson’s example is tyeez → tyiizir ‘be sharp’ → ‘sharpen x’, though he gives tyiiziraav ‘sharpen x’ as well.) . The vowel is raised from low to mid, a final /l/ may be palatalized and delateralized, and apical stops are assibilated or affricated. See charts of vowel and consonant alternations in Zakharyin (1974: 19–20) and in Shackle (1984: 50–51). . This pair and the pair following (recent borrowings from Urdu?) actually involve a basic bivalent (laad, chaap) from which a monovalent (lad, chap) is derived. . Some monovalents (like pye ‘fall’ and tshyen ‘rip; break’) which have more than one meaning, have different bivalent counterparts in each of those meanings, thus, pye → paav refers to the falling or tripping of human beings while pye → traav refers to the falling/dropping of inanimates. The pair tshyen → tshyeniraav refers to the ripping and tearing of cloth while the pair tshyen → tsaT involves the destruction of brittle things. . Masica’s category “ingestive”, which to our minds should simply be considered a convenient portmanteau term, has a venerable antecedent in Panini’s pratyavas¯an¯artha. See Ast¯adhy¯ay¯ı I.4.52 and Subrahmanyam (1999: 230–231). . This observation has been made (for Hindi-Urdu) by Kachru (1971: 86), and by Sahay (1980: 8). There are some apparent exceptions. In Hindi-Urdu (and Kashmiri) it is possible to say dekh de (vuchyith dyi) ‘see + GIVE’ but this is not in the meaning ‘see’ but only in the meaning ‘look for x (for somebody)’. . For discussion of parallel differences in Hindi-Urdu’s valency system, see Sahay (1980). . The absence of a necessary spatio-temporal overlap in the causal action and the caused action as a feature distinguishing the causative proper from derived bivalent or trivalent predicates is discussed in Pardeshi (2000) and Shibatani and Pardeshi (2002). . For a parallel “sociative causative” in Marathi see Shibatani and Pardeshi (2002: 104–105). . This use of the causative is also found in Hindi-Urdu (Hook 1979: 209; and Sahay 1980: 9): (a) DaakTar mujhe keval phal khil-v-aa rahe hAI doctor me.dat only fruit eat-val-val -ing is ‘The doctor has me on a fruit diet.’

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(b) kostii.hai us bhagvaan-ko jis-ne ye ghar dil-aa-yaa hai Thiik SmaSaan curses that God-dat who-erg this house give-val-pst is right cemetry ke.saamne before ‘She curses Fate for letting her be given a house right in front of a cemetery.’ (Agrawal 1969: 84) . This point is not made clear in Kachru (1973: 155) where it is stated that “there are two degrees of causativization in Kashmiri” and where the examples imply a one-to-one correspondence between the number of -inaav suffixes and the degrees of causativization. Syeed (1985) discusses the problem of non-correspondence at length. . In Khowar, Kalasha and most dialects of Shina finite forms of the verb in such clauses agree with the agent-subject. . The agreement in Kashmiri of past forms of the verb with direct objects in person is different from Hindi-Urdu, Marathi, and some other NIA languages where only a default third person singular can be used in parallel clauses: (a) unhO-ne mujhe sTeSan par they-erg me.dat station at ‘They left me at the station.’ (b) tyaa-ni malaa sTeSan var they-erg me.dat station at ‘They left me at the station.’

choR-aa left-m.sg(=Default) (Hindi-Urdu) soDl-a left-n.sg(=Default) (Marathi)

. The agreement pattern represented by (50) and (51) is possible in some dialects of Kashmiri and, especially, is found in the speech of “Old” Kashmiris – those whose ancestors left the Valley and settled in the Plains of India or Pakistan or along the Upper Indus. Speakers from Srinagar and especially those from the southeastern side of the Valley prefer to use the pattern found in (48a) and (49a). . Unless agreement is blocked by the dative case or postposition that commonly occurs in most northern and western Indo-Aryan languages with [+human] (and sometimes other) direct objects. [For discussion of the conditions on the use of the dative postposition ko with direct objects in Hindi-Urdu, see Masica (1981). On the occurrence of ko (and its Marwari equivalents) with patient-subjects, see Magier (1990).] (a) ham-ne bahan-ko sTeSan-par we-erg sister-dat station-at (b) aamhi bahiNi-laa sTeSan-var we.erg sister-dat station-at ‘We left Sister at the station.’

choR-aa left-m.sg(=Default) soD.l-a left-n.sg(=Default)

(Hindi-Urdu) (Marathi)

In Gujarati and Marwari there is a dative postposition which does not block agreement: (c)

mE devalbaa-ne bahu thoD-i j diTh-i I.erg Devalba(f.sg)-dat very little-f.sg emp saw-f.sg ‘I saw very little of Devalba.’ (d) mhE chori-ne oLkh-i I.erg girl-dat recognized-f.sg ‘I recognized the girl.’

(Gujarati) (Meghani 1981: 52) (Marwari)



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Peter E. Hook and Omkar N. Koul

In Kashmiri’s ergative tenses there is no dative case to block agreement of the verb with direct objects: (e)

asyi treev kaanti syiTyeeSanas pyaTh we.erg left.fsg Kanta(f.sg).nom station.dat at ‘We left Kanta at the station.’

. Note the variety of oblique postpositions used with causees: Hindi-Urdu se ‘from; by’; Gujarati ni paase ‘near’; Marathi kaDun ‘from near’; Shina sáaynty ‘with’; etc. It is hard to reconcile such a wide range of forms with any kind of etymological continuity from the OIA construction. Yet the similarity in shape of the valency-increasing affixes in derived polyvalent predicates across NIA [see Pray (1970)] does not permit us to posit independent innovation either. . Examples parallel to (55a) from some of these languages: (Hindi-Urdu) (a) us-ne naukar-se kaam kar-aa liy-aa he-erg servant-from work(m.sg) do-val took-pst.m.sg (Gujarati) (b) te-Ne nokar-ni-paase kaam kar-aav-i lidh-U he-erg servant-’s-near work(nsg) do-val-cp took-n.sg (Marathi) (c) tyaa-na nokaraa-cyaa kaD-un kaam kar(-v)-un ghetl-a he-erg servant-’s near-from work(n.sg) do(-val)-cp took-n.sg ‘He had the work done by the servant.’ (Shina of Gilgit) (d) ro-s ma-sáaynty kitáab val-ar-eég-o he-erg me-with book bring-val-pst-m.3sg ‘He had me bring the book.’ . The causee’s identity is clear from the first person singular pronominal suffix -s in the finite form dyaavinaayoos ‘caused me to give’. Wali and Koul (1997: 218) specifically rule out deletion of a direct object causee even when cross-referenced by a pronominal suffix. . Examples from Gujarati (a) and Marathi (b): (a) te din svaraaja-din tarike deS-bhar-mAA ujav-vaa mAA aavy-o that day(m.sg) freedom-day like country-whole-in celebrate-inf in came-m.sg ‘That day was celebrated as if it were Independence Day.’ (Yajnik 1967: 277) (b) tyaan-naa turung.aa-madh-un soD-nyaa-t aal-a them-dat prison-in-from release-inf-in came-Default (=n.sg) ‘They were released from prison.’ Pardeshi (2000: 30–35, 51–56) observes that the use of the Marathi passive in ye (< ye ‘come’) differs from the Marathi passive in dzaa (
tyaa.tsaa haath tsaak.aa-t ciraD.l.aa gelaa his hand wheel-in crushed went ‘His hand was crushed in the wheel.’

The use of a passive auxiliary from a lexeme meaning ‘come’ is to be found occasionally even in Hindi-Urdu:

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(d) xudaa.kii xuubsuuratii bayaan karne mE nahII aati God’s beauty describe doing in not comes ‘The beauty of the Lord cannot be described.’ . In the use of a verb meaning ‘get’ or ‘take’ as auxiliary Kashmiri shows a syntactic parallel with Marathi: (a) kaamgaaraana maajhyaa kaD-un patr vaats-un ghetla worker.erg mine.obl near-from letter(n.sg) read-ing took.n.sg ‘The worker got me to read the letter (for him).’ Marathi, however, uses an instrumental postposition for the causee (as opposed to Kashmiri’s use of the dative). . This fact was first noted by Kaul (1985). In the glosses to (75a, b, c), the words and are in small caps because the verbs that they gloss have lost most of their lexical meaning (when used as vector verbs). . However, in the speech of Gujaratis from Navsari district it is possible to find analogous structures: (a) ek saaraa suthaar paase aa khurSio . . . samaar-i nAkh-aav-o! a good carpenter near these chairs fix-cp throw-val-imper ‘Have a good carpenter fix these chairs!’ Since the compound verb in Gujarati is nearly as frequent and as highly evolved as it is in HindiUrdu and the causee in a morphological causative is never promoted to directobject-patient, we cannot use either the “less-development” explanation or the “causee-promotion” explanation to account for the morpheme order in example (a). . Is the recipient in a derived trivalent in Hindi-Urdu a chômeur? Consider (a) in which the experiencer mujhe ‘me’ has been elided. Note the use of the reflexive possessive apnaa. If mujhe were a chômeur it would not have power to antecede the reflexive possessive and we should expect instead of apnaa the non-anaphoric possessive meraa ‘my’: (a) apnii ghaTiyaa aur piTii.huii haalat mahsuus kar-vaa gaii ki mAI-ne zaruur self ’s lousy and beaten state feel do-val went that I-erg surely kahII bhuul kii.hai somewhere error made ‘The sorry beat down state (I was in) persuaded me that I must have made a mistake somewhere.’ (Sevati 1973: 154) However, apnaa in (a) may be an instance of its idiomatic non-anaphoric use for the first person possessive. . Example (a), a seeming exception from a film song quoted by Sahay (1980), is possible in Hindi-Urdu provided that the basic patient is elided. (i.e., Hindi-Urdu does not tolerate chômeurs): (a) mAI piitaa nahII, pil-aa-yaa gayaa hUU I.nom drink not drink-val-ppp.m.sg pass.pst.m.3sg am ‘I don’t drink; I have been made (or forced) to drink.’



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Note the absence in (a) of an overt patient (such as Saraab ‘liquor’) of the basic predicate pii ‘drink’. . As cited by Cardona in his 1978 paper on causatives and passives in Indo-Iranian. . See Note 35 above for a parallel restriction on subjecthood of the causee in Hindi-Urdu. . This example is cited by Hock in his diachronic study of causative syntax in Sanskrit (1981: 23–27). . As cited by Bubenik in his study of passivized causatives in Sanskrit (1987: 696). Translation is ours. . See Padamanjarî to Ast¯adhy¯ayî I.4.51: (a) anyant¯avasth¯ay¯am kartur nyant¯avasth¯ay¯am karman.ah. sato ’bhidh¯ane non.causal-stage.loc agent’s causal-stage.loc patient’s being express.loc l¯adîn a¯huh. desinences said.3pl ‘The verbal affixes are to express that patient in a causative (or derived polyvalent) which is the agent of the corresponding underived predicate’. . Since karmatva of the causee was optional for kr. the Paninian grammatical tradition does allow the basic predicate’s patient to be promoted if the causee is in the instrumental case: (a) sv¯amin¯a m¯an.avakena kat.o ‘k¯ar-ya-ta master.instr boy.instr rug.nom make-pass-imprf.3sg ‘The rug was made by the master to be made by the boy.’

References Agrawal, Anvita (1969). muTThii-bhar pahacaan. Delhi: Radhakrishna Prakashan. Athar, Bashir (1985). “yi naar chu tyeezaan (This Fire is Growing)”. Sheeraza, 22, 88–91. Aziz, Afaq (1998). “hwanar (Art)”. In Koul (Ed.), 85–86. Bubenik, Vit (1987). “Passivized causatives in Sanskrit and Prakrits”. Linguistics, 25, 687–704. Cardona, George (1978). “Relations between causatives and passives in Indo-Iranian”. Studies in the Linguistic Sciences, 8(2), 1–42. Desai, Mahadev (1993). mahaadevbhaai ni Daayri (Mahadevbhai’s Diary), Vol. 1. N. D. Parikh, Ed. Ahmedabad: Navjivan Trust. (reprint of 1948 edition) Grierson, George A. (1895). “On pronominal suffixes in the Kashmiri language”. Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, 64, 336–351. Grierson, George A. (1973). Standard Manual of the Kashmiri Language. 2 vols. Rohtak: Light and Life Publishers. (Reprint of 1911 edition. Oxford: Clarendon Press.) Hock, Hans H. (1981). “Sanskrit causative syntax: A diachronic study”. Studies in the Linguistic Sciences, 11(2), 9–33. Hook, Peter E. (1979). Hindi Structures: Intermediate Level. Ann Arbor, MI: Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, University of Michigan. Hook, Peter E. (1996). “The play of markedness in Hindi-Urdu lexical sets”. In Shivendra K. Verma & Dilip Singh (Eds.), Perspectives on Language in Society: Papers in Memory of Professor Ravindra Nath Srivastava (pp. 61–71). Delhi: Kalinga.

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Hook, Peter E. & Koul, Omkar N. (1984a). “Pronominal suffixes and split ergativity in Kashmiri”. In Koul & Hook (Eds.), 123–135. Hook, Peter E. & Koul, Omkar N. (1984b). “On the grammar of derived transitives and causatives in Kashmiri”. In Koul & Hook (Eds.), 90–122. Joshi, D. M. (1980). “Passive, etc. in Gujarati”. In Bulletin of the Chunilal Gandhi Vidhya Bhawan. Surat. Kachru, Braj B. (1973). An Introduction to Spoken Kashmiri. Urbana, IL: Department of Linguistics, University of Illinois. Kachru, Yamuna (1971). “Causative sentences in Hindi Revisited”. Studies in the Linguistic Sciences, 2, 75–103. Kaul, Vijay K. (1985). The Compound Verb in Kashmiri. Ph.D. dissertation, Kurukshetra University. Kemmu, Motilal (1997). nagar vwadeesy (Urban Sorrow). Jammu: Published by the author. Klaiman, M. H. (1981). “Arguments against the ingestive verb hypothesis”. In Koul (Ed.), 135– 145. Koul, Omkar N. (1977). Linguistic Studies in Kashmiri. New Delhi: Bahri Publications. Koul, Omkar N. (Ed.). (1981). Topics in Hindi Linguistics, Vol. 2. New Delhi: Bahri Publications. Koul, Omkar N. (Ed.). (1998). gili tuury – afsaani sombran (Little Blossoms – A Collection of Stories). Mysore: Central Instititute of Indian Languages. Koul, Omkar N. & Hook, Peter E. (Eds.). (1984). Aspects of Kashmiri Linguistics. Delhi: Bahri. Magier, David (1990). “Dative/accusative subjects in Marwari”. In Manindra K. Verma & K. P. Mohanan (Eds.), Experiencer Subjects in South Asian Languages (pp. 213–220). Stanford: Center for the Study of Language and Information, Stanford University. Malmohi, Amar (1998). “kEDy ti Tuury”. In Koul (Ed.), 67–70. Masica, Colin P. (1976). Defining a Linguistic Area: South Asia. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Masica, Colin P. (1981). “Identified object marking in Hindi and other languages”. In Koul (Ed.), 6–50. Meghani, Jhaverchand (1981). soraTh, taarAA vahetAA pAANi (Sorath, Your Flowing Waters). Bhavnagar: Prasar. (A reprint of the 1937 edition.) Padamanjari (of Haradatta Misra) (1865). Commentary to kashikavrtti, 6 vols. Varanasi: Pracyabharati Prakashanam. Pardeshi, Prashant (2000). Transitivity and Voice: A Marathi-Japanese Contrastive Perspective. Ph.D. dissertation, Kobe University. Pompur, Syed R. (1986). yath aadim vanas manz (In This Human Jungle). Bijbehara: Sangar. Pray, Bruce (1970). Topics in Hindi-Urdu Grammar. Berkeley: Center for South and Southeast Asia Studies, University of California. Ramzan, Shad (1988). “khazar melyik safeeyii (Khazar Malik “Safaayi”)”. Sheeraza, 24, 108–126. Sahay, Chaturbhuj (1976). “hindii mE karmavaacya (Passives in Hindi)”. Gaveshana, 27, 48–55. Sahay, Chaturbhuj (1980). “hindii kii tathaakathit pratham prerNaarthak kriyaaE (On the socalled ‘primary causative verbs’ of Hindi)”. Gaveshana, 36, 1–10. Saroor, Jawaharlal (1988). “kwang dyed (Gramma Saffron)”. In Koul (Ed.), 48–50. Sevati, Nirupma (1973). “sankramaN”. In Shrikrishna (Ed.), puraskrt hindii kahaaniAA (Prizewinning Hindi Stories) (pp. 141–159). Delhi: Parag Prakashan. Shackle, C. (1984). “Towards a morphological classification of Kashmiri monosyllabic nouns”. In Koul & Hook (Eds.), 46–61. Shapiro, Michael C. (1976). “The analysis of Hindi’s morphologically related verb sets”. Journal of Linguistics, 37, 1–44.

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Shibatani, Masayoshi & Pardeshi, Prashant (2002). “The Causative continuum”. In Masayoshi Shibatani (Ed.), The Grammar of Causation and Interpersonal Manipulation (pp. 85–126). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Subrahmanyam, P. S. (1999). Pa:ninian Linguistics. Tokyo: Institute for the Study of Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa, Tokyo University of Foreign Studies. Syeed, Sayyid M. (1985). Morphological Causatives and the Problems of the Transformational Approach. Bloomington: Indiana University Linguistics Club. Wali, Kashi & Koul, Omkar N. (1997). Kashmiri: A Cognitive-Descriptive Grammar. London and New York: Routledge. Yajnik, Indulal (1967). aatmakathaa (Autobiography). Ahmadabad: Ravani Prakashan Grih. Zakharyin, B. A. (1974). “tipologicheskaja xarakteristika jazyka kashmiri (Typological features of Kashmiri)”. In Ju. K. Lekomcev (Ed.), Voprosy struktury jazyka (Issues in Language Structure) (pp. 3–28). Moscow: Nauka.

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Property description as a voice phenomenon Taro Kageyama Kwansei Gakuin University

Traditionally, passives, middles, and other diathetic alternations have been approached exclusively from the promotion or demotion of grammatical arguments. This paper sheds new light on hitherto neglected facets of diathetic alternations by focusing on the semantic distinction between individual-level or characterizing predications and stage-level or eventive predications. Capitalizing on the hypothesis that stage-level predicates do, but individual-level ones don’t, involve an Event argument (Diesing 1992; Kratzer 1995), coupled with Kratzer’s assumption that the Event argument counts as an “external argument”, I develop a novel analysis whereby the suppression of the Event argument induces a type shift from eventive to characterizing predications and a concomitant decrease in the verb’s valence. This analysis nicely captures the correlation between stativization and valence change in manifold languages.

Introduction* Among the numerous studies on voice phenomena, Shibatani’s “Passives and related constructions” (1985) stands out as arguably the most revealing account of passives with wide-ranging implications for spontaneous, reciprocal, potential, and other kindred constructions. The core function of all these constructions, according to Shibatani, resides in the defocusing of an agent argument, which is subject to extension in the manner dictated by the prototype theory. While I concur with Shibatani in maintaining agent-defocusing as the fundamental function of the constructions mentioned, I feel that his theory needs to be supplemented by two kinds of considerations. One, which is relatively well known, is that there are cases where patient-defocusing plays a central role, as in anti-passive sentences. The other, which is crucial for the present paper but has been largely neglected in the previous literature, is that more importance should be attached to the role of stativization in voice alternations. A case in point is the English middle construction like These wine glasses break easily, which Shibatani (p. 838) describes as a “spontaneous event”. Spontaneity alone, however, cannot differentiate the middle construction, which is a stative

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sentence ascribing a characteristic property of the subject NP, from ergative sentences like The wine glass broke because of the earthquake, which describe a concrete event taking place at a particular time. In this respect, Givón’s (1990) account incorporating “stativization” in the basic functions of passives looks more appealing. However, Givón fails to cover the kinds of stative constructions we are going to address. This paper1 will argue that there is an essential difference between “dynamic” event descriptions and “static” property descriptions, as exemplified by the English ergative and middle sentences, respectively, and that this difference in semantic type exerts a deep influence on valence change in passive, reflexive, and other related constructions. By drawing attention to the event semantics involved in voice alternations, this study thus complements the traditional treatment of voice that has been based primarily on the promotion or demotion of grammatical arguments. More specifically, I will show two things: i.

There is an abstract process of shifting the semantic type of a sentence from event description to property description; ii. The semantic shift induces decrease in valence, typically executed by passive, middle, and reflexive constructions. As a consequence, new insight is gained into the nature of property description viewed as a voice phenomenon and further into the relation between voice and the stage/individual or thetic/categorical distinction.

.

Event description and property description

Before we enter into the main discussion, a brief exposition is necessary of the distinction between event and property description. Event descriptions are those sentences which represent the actual or hypothetical occurrence of a particular event (process, action, happening, etc.) in a particular spatiotemporal domain. Because of this character, event descriptions are consonant with punctual time adverbials like at that moment (1a) and the progressive aspect describing an ongoing happening (1b), and they can be embedded in the complement to verbs of direct perception like see, as in (1c). Stative predicates like be available and be drunk which are contingent on the progress of time also belong in this category. Event descriptions thus correspond to what are usually called “stage-level,” “eventive,” or “particular” predications (cf. Carlson 1980; Krifka et al. 1995). (1) a. Firemen were not available at that time. (punctual time adverbial) b. The service is being available only in the daytime. (progressive)

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c. I saw John drunk. (complement to direct perception verbs) d. The kidnapper was arrested by Metropolitan Police last night.

Property descriptions, on the other hand, are stative sentences that depict the characteristic or inherent properties of a subject (or other) NP that are not limited to a particular point of time but are conceived of as lasting more or less permanently. This type of sentence subsumes what are generally referred to as “individual-level,” “generic,” or “characterizing” predications (cf. Krifka et al. 1995). The temporally generic nature of these sentences precludes their cooccurrence with punctual time adverbials (2a), the progressive aspect (2b), and direct perception verbs (2c). (2) a. b. c. d.

Firemen are altruistic (*at this moment). He is (*being) intelligent. *I saw John intelligent. The kiwi fruit is known for its prolific yield and good export price.

While in formal semantics, the stage/individual distinction has been approached chiefly from the viewpoints of noun phrase semantics, notably the genericity (Carlson 1980) or specificity (É. Kiss 1998) of subject NPs, the two “be” verbs in Spanish, ser (Juan es bueno ‘Juan is good by nature’) and estar (Juan está bueno ‘Juan is well’), suggest that it may have its roots in the lexical semantics of the main verbs. The difference between the verbal (syntactic) passive in (1d) and the adjectival (lexical) passive in (2d) enhances this possibility. In this paper, I will explore a new possibility that the stage/individual distinction has to do with the valence change in certain voice phenomena. In particular, it is suggested that an abstract process of shifting an originally stage-level predication into an individual-level predication is executed not only in the familiar middle constructions but also in certain types of passive and reflexive constructions. While all these voice-related constructions have traditionally been analyzed exclusively in terms of operations on grammatical arguments, I will contend that their nature can be better understood by directly resorting to the so-called “Davidsonian” event argument (Davidson 1967), which is included in a verb’s argument structure as an “external argument” (Higginbotham 1985; Kratzer 1995) and is subject to suppression in voice alternations. This simple mechanism of suppressing the Event argument is shown to bring about the property readings in a wide variety of syntactic and lexical constructions in manifold languages.

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. Peculiar passives as property descriptions We will begin by introducing a non-canonical type of passive, called “peculiar passive”, in English and Japanese. Semantically, this type of passive differs from ordinary passives in denoting the characteristic property of a subject NP rather than representing the occurrence of a particular event. Syntactically, peculiar passives do not obey the usual syntactic conditions that hold for ordinary eventive passives. Because of the syntactic and semantic idiosyncrasies, the nature of this kind of passive cannot be captured by agent-defocusing alone. . English peculiar passives What we call peculiar passives in English are exemplified by the prepositional passive sentences of (3). (3) a. This spoon has been eaten with. b. This pub hasn’t been smoked hash in before. c. This hall has been signed peace treaties in. (Kageyama & Ura 2002; adapted from Bolinger 1975; Davison 1980; Ziv & Sheintuch 1981)

This construction is peculiar both syntactically and semantically. Its syntactic peculiarity is twofold. First, the subject NP corresponds to the object of an adjunct PP like an instrument phrase (3a) or a locative phrase (3b, c), and second, a direct object like hash in (3b) or peace treaties in (3c) is left in situ if the main verb is transitive. The first peculiarity violates the usual government condition on passivization (e.g. Baker 1988), and the second peculiarity is a deviation from Burzio’s (1986: 178) generalization that all and only the verbs that can assign a theta-role to the subject position can assign accusative Case to an object. Because of these syntactic idiosyncrasies, generative syntacticians have generally shied away from this kind of passive. With respect to the semantics, Kageyama and Ura (2002) demonstrate that peculiar passive sentences are diagnosed as individual-level predications of property description, as opposed to the canonical passive sentences, which are event predications. I will quickly summarize their diagnoses below. First, the examples in (4) show that peculiar passives are incompatible with punctual time adverbials, as are individual-level predicates like be intelligent. (4) a. *This spoon was being eaten with at that moment. b. *This violin was not being played any sonatas on at that moment. (Kageyama & Ura 2002)

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Second, the examples in (6) reveal that peculiar passives cannot be embedded in the complements to physical perception verbs, in the same way that individuallevel predicates are generally excluded from the same environment (5b). (5) a. I saw the man sick/available/killed. b. *I saw the man tall/intelligent.

(Milsark 1979)

(6) a. *I saw the hall signed peace treaties in (by the ministers). b. *I saw the spoon eaten with (by Fred). (Kageyama & Ura 2002)

Third, as pointed out by Stump (1985), the conditional interpretation in absolute participial constructions is not available with individual-level predicates like have long arms in (7b). Peculiar passives exhibit a parallel behavior in this respect, as illustrated in (8). (7) a.

Stage-level: Standing on a chair, John can touch the ceiling. (= ‘because he stands’ or ‘if he stands’) b. Individual-level: Having unusually long arms, John can touch the ceiling. (= ‘because he has. . . ’ / = ‘if he has. . . ’) (Stump 1985)

(8) a.

Having never been played any sonatas on, this violin may be difficult to play. (= ‘If this violin has never been played any sonatas on’) b. Having just been drunk beer out of, this cup may be chilly. (= ‘If this cup has just been drunk beer out of ’) (Kageyama & Ura 2002)

In addition to these parallelisms with the well-established instances of individual-level predicates, the fact that almost all examples of well-formed peculiar passives given in the literature are typically accompanied with the present perfect is highly suggestive of their stative nature. This is because the “current relevance” function of the present perfect contributes toward establishing the current state or noteworthy property of the subject NP when a single occurrence of a particular event is not sufficient to characterize it. In fact, when the tense is in the simple past or simple present, frequency adverbs like often and always as in (9b) are required to reinforce the property reading. (9) a.( *) This building was walked in front of by the Japanese emperor last month. (Acceptable for Takami 1992: 108, but * for my informants) b. This building was always/often walked in front of by the Japanese emperor.

The possible occurrence of potential and deontic modals instead of the present perfect, as in (10), is an additional indication that peculiar passives do not depict an actual event but the subject’s characteristic property. (10) a. This violin can be played any sonatas on. b. This pub should not be smoked hash in.

(Kageyama & Ura 2002)

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In a nutshell, English peculiar passive sentences differ from regular passives in two respects: (i) they do not comply with the usual syntactic conditions, and (ii) they are property-denoting stative sentences. These idiosyncrasies might tempt one to assume that peculiar passives are adjectival (lexical) passives, like known in (2d). This assumption, however, is nullified because the familiar tests for adjectival status do not go through. (11) a. *This pub seems smoked hash in. b. *the smoked-hash-in pub

Peculiar passives are syntactic, and yet they diverge from canonical passives in syntactic and semantic behavior. These observations strongly suggest that peculiar passives attain a unique status as property-denoting sentences. This kind of passive, however, is by no means limited to English. In the next subsection we will discover an analogous construction in Japanese. . Japanese peculiar passives While the researchers in Japanese generative grammar have been confined to regular, eventive passives (Hoshi 1999; Huang 1999; and numerous others), Masuoka (1987) points out that Japanese has a passive of property description which follows different case markings from regular passives of event description. (12) a.

Kono syoosetu-wa zyuu-nen-mae-ni Taroo-{ni yotte/*ni} this novel-top ten-years-ago-loc Taro-{dat by/*dat} kak-are-ta. write-pass-past ‘This novel was written by Taro ten years ago.’ b. Kono syu-no suiri-syoosetu-wa nihon-no sakka-ni-wa this kind-gen mystery-novel-top Japan-gen novelist-dat-top itido-mo kak-are-ta koto-ga nai. once-even write-pass-past nr-nom be.neg ‘This kind of mystery novels has never been written by Japanese novelists.’

The passives of creation verbs such as hon o kaku ‘write a book’ generally call for a complex agentive marker consisting of the dative marker ni and yotte ‘by’ rather than the simple dative ni, as shown in (12a). However, the sentence in (12b) with the same verb is fully acceptable despite the fact that the passive agent is marked by the dative ni alone. What is special about (12b) is that it is a characterization of a unique property of the subject “this kind of novel”. Masuoka thus shows that passives of property description are subject to different conditions on agent marking from regular eventive passives.

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The aberrance of the property-denoting passive is not confined to the agent marking. Consider (13a), an example of causative construction. As is well known (Shibatani 1976; Inoue 1976; Miyagawa 1989), when passivization is applied to a causative sentence with -sase, only the causee (“the children” in this case) can be passivized, as in (13b). This is because the causee argument is selected by the causative suffix in the main clause. The passivizability of the causee phrase makes a decided contrast with the total impossibility of passivizing the embedded direct object (nattoo ‘fermented soybeans’ – Japanese food known for rich nutrition but with a disagreeable smell), as shown by the inadmissible sentence in (13c). Since the direct object is situated in the embedded clause, there is obviously a locality condition at work here. (13) a.

Sensei-ga kinoo kodomo-tati-ni [nattoo-o tabe]-sase-ta. teacher-nom yesterday child-pl-dat natto-acc eat-cause-past ‘The teacher made the children eat natto yesterday.’ b. Kodomo-tati-ga sensei-ni nattoo-o tabe-sase-rare-ta. child-pl-nom teacher-dat natto-acc eat-cause-pass-past ‘The children were forced to eat natto by the teacher yesterday.’ sensei-ni(-yotte) kodomo-tati-ni c. *Natto-ga kinoo natto-nom yesterday teacher-dat(-by) child-pl-dat tabe-sase-rare-ta. eat-cause-pass-past Lit. ‘Natto was forced the children to eat by the teacher.’

Now, in startling contrast to the complete ungrammaticality of (13c) is the perfect acceptability of (14), where the embedded object natto ‘fermented soybeans’ appears to be passivized in violation of the locality condition.2 (14) Natto-wa/ga kono tihoo-de-wa mai-asa kodomo-tati-ni natto-top/nom this district-loc-top every-morning child-pl-dat tabe-sase-rare-te iru. eat-cause-pass-grd is Lit. ‘Natto is such that in this district, people/parents make children eat it every morning.’ ‘In this district, children are strongly advised to eat natto every morning.’

What is crucial is that (14) does not refer to a particular event that takes place at a specific time but rather presents the general characteristic of natto as an essential food which children are advised to eat every morning. The individual-level status of this peculiar passive sentence is confirmed by various considerations. First, that sentence is incongruous with punctual time adverbials like sono syunkan-ni ‘at that moment’. Second, it cannot be embedded as the complement to a verb of

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direct perception (15a), in sharp contrast to the regular eventive passive (15b), which can. (15) a. *Watasi-wa [natto-ga mai-asa kodomo-tati-ni I-top natto-nom every-morning child-pl-dat tabe-sase-rare-ru] no-o mi-ta. eat-cause-pass-pres nr-acc see-past ‘I saw children forced to eat natto every morning.’ b. Watasi-wa [natto-ga kodomo-tati-ni tabe-rare-ru] no-o I-top natto-nom child-pl-dat eat-pass-pres nr-acc mi-ta. see-past ‘I saw the natto eaten by the children.’ c. Watasi-wa [kodomo-tati-ga ame-ni hur-are-ru] no-o mi-ta I-top child-pl-nom rain-dat fall-pass-pres nr-acc see-past ‘I saw the children inconvenienced by the rain.’

Note that the peculiar passive under discussion is strictly differentiated from an “adversity” passive like Watasi-wa ame-ni hurare-ta “I was inconvenienced by the rain”, because the latter is eventive and can be accommodated to perception verbs, as shown by (15c). Japanese passives of property description can thus ignore otherwise relevant syntactic conditions on agent marking and locality, just as the English counterparts disregard the government condition and Burzio’s generalization. The violation of the locality condition can also be attested with syntactic compound verbs involving clause embedding (Kageyama 1993, 1999). I give only one example in (16), where the b-sentence provides a characterizing predication about the subject “hamburgers”. (16) a. *Hanbaagaa-wa Taroo-ni tabe-aki-rare-ta. hamburgers-top Taro-dat eat-get.weary-pass-past ‘Taro got sick of eating hamburgers.’ b. Hanbaagaa-wa wakamono-ni sae tabe-aki-rare-te iru. Hamburgers-top youth-dat even eat-get.weary-pass-grd are ‘Even young people are sick of eating hamburgers.’

If we are to maintain the NP-movement analysis for regular passives which follow the syntactic conditions like locality and agent marking, an obvious way to resolve the syntactic and semantic oddities of English and Japanese peculiar passives is to abandon their derivation by NP-movement in favor of the base-generation of their subject in a topic phrase. For English, Ura (2003) presents scope evidence for the base generation analysis. For example, regular passive sentences display a scope ambiguity between the negative not and a quantifier, as shown in (17a), because

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the quantifier every may be interpreted either in its original position before Amovement or in the subject position on the surface. (17) a. Regular passive: Everyone is not depended on. (∀>not, not>∀) b. Peculiar passive: Every spoon has not been eaten corns with. (∀>not, *not>∀) (Ura 2003)

On the other hand, the peculiar passive sentence in (17b) is unambiguous, allowing only the interpretation in which every takes scope over the negative. This indicates that peculiar passive sentences do not involve NP-movement. Ura (2003) further adduces evidence showing that the subject NP of peculiar passive sentences is associated with the gap in the passive clause by A-bar movement rather than by variable binding. According to his analysis, pro is adjoined to vP by A-bar movement, whereby the whole vP, serving as a derived predicate, holds a predication relation with the subject NP as schematically shown in (18): (18)

It can be assumed that the same mechanism of pro adjunction to vP is responsible for Japanese peculiar passives. Note that the causative and compound verb structures illustrated above all consist of stacked tenseless clauses, which are arguably analyzed as layered vP’s so that the pro adjunction can apply successively. From this it is predicted that the peculiar passive formation should be barred from an embedded tensed clause. This prediction is borne out by the total ungrammaticality of (19b). (19) a.

Sensei-wa kodomo-tati-ni [CP mai-asa nattoo-o tabe-ru teacher-top child-pl-dat every-morning natto-acc eat-pres yoo-ni] osie-te iru. comp-dat teach-grd is ‘The teacher instructs children to eat natto every morning.’ b. *Natto-wa kodomo-tati-ni mai-asa taberu yoo-ni natto-top child-pl-dat every-morning eat-pres comp-dat osie-rare-te iru. teach-pass-grd is Lit. ‘Natto is instructed children to eat every morning.’

The plausibility of the vP adjunction analysis of Japanese peculiar passives will be enhanced by comparison with the so-called “adversity passives.” The adversity passive, also called the indirect passive, expresses an event in which the subject is emotionally affected – typically adversely – by the situation depicted by the predicate. This type of passive, apparently spread over East Asian languages (Huang

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1999), applies in a truly “long-distance” fashion, extracting an NP even out of a finite complement, as shown in (20). (20) a.

Newsweek-wa [NP [CP [IP B-si-ga supai-da] toyuu] kizi]-o Newsweek-top B-Mr-nom spy-is comp article-acc happyoo-si-ta. publish-do-past ‘Newsweek published an article which claimed that Mr. B was a spy.’ b. B-si-wa Newsweek-ni [(zibun-ga) supai-da] toyuu] kizi]-o B-Mr-top Newsweek-dat [(self-nom) spy-is] comp article-acc happyoo-s-rare-ta. publish-do-pass-past ‘Mr. B was annoyed by Newsweek’s publication of an article which claimed he was a spy.’

Note that in (20b), a resumptive pronoun (zibun ‘self ’) coreferential with the subject NP may appear in the embedded clause. This strongly suggests that the adversity passive is interpreted by variable binding, with the base-generated subject as a binder and the resumptive pronoun (or an empty counterpart thereof) as a bindee. This kind of resumptive pronoun does not show up in peculiar passives, let alone in regular passives. Besides these syntactic peculiarities, semantic considerations will strengthen the view that the subject of peculiar passives is postulated as a topic of the sentence. Compare the regular passive sentence in (21a) and the peculiar passive sentence in (21b), with particular focus on the interpretation of the subject NPs. (21) a.

Sono nattoo (*toyuu mono)-wa moo tabe-rare-ta. that natto (called thing)-top already eat-pass-past ‘The natto was already eaten.’ b. Nattoo (toyuu mono)-wa kodomo-tati-ni tabe-sase-rare-te iru natto (called thing)-top child-pl-dat eat-cause-pass-grd is (mono-da). (thing-cop) ‘The food natto is such that children are forced to eat it.’

In (21a), the subject natto is never interpreted as a generic concept but only as a specific NP whose reference is established in previous discourse. This makes it incompatible with the quotation indicator toyuu mono ‘a thing called X’, which generally has the function of introducing a generic concept. In (21b), on the other hand, the same subject is interpreted generically rather than referentially, so that it is entirely compatible with the genericity indicator toyuu mono as well as the auxiliary mono-da ‘it is generally the case’ indicating a habitual action.

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This section has brought to light a novel type of passive in English and Japanese, whose idiosyncrasies cannot be captured adequately by traditional passivization operations like agent-defocusing or NP-movement. As seen from the previous examples, English peculiar passives are characteristically accompanied by the present perfect aspect, and the Japanese counterparts are most comfortable with the perfective -te iru. These auxiliaries play a vital role in highlighting the current state of the subject resulting from the action depicted by the main verb and thereby facilitating the shift of sentence type from stage-level to individual-level predications. The reason these auxiliaries are required more or less obligatorily is that the passive morpheme alone is not powerful enough to assign a characterizing function to the sentence. Rather, the characterization function of peculiar passive sentences is considered to result from joint efforts of multiple factors including the passive morpheme, derived predicate formation by pro movement, and the subject-predicate interpretation in a predication relation. However, it still remains to be seen where the stativity comes from. This question will be answered in the next section dealing with middle constructions.

. Middle constructions and event suppression It is well established that English middle constructions of the type This car drives smoothly describe the more or less permanent properties of the subject NPs (van Oosten 1977; Fellbaum 1986; Fagan 1992). Based on several tests summarized in (22), Matsumoto and Fujita (1995) explicitly identify English middle constructions as individual-level predications. (22) a.

Incompatibility with spatiotemporal adverbs evening, bureaucrats bribed easily. b. Unavailability of a conditional interpretation in absolute constructions Bribing easily, bureaucrats can build huge mansions. (Does not mean ‘If they bribe easily’) c. Incompatibility with existential constructions *There are nasturtiums transplanting well. (Matsumoto & Fujita 1995) ??This

Given that their arguments are correct, the real question that must be addressed is: Where does the individual-level status come from? The widespread assumption, held by Fagan (1992: 162), Matsumoto and Fujita (1995), and many others, is that the arbitrary pro assigned to the agent role is responsible for it. This assumption, albeit plausible for middle constructions, cannot be assimilated to peculiar passives, which, as we saw in the previous section, are equipped with individual-level properties but nonetheless can display an agent phrase overtly, as in (23b).

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(23) a. Middle: *Japanese cars drive smoothly by beginning drivers. b. Peculiar passive: This bridge has been walked under by generations of lovers. (Bolinger 1975)

The suggestion that the arbitrary pro agent is not responsible for the property reading or stativity of middles is reinforced by examples like (24), where a specific agent is mentioned. (24) a. This flower should transplant easily if I do it carefully. (Greenspon 1996) b. This car handles smoothly when Sophy drives it. (Rosta 1995)

It appears that what the arbitrary agent contributes to the middle construction is not the genericization of the whole event but the modal meaning of ability and potentiality, because peculiar passives, which may manifest a specific agent, do not induce such a modal meaning by themselves, and as will be shown in a later section, the impersonal reflexive constructions characterizing the properties of locative and other phrases in Spanish and other languages do engender such a modal meaning. These considerations lead us to abandon the view that the arbitrary agent is the source of the property reading and search for a more general principle that comprises the property denotations in both peculiar passives and middle constructions. My proposal is to assume that an abstract principle of shifting the semantic type of a sentence from event to property description takes place in both these constructions. On this view, the arbitrary pro in middle constructions is an automatic consequence of the abstract principle. The analysis I propose takes advantage of the notion of Event argument, which originates from Davidson (1967) and has subsequently been elaborated and incorporated into argument structure in various ways by various researchers (Higginbotham 1985; Sproat 1985; Grimshaw 1990; Parsons 1990; Diesing 1992; Kratzer 1995; Ramchand 1997; Felser 1998; Basilico 2003). Without reviewing the previous treatments one by one, I will here present my own view of the Event argument (henceforth abbreviated as “Evargument”). In order to implement my proposal properly, I need to make three auxiliary assumptions. A. The Event argument is postulated only in eventive sentences. Following Katz (2000) as well as Davidson (1967), I will assume that only sentences of event description have an Event argument; stative sentences of property description do not have one. The treatment of a State argument will be highly controversial. It is equally plausible to assume that state sentences have a State argument (Parsons 1990), and that the type shift replaces an Event argument by a State argument – a possibility that was suggested to me by Andrew Spencer (p.c.). However, I would rather not adopt this alternative in this paper. Postulation of both an Ev-argument and a State argument will predict

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that the type shift from one to the other is bilateral. As far as I can see, the type shift is actually unilateral. There are a number of cases where sentences which are originally eventive are turned into state sentences systematically by grammatical means such as passive and reflexive morphemes, but the change in the opposite direction, namely from property to event, does not seem to take place systematically although sporadically made possible by “coercion” in special pragmatic contexts, as in You have seen Max intelligent on several occasions (Fernald 2000: 68). B. Stage-level states, which are self-controllable, have an Event argument; individual-level states do not. By distinguishing two types of state, I assume that only stage-level states are endowed with an Ev-argument (Diesing 1992; Kratzer 1995). Thus my claim in the previous item (A) that state sentences do not involve an Ev-argument pertains only to individual-level states. An additional argument corroborating this assumption may be found in Whelpton (2001). C. The Event argument counts as an “external” argument in argument structure. My third assumption is that an Ev-argument is regarded as an external argument in argument structure (Kratzer 1995; Sproat 1985; Grimshaw 1990). This assumption allows us to treat an Ev-argument as a possible target of argument suppression by valence changing rules like passives. These three assumptions allow us to postulate that the argument structure (AS) of eventive sentences contain an Ev-argument, in addition to the regular thematic arguments like agent and patient. Given the common assumption that the internal composition of AS is projected from the information in Lexical Conceptual Structure (LCS), I propose that the Ev-argument originates from the outermost or highest Event node in the LCS representation of eventive verbs (see Kageyama (1996, 1997) for the details of the system of LCS representations employed in this paper). This idea is schematically shown in (25) and illustrated more concretely in (26), where the correspondences between the Ev-argument and the LCS schemas of various eventuality types are presented. As explained earlier, all eventualities except individual-level states involve an Ev-argument. This forms the keystone of my subsequent discussion. (25) Mapping of Ev-argument from LCS to AS

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– – –

The outermost (highest) EVENT node in LCS is mapped onto Ev in AS. The STATE node in LCS is not mapped to AS. The element (y) in angle brackets represents an “internal argument”, and the one outside (x) an “external argument”. (26) Correspondences between Ev-argument and eventuality types a. Activity b. Achievement LCS AS EVENT Þ (Ev ())

LCS AS EVENT Þ (Ev (x < >)) x

ACT

BECOME STATE y BE AT-STATE/LOC

c. Accomplishment EVENT Þ (Ev (x)) EVENT CAUSE EVENT x

ACT

BECOME STATE y BE AT-STATE/LOC

d. Stage-level (controllable) State EVENT Þ (Ev (x< >)) xi CONTROL STATE xi BE AT-STATE/LOC (e.g. He is being friendly.)

e. Individual-level State STATE Þ () (No Ev-argument) y BE AT-STATE/LOC (e.g. He is (*being) intelligent.)

The schemas in (26a)–(26e) illustrate how the eventuality type of an individual verb is represented in the lexicon. This does not mean, however, that a given verb is associated only with one eventuality. On the contrary, it is often the case that a single verb is polysemous encoding two or more eventuality types. The verb stand, for example, has both a truly stative meaning (26e) and an eventive meaning with a self-controllable action (26d), of which only the latter is harmonious with a direct perception verb, as shown in (27b).

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(27) a. *I saw the lamp stand on the desk. b. I saw the boy stand on the desk.

As to the syntactic realization of the Ev-argument, there have been various proposals such as Aspect Phrase (McClure 1998; Ramchand 1997; Felser 1998), Voice Phrase (Kratzer 1994; Van Hout & Roeper 1998), and Topic Phrase (Basilico 2003). For the sake of simplicity of argument, I employ a neutral term “Event Phrase” here and assume that the Ev-argument in argument structure is projected to “Event Phrase“ in syntactic structure. (28) a. The Ev-argument is projected to Event Phrase in syntax. b. Individual-level states, which lack an Ev-argument, do not project Event Phrase.

Also, I simply assume that the Ev-argument is mapped onto the head of the Event Phrase rather than to the Spec position of a functional category as hypothesized in Felser (1998) and Basilico (2003). The head of the Event Phrase serves to mediate between the VP and the Tense by being coindexed with T. With all these background settings, I am in a position to advance a new proposal concerning voice change: Valence changing rules, whether syntactic or lexical, are allowed to operate on the Ev-argument. Although the Ev-argument and the agent argument (x) belong to different sections in AS (see (25) above), they nonetheless count as “external” arguments in that they are specified outside the angle brackets that enclose “internal” arguments. Given the above conception of argument structure, the core function of the prototypical passive, namely agent-defocusing (Shibatani 1985; Jaeggli 1986), is represented as in (29), where the symbol “^” stands for suppression. I call this “theta-suppression.” (Suppression means that the argument so designated is not manifested overtly or, in some cases, may be realized as an adjunct only if supplemented with specially meaningful information.) Since theta-suppression leaves the Ev-argument unaffected, the canonical passive represents an event description. (29) Theta-suppression in canonical eventive passives (Ev (x )) → (Ev (x^ )) e.g. The suspect was arrested by the police yesterday.

This formulation shows that the canonical passive applies to verbs which possess an Ev-argument. Predictably, it does not apply to individual-level verbs like resemble and have blue eyes which lack an Ev-argument (*John is resembled by his son). Suppose, then, that the peculiar passive selects the Ev-argument rather than the agent argument as its target of suppression. This operation, which may be

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termed “Event suppression,” is certainly erratic but should be a viable possibility, since the Ev-argument is an external argument anyway. (30)

I take it that the primary function of peculiar passive and middle formation is to turn event description into property description by Event suppression. I further stipulate that the suppression of the Ev-argument collaterally induces the suppression of another thematic argument (the motivation for this is to be elucidated in Section 5). In the case of peculiar passives, thanks to the prototypical character of the passive morpheme, the agent argument is suppressed in conjunction with the suppression of the Ev-argument. One may take the opposite direction, arguing that the passives of property description are extensions from regular passives. On this view, the basic function of all kinds of passives is one and the same, namely theta-suppression. This account will be incapable of explaining why eventive passive and property passive respect different syntactic conditions. As we saw in the previous section, peculiar passives are exempted from locality conditions which constrain regular passives. The exemption from syntactic conditions indicates that peculiar passives are formed by a different mechanism from regular passives. The correlation between agentsuppression and accusative-case-absorption, captured by Burzio’s generalization, holds only for canonical eventive passives.3 Peculiar passives are free of those syntactic conditions because their primary function is not agent-defocusing but the defocusing of the Ev-argument. While peculiar passives and middle sentences are provided with an identical function in this respect, they differ crucially in the locus of derivation. Peculiar passives are derived in the syntax while middle sentences are derived in lexical structure. This difference is reflected in the presence or absence of preposition stranding. (31) a.

Peculiar passive: Syntactic This cup has been drunk beer out of. b. Instrumental middle: Lexical This knife cuts well (*with). The lake fishes well (*in).

As argued by Wasow (1977) for adjectival passives, the absence of preposition stranding is a hallmark of lexical derivation. The impossibility of preposition stranding in middle constructions strongly points to their lexical derivation (cf. Keyser & Roeper 1984; Fagan 1992), as opposed to the peculiar passive of the type

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This spoon has been eaten with, which allows preposition stranding and hence is deemed syntactic. It will be noticed that my approach to the middle construction takes an opposite route to the arbitrary pro analysis commonly held in the previous literature. Under my analysis, Ev-suppression constitutes the primary function of the middle formation. Since the suppression of an agent is reduced to a subsidiary effect of Ev-suppression, it is not powerful enough to absorb the case of the direct object or motivate its promotion to the subject. Just as peculiar passives are capable of realizing direct objects, as we saw in (3b, c), it is predicted that the middle construction should also allow a direct object in situ. This prediction is remarkably borne out by the neat example in (32a), due to Greenspon (1996: 187). (32) a.

Reggie takes wonderful pictures too. Did you notice that? He’s very photogenic. (Greenspon 1996: 187) b. *Reggie takes wonderful pictures of, too.

The first clause in (32a) means that anyone can take wonderful pictures of Reggie. As a middle construction, it does not allow preposition stranding, as shown in (32b). To sum up, my proposed analysis can unify three apparently disparate constructions, namely, canonical passive, peculiar passive, and middle, into a single process of suppressing an “external” argument, the only difference being which of the theta section or the event section in argument structure is selected for suppression. By analyzing the agent suppression in middle and peculiar passive constructions as a subsidiary effect of Ev-suppression, we can provide a principled account for why these constructions are exempted from Burzio’s generalization and allow accusative objects in situ. While the English middle construction displays no morphological trigger that overtly licenses Event suppression, such a morphological correlate is indeed found in other languages. In Japanese, for example, the suffixes that lexically derive intransitive verbs from transitive verbs (Kageyama 1996) are used to mark the middle sentences as well, as exemplified by (33). (33) a.

Nihon-sya(-toyuu no)-wa yoku ur-e-ru. Japanese-cars(-called thing)-top well sell-intr-pres ‘Japanese cars sell well.’ (ure-ru intr. ‘be sold’) b. Kyooka-garasu(-toyuu no)-wa nakanaka war-e-nai. tempered-glass(-called thing)-top easily break-intr-neg.pres ‘Tempered glass won’t break easily.’ (ware-ru intr. ‘break’) c. Dooban(-toyuu no)-wa kantan-ni mag-ar-u. copper.plate(-called thing)-top easily bend-intr-pres ‘Copper plates bend easily.’ (magar-u intr. ‘bend’)

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In these examples, the intransitivizing suffixes -e and -ar signal the collateral agentsuppression motivated by Ev-suppression (see Kageyama 2002 for further details). The processes of the formation of middle sentences will be formally represented as in (34). (34) Middle formation at Argument Structure (Ev (x )) a. Ev-suppression → (Ev^ (x ) b. collateral suppression of agent → (Ev^ (x^ )) c. property description by lambda abstraction → λy (Ev^ (x^ ))

In (34), the suppression of the Ev-argument in (a) gives rise to a concomitant suppression of the agent (x) in (b). Just as the subsidiary agent suppression in peculiar passives is due to the nature of the passive morpheme, the concomitant suppression of an agent in the Japanese middle constructions is attributed to the intransitivizing suffixes -e and -ar. Since English and Japanese middle constructions are considered lexical, in (34c), a lambda abstraction is exploited in lieu of pro adjunction in syntactic peculiar passives to foreground a topical phrase (y). More direct evidence for what I have called the collateral suppression is available in Romance and other languages, where it is overtly signalled by reflexive clitics or reflexive affixes. Consider the Spanish examples in (35). (35) a.

Eventive sentence: La puerta se abrió a las ocho. the door refl opened at the eight ‘The door opened at eight o’clock.’ (Ev (x )) agent suppression by reflexivization → (Ev (xi ^=reflexive )) b. Property description (i.e. middle): Esta silla se pliega (*a las ocho). this chair refl folds (at eight o’clock) (Ev (x )) Ev-suppression → (Ev^ (x )) collateral agent suppression by reflexivization → (Evi ^ (xi =reflexive )) [–R] [–R] (R=referential)

The traditional assumption is that the reflexive marker refers to a “grammatical argument” in the sentence. This applies to (35a), an eventive sentence meaning ‘The door opened at eight’, where the reflexive se indicates a suppressed agent and is understood as being coreferential with the patient (‘the door’). We now propose that the reflexive clitic may also co-refer to an Ev-argument. Thus in (35b), a middle sentence of property description, when Event suppression takes place, the agent is

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suppressed concurrently together with the Ev-argument. The reflexive se (indicating an agent) is thus construed as coreferential with the suppressed Ev-argument. Because the suppressed Ev-argument, representing a generic state, is devoid of temporal reference (marked [–R] in (35b)), its co-referential counterpart, namely the agent (x), also loses referentiality and is consequently construed as having a generic reference. As a result, (35b) means that this chair has the property of being folded up whoever folds it at any time. Under this analysis, the arbitrary reference of the suppressed agent follows from the genericity of the whole event, and not the other way around.

. Reflexive constructions as property descriptions Thus far it has been contended that peculiar passive and middle sentences of property description are derived primarily by Event suppression, with agent-defocusing ensuing as a subsidiary effect. To see the feasibility of our contention, we will turn our attention to the constructions which, like anti-passives, involve the defocusing of a patient rather than an agent. Our approach will open up a new perspective for making sense out of certain special types of reflexive constructions whose nature has hitherto been understood only poorly. Of particular interest are the constructions called the “absolute reflexives” (Geniušien˙e 1987) which are found in Russian, Lithuanian, Slovak, Hungarian, Eskimo, Georgian, Swedish, and other languages. (36) a.

Belorussian Kot dzjare-cca. cat scratches-refl ‘The cat scratches.’ b. Lithuanian Šu-o kandžioja-si. dog-nom bite-refl ‘The dog bites.’ c. Swedish Hästen sparka-s. horse kick-refl ‘The horse kicks.’

(Geniušien˙e 1987: 249)

(Geniušien˙e 1987: 84)

(Takayuki Tohno, p.c.)

The previous studies leave the nature of this type of reflexive construction obscure. Geniušien˙e (1987: 75) admits that, while the reflexive marker has both the structural and semantic function and expresses semantic reflexivity, the absolute reflexive has a structural function, but no semantic function. Kemmer (1993: 150)

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only briefly mentions that there is an association of this construction with generic activity. My analysis is shown in (37), where the reflexive marker suppresses the Evargument and binds the patient argument (y). By defocusing the Ev-argument and the patient, the agent (x) is naturally foregrounded and qualifies itself as the topic of property description. Inasmuch as the suppressed Ev-argument takes on a generic reference, so does its reflexive counterpart, y (the patient). (37) Absolute reflexives: Characterization of the agent’s property (Ev (x )) Ev suppression and reflexive → (Evi ^ (x )) [–R] [–R] description of x’s property → λx (Evi ^ (x ))

In a recent paper, Goldberg (2001) analyzes analogous constructions in English like (38) in terms of discourse information. (38) a. That dog bites. b. He composes/invents/writes. c. Love heals. Drugs kill.

(Levin 1993: 39) (Fellbaum & Kegl 1989: 96) (Fellbaum & Kegl 1989: 96)

According to Goldberg, omission of the patient argument is possible “when the patient argument is not topical (or focal) in the discourse, and the action is particularly emphasized (via repetition, strong affective stance, discourse topicality, contrastive focus, etc.)” (p. 514). Reasonable as it is as a factual observation, this account could not elucidate the fundamental nature of property description, let alone the inherent connection between property description and valence change as a voice phenomenon. In particular, intransitive sentences like That dog bites and The tiger kills only at night resulting from what Levin (1993: 39) calls “the characteristic-property-of-agent alternation” exhibit all the traits of individuallevel predications. (39) a.

Incompatibility with punctual time adverbials *The tiger killed at that moment. b. Incompatibility with the progressive aspect *The tiger is killing (now). c. Incompatibility with perception verbs *I saw the tiger kill there. d. Unavailability of a conditional interpretation in the absolute construction Killing only at night, the tiger may be let out of the cage in the daytime.

In Japanese, sentences expressing an agent’s property are often accompanied with the nominalizer monoda ‘it is generally the case’, which expresses a propensity of the subject, as in (40b).

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(40) a.

?Inu-wa

kamituku. dog-top bite-pres ‘Dogs bite.’ b. Inu-wa kamituku monoda. dog-top bite-pres it.is.generally.the.case ‘It is generally the case that dogs bite/Dogs have a propensity to bite.’

This nominalizer, which is typically used with generic sentences (Zoo-wa hanaga nagai (monoda) ‘(It is generally the case that) elephants have a long trunk’), provides morphological evidence for the semantic shift from event to property description. In light of this fact, the characteristic-property-of-agent sentences in English are also to be analyzed as involving Ev-suppression, but unlike in the English middle and peculiar passive constructions, the Ev-suppression here atypically induces the backgrounding of the patient argument by highlighting the agent argument as the topic of the characterizing predication. Omission of the defocused patient is the result rather than the cause of the general property of individual-level predications. The difference in productivity between the absolute reflexive constructions in the reflexive languages and the characteristic-property-of-agent construction in English will be reduced to the locus of derivation: The former, which are limited to designated combinations of verbs and subjects such as the dog’s biting and the cat’s scratching (Geniušien˙e 1987), are lexical, while the latter, which is not specific to particular lexical verbs and is conditioned by discourse factors, is syntactic. The idea of Event suppression leading to property-description sentences is further extended to impersonal reflexive constructions. In (41), the suppressed Ev-argument binds the agent argument, as a result of which the property of an entity other than the agent and patient is highlighted. (41) Impersonal reflexive construction: (Ev (x <w, . . . >)) Ev-suppression → (Ev^ (x <w, . . . >)) collateral suppression → (Evi ^ (xi ^=reflexive <w, . . . >)) [–R] [–R] description of w’s property → λw (Evi ^ (xi ^=reflexive <w, ...>))

Generally, the impersonal reflexive construction of this type requires an adverbial phrase, typically a locative like “in mud” (42a) and “here” (42b, c), about which the sentence gives a characterizing predication. (42) a.

Turkish Çamur-un içinden yürü-n-mez. mud-gen inside walk-refl-neg ‘One does not walk in mud.’

(Geniušien˙e 1987: 330)

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b. Russian Zdes’ xoroo spit-sja. here well sleeps-refl ‘One sleeps well here.’ c. Spanish Aquí se duerme muy bien en verano. here refl sleeps very well in summer ‘Here one can sleep very well in summer.’

(Geniušien˙e 1987: 331)

Our assumption that this kind of sentence represents an individual-level state is confirmed by the fact that the verbs must generally be in the generic tense, i.e. 3rd person singular present. The Spanish examples in (43), referring to a specific past time or an ongoing event, are judged ungrammatical (Montserrat Sanz, p.c.). (43) a. *El passado lunes se durmió bien. (specific past time) the last Monday refl slept well ‘One slept well last Monday.’ b. *Se está durmiendo en este momento. (on-going event) refl is sleeping in this moment ‘One is sleeping at this moment.’

This view receives further support from the two “be”-verbs in Spanish, mentioned at the outset. The impersonal construction of property description is compatible with the individual-level ser, but not so with the stage-level estar. (44) Aquí se {es/?está} feliz. here refl {ser/estar} happy ‘People are happy here.’

(Montserrat Sanz, p.c.)

Here again we see that the distinction between event and property description is robust enough to qualify itself as a fundamental principle of valence change. Given the property description analysis, where a topical subject is linked to the rest of the sentence by way of predication relation, the impersonal constructions pose an apparent problem: Since the impersonal constructions do not have a syntactic subject on the surface, how can the predication relation be held? A ready answer is that a locative or some other phrase that is qualified as a topic is moved to the topic position at LF. Notice that the property description in virtue of Evsuppression is not confined to reflexives. Geniušien˙e (1987: 331) points out that if a language does not use a reflexive impersonal construction for this purpose, it may employ a passive form instead, as in Turkish. This strongly indicates that there is an abstract universal principle of Ev-argument suppression which carries out the semantic shift from event description to property description, although its morphological and syntactic manifestations diverge in individual languages.

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Our analysis of the impersonal constructions in Spanish and other languages will be readily extended to the English constructions with “funny subjects” like those in (45), whose existence and peculiarity have occasionally been observed in the literature without illuminating explanations. (45) a. Thirty-five thousand dollars won’t build that kind of a house these days. b. This cabin sleeps twenty people. (Perlmutter & Postal 1984: 92)

An outstanding problem with these construction is why they cannot be passivized, as illustrated by the ungrammaticality of (46). (46) a. *That kind of a house won’t be built by thirty-five thousand dollars these days. b. *Twenty people are slept by this cabin. (Perlmutter & Postal 1984: 92)

The previous approaches ranging from Perlmutter and Postal’s (1984) 1-Advancement Exclusiveness Law in relational grammar to Farrell’s (1993) argument structure analysis to Shibatani’s (1985) and Langacker’s (this volume) cognitive notions of low agentivity/transitivity do not seem to succeed in unraveling the mystery of why these constructions resist passivization, because all of them ignore the stativity of these sentences. Notice that the funny subject sentences do not entail the actual occurrence of the events at a particular time but instead are best characterized as property descriptions depicting a particular feature of the subject NP. This is shown by the fact that their acceptability is degraded if a temporal adverbial that promotes an eventive reading is added. (47) a. *Thirty-five thousand dollars built my house in two months last summer. b. *This cabin slept my family last night.

The inapplicability of passivization in (46), then, follows straightforwardly from the individual-level status of these sentences, because stative sentences of individual-level predications generally do not passivize, as in (48). (48) a. *Tom is resembled by his son. b. *Blue eyes are had by Jane.

To recapitulate, I began my discussion with the English peculiar passive, pointing out that it has an individual-level status of property description. As I enlarged my scope of investigation to other related constructions, it has become clear that the peculiar passive is by no means an isolated phenomenon peculiar to English. Granting that the Ev-argument suppression is the underlying general principle, we have discovered that various languages make use of this principle in a constellation of valence-changing constructions, in particular, valence-decreasing constructions. The final question to be addressed is, why should Ev-suppression be correlated with valence decrease?

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. On the nature of valence decrease in property description The foregoing discussions have revealed that there is a significant correlation between the change in the verb’s valence and the shift from event to property description. Since this correlation does not seem to be accidental, it is necessary to pin down its principled motivation. I claim that the crux of the problem resides in Hopper and Thompson’s gradient Transitivity and more specifically in Kemmer’s notion of “distinguishability of events.” Kemmer (1993) defines the relative distinguishability of events in terms of two factors: (i) the number of grammatical participants in a given sentence, and (ii) the number of subevents expressed in the sentence. While Kemmer explicitly denies other possibilities, I propose to add one more factor, namely, temporal distinguishability, or individuation of time. An event has a high degree of internal elaboration if it refers to a particular time and location of happening, because then, it is easily understood who did what to whom. On the other hand, an event that is not contingent on a particular time of occurrence (namely, a generic activity or state) has a low degree of elaboration, because the absence of the temporal reference makes the participants of the event opaque. In terms of Hopper and Thompson’s (1980) parameters, the parameter “J” (the individuation of objects) will have to be extended to the individuation of events. When an event is individuated, it gains a high degree of independence and consequently, the time and place of its occurrence as well as the number and roles of its grammatical participants become transparent. On the other hand, if an event is not individuated, the time and place of its occurrence cannot be pinpointed and the identity of the participants is blurred. The function of passivization, whose canonical effect is to decrease or eliminate the distinctness of an agent, can be extended to the elimination of the distinctness of an event itself. If an event is distinct, not only do the agent and patient have clear identity, but the event itself is also individuated with respect to the time and place of its occurrence. On the other hand, if an event loses its individuation, it becomes a simple state whose internal structure cannot be analyzed in terms of time, agent, and other grammatical elements involved, and therefore it requires some kind of topic of which it is to be predicated. Sentences of event description have a particular specification of tense because the Event Phrase projected from the Ev-argument serves as a bridge between the lexical concept of a verb and the syntactic tense (T) that refers to a real world. On the other hand, if the Ev-argument is suppressed, the internal structure of the main clause cannot be linked to tense, so that the clause is taken as an unanalyzed whole and hence has only a low degree of distinguishability of participants. The only way to give such a clause a proper semantic interpretation is to have recourse

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to predication relation, and operations like pro adjunction, lambda abstraction or null operator movement are invoked to fulfil this purpose. All these claims will be summarized in the simplified tree diagrams in (49) and (50). (49) Event description

(50) Property description TP

TP NP

NP

T´ T

EvP NP

predication relation

Ev´ Ev

T

VP NP

V´ V

VP

NP

T´

NP

V´ V

NP

(For expository purposes, vP and other irrelevant phrases are omitted.)

Removal of the Event argument turns a stage-level event to an individual-level state. Since, by hypothesis, an individual-level state lacks an Event Phrase, its meaning must be interpreted by way of topic-comment predication. This analysis dispenses with Diesing’s (1992) assumption that the INFL assigns a special theta-role to the subject of individual-level predicates.

. Conclusion By drawing attention to a hitherto neglected facet of voice phenomena, namely property description, this paper has attempted to complement Shibatani’s otherwise excellent contribution (1985). Although the phenomena taken up in the previous sections have been separately discussed in some detail in the previous literature on individual languages, there has been no attempt to consolidate them into a unified system or get to grips with the direct relationship between the stativity in property description and voice alternations. I have argued that there is a fundamental principle distinguishing between event and property description, and that the shift from event to property description, as it is executed by Event suppression, has a collateral consequence of reducing the valence of the original sentence. The assumption that the Event argument counts as an external argument in argument structure allows us to identify the production of property descrip-

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tion and the concomitant decrease in valence as a voice phenomenon. As far as I know, however, no language has a single morphosyntactic device that is specifically designed for this purpose; instead, languages use different means to embody the collateral suppression. Some languages exploit passive morphemes, some, intransitivizing affixes, some, reflexives, and others, none. There are cases where the event/property shift does not appear to incur valence decrease, as in This cat doesn’t chase mice. Even in such cases, I assume that a collateral suppression does take place in a weak form, rendering the object NP referentially generic. Finally, let me briefly touch on the distinction between “thetic” judgement (single judgement) and “categorical” judgement (double judgement), first made by the 19th century philosophers Brentano and Marty and introduced into modern linguistic research by Kuroda (1972). Kuroda observes that this distinction is manifested in Japanese by the particles ga and wa: (51) a.

Thetic: Inu-ga hasit-te iru. Dog-nom run-grd is ‘There’s a dog running.’ b. Categorical: Inu-wa hasit-te iru. Dog-top run-grd is ‘The dog is running.’

In a word, a thetic sentence is an “event-reporting” sentence which is suitable as an answer to “What happened?” while a categorical sentence expresses the traditional subject-predicate relation, answering the question “What about X?”. Because of the topical character of the subject in the latter and the non-topicality of the subject in the former, the distinction has sometimes been reexamined in terms of information and other pragmatic factors (Sasse 1987; Lambrecht 1994; Rosengren 1997), and attempts have been made to equate thetic sentences with stage-level predications and categorical sentences with individual-level predications (Ladusaw 2000; Erteschik-Shir 1997). Although the identification of thetic with stage-level seems plausible, the observations in this paper indicate that the identification of categorical judgment with individual-level predications is not correct. This is seen perhaps most clearly in Japanese. Sentence (51b), allegedly a categorical sentence because of the topic marker wa, is nonetheless a stage-level predication because it is wholly compatible with a punctual time adverbial and can be embedded in the complement to a direct perception verb. The subject inu-wa ‘the dog’ in (51b) is thus a discourse-topic, but not the topic for the predication relation in an individuallevel or property statement. This leads us to conclude that the thetic/categorical distinction is a matter of discourse, whereas the stage/individual or property/event distinction truly belongs to the realm of grammar.

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Abbreviations ACC – accusative; COMP – complementizer; COP – copula; DAT – dative; GEN – genitive; GRD – gerundive; INTR – intransitivizer; LOC – locative; NEG – negator; NOM – nominative; NR – nominalizer; PASS – passive; PL – plural; PRES – present; REFL – reflexive; TOP – topic.

Notes * Since I wrote my doctoral thesis under his supervision at the University of Southern California in 1977, Professor Shibatani has always been my goal, my basis of academic work, and my source of inspiration and energy. Both as his earlierst student and as a co-editor of the present volume, I feel supremely happy and gratified to contribute this paper to celebrate his sixtieth birthday. . I’m grateful to Montserrat Sanz and Takayuki Tohno for providing me with useful information on the reflexive constructions in Spanish and Swedish, respectively. I also appreciate the comments from Andrew Spencer, Hagit Borer, Marie Labelle, Paul Hirschbühler, and Chungmin Lee at the LP2002 (Linguistics and Phonetics 2002) International Conference, held at Meikai University, Japan, and the comment from Manfred Krifka at the 2003 KASELL International Conference, held at Hanyang University, Korea, as well as the comments and questions from Matt Shibatani and his students when the paper was presented at Rice University in 2003. This work was supported in part by a Grant-in-Aid for Scientific Research ((B)(1) no.14310225) from the Japanese Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology. . Korean speakers informed me that the counterpart of this property passive is acceptable in Korean as well: (i)

Nattoo-nun i cipang-eyse-nun, mayil achim aitul-eykey mek-i-e-ci-ko natto-top this district-in-top every morning children-dat eat-cause-pass [Korean] iss-ta. is

. Recent work on generative syntax, notably Reuland (ed.) (2000), raises many doubts concerning the validity and nature of Burzio’s generalization.

References Baker, M. (1988). Incorporation: A Theory of Grammatical Function Changing. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Basilico, D. (2003). “The topic of small clauses”. Linguistic Inquiry, 34, 1–35. Bolinger, D. (1975). “On the passive in English”. The First LACUS Forum, 57–77. Columbia: Hornbeam Press. Burzio, L. (1986). Italian Syntax: A Government-Binding Approach. Dordrecht: D. Reidel. Carlson, G. (1980). Reference to Kinds in English. New York: Garland. Davidson, D. (1967). “The logical form of action sentences”. Reprinted in D. Davidson (1980), Essays on Actions and Events (pp. 105–122). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Davison, A. (1980). “Peculiar passives”. Language, 56, 42–66. Diesing, M. (1992). Indefinites. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Erteschik-Shir, N. (1997). The Dynamics of Focus Structure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. É. Kiss, K. (1998). “On generic and existential bare plurals and the classification of predicates”. In S. Rothstein (Ed.), Events and Grammar (pp. 145–162). Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic. Fagan, S. (1992). The Syntax and Semantics of Middle Constructions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Farrell, P. (1993). “A last look at the 1AEX”. The Proceedings of the Eleventh West Coast Conference on Formal Linguistics, 11, 191–206. Fellbaum, C. (1986). On the Middle Construction in English. Bloomington: Indiana University Linguistics Club. Fellbaum, C. & Kegl, J. (1989). “Taxonomic structures and cross-category linking in the lexicon”. ESCOL ’89, 93–104. Felser, C. (1998). “Perception and control: A minimalist analysis of English direct perception complements”. Journal of Linguistics, 34, 351–386. Fernald, T. (2000). Predicates and Temporal Arguments. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Geniušien˙e, E. (1987). The Typology of Reflexives. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Givón, T. (1990). Syntax: A Functional-Typological Introduction. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Goldberg, A. (2001). “Patient arguments of causative verbs can be omitted”. Language Sciences, 23, 503–524. Greenspon, M. (1996). A Closer Look at the Middle Construction. Ph.D. dissertation, Yale University. Grimshaw, J. (1990). Argument Structure. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Higginbotham, J. (1985). “On semantics”. Linguistic Inquiry, 16, 547–593. Hopper, P. & Thompson, S. (1980). “Transitivity in grammar and discourse”. Language, 56, 251– 299. Hoshi, H. (1999). “Passives”. In N. Tsujimura (Ed.), The Handbook of Japanese Linguistics (pp. 191–235). Oxford: Blackwell. Huang, C.-T. J. (1999). “Chinese passives in comparative perspective”. Ms., Harvard University. Inoue, K. (1976). Henkei-bunpoo to Nihongo [Transformational Grammar and Japanese]. Tokyo: Taishukan. Jaeggli, O. (1986). “Passive”. Linguistic Inquiry, 17, 587–622. Kageyama, T. (1993). Bunpoo to Gokeisei [Grammar and Word Formation]. Tokyo: Hituzi Shobo. Kageyama, T. (1996). Dooshi Imiron [Verb Semantics]. Tokyo: Kurosio. Kageyama, T. (1997). “Denominal verbs and relative salience in Lexical Conceptual Structure”. In T. Kageyama (Ed.), Verb Semantics and Syntactic Structure (pp. 45–96). Tokyo: Kurosio. Kageyama, T. (1999). “Word formation”. In N. Tsujimura (Ed.), The Handbook of Japanese Linguistics (pp. 297–325). Oxford: Blackwell. Kageyama, T. (2002). “On the role of the event argument in passive, middle, and reflexive constructions”. In LP2002 (Linguistics and Phonetics 2002) Proceedings On-line, http://www.wata-net.com/files/proceedingstable.htm Kageyama, T. & Ura, H. (2002). “Peculiar passives as individual-level predicates”. Gengo Kenkyu, 122, 181–199. The Linguistic Society of Japan. Katz, G. (2000). “Anti neo-Davidsonianism: Against a Davidsonian semantics for state sentences”. In C. Tenny & J. Pustejovsky (Eds.), Events as Grammatical Objects (pp. 393– 416). Stanford: CSLI.

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Property description as a voice phenomenon

Keyser, S. & Roeper, T. (1984). “On the middle and ergative constructions in English”. Linguistic Inquiry, 15, 381–416. Kemmer, S. (1993). The Middle Voice. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kratzer, A. (1994). “On external arguments”. University of Massachusetts Occasional Papers, 17, 103–130. Kratzer, A. (1995). “Stage-level and individual-level predicates”. In G. Carlson & F. Pelletier (Eds.), The Generic Book (pp. 125–175). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Krifka, M., Pelletier, F., Carlson, G., ter Meulen, A., Link, G., & Chierchia, G. (1995). “Genericity: An introduction”. In G. Carlson & F. Pelletier (Eds.), The Generic Book (pp. 1–124). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kuroda, S.-Y. (1972). “The categorical judgement and the thetic judgement”. Foundations of Language, 9, 153–185. Langacker, L. (this volume). “Dimensions of defocusing”. Lambrecht, K. (1994). Information Structure and Sentene Form. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ladusaw, W. A. (2000). “Thetic and categorical, stage and individual, weak and strong”. In L. R. Horn & Y. Kato (Eds.), Negation and Polarity (pp. 232–242). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Levin, B. (1993). English Verb Classes and Alternations. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Masuoka, T. (1987). Meidai-no Bunpo [The Grammar of Propositions]. Tokyo: Kurosio. Matsumoto, M. & Fujita, K. (1995). “The English middle as an individual-level predicate”. Studies in English Literature, 72(1), 95–111. The English Literary Society of Japan. McClure, W. (1998). “Morphosyntactic realization of aspectual structure”. In N. Akatsuka et al. (Eds.), Japanese/Korean Linguistics 7 (pp. 445–461). Stanford: CSLI. Milsark, G. (1979). Existential Sentences in English. New York: Garland. Miyagawa, S. (1989). Structure and Case Marking in Japanese. New York: Academic Press. Parsons, T. (1990). Events in the Semantics of English. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Perlmutter, D. & Postal, P. (1984). “The 1-advancement exclusiveness law”. In D. Perlmutter & C. Rosen (Eds.), Studies in Relational Grammar 2 (pp. 81–125). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ramchand, G. C. (1997). Aspect and Predication: The Semantics of Argument Structure. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reuland, Eric (Ed.). (2000). Arguments and Case: Explaining Burzio’s Generalization. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Rosengren, I. (1997). “The thetic/categorical distinction revisited once more”. Linguistics, 35, 439–479. Rosta, A. (1995). “The semantics of English mediopassives”. In B. Aarts & C. Meyer (Eds.), The Verb in Contemporary English (pp. 123–144). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sasse, H.-J. (1987). “The thetic/categorical distinction revisited”. Linguistics, 25, 511–580. Shibatani, M. (1976). “Causativization”. In M. Shibatani (Ed.), Japanese Generative Grammar (pp. 239–294). New York: Academic Press. Shibatani, M. (1985). “Passives and related constructions”. Language, 61, 821–848. Sproat, R. (1985). On Deriving the Lexicon. Ph.D. dissertation, MIT. Stump, G. (1985). The Semantic Variability of Absolute Constructions. Dordrecht: D. Reidel. Takami, K. (1992). Preposition Stranding: From Syntactic to Functional Analyses. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Ura, H. (2003). “Peculiar passives as derived predicates”. Ms., Kwansei Gakuin University.

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Van Hout, A. & Roeper, T. (1998). “Events and aspectual structure in derivational morphology.” MIT Working Papers in Linguistics, 32, 175–200. Van Oosten, J. (1977). “Subjects and agenthood in English”. In W. Beach, S. Fox, & S. Philosoph (Eds.), Papers from the Thirteenth Regional Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society (pp. 459–471). Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. Wasow, T. (1977). “Transformations and the lexicon”. In P. Culicover, T. Wasow, & A. Akmajian (Eds.), Formal Syntax (pp. 327–360). New York: Academic Press. Whelpton, M. (2001). “Elucidation of a telic infinitive”. Journal of Linguistics, 37, 313–337. Ziv, Y. & Sheintuch, G. (1981). “Passives of obliques over direct objects”. Lingua, 54, 1–17.

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Dimensions of defocusing Ronald W. Langacker University of California, San Diego

The semantic import of grammar resides in particular ways of construing the conceptual content evoked by other elements. Factors such as perspective, prominence, and specificity are central to the characterization of grammatical voice. A standard active/passive contrast represents only one kind of voice alternation; unless artificial boundaries are imposed, a wide and varied range of voice phenomena must be recognized. Explored in this paper are the parameters along which voice constructions vary and how they relate to one another. A variety of representative voice constructions, from diverse languages, are characterized from the standpoint of Cognitive Grammar.

Shibatani (1985) represented a major step toward clarifying the nature of passives and their position within a broader range of grammatical phenomena. Shibatani’s paper remains relevant to the still contentious issues of voice, grammatical relations, and how syntax relates to semantics, pragmatics, and discourse. Here I will try to build on Shibatani’s insights by addressing the same issues with the perspective of nearly two decades, from the standpoint of Cognitive Grammar (Langacker 1987a, 1990, 1991, 1999b).

.

Canonical event presentation

Let me start by presenting some basic semantic and grammatical notions needed for the explicit characterization of clause structure. . Archetypes We must first recognize an open-ended set of conceptual archetypes, i.e. ubiquitous aspects of our everyday experience that we grasp as basic gestalts despite their actual complexity. Here are a few examples: the conception of a physical object; of an object moving through space; a person; a whole and its parts; perceiving something; maintaining a certain posture; manipulating a physical object; act-

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Ronald W. Langacker

S L

L P

P S = setting L = location P = participant

L P

L

L P

P

Figure 1.

ing to effect a change; saying something; feeling an emotion; etc. Archetypes are readily available for linguistic exploitation, in particular as the meaning of a basic lexical item or the prototype of a fundamental grammatical category. For instance, reference to a physical object is prototypical for nouns. We conceptualize both things and relationships, under broad definitions of these terms (Langacker 1987b). For each we can note a number of archetypal conceptions relevant to the issues at hand. In the case of things, we make a basic conceptual distinction between inclusive, essentially stable settings and the more compact, generally more mobile entities – called participants – which occupy settings and interact with one another (Langacker 1987c, 1993a). A location is any portion of a setting, however it might be delimited. At a given moment, a setting normally hosts a substantial number of participants, each occupying a different location, as shown in Figure 1. We can further recognize various archetypes representing common types of participants (e.g. person, physical object, substance). For relationships, two kinds of archetypes are pertinent. Relationships are conceptually dependent, in the sense that their conception presupposes and incorporates the conception of their participants (at least schematically). Besides archetypal relationships, we must therefore consider archetypal participant roles. Represented in Figure 2(a) are some minimal archetypal relationships involving just a single focused participant. The single participant can either occupy a certain location (e.g. stand) or can change location (sink). It can exhibit a stable property (tall) or undergo a change (grow). A person can be in a certain experiential state (happy) or change in that respect (awaken). In Figure 2(b) I give my labels for the corresponding archetypal participant roles. The zero role, for example, is that of a participant which merely occupies a location or exhibits a static property. I use the term patient in a narrow sense, for a participant that undergoes an internal change of state. Theme is employed as a cover term for all the roles in Figure 2.1

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Dimensions of defocusing (a)

(b)

Location

Mover Zero

Property

Patient

Experience

Experiencer Static

Dynamic

Figure 2. (a) Caused Motion

AG

MVR

(b) Caused Change

AG

PAT

(c) Caused Experience

AG

EXP

Figure 3.

The relationships in Figure 2(a) can all be conceptualized in absolute fashion, i.e. without in any salient way invoking an agent or an external force inducing their occurrence (Langacker 1989). The dynamic archetypes also function as the conceptually autonomous core of more elaborate archetypes representing common types of causation, as sketched in Figure 3, where a double arrow indicates the exertion of force (Talmy 1988) and a box encloses the occurrence induced. This layered organization is reflected in the numerous English verbs which have both an intransitive sense, corresponding to the conceptually autonomous core, and a transitive sense, where that core is augmented by the conceptually dependent notion of causation. Examples are pairs like it rolled vs. I rolled it (for motion), it broke vs. he broke it (for change of state), and he woke up vs. she woke him up (for experience). Not every two-participant relational archetype exhibits this kind of conceptual layering. At any given moment, for instance, we interact with other entities at the level of mental experience (e.g. see, like, remember, imagine). Interactions involving contact or spatial paths are also very frequent (touch, approach, reach, avoid). These do not per se involve the transmission of force, nor any motion, change, or experience on the part of the second participant. I take this participant

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Ronald W. Langacker (a) Mental Interaction

EXP

(b) Spatial Interaction

MVR

ZERO

ZERO

Figure 4. (a) Action Chain

(b) Instrumental Causation

AG

INS

(c) Role Conflation

PAT

AG-MVR

Figure 5.

as manifesting the zero role archetype, whereas the more active participant is an experiencer or a mover.2 The more active participant in Figure 3 is an agent, or more generally, an energy source. A series of participants, each transmitting energy to the next, constitutes an action chain, represented in Figure 5(a). The archetypes in Figure 3 comprise action chains with just two participants. In a longer chain, an instrument is an intermediary in the transmission of energy from agent to theme, as in Figure 5(b). Figure 5(c) depicts a case of role conflation, e.g. walk, where the single participant is both an agent and a mover. This inventory of archetypes is certainly not exhaustive, nor is it claimed that they precisely match the richly varied details of particular examples. Like cardinal vowels, they should be thought of as salient points of reference within a continuous space of possibilities. . Descriptive constructs A central claim of Cognitive Grammar is that lexicon, morphology, and syntax form a continuum fully describable as assemblies of symbolic structures, each residing in the pairing of a semantic structure and a phonological structure. The constructs employed for grammatical description should thus be susceptible to semantic characterization. This does prove possible given a conceptualist semantics based on our capacity to construe the same situation in alternate ways.

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Dimensions of defocusing (a) throw (V)

tr

(b) thrower

(c) throw (N)

lm

Figure 6.

One aspect of construal is the evocation of a certain array of conceptual content. The content evoked by a particular expression as the basis for its meaning is called its maximal scope (MS). Within this, there is often a limited portion – the immediate scope (IS) – that functions as the general locus of attention, like a stage. An expression’s profile is the onstage element singled out as the specific focus of attention. This is the entity it designates (its conceptual referent). The word cursor, for example, evokes as its maximal scope the conception of a computer and its use. Its immediate scope comprises the notions directly relevant to characterizing the designated entity, such as the monitor screen, an arrow appearing on the screen, and how the user controls its position. The entity profiled by cursor is the arrow. An expression profiles either a thing or a relationship. Cursor profiles a thing. Throw profiles a relationship in which an agent induces a mover to rapidly sail away from it along an extended spatial path. Essential features of this verb are sketched in Figure 6(a). As abbreviatory notations, circles are used for things, and various kinds of lines and arrows for relationships. Heavy lines indicate profiling. Since a relationship is conceptually dependent on its central participants, the agent and mover invoked by throw are included in its profile. Expressions evoking the same conceptual content can nonetheless differ in meaning by virtue of profiling different elements within it. For instance, the content supplied by throw supports the meaning of thrower, derived by restricting the profile to the agent, as shown in Figure 6(b). Throw can also be used as a noun, in which case the profile shifts to an abstract thing obtained by conceptual reification (e.g. he made a good throw). Represented by an ellipse in Figure 6(c), this abstract thing consists of one instance of the event designated by the verb. Profiling is one kind of prominence, an important aspect of construal. Expressions that profile relationships exhibit a second kind of prominence pertaining to the relational participants. As shown for throw in Figure 6(a), there is generally a primary focal participant, termed the trajector (tr), and often a secondary focal participant, called a landmark (lm).3 The need to posit this second dimension of prominence is demonstrated by pairs of expressions like before and after, which evoke the same content and profile the same relationship of temporal precedence. As shown in Figure 7, their semantic contrast resides in whether the later event is invoked as a temporal landmark in order to locate the earlier one, or conversely.

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 Ronald W. Langacker (a) before

t

(b) after tr

lm

lm

tr

Event

Event

Event

Event

t

Figure 7.

An expression’s grammatical category is specifically determined by the nature of its profile (not its overall content). Throw is thus a verb because it profiles a particular kind of relationship, termed a process, whereas thrower – which has the same content – is a noun because it profiles a thing. As a noun, throw designates an abstract thing representing a reification of the verbal process. A process is characterized as a relationship scanned sequentially in its evolution through time (Langacker 1987a: Ch. 7). By contrast, classes such as adjectives, adverbs, and prepositions profile various kinds of relationships apprehended holistically.4 The notions trajector and landmark are also grammatically significant: a subject is a nominal expression which specifies the trajector of a profiled relationship, whereas an object specifies a landmark. It is claimed in Cognitive Grammar that fundamental grammatical notions – including noun, verb, subject, and object – have both a schematic semantic characterization (one valid for all instances) and a semantic prototype. The schematic characterizations have little intrinsic content. They are primarily matters of construal, residing in cognitive operations applicable to any content (conceptual reification, sequential scanning, primary and secondary focal prominence). On the other hand, the prototypes consist of conceptual archetypes (physical object, agent-patient interaction, agent, patient). Presumably the cognitive operations are initially manifested in the corresponding archetypes and are later extended to conventionally determined ranges of other cases. The most fundamental categories, noun and verb, each correspond to a higher-level structure that is also fundamental to grammar: a nominal (i.e. a noun phrase) and a finite clause. By itself, a lexical noun (e.g. cup) or verb (break) merely specifies a type of thing or process. At a higher level, a nominal (e.g. this cup) or a finite clause (he broke it) profiles a grounded instance of a thing or process type. The type in question is usually provided by a lexical head, often qualified by modifiers. Grounding is effected by highly grammaticized elements such as determiners, tense, and modals. Conceptually, it specifies the epistemic status of the profiled thing or process vis-à-vis the ground, i.e. the speech event and its participants (Langacker 1991, 1993c, 1994).

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Dimensions of defocusing (a)

(b)

OS

F

MF

IS

P

MS V

C

V = viewer MF = maximal field of view OS = onstage region F = focus of viewing attention

C = conceptualizer MS = maximal scope IS = immediate scope P = profile

Figure 8.

. Alignment We can note certain parallels between elements of visual perception and descriptive constructs required in a conceptualist semantics (Talmy 1996; Langacker 1995, 2001a). From the maximal field of view accessible at a given moment, a viewer selects a general locus of viewing attention. Metaphorically, this is the “onstage” region. Within it, the viewer singles out a specific focus of attention. We observe in Figure 8 that these elements and their configuration have direct analogs in semantic structure. For a given expression, the conceptualizer evokes some range of conceptual content (maximal scope), selects a certain portion as a general locus of attention (immediate scope), and singles out a particular element as the specific focus of attention (profile). Figure/ground organization also has linguistic manifestations, notably in the salience of relational participants (Talmy 1978; Langacker 1999a). Trajector and landmark can be characterized as primary and secondary figures (focal participants) in a profiled relationship. These constructs define a “framework” for “viewing” conceptual content and thereby shaping it into linguistic meanings. We are primarily concerned with the viewing apparatus inherent in clause structure, hence with the linguistic construal of events and situations. In their prototypical values, the grammatical elements constituting clause structure provide a canonical framework for the linguistic coding of archetypal events. This framework is naturally extended to other sorts of occurrences. Moreover, even archetypal events may be apprehended in noncanonical ways by virtue of alternate grammatical constructions. This is where voice enters the picture. For finite clauses, the basic viewing framework consists of a grounded process, onstage and profiled within an immediate scope, with one or two participants singled out for focal prominence. Constructional schemas (i.e. schematic symbolic assemblies) specify the grammatical form of a one- or two-participant clause serving to impose the viewing framework it embodies on the content evoked by particu-



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 Ronald W. Langacker Linguistic Expression he broke it he

break (Immediate) Scope lm

tr 3sm

nf

Joe

cup nf

it

Constructional Schema Transitive Clause Subject Object Nominal Transitive Verb Nominal tr

lm

3sn

3sm

tr

3sn nf

lm

Location Setting Conceived Event

Coded Event

Figure 9.

lar expressions. Figure 9 shows this very roughly for the clause he broke it.5 The constructional schema for transitive clauses specifies how the subject and object nominals combine with the verb, based on correspondences (dotted lines) between the nominal profiles and the verb’s trajector and landmark. Lexical choices produce a specific expression which instantiates the schema: he and it provide minimal characterizations of the nominal profiles, as third person singular (3s) and either masculine (m) or neuter (n); and break profiles a caused change such that the landmark becomes non-functional (nf). This clause is used in a particular discourse context to describe a conceived event, e.g. that of Joe breaking a certain cup at some location within a global setting. The coding relation between clause and event is effected by aligning their component elements in the manner indicated by correspondence lines. The resulting conception represents the event construed in the manner determined by linguistic coding. For a given language, a particular alignment between basic clausal elements and components of the conceived event can be regarded as canonical. In expressions manifesting this canonical alignment, each clausal element codes an instantiation of the conceptual archetype functioning as its prototype. The alignment in Figure 9 is canonical for transitive clauses in English: the verb profiles an agentpatient interaction (as does the clause as a whole), the subject codes the agent, and the object the patient. It is also canonical for locations and other participants to be expressed by prepositional phrases, and a spatial or temporal setting by an adverbial peripheral to the clause (e.g. In the kitchen, Ken was chopping celery on the counter with a cleaver). The canonical alignment is a baseline from which less

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Dimensions of defocusing  (a) Agent-Oriented Canonical Aligment

(b) Theme-Oriented Canonical Aligment Events

AG

TH

tr

lm

Clause Structures

AG

TH

(lm)

tr

Figure 10.

canonical expressions diverge in terms of either the kind of situation described or the means of coding it linguistically. The baseline is not the same in every language. Alternate canonical alignments – each natural in its own way – constitute a typologically significant factor in the domain of voice and grammatical relations. The most fundamental distinction holds between agent-oriented and theme-oriented canonical alignments. This is a matter of whether, in the baseline situation, trajector status is conferred on an agent (energy source) or on a thematic participant (with the role of patient, mover, experiencer, or zero). The agent-oriented alignment is natural owing to the inherent cognitive salience of action and force, as embodied in the archetype of a human agent acting in the world. The theme-oriented alignment is natural because most of the conceptual content serving to characterize recognized kinds of situations and events pertains primarily to thematic participants (Keenan 1984). It is the theme that exhibits a property, occupies a location, has a mental experience, moves, or undergoes a change of state. A typical predicate provides considerably more detail about the nature of the theme and what happens to it than about the agent. These two basic alignments are sketched in Figure 10, which shows how constructional schemas for clauses map onto archetypal events with one or two participants.6 Every language provides general constructional schemas for one- and two-participant clauses, and each schema highlights one participant as its primary focal participant. In an agent-oriented system, trajector status is canonically conferred on the most agent-like participant, so a two-participant clause represents the primary pattern (solid-line box). Conversely, a theme-oriented system confers trajector status on the most theme-like participant, so one-participant clauses are primary. In each type of system, the secondary pattern emerges through the optionality (dashed-line box) of the non-trajector participant: omission of a separate theme in the former case, and inclusion of a separate agent in the latter.

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 Ronald W. Langacker

An agent-oriented system centers on agent-theme interactions, as in Figure 3, with agent focused as trajector. When this template is extended to non-agentive interactions like those in Figure 4, the more agent-like participant (experiencer or mover) is naturally chosen as trajector, the less active one (zero) as landmark. In one-participant clauses, the trajector may still be an agent due to role conflation, as seen in Figure 5(c). When the sole participant is a theme, as in Figure 2, it is nonetheless the most agent-like participant (by default). On the other hand, a theme-oriented system centers on the single-participant archetypes in Figure 2. Trajector status is also conferred on a theme in cases of role conflation, where the participant is a theme as well as an agent. The pattern is further extended to clauses with two profiled participants, where the agent is at best a secondary focal participant (landmark). The contrast between agent- and theme-orientation lies at the root of the traditional distinction between nominative/accusative and ergative/absolutive organization (Langacker 1989, 1991: Ch. 9, 1993b). I am not however specifically concerned with case marking (as suggested by those labels), but mainly with grammatical relations, characterized in terms of focal prominence. It is doubtful that any language – as a whole – is properly characterized as either agent- or themeoriented. Probably every language displays both “accusative” and “ergative” organization, differing only in the proportion and selection of grammatical phenomena each applies to. My specific interest lies with agent- vs. theme-orientation in the canonical choice of trajector, i.e. alternate strategies for the unmarked choice of grammatical subject. Departures from this baseline constitute voice phenomena. My characterization of subjects is conceptual and highly schematic. It is not based on any specific semantic role (e.g. agent), grammatical behavior (e.g. verb agreement), or discourse status (e.g. topic), though it tends to correlate with such factors. It is a matter of primary focal prominence (as explicated in Langacker 1999a, 2001b), the clause-level manifestation of a semantic construct demonstratively necessary for lexical description (Figure 7). Particular grammatical behaviors – the usual basis for positing subjects – are merely symptomatic of focal prominence, not a viable definition that captures its essential or universal nature. Despite certain universal tendencies, the number and specific inventory of behaviors that attach themselves to this kind of prominence is determined as a matter of language-specific convention. I believe this radical rethinking of what constitutes subjecthood is both descriptively more revealing for Standard Average European and yields a more coherent account of typological variation and language universals. For one thing, the characterization is arguably valid for all subjects in English and other European languages (not just prototypical instances). Moreover (as discussed below for Tagalog), it is applicable to prominent elements in other languages not recognizable as subjects on the basis of the grammatical behaviors usually considered for

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Dimensions of defocusing 

this purpose. It also leads to a reasonable account of voice alternations. These fall into two broad (and overlapping) classes: those based on prominence, and those based on specificity.

. Prominence dimensions The grammatical apparatus constituting clause structure embodies a viewing framework which imposes varying degrees of prominence on certain elements of a coded event or situation (Figure 9). For a given language, a particular way of aligning this viewing framework with a coded event is reasonably considered canonical. In the canonical alignment, two kinds of prominence are conferred on conceptual archetypes: the clause profiles an archetypal event (e.g. an agent-patient interaction), and selects as its trajector a participant instantiating an archetypal role (e.g. agent). Deviations from the canonical alignment with respect to either type of prominence give rise to voice alternations. . Trajector choice In an agent-oriented or theme-oriented system, trajector status in two-participant clauses is canonically conferred on the participant instantiating the archetype in question. In either case the canonical alignment creates a need for alternatives in situations where discourse considerations favor the focusing of another element. Passive constructions provide this flexibility in an agent-oriented system, conferring trajector status on the theme. In a theme-oriented system, the required alternative must focus the agent; constructions referred to as “antipassive” share this property. The inverse relationship between these kinds of alternation has often been noted. As shown in Figure 11, the canonical alignment for an agent-oriented system is comparable to the alternative alignment for a theme-oriented system, and conversely. This diagram is obviously not a full characterization of any construction or voice alternation. It merely represents the coexistence (probably in every language) of grammatical patterns which accommodate each natural basis for trajector choice, as determined by discourse considerations. The English passive is one particular construction serving to impose the alternative alignment in an agent-oriented system. It is specifically the past participial morpheme that confers trajector status on a thematic participant which the verb would otherwise choose as landmark (Langacker 1982). Passive alignment is thus apparent even when the participle occurs alone as a non-clausal noun modifier (e.g. the car stolen last night). Since the participial expression views an event holistically, to function as clausal head it must combine with be (the car was stolen); this schematic verb imposes its own processual nature on the content supplied

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 Ronald W. Langacker (a)

Agent-Oriented Canonical Alignment

AG

TH

tr Theme-Oriented Alternative Alignment

(b)

Theme-Oriented Canonical Alignment

AG

TH tr

Agent-Oriented Alternative Alignment

Figure 11.

by the participle. The agent is typically not expressed, indicating that it is not a focal participant. When necessary, the agent is introduced periphrastically in a by-phrase. There are other structural means of forming passives, defined as the occurrence of configuration 11(b) in lieu of 11(a), as well as antipassives, the converse situation. We also encounter voice alternations – understood as alternate choices of trajector in transitive clauses – that do not obviously belong to either category. One example is the alternation described by Schachter (1976, 1977) for Tagalog. Schachter questioned whether subjects could be posited for Philippine languages, and concluded that no single element could be so identified. He was however assuming the traditional, SAE-biased view of subjects based on grammatical behavior, agentivity, and status as discourse topic. The picture changes with the more abstract characterization of subjects in terms of prominence. Indeed, the facts of Tagalog call out for the construct trajector – a “spotlight” of primary focal prominence that can be directed at various elements within a scene. In (1), I adjust Schachter’s glosses to reflect this interpretation of his analysis: AF, TF, LF, and BF respectively indicate focusing of the agent, theme, location, or beneficiary. What Schachter calls “topic” – while arguing that it cannot be characterized as discourse topic – is taken here as being the trajector. The choice of trajector is marked in two ways. First, the verb is inflected to indicate the placement of focal prominence. Second, the focused nominal takes ang in lieu of either the article ng (for direct participants) or a preposition. (1) Tagalog a. Mag-salis ang babae ng bigas sa sako para.sa bata. af-will.take.out tr woman art rice loc sack ben child ‘The woman will take some rice out of {a/the} sack for {a/the} child.’

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Dimensions of defocusing 

b. Aalis-in ng babae ang bigas sa sako para.sa bata. will.take.out-tf art woman tr rice loc sack ben child ‘{A/The} woman will take the rice out of {a/the} sack for {a/the} child.’ c. Aalis-an ng babae ng bigas ang sako para.sa bata. will.take.out-lf art woman art rice tr sack ben child ‘{A/The} woman will take some rice out of the sack for {a/the} child.’ d. Ipag-salis ng babae ng bigas sa sako ang bata. bf-will.take.out art woman art rice loc sack tr child ‘{A/The} woman will take some rice out of {a/the} sack for the child.’

In contrast to passivization, the alternate choice of trajector is not limited to any single participant, or even to direct participants. Nor is it clear that any particular subject choice should be taken as basic or unmarked; two-participant verbs may well be inherently unspecified in this regard, the trajector being determined morphologically by focus marking. A further difference from passives is that a non-focused agent remains explicit – the strategy is not to defocus the agent by leaving it unspecified, but merely to direct the spotlight at another specified element. The only difference in specificity is that the focused element is always definite, whereas others may be construed as indefinite. This reflects a dynamic characterization of trajector, as the starting point (initial reference point) evoked in building up to the full conception of a profiled relationship (Langacker 1999a; cf. Chafe 1994). As starting point for apprehending the clausal process, it is natural that the trajector should be interpreted as definite. This description reconciles the focused element’s topic-like nature with Schachter’s demonstration that it need not be established as a discourse topic. It represents the limiting case of a topic, one invoked for clause-internal purposes (Langacker 2001b). . Profile adjustment Trajector choice interacts with profiling. Since a trajector is the primary focus in a profiled relationship (the starting point for mentally accessing it), selecting a particular element for this focal prominence enhances the salience of those facets of the overall relationship that it anchors. While the effect is often minimal, alternate choices of trajector are never fully equivalent in regard to profiling. Thus, although an English active and its corresponding passive profile the same overall relationship (Langacker 1982), they respectively highlight the agent’s activity (e.g. soldiers destroyed the village) and the core process which the theme thereby undergoes (the village was destroyed [by soldiers]). Voice alternations often have a more substantial impact on profiling. For instance, the verb in (1) evidently profiles a process centered on the agent’s interaction with the theme, since these are direct participants.7 Because the theme is a mover, a location is also fairly central to the profiled relationship. Choosing

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 Ronald W. Langacker (a) Canonical Alignment

tr

lm

Clause Schema

(b) Shifted Alignment

tr

lm

Clause Schema

Figure 12.

the agent, theme, or location as trajector therefore does not affect the extent of the processual profile, but merely enhances the salience of one or another facet of it. Presumably, though, the profile does not include the action being performed to benefit some other individual. Beneficiary focus thus extends the processual profile to encompass, and indeed to highlight, the involvement of this additional participant. Providing more clear-cut illustration are the varied constructions in which trajector status is conferred on a setting instead of a participant (Langacker 1991: 8.1.3.2, 1993a). A well-known case is a special use of see and witness: (2) a. The refugees have {seen/witnessed} some traumatic events. b. {This country/The last decade} has {seen/witnessed} some traumatic events.

These verbs normally take a sentient subject, as in (2a). By contrast, the subject in (2b) does not itself perceive the events, but is rather the spatial or temporal setting within which such perception occurs. These sentences have the same basic clausal structure. Nonetheless, as shown in Figure 12, they exhibit a semantic contrast residing in how the viewing framework of a two-participant clause is aligned with the conceived situation it expresses. The lower structure represents a very general schema for clauses with two focal elements. In Figure 12(a), the canonical alignment, the clausal trajector corresponds to the viewer, and the landmark to the perceived event.8 In 12(b) the viewing framework is shifted so that the trajector aligns with the global setting, resulting in setting-subject expressions. These alternate mappings produce the contrasting senses of see and witness shown in Figure 13. Whereas the basic sense in 13(a) selects the viewer as trajector, thus highlighting the viewer’s apprehension of the landmark, in 13(b) trajector status is conferred on the global setting. Owing to its focal prominence, the profiled relationship now centers on the setting’s role as the locus of viewing events.

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Dimensions of defocusing  (a)

(b) tr

tr lm

lm

Figure 13. (b) it was (quickly) melted

(a) he melted it

tr

lm

tr

tr

l

(d) it (just) melted tr

l

(e) it is (finally) melted tr

l

(c) it melted (easily)

l

(f) it is liquid tr

l

l

Figure 14.

While these contrasting alignments do not result in a change in form, the difference in meaning does have grammatical import. The configuration in 13(b) is non-transitive, since the trajector is a setting and transitivity is based on the interaction of participants (Rice 1987). Hence expressions like (2b) do not have passive variants (for in English passivizability correlates with transitivity): (3) a. Some traumatic events have been {seen/witnessed} by the refugees. b. *Some traumatic events have been {seen/witnessed} by {this country/the last decade}.

Because passives also involve a departure from the canonical alignment in terms of trajector choice (Figure 11), it would seem arbitrary not to view the contrast in Figure 13 as a voice alternation. From a functional standpoint it makes sense that clauses like (3b), simultaneously instantiating two voice alternations pertaining to trajector choice, would not be conventionally sanctioned. If voice resides in choice of trajector and adjustment in profiling, it encompasses a considerable range of phenomena. For example, a passive is not the only alternative to a transitive clause like he melted it – so are the other expressions depicted in Figure 14. All of them involve a shift of trajector from agent to patient. Like the passive in 14(b), the “middle” in 14(c) is marked by past participial inflection, the difference being that the middle restricts the profile to the patient’s change of state from solid to liquid (l). So restricted, it evokes an unprofiled agent with

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 Ronald W. Langacker

varying degrees of salience and may exclude it altogether, as in 14(d). The change may then be construed as spontaneous (Shibatani 1985). In 14(e), the participial melted is no longer verbal but adjectival: instead of profiling a change through time (shown as a single arrow), it designates only the resultant state in which the trajector exhibits the property of liquidity. Finally, the adjective liquid in 14(f) provides a lexical voice alternative. It profiles the same relationship as melted in 14(e) but does not necessarily evoke the change resulting in it. . Landmark choice A standard passive construction occupies just one niche in large networks of constructions allowing situations to be construed with alternate assignments of prominence due to profiling and choice of trajector. Hence an active/passive alternation is most reasonably seen as one salient kind of voice phenomenon rather than the only kind. This has the consequence – which I accept as accurately reflecting the linguistic facts – that the class of voice constructions cannot be strictly delimited. With a broad conception of voice phenomena, there is no inherent reason to limit them to cases involving an alternate choice of subject. If voice resides primarily in the choice of trajector (primary focal participant), we can take it as residing secondarily in the choice of landmark (secondary focal participant). The familiar contrast exemplified by she mailed a package to her daughter vs. she mailed her daughter a package can then be regarded as a voice alternation, hinging on whether landmark status is conferred on the mover or the recipient. As predicted, the two options secondarily highlight different facets of the profiled relationship: the mover’s path, and recipient’s resultant possession of the mover (Langacker 1990: 13–15). In some languages, a more general “applicative” construction allows landmark status to be conferred on a variety of non-theme participants that would otherwise be coded as obliques (Givón 1979: 201–202).

. Specificity dimensions Voice alternations based on prominence and on specifity are closely related. A participant not accorded its usual focal prominence (e.g. a passive agent) often remains unspecified. Conversely, failure to provide specific information about a participant renders it less salient. Absence of focal prominence and absence of specificity are mutually reinforcing strategies of defocusing. Each detracts from the optimal circumstances for viewing a given participant: the situation of a single, clearly delimited, fully identified individual put onstage as the specific focus of attention.

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Dimensions of defocusing

. Despecification Despecification is multifaceted and a matter of degree. Implicit and fully unspecified participants represent extreme cases with respect to several dimensions of nominal structure: type, delimitation, grounding, and discourse status. Each dimension allows degrees of departure from the optimal viewing and full specificity of participants. First, a nominal (i.e. a full NP) specifies a type instantiated by the thing it profiles. The type can obviously range from being quite specific to highly schematic (e.g. goose > bird > creature > thing). This dimension pertains to the precision of linguistic classification – whether the type is characterized in fine-grained or coarse-grained detail. It needs to be distinguished from the non-linguistic factor of how readily the nominal referent functions as a focused object of conception by virtue of being well-delimited and directly apprehended. Here we can cite such oppositions as singular/plural, count/mass, concrete/abstract, and actual/virtual, where in each case the first member is better delimited. A third dimension is whether a nominal expression merely indicates a type or designates a grounded instance of that type. Usually the type is supplied by a lexical head and grounding by a determiner (e.g. the goose, some geese, any creature, our freedom), although in some cases – notably in proper nouns and pronouns – these functions are conflated in a single form. Grounding serves the discourse function of identification: allowing the speaker and addressee to direct their attention to the same instance of the type in question. This function is closely related to a referent’s discourse status as given, accessible, or new, i.e. its “activation cost” (Chafe 1994). Defocusing naturally correlates with the need for identification and with higher activation cost, both associated with indefinites. These factors give rise to varied defocusing strategies and constructions for implementing them. One basic strategy is simply to describe a participant with a lesser degree of specificity: we ordered some spaghetti > we ordered some pasta > we ordered something. In terms of the information provided, a maximally schematic characterization like something may be essentially equivalent to making no specification at all. I suggest, however, that omitting a nominal altogether represents a further step in defocusing. In we ordered something the non-agentive participant retains its landmark status, but in we ordered it is not accorded focal prominence. In another common strategy, a focal participant is specified by a noun alone instead of a full, grounded nominal. Its characterization is then limited to a type specification – rather than designating a particular instance, it merely indicates that the verbal process pertains to the type in question. Since the participant is viewed in generalized fashion (not as a specific individual), the result is generally a higher-level verb in which it is no longer focused as landmark or trajector. Consider these examples from Classical Nahuatl:9



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(4) Classical Nahuatl a. Ni-k-kw aa-s in naka-tl. I-it-eat-fut art meat-abs ‘I will eat the meat.’ b. Ni-naka-kw aa-s. I-meat-eat-fut ‘I will eat meat.’ c. Ni-tla-kw aa-s. I-nh-eat-fut ‘I will eat.’

In (4a), the landmark of kwaa ‘eat’ is indexed on the verb by a pronominal object prefix and is further specified by a full nominal. By contrast, the verb in (4b) incorporates the noun stem to derive a complex verb which is grammatically intransitive, taking only a subject prefix. Instead of being focused as a landmark, the substance consumed is invoked as a type to define a certain kind of eating. The foregoing strategy is naturally combined with that of using nouns of low specificity. Through grammaticization, schematic nouns may come to be productively used in this fashion. Exemplified in (4c) is Nahuatl tla-, which defocuses the landmark by indicating that it is non-human but will not be further specified. It alternates with tee-, for unspecified human participants. Their cognates in Shoshoni are even more schematic, neutralizing the human/non-human distinction. Instead, ta- indicates that the trajector remains unspecified, and ti- the landmark: (5) Shoshoni a. Ta-kah ni-pai. unspec.tr-house-have ‘One has a house.’ b. Ni ti-pek´a-´nu. I unspec.lm-kill-perf ‘I killed.’

In (5a) the landmark is also defocused, its characterization being limited to the type specified by the incorporated noun. Comparable effects are sometimes achieved by other derivational means. In Southern Paiute, for example, the derivational suffix -´tu’a renders a verb impersonal, i.e. it indicates the trajector will remain unspecified. When preceded by the suffix -´ka, for plural subjects, the trajector is understood to be “people in general”:

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Dimensions of defocusing

(6) Southern Paiute a. Pa´ka-ngu-´tu’a-yi=anga. kill-pnct-imprs-pres=him ‘One is killing him.’ b. Ti´ka-´ka-´tu’a-yi. eat-pl.tr-imprs-pres ‘People are eating.’

In Hopi, the suffix indicating plural subjects stands alone to mark impersonals: (7) Hopi Taaqa-t niina-ya. man-acc kill-pl.tr ‘The man was killed.’

Plurality, of course, is one kind of non-delimitation. Resort to plurals is a common defocusing strategy, witnessed in English by “impersonal” uses of they. Indeed, the Hopi expression in (7) might better be translated as they killed the man, where they refers to “people in general”. This translation preserves the information that taaqa ‘man’ functions grammatically as direct object, rather than subject. Although the impersonal constructions in (6)–(7) leave the trajector unspecified, primary focal prominence is not shifted to another element. This is what distinguishes them from passives. . Non-delimitation That brings us to defocusing strategies based primarily on non-delimitation. Observe that the “impersonal” subjects in we are all created equal, they killed him, you can’t win, and one never knows are actually pronouns, hence full, grounded nominals, despite their vague reference. While details vary, they share the properties of being highly schematic in their type specification (e.g. ‘human’) and failing to single out any particular, actual individual. In the case of indefinites, like one, this latter property is expected, since indefinites regularly allow non-specific interpretations. But how can definite, “personal” pronouns like we, you, and they be used impersonally? For the plural pronouns, the key point is that the set referred to can be of any size. While we prototypically refers to the speaker and hearer alone, it can be used for any larger group that includes them, such as the members of a family, the citizens of a nation, or mankind in general. They is equally flexible in referring to groups taken as excluding the speaker and hearer. In either case, impersonal force arises from the failure to impose any significant contextual delimitation. Impersonal you, generally construed as singular, requires a somewhat different account. Here I propose that the speaker engages in a virtual (or fictive) dia-



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 Ronald W. Langacker

log (Langacker 1999c; Talmy 1996), conjuring up an imagined interlocutor (not necessarily distinct from the speaker) about whose experience the speaker makes a generalization. As a virtual individual, the addressee corresponds to an openended set of actual individuals, just like the fictive individual referred to in generic statements (e.g. An elephant has a trunk). In terms of delimitation, the subjects in (8) are intermediate, making general reference to all the people who inhabit a certain geographical region: (8) a. We have many earthquakes in California. b. They have very hot summers in Chicago.

The sentences are impersonal in that they do not describe the experience of any particular individuals, but instead indicate a characteristic aspect of life in the region. Since the potential experiencers are conceived as being scattered throughout the region, and thus effectively coextensive with it, primary focal prominence is readily transferred to the region itself. This simple and natural realignment of the clausal viewing framework gives rise to expressions like the following: (9) a. California has many earthquakes. b. Chicago has very hot summers.

These represent a type of setting-subject construction, similar to that in (2b) and Figure 13(b). As with see and witness, the implied experiencer is left implicit and evoked in only generalized fashion. Trajector status is instead conferred on the global setting, whose role within the profiled relationship – that of hosting or facilitating the experience – is thereby rendered salient. Focal prominence tends to be conferred on entities that are discrete, compact, well-delimited, and clearly identified. At least by comparison, conferring it instead on something mass-like, diffuse, non-delimited, or unidentified amounts to a kind of defocusing. Though settings are often discrete and identified, by nature they are more diffuse than participants and less individuated. Setting-subject constructions are thus a common device for participant defocusing. As a further increment of defocusing, trajector status is often assigned to a setting that is abstract or wholly undelimited. Such is the case, I claim, for socalled “dummy” subjects like it and there. Such elements profile abstract settings, to be identified as the relevant scope of awareness supporting a judgment or observation.10 While it may be spatially interpreted, this immediate scope comprises everything evoked as the basis for judgment, and as such is maximally diffuse and undifferentiated. The contrast in (10) is thus a kind of voice alternation, as the itconstruction avoids the necessity of specifying the individual responsible for the propositional judgment. Trajector status falls instead on the unspecified global circumstances from which the judgment emerges, suggesting that the same judgment would be made by anyone assessing matters.

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(10) a. I’m certain that she likes me. b. It’s certain that she likes me.

. Conclusion While the phenomena examined here are mostly well-known, I have suggested a particular way of describing them from the standpoint of Cognitive Grammar, seeking to explicate their conceptual basis and clarify how they relate to one another. Each construction mentioned deserves to be analyzed in far more breadth and detail. Although the discussion is certainly programmatic, I believe it offers a coherent and reasonably comprehensive framework for the integrated study of voice and voice alternations.

Abbreviations 3sm = third singular masculine; 3sn = third singular neuter; ABS = absolutive; ACC = accusative; AF = agent focus; AG = agent; ART = article; BEN = beneficiary; BF = beneficiary focus; C = conceptualizer; EXP = experiencer; F = focus of viewing attention; FUT = future; IMPRS = impersonal; INS = instrument; IS = immediate scope; l = liquid state; L = location; LF = location focus; lm/LM = landmark; LOC = locative; MF = maximal field of view; MS = maximal scope; MVR = mover; nf = non-functional state; NH = non-human; OS = onstage region; P = participant, profile; PAT = patient; PERF = perfective; PL = plural; PNCT = punctual; PRES = present; S = setting; SAE = Standard Average European; t = time; TF = theme focus; TH = theme; tr/TR = trajector; UNSPEC = unspecified; V = viewer.

Notes . “Theme” is thus comparable to “undergoer” in Role and Reference Grammar (Foley & Van Valin 1984). . The contrast between cases like Figure 3 and Figure 4 is sometimes referred to as “ergative” vs. “transitive” (e.g. Davidse 1992). . Observe that a trajector is not defined as an entity that moves, nor is a landmark necessarily stationary. . Before and after are therefore not verbs, because the relationship they profile constitutes a single configuration in time (analogous to one in space) rather than one scanned sequentially as it develops through time. . Grounding is ignored, as is done throughout.



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 Ronald W. Langacker . Here, for convenience, a single arrow indicates any kind of thematic process (not just motion). . That is, they are non-oblique, taking ng rather than a preposition. . For purposes of linguistic coding, the event is conceptually reified as an abstract thing and expressed as a noun. . For discussion and original sources of the Uto-Aztecan examples (Nahuatl, Shoshoni, Southern Paiute, Hopi) see Langacker (1976, 1977). . See Bolinger (1977), Smith (1994, 2002), Achard (1998), Langacker (2002).

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Langacker, R. W. (1993b). “Clause structure in cognitive grammar”. Studi Italiani di Linguistica Teorica e Applicata, 22, 465–508. Langacker, R. W. (1993c). “Deixis and subjectivity”. In S. K. Verma & V. Prakasam (Eds.), New Horizons in Functional Linguistics (pp. 43–58). Hyderabad: Booklinks Corporation. Langacker, R. W. (1994). “Remarks on the English grounding systems”. In R. Boogaart & J. Noordegraaf (Eds.), Nauwe Betrekkingen: Voor Theo Janssen bij zijn Vijftigste Verjaardag (pp. 137–144). Amsterdam and Münster: Stichting Neerlandistiek VU and Nodus Publikationen. Langacker, R. W. (1995). “Viewing in cognition and grammar”. In P. W. Davis (Ed.), Alternative Linguistics: Descriptive and Theoretical Modes (pp. 153–212). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Langacker, R. W. (1999a). “Assessing the cognitive linguistic enterprise”. In T. Janssen & G. Redeker (Eds.), Cognitive Linguistics: Foundations, Scope, and Methodology (pp. 13–59). Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Langacker, R. W. (1999b). Grammar and Conceptualization. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Langacker, R. W. (1999c). “Virtual reality”. Studies in the Linguistic Sciences, 29(2), 77–103. Langacker, R. W. (2001a). “Viewing and experiential reporting in cognitive grammar”. In A. Soares da Silva (Ed.), Linguagem e Cognição: A Perspectiva da Linguística Cognitiva (pp. 19– 49). Braga: Associação Portuguesa de Linguística and Universidade Católica Portuguesa, Faculdade de Filosofia de Braga. Langacker, R. W. (2001b). “Topic, subject, and possessor”. In H. G. Simonsen & R. T. Endresen (Eds.), A Cognitive Approach to the Verb: Morphological and Constructional Perspectives (pp. 11–48). Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Langacker, R. W. (2002). “The control cycle: Why grammar is a matter of life and death”. Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the Japanese Cognitive Linguistics Association, 2, 193– 220. Rice, S. (1987). Towards a Cognitive Model of Transitivity. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, San Diego. Schachter, P. (1976). “The subject in Philippine languages: Topic, actor, actor-topic, or none of the above?” In C. N. Li (Ed.), Subject and Topic (pp. 491–518). New York: Academic Press. Schachter, P. (1977). “Reference-related and role-related properties of subjects”. In P. Cole & J. M. Sadock (Eds.), Grammatical Relations (pp. 279–306). New York: Academic Press. Shibatani, M. (1985). “Passives and related constructions: A prototype analysis”. Language, 61, 821–848. Smith, M. B. (1994). “Agreement and iconicity in Russian impersonal constructions”. Cognitive Linguistics, 5, 5–56. Smith, M. B. (2002). “The polysemy of German es, iconicity, and the notion of conceptual distance”. Cognitive Linguistics, 13, 67–112. Talmy, L. (1978). “Figure and ground in complex sentences”. In J. H. Greenberg (Ed.), Universals of Human Language, Vol. 4, Syntax (pp. 625–649). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Talmy, L. (1988). “Force dynamics in language and cognition”. Cognitive Science, 12, 49–100. Talmy, L. (1996). “Fictive motion in language and ‘ception”’. In P. Bloom, M. A. Peterson, L. Nadel, & M. F. Garrett (Eds.), Language and Space (pp. 211–276). Cambridge, MA, and London: MIT Press.

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On grammatical relations as constraints on referent identification Randy J. LaPolla La Trobe University

Based on a Relevance Theory-informed view of language development, this paper argues that grammatical relations are construction-specific conventionalizations (grammaticalizations) of implicatures which arise out of repeated patterns of reference to particular types of referents. Once conventionalized, these structures function to constrain the hearer’s identification of referents in discourse. As they are construction-specific, and hence language-specific, there is no category “subject” across languages; different languages will either show this type of grammaticalization or not, and if they do, may show it or not in different constructions. Any cross-linguistic use of terms such as “subject” (and “S”, as in “SOV”) should then be avoided.

.

Introduction*

In a 1991 paper, Prof. Shibatani discussed the grammaticalization of topic into subject. He argued for the following view of subjects in that paper (p. 103): (a) it is a syntactic category resulting from the generalization of an agent over other semantic roles, (b) languages vary as to how far this generalization has taken place; i.e. the grammatical status of subject differs from one language to another, and therefore, (c) the subject is not necessarily a universal category.

Prof. Shibatani goes on to show how languages can differ in terms of the degree to which the reference-related properties of subject and the (semantic) role-related properties of subject are conflated on a single NP, and also in terms of which NP is grammaticalized into the subject. In this paper I would like to try to take the next step, to explain what it means for a language to grammaticalize phenomena we relate to the concept of “subject”, and show the cognitive motivation for such a grammaticalization. I will also go a step further than Prof. Shibatani and argue that not only is “subject” not a universal category, it is not a category at all, but the lumping together of individual phenomena that function to constrain the interpretation of the nature of referents in discourse. In order to do that, though, I

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will need to first discuss the nature of communication and the role of language in communication.

. Ostension and inference Sperber and Wilson (1996; see also LaPolla 2003) argue that a coding-decoding model of communication cannot explain how communication is achieved between two people. Building on the blueprint model of Reddy (1979), they argue that what happens in communication is that one person makes some sort of ostensive act (a stimulus, an act obviously done for some purpose), and that, as a request for attention, this act directly communicates the intention of the person to communicate by means of that ostensive act, and at the same time is direct or indirect evidence of what the person intents to communicate. The ostensive act may be linguistic, but it may not be; it could be a simple movement of the hand, a raising of the eyebrow, or any other obviously purposely done action. Upon seeing or hearing the ostensive act, the addressee will first infer that the communicator intends to communicate some information using that ostensive act, and then will further attempt to infer the communicator’s informative intention (the information that the communicator intends to communicate). Underlying all of this is the assumption on the part of both communicator and addressee that both are rational people (and so act with goals in mind – see Grice 1975), and that the ostensive act automatically conveys a presumption of relevance, that is, that the information the communicator wishes to communicate is worth processing (i.e., it will improve the quality, quantity, and/or organization of the individual’s knowledge), and that the effort to process it will not be unjustifiably great. Because the ostensive act communicates the presumption of its own relevance, the addressee will attempt to determine the reason why the communicator made that ostensive act by constructing a context of interpretation (a set of assumptions) in which the particular ostensive act the communicator produced will be relevant (i.e. will “make sense”), and thereby infer the informative intention of the communicator. Communication then relies on this one principle, the principle of relevance: the speaker assumes that the addressee will recognize the ostensive act as an attempt to communicate, and that the addressee will assume that the ostensive act is relevant in some way, and will then attempt to infer what that relevance is. Above I mentioned that there is also an assumption that the effort to process the ostensive act will not be unjustifiably great, and because of this, the addressee will also assume that the ostensive act is the most appropriate one that the speaker could use in that context with that addressee. Therefore, the addressee will choose the first accessible interpretation of the ostensive act (the reason for the speaker

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making the ostensive act) that seems relevant. The ostensive act may give direct evidence for what the communicator wishes to communicate (it may “show something”), such as when someone ostensibly rises out of a wheelchair and walks across the room to communicate that he can (now) walk, or it may give indirect evidence by saying something about it, such as if the same person just mentioned simply said I can walk. There is a continuum of cases between the two extremes of direct evidence and indirect evidence, and, more important for this paper, there is also a continuum of explicitness in terms of the indirect evidence given. The communicator will tailor the ostensive act in such a way that it will allow the interpreter to be able to infer the intended information, and without requiring the speaker or hearer to expend any unnecessary energy. The speaker then also must use inference, in this case infer what assumptions are manifest (known or could be known) to the hearer and which could be used in the context of interpretation. The greater the number of relevant assumptions available to the hearer, the less explicit the ostensive act need be. Consider the following example. My wife and I were rushing to clean up our living room, as guests were on their way over. She stretched out her arm and wagged her finger towards the far side of the room. I looked in that direction and noticed that my coat was on the couch, and I inferred that her communicative intention was for me to notice that the coat was on the couch and realize that it should not be on the couch, and so I should go get the coat and put it away. Rather than simply wagging her finger, she could have said any of the utterances given in (1): (1) a. b. c. d. e.

Your coat! Get your coat! Your coat is on the couch. You should put your coat away. Your coat is on the couch, and it shouldn’t be there, so you had better go over and get it and put it away.

Because she just wagged her finger, I had to infer that I should look in the direction she was wagging towards, then had to try to infer that it was the coat she was wagging her finger at, and then infer that the coat being on the couch was significant, and then infer what the significance of it being there was, and then infer that she intended for me to do something about the coat being on the couch. I was able to do all of that inferential work successfully because of certain contextual assumptions that I could add to the context of interpretation, such as the semantic frame of “cleaning up”, and the assumption that whatever was communicated within that frame would be relevant to that frame. If these assumptions were not manifest to me, such as if I had been sitting working on my computer and she wagged her finger the same way, I would not be able to understand her intention with such a simple ostensive act. She would have to use one of the more explicit



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ostensive acts given in (1). She could use (1a) if she thought I would have trouble trying to infer what referent she intended me to notice. She could use (1b) if she thought I would have trouble inferring that she wanted me to get the coat. She could use (1c) if she thought I would have trouble inferring that the coat being on the couch was somehow significant. She could use (1d) if she thought I would have trouble inferring what I should do with the coat. And she could use (1e) if she wanted to be sure I would have little trouble inferring all aspects of her intention. Greater explicitness can be achieved through the addition of more lexical items, the addition of grammatical marking, or, more commonly, through the addition of both. Here grammatical marking includes both grammatical forms, such as the genitive marking and the word so in (1e), and also grammatical constructions that constrain the interpretation of some aspect of the speaker’s intention, such as the constructions we will be talking about here (relevant to grammatical relations) for constraining the identification of referents. Languages differ in terms of what functional domains the speakers must obligatorily constrain. Obligatory marking develops when speakers constrain the interpretation in a particular way so often that it becomes conventionalized and thereby recognized as unmarked. Failure to use the marking will not necessarily lead to misinterpretation, but will be seen as marked, “wrong”, or “ungrammatical”. In the case of (1d), Should put coat away would not be an acceptable utterance, as English conventions require the speaker to overtly mention a subject and to overtly constrain the identification of the coat with a genitive or demonstrative pronoun. This is not true of all languages. Languages also differ in the degree to which the interpretation of a particular functional domain is constrained. Two languages may, for example, both obligatorily constrain the interpretation of the time of an action relative to the speech act time (i.e. have grammaticalized tense marking), but one language may only distinguish one past tense, while the other language distinguishes four past tenses (e.g. English and Rawang, a Tibeto-Burman language of northern Burma, respectively). Languages that constrain the interpretation of a particular functional domain may also differ in terms of the particular formal mechanism used to constrain the interpretation. (See LaPolla 2003 for examples and discussion.)

. Grammatical relations In this paper we are interested in conventionalized patterns and marking which are related to grammatical relations and their function in constraining the creation of the context of interpretation. For example, in English, an NP that immediately precedes a verb will be understood to be representing the actor of the action represented by the verb, if the verb is an action-type verb and is in the active voice,

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and the NP will be seen as representing the patient or recipient of the action represented by the verb if the verb is in the passive voice.1 A noun phrase that immediately follows a verb will be understood as representing the patient, benefactive, or recipient of the action represented by the verb. That is, word order in the clause is obligatorily used to constrain the interpretation of who is doing what to whom. In example (1d), we were forced to assume that you was representing the actor and your coat was representing the patient because of their positions relative to the verb, and this information was added to our context of interpretation. The NP in preverbal position has to be the A (agentive argument) of a transitive verb or the S (single direct argument) of an intransitive verb when the verb is in the active voice. This restricted neutralization of roles in that position gives that particular NP a special status we will call “pivot”.2 Not all languages use word order to constrain the identification of referents. For example, word order in Chinese does not constrain the interpretation of the role of the referent of an NP; the hearer must rely on real-world knowledge and expectations to infer whether an NP is representing an actor or something else. Consider the following examples:3 (2) a.

Xúesh¯eng f¯a-le chéngj¯ıd¯an. student distribute-asp grade.report ‘The students were given their grade reports.’ b. Lˇaosh¯ı f¯a-le chéngj¯ıd¯an. teacher distribute-asp grade.report ‘The teacher distributed the grade reports.’

The interpretation of the initial NP of both clauses could be either that it represents an actor, or it represents a recipient, but in most cases assumptions from real-world knowledge, such the fact that usually teachers distribute grade reports and usually students receive them, would be added to the context of interpretation, and so the meanings would most likely be those given in the free translations. The important point here is that the position of the NP does not constrain the identification of the referent of the NP as actor or recipient the way it does in English. There are several other constructions in English that also work in a similar way, that is, constrain the identification and roles of the referents mentioned, and the majority of these all identify an [A,S] pivot. This pivot is what has come to be known as “subject” in English. It isn’t the case that all constructions and marking that constrain the identification of referents are related to what we think of as “subject” (e.g. gender systems, possessor marking), but I would like to argue that all of the phenomena we lump together as “subject” phenomena are involved in referent identification, and they develop as speakers consistently use a particular pattern of coreference or word order often enough that it becomes conventionalized (grammaticalized), and so then obligatorily forces a particular interpretation.

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Let us look now at other constructions and marking which are seen as “subject” phenomena to see how they constrain the identification of referents. In (3) we have a conjoined structure. (3) John hit Bill and cried.

In this example, even if we have no contextual information, we must assume that the referent of the initial noun phrase, John, is the one who cried (cf. Comrie 1988). This is because the speakers of English have conventionalized a cross-clause coreference pattern in conjoined clauses where the second clause does not have an overt referent mentioned in the clause. The pivot of this construction is also [A,S], that is, the zero pronoun in the second clause must be coreferential with an A or S in the first clause. This is not true of all languages. There are two possibilities, either a different pivot might be identified, or the language may not have any pivot for this construction. Dyirbal (Dixon 1972, 1980) is a famous example of a language that has grammaticalized a different pivot in this construction; the pivot is a [P,S] pivot, not an [A,S] pivot. That is, the construction applies to a patient (P) and the single argument of an intransitive verb (S), but not to an Actor (A). Consider the example in (4) (from Dixon 1980: 462). (4) Balan guda ba]gul yara-]gu bura-n bu]a-n. she+abs dog+abs he+erg man-erg see-past descend-past ‘The man saw the dog and (the dog) went downhill.’

This example has a similar structure to the English example in (3), but the interpretation of the zero pronoun in the second clause is obligatorily coreferential with the P in the first clause, that is, it must be that the dog is the one that went downhill. An example of a language that has not grammaticalized a pivot for this construction is Rawang, a Tibeto-Burman language of northern Burma: (5) a.

Vp¯ungí Vd´øs`vng vdip b´øà n`ø ng´øa:pmì Vp¯ung-í Vd´ø-s`vng vdip b´ø-à n`ø Apung-agt Adeu-loc hit pfv-Trans.past ps ng´ø-ap-ì cry-TMdys-Intrans.past ‘Apung hit Adeu and cried.’ (Adeu cried) b. Vp¯ungí Vd´øs`vng vdip b´øà n`ø vh¯øshì a:pmì Vp¯ung-í Vd´ø-s`vng vdip b´ø-à n`ø vh¯ø-shì Apung-agt Adeu-loc hit pfv-Trans.past ps laugh-r/m ap-ì TMdys-Intrans.past ‘Apung hit Adeu and laughed.’ (Apung laughed)

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Here the structures in (5a) and (5b) are exactly the same, though the actor of the second clause is interpreted differently due to real world expectations of who would be more likely to cry or laugh after an act of hitting. There is no grammatical constraint on the interpretation of the referent of the zero in the second clause. I’ve written ‘Adeu cried’ and ‘Apung laughed’ after the free translations, but the interpretation could be that the one who cried or laughed was either one of these two people, or even a third person, such as someone standing nearby watching what was happening between Adeu and Apung. Most Sino-Tibetan languages are similar to Rawang and Chinese (LaPolla 1993) in not having syntactic constraints that force particular interpretations of cross-clause coreference. What is important here is how a conventionalized pattern of coreference constrains the hearer’s creation of the context of interpretation. In English, the hearer cannot create a context of interpretation that includes an assumption that would lead to the P argument being seen as coreferential with the zero of the second clause, for example, in terms of (3), that someone who gets hit is more likely to cry (and so the interpretation of (3) might be that Bill cried). In Dyirbal the hearer cannot create a context of interpretation that includes an assumption that would lead to the A argument being seen as coreferential with the zero of the second clause, for example, in terms of (4), some real-world consideration that might lead to the interpretation that the man went downhill. In Rawang there isn’t any conventionalized coreference pattern, and so the hearer is not constrained in the creation of the context of interpretation. The structures conventionalized4 in English and Dyirbal force particular interpretations (or at least limit the possible interpretations), while in Rawang the interpretation remains unconstrained. In English, verb agreement is another aspect of the grammar associated with subject that constrains the identification of the relevant referent to an A or S. The number marking in the agreement paradigm also helps constrain the identification of the referent. In (6) the use of singular vs. plural agreement (both of the verb and the predicate NP) in (6a) and (6b) forces two different analyses of the structures. In (6a) pine nuts and basil must be interpreted as two different items about which the same predication is made, while in (6b) they must be interpreted as one item (a dish with two things combined) about which a predication is made. (6) a. Pine nuts and basil are my favorites. b. Pine nuts and basil is my favorite.

In a language without this sort of agreement, the interpretation of the referent could not be constrained in this way. The hearer would be left to guess (infer) the nature of the referent(s) based on non-linguistic assumptions. Case distinctions, such as those related to the pronouns in English, are also a way of constraining the identification of referents and their roles in the action being described, marking the NP as A/S (nominative) or non-A/S (oblique). For

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example, use of the nominative form of the 3sg pronoun in (7) by the speaker prevents the hearer from including any assumptions in the context of interpretation that would lead to a non-agentive interpretation of the referent of the pronoun. (7) He left me at the train station.

In the case of Modern English, the case marking is redundant, in that grammatical relations are also marked by word order, and in fact case marking has come to be determined by word order, but this was not the case in older varieties of English, which did not use word order consistently to mark grammatical relations. What is important here is that in languages with such case marking the identification of the referent is more constrained (by the use of the marking) than in a language without such marking. For example, in Chinese there is no such case marking, and word order does not distinguish grammatical relations (see above, also LaPolla 1995, to appear), and so the hearer’s identification of the roles of the 1sg referent and the interrogative/indefinite pronoun in (8) is unconstrained by the morphosyntactic structure. (8) Wˇo shéi d¯ou bù rènshi. 1sg who all neg know (a) I don’t know anyone / (b) No one knows me.

The construction called “raising” in the generative literature, where an argument of an embedded clause appears in the matrix clause, is a construction which in English has an [A,S] pivot: only the A or S of an embedded clause can be “raised” to the subject of a verb such as seem. In (9b) the A argument of the embedded clause in (9a) is “raised” to the subject of the matrix clause. This cannot happen with the P argument of the embedded clause, as testified by the unacceptability of (9c). (9) a. It seems that man has broken the vase. b. That man seems to have broken the vase. c. *The vase seems that man has broken.

This construction would have developed as speakers attempted to constrain the identification of the relevant topic by placing it in initial position. The effect of this constraint on referent identification (aside from making the A or S of the embedded clause the theme) is similar to that of the cross-clause coreference construction discussed above: the construction forces a coreference interpretation of the theme (the subject of seem) and the A or S of the embedded clause. In languages without such a constraint on “raising”, such as Chinese (LaPolla 1993), where the equivalent of (9c) is possible, the interpretation of the relationship between the main topic and the embedded clause is not constrained grammatically. In some languages there is a pivot for relativization, such that only certain arguments in a clause can be relativized on. For example, in Malagasy (Western

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Austronesian; Madagascar) there is an [A,S] pivot, that is, the head of the relative clause must function as the single argument of an intransitive clause or the actor of an active voice transitive verb in the relative clause (Keenan 1976: 265). In (10) there is an example of a simple clause and an example of a relative construction (Keenan 1976: 265). (10) a.

Man-asa ny lamba ny zazavavy. atv-wash det clothes det girl ‘The girl is washing the clothes.’ b. ny zazavavy (izay) man-asa ny lamba det girl (that) atv-wash det clothes ‘the girl who is washing the clothes’

In general restrictive relative clauses are used to help the hearer identify referents, but having a constraint on the head of a relative clause constrains the hearer’s interpretation of the semantic role of the referent being identified. English does not have such a constraint on (finite) relativization; just about any argument can be relativized on, but the head in a Malagasy relative clause must have a specific syntactic relation within the relative clause. In (11a) we can see that simple relativization of the undergoer of the clause is not acceptable. If the head functions as the undergoer (or instrument) of the transitive verb in the relative clause, then a special voice form must be used in the relative clause, such as the passive in (11b), which can then be relativized, as in (11c) (all examples from Keenan 1976: 265). (11) a. *ny lamba (izay) man-asa ny zazavavy det clothes (that) atv-wash det girl Intended: ‘the clothes that the girl washed’ b. Sasa-n’ny zazavavy ny lamba. wash-pass-det girl det clothes ‘The clothes are washed by the girl.’ c. ny lamba (izay) sasa-n ny zazavavy det clothes (that) wash-pass det girl ‘the clothes that are washed by the girl’

We’ve seen that some languages have grammaticalized pivots for certain constructions, while others have not, and we have seen in languages that have grammaticalized pivots that we often can find the same pivot type for several constructions in the language, but which constructions have the pivot and which do not is not predictable. For example, Malagasy and Dyirbal have pivots for relativization (though the former has [A, S, derived-S(passive)] while the latter has [P, S, derived-S(antipassive)]), while English does not, even though English has an [A, S, derived-S(passive)] pivot for a number of other constructions. There are other languages, though, that have grammaticalized different pivot types for different

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constructions. One of these is Jacaltec (a morphologically ergative Mayan language of Guatemala; Van Valin 1981; using data from Craig 1977 and Datz 1980). According to Van Valin (1981: 375; citing Larsen & Norman 1979), several groups within the Mayan family have a [P, S, derived-S] pivot for relativization, WHquestion formation, and clefting, as in (12a–c) (Craig 1977: 212–213). The only way an A can be relativized, questioned, or clefted is for it to appear in an antipassive derived-S form, as in (13a–c) (Craig 1977: 213). In the antipassive, the verb is marked by the suffix -n(i), and the ergative marker does not appear on the verb.5 (12) a.

ha’ ix x-Ø-y-’il naj cleft cl/she asp-3abs-3erg-see cl/he ‘It is her that he saw.’ (*‘It is she who saw him.’) b. mac x-Ø-y-’il naj wh asp-3abs-3erg-see cl/he ‘Whom did she see?’ (*‘Who saw him?’) ix x-Ø-y-’il naj c. w-ohtaj 1sgerg-know cl/she asp-3abs-3erg-see cl/he ‘I know the woman that he saw.’ (*‘I know the woman who saw him.’)

(13) a.

ha’ naj x-Ø-’il-ni ix cleft cl/he asp-3abs-see-anti cl/she ‘It is he that saw her.’ (*‘It is him that she saw.’) b. mac x-Ø-’il-ni ix wh asp-3abs-see-anti cl/she ‘Who saw her?’ (*‘Whom did she see?’) c. w-ohtaj naj x-Ø-’il-ni ix 1sgerg-know cl/he asp-3abs-see-anti cl/she ‘I know the man that saw her.’ (*‘I know the man that she saw.’)

While there is this clear [P, S, derived-S] pivot for these constructions, there is an [A, S, derived-S] pivot for co-reference of pronouns in sequences of clauses in discourse. That is, the topical referent of a discourse will generally be S or A, and if it is P will generally appear in a passive construction as a derived-S, as in the following two examples (Van Valin 1981: 380, adapted from Datz 1980: 103, 105 – the glossing differs somewhat from the examples from Craig 1977): (14) a.

scawilal tu’ xil naj hu¨ne’ nach’en tz’ulik; betu’ x’octoj naj yeba’ near that saw hei one cave small there entered hei hide sba. saylax naj yaj ma¨xtic’a ch’ilcha naj self was.looked.for hei but never was.seen hei ‘Nearby he saw a small cave; there he entered to hide. He was looked for but he was never seen.’

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b. xinitij naj yanma yulyin, stzabi naj swixie’ heb brought hei his.heart in.him grasped hei their.shoulders pl ix; x’ilaxtoj naj xol cake’; hatxca yilaxtoj naj xtxam cl was.carried hei through air there was.carried hei edge co¨nob town ‘Gathering his courage, he grasped the women’s shoulders, and he was carried through the air, and there he was carried to the edge of town.’

In these examples the pronouns referring to the topical referent and the passivized verbs are italicized. The verbs are passivized because of the preference for the pronoun referring to the topical animate referent to be in A or S (including derived-S) function. So in this language we have the grammaticalization of pivots, but more than one type within the same language.

. Conclusion We have seen that languages differ in terms of what constraints on referent identification they have conventionalized. There may be differences in how strong the constraints are as well; since they are conventionalized, and conventionalization is a gradual process, even when two languages both conventionalize a particular type of constraint, the constraints may hold to different degrees in different languages. Grammatical relations are then a construction-specific, and therefore language-specific phenomenon, not a cross-linguistic category (see also Van Valin 1977, 1981; Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: Ch. 6; Dryer 1997; LaPolla to appear). Given this fact, and the fact that the function of constraining the interpretation of referents is not unique to the types of pivots associated with grammatical relations, the logical conclusion is that there is no category of “subject” to talk about. Use of this term in language descriptions is problematic, particularly when it is not defined properly for the language being described, as the reader does not know which particular constraints have been conventionalized in the language. Even closely related languages long talked about as having a category of “subject”, such as Italian and English, differ in terms of which constraints on referent identification have been conventionalized. For example, Italian has not conventionalized a strong cross-clause coreference constraint in conjoined clauses the way English has (ex. (3)). Very few linguists are aware of this difference because of the assumption of “subject” as a category, and the assumption that subject is comparable across languages. The nature of being a language-specific phenomenon is in fact not specific to the constructions traditionally associated with grammatical relations. I would

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argue that we should treat all morphosyntactic phenomena as language-specific phenomena. In analyzing a language, then, we cannot take any categories or constructions as “given”; we need to look at what constructions and marking have become conventionalized in the language, and then look at each construction or marking found to see what functional domain it is constraining the interpretation of, how and to what degree it constrains the interpretation of that domain, and with what morphosyntactic form(s) it constrains the interpretation of the domain.

Notes * Although I was not a student of Prof. Shibatani, I have been learning from him since my student days through his many writings. I have also since been fortunate to have gotten to know Prof. Shibatani personally, and have benefited greatly from our discussions. I would like to offer this paper to Prof. Shibatani as an expression of my respect, gratitude, and affection. . Prof. Shibatani has recently (2002) argued that passive, inverse, and split-ergativity all are manifestations of voice, as all ‘refer to the origin and terminal point of an action’ (2002: 16), where natural event configurations (e.g. speech act participant acts on 3rd person) receive the unmarked voice expression and unnatural event configurations (e.g. 3rd person acting on speech act participant) receive the marked voice expression. In the terms of this paper I would say that they all constrain the identification of the roles of the referents involved. . It is a neutralization because either A or S can be the pivot, but it is restricted because the P (patient) argument of a transitive cannot appear as pivot. See Van Valin and LaPolla (1997: Ch. 6) for a full discussion of pivots and their use in cross-clause referent tracking. Here I am using the term pivot in a somewhat broader sense, to include both pivot and controller, and am talking about referent identification in a more general sense than just cross-clause referent tracking in discourse. . Abbreviations used in the examples: abs absolutive; agt agentive; anti antipassive marker; asp aspect marker; atv active voice; cl classifier; det determiner; dem demonstrative pronoun; erg ergative; Intrans.past third person intransitive past; loc locative/dative; pass passive voice; pl plural; inst instrumental voice; pfv perfective; ps predicate sequence; r/m reflexive/middle; TMdys past tense, 1 day–1 year ago; Trans.past 3rd person transitive past; wh wh-question marker. . Grammaticalization and lexicalization are both forms of conventionalization, and differ only in the generality of the elements produced. . Due to the effect of certain morphophonemic rules, the verbs in (12a–c) would be pronounced [xil]. See Craig (1977: 213–214).

References Comrie, B. (1988). “Coreference and conjunction reduction in grammar and discourse”. In J. Hawkins (Ed.), Explaining Language Universals (pp. 186–208). Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Craig, C. G. (1977). The Structure of Jacaltec. Austin and London: University of Texas Press.

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On grammatical relations as constraints

Datz, M. (1980). Jacaltec Syntactic Structures and the Demands of Discourse. PhD dissertation, University of Colorado. Dixon, R. M. W. (1972). The Dyirbal Language of North Queensland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dixon, R. M. W. (1980). The Languages of Australia. Cambridge, London, and New York: Cambridge University Press. Dryer, M. S. (1997). “Are grammatical relations universal?” In J. Bybee, J. Haiman, & S. A. Thompson (Eds.), Essays on Language Function and Language Type (pp. 115–143). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Grice, H. P. (1975). “Logic and conversation”. In P. Cole & J. L. Morgan (Eds.), Speech Acts (pp. 41–58). New York: Academic Press. Keenan, E. L. (1976). Remarkable subjects in Malagasy. In C. N. Li (Ed.), Subject and Topic (pp. 247–301). New York: Academic Press. LaPolla, R. J. (1993). “Arguments against ‘subject’ and ‘direct object’ as viable concepts in Chinese”. Bulletin of the Institute of History and Philology, 63, 759–813. LaPolla, R. J. (1995). “Pragmatic relations and word order in Chinese.” In P. Downing & M. Noonan (Eds.), Word Order in Discourse (pp. 297–329). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. LaPolla, R. J. (2003). “Why languages differ: Variation in the conventionalization of constraints on inference.” In D. Bradley, R. J. LaPolla, B. Michailovsky, & G. Thurgood (Eds.), Language Variation: Papers on Variation and Change in the Sinosphere and in the Indosphere in Honour of James A. Matisoff (pp. 113–144). Canberra: Pacific Linguistics, Australian National University. LaPolla, R. J. (to appear). “On describing word order”. In F. Ameka, A. Dench, & N. Evans (Eds.), Catching Grammar. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. (downloadable from http://www. latrobe.edu.au/linguistics/stlapolla_data/PublicationItems/Papers/describingwo.pdf) Larsen, T. & Norman, W. (1979). “Correlates of ergativity in Mayan grammar”. In F. Plank (Ed.), Ergativity: Towards a Theory of Grammatical Relations (pp. 348–370). London: Academic Press. Reddy, M. J. (1979). “The conduit metaphor – a case of frame conflict in our language about language”. In A. Ortony (Ed.), Metaphor and Thought (pp. 284–324). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shibatani, M. (1991). “Grammaticization of topic into subject”. In E. C. Traugott & B. Heine (Eds.), Approaches to Grammaticalization, Vol. II (pp. 93–133). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Shibatani, M. (2002). “On the conceptual framework for voice phenomena”. Paper presented at City University of Hong Kong, May 8, 2002. Sperber, D. & Wilson, D. (1986/1996). Relevance: Communication and Cognition (2nd edition, 1996). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Van Valin, R. D., Jr. (1977). “Ergativity and the universality of subjects”. In W. A. Beach, S. E. Fox, & S. Philosoph (Eds.), Papers from the Thirteenth Regional Meeting[:] Chicago Linguistics Society (pp. 689–705). Chicago: Chicago Linguistics Society. Van Valin, R. D., Jr. (1981). “Grammatical relations in ergative languages”. Studies in Language, 5, 361–394. Van Valin, R. D., Jr. & LaPolla, R. J. (1997). Syntax: Structure, Meaning, and Function. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations Christian Lehmann University of Erfurt

Semantic relations are analyzed at the levels of participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations. The first level serves as a tertium comparationis for linguistic strategies recognized at the two lower levels. A couple of functional subdomains of participation are analyzed, including causation, benefaction, external possession and concomitance. Languages differ typologically by their choice as to which participant roles they express and which ones they leave to inference. In some participant constellations, the choice of a particular strategy is semantically motivated; in other constellations it is not so motivated, but may still be pursued by a language. A language may be characterized at the typological level by the extension of a strategy over and above its proper functional domain.

.

Introduction

This paper explores a descriptive framework, consisting of a methodology and a set of basic notions, for the semantic analysis of the relations of verbal dependents. It discusses a set of examples from diverse languages to support the following theses: 1. Participant functions must be analyzed at different levels. Apart from the level of grammatical structure, several theories provide only one level at which participant roles are analyzed semantically, under the label of case roles or theta roles or the like. Such theories cannot account for the intricacies of participant relations, especially for typological differences in this domain. 2. Participants are connected with the situation core and with each other by a complex network that goes far beyond relations that hold between the verb and its dependents. In particular, a given participant may bear more than one role at a time. Of particular importance in this respect are possessive relations among participants.

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3. Not every role that a participant bears at the cognitive-referential level is coded. Converting participant structure into syntactic structure involves making a choice as to which relations are coded and which are left to inference. 4. The criterion of which participant roles are coded and which are left to inference provides an instructive syntactic typology in the functional domain of participation. The paper draws on the results of a five-years project on the grammatical and lexical typology of Yucatec Maya,1 which are freely made use of. The publications (Lehmann et al. 2000a, 2000b) identify the sources of the examples.

. Levels of representation It is a basic methodological prerequisite of any comparison that the tertium comparationis must be independent of the comparanda. Consequently, if the comparanda are linguistic in nature, the tertium comparationis must be outside language. If we compare grammatical and lexical structures, the tertium comparationis must be in the realm of the designatum. Many have sought it in the real world. However, the tertium comparationis is not a real object; it is a parameter on which the comparanda take on values. It is, thus, a mental construct. The tertium comparationis in linguistics is of the same nature as what remains constant under translation. This is not the real world either, but instead the message, which is a mental construct, too. (1) Linda fixed the boy’s bike.

A sentence such as (1) represents a situation. A situation is a mental construct. It belongs to the level of cognitive and communicative domains which language serves. The sentence itself has a grammatical structure that is peculiar to this historical language, with an English-style subject, direct object, genitive attribute etc. These two levels are numbered #1 and #3 in Table 1.2 Table 1. Levels of representation # level

type of entities

1 cognitivereferential

cognitive & communicative domains 2 typological strategies

3 languagespecific

structures

example components

roles

situation: situation core, participants . . .

participant role

proposition: predicate, arguments, relators . . . sentence: verb, complement, adjunct, case . . .

thematic (macro-)role syntactic function + significatum of case relator

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The cognitive and communicative domains of level 1 comprise such concepts as spatial orientation, possession, reference, participation etc.3 Each of these domains consists of a set of concepts and operations which are mapped onto linguistic expressions and their structure. In what follows, we will concentrate on one of these domains, viz. participation. Translating (1) into German, we get (2). (2) Linda flickte dem Jungen das Fahrrad. Linda fixed the.dat boy the bicycle4

Germ

Since (1) and (2) are translation equivalents, they may be assumed to represent the same situation. There is an interesting difference at level 3 of Table 1: the boy is a genitive attribute in (1), but a dative adjunct in (2). If we translate our example sentence into further languages, some like Turkish and Yucatec Maya (3) will side with English in also representing this participant in a possessive attribute, while others like Latin (4) and Wardaman will rather side with German in representing the participant in an adjunct. (3) t-u yutskint-ah u klèetah xibpàal Linda pst-sbj.3 repair-cmpl [poss.3 bike boy] Linda (4) Linda puero bicyclum refecit. Linda.nom.sg boy.dat.sg bicycle.acc.sg repair.perf.3.sg

YM Lat

Of course, the English possessive attribute differs totally from the Yucatec possessive attribute; the latter does not have a genitive to begin with. And in all of these languages, the order of the constituents in question differs. We nevertheless recognize a common strategy in English and Yucatec, since xibpàal is a dependent of klèetah in (3) just as the boy is a dependent of bike in (1). The strategy consists in representing the participant in question by a possessive attribute to the nominal expression representing another participant rather than by an adjunct to the verb. Languages differ in the strategies that they prefer in the representation of situations. These strategies can be used to typologize languages. We can therefore posit the level of typological strategies in Table 1 as an intermediate level between cognitive and communicative domains and language-specific structures. While the entities of level 1 are non-linguistic, those of levels 2 and 3 are linguistic entities, but at different levels of abstraction. While levels 1 and 3 are needed in any linguistic theory or description, since they are the levels mapped onto each other by language activity, level 2 fulfills a methodological function in typology. With respect to level 1, it categorizes the ways in which languages represent the designatum, thus bringing order into the variety. With respect to level 3, it serves as an intermediate tertium comparationis, because we do not compare the Yucatec possessive construction directly with the Latin dativus commodi, but instead we first relate it to the typological

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strategy of the possessive attribute, and only then do we identify possessive attribution and dative adjunction as two alternative typological strategies to represent the participant in question.

. Situation structure . Elements The basic concept of participation is the situation (sometimes called state-ofaffairs or event). A situation consists of a set of entities called participants which are related to each other by a network of relations which constitutes the immaterial center of the situation, the situation core. Simply speaking, participants are generally represented by naked or cased noun phrases or adpositional phrases, while the situation core is generally represented by a verb. In (1), there are three participants, Linda, the boy and the bike; and repaired represents the situation core. The situation core has a couple of properties the most important of which is its dynamicity. On this parameter, we distinguish properties, states, processes and events; and in the more dynamic situations, there are additional differences in telicity. Such distinctions are generally (but not exclusively) coded in the predicate. The properties of the situation core are not at stake in the present treatment; cf. Lehmann (1991) and Van Valin and LaPolla (1997: Ch. 3). Participants have properties and roles. Their properties are independent of the situation; they are just categories into which entities fall. The roles are functions that these entities have in a particular situation; these are relational concepts. The essential categories into which entities fall may be systematized in the form of a hierarchy which has been called animacy hierarchy but which we call (with Kuno & Kaburaki 1977) empathy hierarchy because empathy and not animacy is the decisive structuring factor. It has the seven basic levels represented in Schema 1; finer distinctions may be made in specific languages. To refer once more to (1), the two participants Linda and the boy are of the category of human beings, while the bike is an inanimate individual object. The roles that participants bear in a situation are generic functions derived from the relations existing among them. Agent, patient, experiencer, beneficiary, instrument etc. are participant roles. Over and above their specificities, they are structured by two general parameters, control and involvement. . Involvement and control The two essential parameters structuring the field of participant relations are the degree of involvement and the control of a participant. Both are gradient parame-

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations

non-human

human

SAP Non-SAP

1 2

animate

3

inanimate 4

individual object

substance 5

object

location entity

6 proposition

7

Schema 1. Empathy hierarchy

ters. A participant is maximally involved in the situation if the situation is inconceivable without this participant, and the pole of maximum distance is reached when the participant is actually more deeply involved in a connected situation than in the situation at hand (cf. Lehmann 1991: 207). Central participants are maximally involved; peripheral participants are loosely involved. Central participants are constitutive components of the situation.5 Peripheral participants presuppose the presence of central participants. They enrich a situation without changing its basic nature. Instruments and comitatives, for instance, only occur in situations with an actor and, possibly, another central participant, the undergoer. Syntactically, strong involvement of participants correlates with the valency dependence of the nominals representing them: Central participants tend to be represented by complements. Peripheral participants like comitative, instrument or beneficiary require additional apparatus: they tend to be coded as adjuncts, in oblique cases or adpositional phrases, or as dependents of additional verbs. For central participants there is a second gradient, viz. control. Leaving aside one-participant situations, there is typically a cline between one participant that controls the situation and another one that is controlled by it. The control difference is relative. The participant that has most control in the situation is the actor, the one that is most controlled is the undergoer. The indirectus is the third-most central participant, which is neutral to control; we will come back to it in Section 3.4. The prototypical actor is the agent, which in addition to control has intention; the prototypical undergoer is the patient, which in addition to being controlled is affected by the situation. The less involved a participant is, the less it is characterized by the control cline. Abstract entities are exempt from control. This relational structure of a situation is shown in Schema 2.

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Christian Lehmann

Schema 2. Involvement and control

. Participant roles For any given entity, the relations that it can contract are essentially conditioned by its properties. Just as a woman cannot have the same kind of relation to her husband and to her cat, so an animate being can have the role of an experiencer, but not the role of an instrument in a situation. Consequently, the roles are defined not only by relational features, but in the first place by properties of their carriers. The property most relevant here is the position on the empathy hierarchy Schema 1 that a participant occupies. Several of the roles differ more by the empathy of the participant in question than by their relational function. Table 2 classifies some important participant roles by their empathy, involvement and control. The numbers for empathy refer to the levels of Schema 1. Shading means ‘possible’, dark shading means ‘prototypical’. For involvement, ‘1’ means ‘central’, ‘–1’ means ‘peripheral’. For control, ‘1’ means ‘control’, ‘–1’ means ‘affectedness’. ‘0’ means ‘not specified’. The following comments seem in order: 1. Some roles are indifferent to empathy. This is, first of all, the theme, which is only defined by its central involvement. Similarly, the patient is defined by its affectedness, which only excludes propositions. 2. Certain categories of the empathy hierarchy are constitutive of prototypical instances of a role. These are primarily the speech act participant and the location, less prominently the inanimate object. The other empathy categories are only covered by extension of a role to less prototypical representatives. 3. Several roles are not distinct by the above classification. These include the members of the subsets {comitative, beneficiary}, {experiencer, recipient, addressee}, and the local roles {source, goal, place}. All of these are non-central. While the central roles differ essentially by control and affectedness, the noncentral roles differ by particular features that are outside Table 2.

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations 

Table 2. Relational features and absolute properties of participant roles

4. Some of the roles come in minimal pairs and triples: a. Pairs that differ – at least in Table 2 – only by empathy include the agent and the force, the comitative and the instrument, the emitter and the source, the recipient and the goal, the sympatheticus (see Section 3.5) and the patient. b. N-tuples that differ from each other only by involvement are comitative/beneficiary vs. experiencer/recipient/addressee/emitter. 5. Many more roles are differentiated for empathic than for anempathic participants. This is a consequence of an anthropocentric world view: we just know and care more about the ways that ourselves are engaged in situations than the ways of other objects. 6. Among the roles that are not specified for control and affectedness, there are some which could not possibly be specified for it, like the local roles; and there are others which may materialize, in different situations, with or without control. For instance, the beneficiary in (1) looks as if he had no control of the situation and were rather affected by it. But if we add the adverbial upon his request to (1), this supposition, if it ever was there, is cancelled. Thus, the concept of the beneficiary is

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 Christian Lehmann

compatible both with the idea of the participant in question controlling and of this participant undergoing the situation. The same is true for the roles of comitative and experiencer. . Macroroles There are two main strategies of structurally representing participant roles at the typological level: Either the dependent in question is governed through verbal valency, or it is not. In the former case, it is a complement, in the latter case, it may be an adjunct or may be in an even more peripheral construction. A complement need not bear a case relator; it may be governed directly. An adjunct is typically joined to the verb by some relator. There are exceptions to both of these generalizations, which we will forego here. If only participant roles had to be cared for in the linguistic representation of a situation, then central participants would always appear as complements and peripheral participants as non-complements. However, the fundamental syntactic functions, viz. subject – direct object and ergative – absolutive, are not only reserved for central participants, but are also the goal of operations of promotion which serve functional sentence perspective. The passive is a simple example: (5) a. Linda solved the problem. b. The problem was solved by Linda.

In (5a), Linda is represented by the subject; in (5b), she is represented in a prepositional phrase. From a structural point of view, she is thus central in (5a), but peripheral in b. However, she is clearly the agent in both cases. From this it follows that the extent of involvement of a particular participant is tertiary with respect to the parameters of empathy and control. The involvement value in Table 2 refers to basic manifestations of the participant. It may be overridden by processes of promotion and demotion without changing the essential nature of the participant. A macrorole is a type of central participant function that is the goal of the neutralization of peripheral roles and that is situated at the typological level.6 There are three macroroles, actor, undergoer and indirectus: 1. The actor is the macrorole of a central participant that has more control than the other participants in the situation. Its prototype is the agent. 2. The undergoer is the macrorole of a central participant that is more controlled than the other participants in the situation. Its prototype is the patient. 3. The indirectus is the macrorole of a central participant that is empathic but neither marked for control nor for affectedness. Structurally, it corresponds to the indirect object of those languages that have it. Its prototype is the recipient.

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As is well known and illustrated once more by (5), English-style subjects are indifferent to the thematic role associated with them. This is not quite so with direct objects. In German, for instance, the direct object function can only be taken, with a few lexical exceptions, by undergoers. The undergoer, however, subsumes a variety of different participant roles. One operation that brings this about is the applicative. It equips the verb with the prefix be- and with a direct object slot which is occupied by a participant with a peripheral role. The applicative is thus an operation of promotion of a participant to a central position. If the base already had a direct object, this is demoted. (6a, b) are typical examples: (6) a.

Paul kocht für die Kinder. Paul cooks for the.pl children ‘Paul cooks for the children.’ b. Paul bekocht die Kinder. Paul appl.cooks the.pl children

Ger

(ditto)

The children bear the participant role of the beneficiary both in (6a, b). However, only in (6a) is this role mapped iconically onto an adjunct. In (6b) the participant is promoted to direct object function. This does not change its participant role as a beneficiary, but at the typological level, this role is mapped onto the undergoer role. The latter neutralizes the specificities of the peripheral roles and only marks its carrier as being controlled in the situation. At the level of linguistic structure, a peripheral role can only be posited if it is expressed by a case relator joining the dependent in question, like the benefactive preposition for. It cannot be posited if the dependent in question is directly governed by the verb. This is equally true in two cases: a. The verb is morphologically elementary, as e.g. Engl. use. Its direct object has the participant role of instrument, but neither at the typological nor at the language-specific level is it represented as an instrument, i.e. as an instrumental adjunct. Its participant role is structurally neutralized in the undergoer role. At the cognitive-referential level, we can identify the instrument role on the basis of the lexical meaning of use. b. The verb is derived in such a way that the base combines with a case relator which equips the verb with an actant slot to be occupied by a dependent that bears the participant role in question. This is so with applicative derivations such as German be- prefixation in (6). Its direct object is an undergoer; the fact that it bears a specific peripheral role is not expressed at the level of syntactic relations. It can be inferred on the basis of the function of the be-prefix and of the paradigmatic relation between constructions such as those of (6). Let us look at another example of neutralization of a participant role in the undergoer macrorole. This time the participant role is the comitative. Yidiny (Pama-

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Nyungan) has a comitative case which appears in the a-versions of the otherwise parallel examples (7) and (8) and which directly represents this participant role. wagu:dja bunya-:y gali-ng man.abs woman-comit go-prs ‘The man is going with the woman.’ b. wagudja-nggu bunya gali:-nga-l man-erg woman.abs go-trr-prs ‘The man is going with / taking the woman.’

Yid

(7) a.

(Dixon 1977: 109)

(Dixon 1977: 109, 293) Yid

ngayu djana-ng djugi: I.nom stand-prs stick.comit ‘I am standing with a stick (in my hand).’ (Dixon 1977: 303) b. ngayu djugi djana:-nga-l I.nom stick.abs stand-trr-prs ‘I am standing with a stick (in my hand) / holding a stick.’ (Dixon 1977: 303)

(8) a.

Yidiny also has a derivation similar to the applicative which provides an intransitive base with a suffix -nga, thus transitivizing it and enabling it to take the comitative in the absolutive function, i.e. as an undergoer. This is illustrated by the b-versions of (7f). The a- and b-versions are, thus, in a transformational relationship. What is of importance here is that, again, the same participant role is present in all of the examples independently of its structural manifestation, but only the a-versions exhibit a comitative at the level of linguistic structure. The indirectus is illustrated by (9f). In (9), the son is a recipient in both versions. The b-version represents him by an indirect object, thus as an indirectus, the a-version by a directional adjunct. Linda schickte ein Päckchen an ihren Sohn. Linda sent a packet to her.acc son ‘Linda sent a packet to her son.’ b. Linda schickte ihrem Sohn ein Päckchen. Linda sent her.dat son a packet ‘Linda sent her son a packet.’

Germ

Sohn die Hausaufgaben. Linda machte für ihren Linda made for her.acc son the.pl homework ‘Linda solved the homework assignment for her son.’ b. Linda machte ihrem Sohn die Hausaufgaben. Linda made her.dat son the.pl homework

Germ

(9) a.

(10) a.

(ditto)

In (10), the son is a beneficiary of Linda’s action. He is represented by a benefactive adjunct in (10a), but is promoted to indirectus function in (10b). The indirectus covers participant roles that may also be covered by the actor or the undergoer.

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations 

Therefore its locus is in three-participant situations where actor and undergoer are already occupied. . Participant role accumulation The mapping of participant roles onto thematic roles and of these onto semantosyntactic and grammatical functions of a particular language is, in a sense, a process of abstraction. Situations are mental constructs with a rich structure. The speaker cannot represent all of their aspects by linguistic signs. Linguistic signs with their significata can only hint at what the speaker has in mind. The speaker therefore has two related tasks: a. He has to make a choice as to which of all the features of the situation he wants to code and which he wants to leave to inference. b. He has to typify those aspects that he wants to code by subsuming them under significata available in his language. In what follows, we will be concerned with the former of these two tasks.7 Participant roles are themselves already abstractions over many diverse relations. We speak of an agent in the situations designated by verbs such as run, repair, insult, calculate, to name but a few. In reality, however, the precise way that the agent engages in the situation differs enormously from one situation to the other. All of these specificities are brought on the common denominator of the participant that has intention and control of a situation. The same goes for the other participant roles. One consequence of this is that several of the roles share their values for the constitutive features of empathy, involvement and control. In other words, such roles are compatible with each other, the more so as basic involvement may be overridden by processes of promotion and demotion. Let us compare (1) and (2) again. The strategy used in English represents the boy in the role of possessor of the bike. The strategy used in German represents him as a beneficiary of the act. If we concede that the sentences are translation equivalents, it follows that at that level of representation where the situation is a mental construct – the cognitive-referential level –, the boy bears both roles. This is not a problem logically since both possessors and beneficiaries are prototypically highly empathic and indifferent to control.8 Languages generally opt for the expression of one or the other of these roles. The typological strategy employed in English consists in expressing the possessive role to the detriment of the benefactive role. The strategy employed in German has it the other way around. The role which is not coded linguistically is left to inference. In the case of (1), the fact that the boy benefits from Linda’s action is inferred on the basis of world knowledge; and so is the fact that the bike belongs to the boy

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in (2). Such inferences are, of course, defeasible. The level #2 in Table 1 permits us to identify types in the structures that languages use to code the designatum. The dative adjunct in (2) is an instantiation of the macrorole of the indirectus. The indirectus, in turn, is an instantiation of the participant role of the beneficiary. However, it neutralizes a couple of different participant roles. (11) has the boy in the same structural position. (11) Linda setzte dem Jungen das Baby auf den Schoß. Linda placed the.dat boy.dat the baby on the.acc lap ‘Linda put the baby on the boy’s lap.’

Germ

At the cognitive-referential level, however, the boy is not a beneficiary in (11) since, contrary to (2), the action is not done for his benefit. Instead he is what we call a sympatheticus, which is the role of an empathic patient that is affected if its part is affected. Thus, the boy in (11) is simultaneously the possessor of the lap and the sympatheticus of the action.9 We are now ready to look at a more complex example: (12) Linda wäscht dem Jungen die Haare. Linda washes the.dat boy.dat the.pl hair.pl ‘Linda washes the boy’s hair.’

Germ

Superficially, (12) resembles (2). Here, however, the boy’s accumulation of roles goes even farther. As in all the relevant examples, he is possessor of the patient. Since the patient is his proper part, as in (11), he is also sympatheticus. And as in (2), and contrary to (11), he is also the beneficiary of the action. All of these participant roles are merged in the indirectus. This complex picture is visualized in Schema 3. example macrorole participant role

Linda actor agent benefactor

wäscht

dem Jungen indirectus sympatheticus beneficiary possessor

die Haare. undergoer patient benefactum possessum

Schema 3. Multiple participant roles of a participant

In traditional grammar, the chapter on the use of cases provides for such functions of the dative as ‘dativus sympatheticus’, ‘dativus commodi’ and ‘dativus possessivus’. They have often proved difficult to tell apart. We now see why. A given participant may bear several of these roles at the same time. Moreover, in most languages,10 the ‘possessive dative’ is not really a function of the dative, since the possessive relation itself is not expressed. Instead, it is inferred, this time on semantic grounds, since ‘hair’ is a relational concept so there must be a possessor in the situation. By the same token, the so-called ‘external possessor’ (König

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations 

& Haspelmath 1998) is not, structurally, a possessor, but a sympatheticus whose possessor role is inferred.

. Causation and benefaction Another case of multiple participant roles being represented by a single role at the linguistic level may be seen in causative and benefactive constructions.11 A benefactive and a causative situation are both based on a simpler situation and produced by adding a participant in a particular role. On the basis of a simple situation, a benefactive situation is derived by the addition of a beneficiary, while a causative situation is formed by the addition of a causer. In Japanese, a variant of the benefactive construction is formed on the basis of a simple clause by means of the benefactive function verb morau ‘receive’.12 (13b) represents a benefactive situation, based on the simple situation represented by (13a). Jap Hanako-wa hon-o yon-da Hanako-top book-acc read-pst ‘Hanako read (out) the book.’ b. Taroo-ga Hanako-ni hon-o yon-de morat-ta. Taro-nom [Hanako-dat book-acc read-conv] get-pst13 ‘Taro got the book read by Hanoko / Hanako read the book for Taro.’

(13) a.

As is to be seen, the benefactive construction involves a complex sentence, consisting of a matrix clause whose predicate is the benefactive function verb and whose subject is the beneficiary, while the lexical verb of the embedded clause passes into a non-finite form called converb, and its actor, now the benefactor, becomes some kind of dative-locative dependent. The effect of promoting the beneficiary to the actor macrorole is an autobenefactive construction. A causative construction is formed on the basis of a simple clause by means of the causative suffix -sase, attached to the verb of the base situation. (14b) represents a causative situation, based on the simple situation represented by (14a). (14) a.

Hanako-wa kuruma-kara ori-ru. Hanako-top car-abl get.out-prs ‘Hanako gets out of the car.’ b. Taroo-ga Hanako-o kuruma-kara ori-sase-ru. Taro-nom [Hanako-acc car-abl get.out]-caus-prs ‘Taro has Hanako get out of the car.’

Jap

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As is to be seen, the causative suffix converts the base verb into a causative verb, the causer becomes the subject of the complex verb, while the actor of the base verb, now the causee, becomes the direct object of the causative verb. We may already note that the causative construction is structurally rather similar to the benefactive construction. Apart from the case frames appearing in the examples, the main difference lies in the degree of grammaticalization of the verb complex. Namely, where the benefactive function verb operates on the full verb in the converb form, the causative morpheme directly operates on the base verb stem.14 Now, as is well known, one of the parameters along which causative constructions differ is the degree of control that the causee retains. In (14b), the causer shares none of the overall control of the situation with the causee. This is, thus, a coercive causative. (15) differs minimally from (14b) in that the causee NP is in the dative instead of the accusative. The meaning differs accordingly, since this construction expresses that the causee does retain some of its basic control. This is, thus, a permissive causative. (15) Taroo-ga Hanako-ni kuruma-kara ori-sase-ru. Taro-nom [Hanako-dat car-abl get.out]-caus-prs ‘Taro allows Hanako to get out of the car.’

Jap

So far, we abide within the realm of causative constructions. However, (15) must also be compared with (16). (16) Taroo-ga Hanako-ni kuruma-kara ori-te mora-u. Taro-nom [Hanako-dat car-abl get.out-conv] get-prs ‘Taro gets Hanako out of the car.’

Jap

(16) is a benefactive construction on the basis of (14a) just as (13b) is one on the basis of (13a). As is apparent, (16) differs from (15) only by replacement of the causative suffix by the benefactive function verb plus the converb suffix on the base verb. Since the case frames are the same, there is considerable formal similarity between a causer and a beneficiary, and between a causee and a benefactor. The participant structure of (16) may be described as follows: In an autobenefactive situation like (16), one participant (Taro) bears both of the participant roles of causer and beneficiary, while another participant (Hanako) bears both of the participant roles of causee and benefactor. The Japanese language opts for representing the causative roles in the benefactive construction, shaping it on the model of the causative construction and leaving the benefactive roles to the semantics of the function verb morau ‘get’.15 On the other hand, the strategy employed in the alternate English translation of (13b) only codes the benefactive roles and leaves the issue of the causativity of the situation to pragmatically-based inference.

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations 

. Possession and participation We have already seen some cases ((1f), (11f)) where a participant bears some relation to the situation core and is, in addition, possessor of another participant. We shall now look at this constellation a bit more systematically. We will compare two languages, Yucatec Maya and German, as to the strategies they employ in representing a participant that accumulates two roles. One of these will always be the possessor of another participant, the undergoer. The other role will shift through various peripheral roles that are compatible with the possessor role. The brackets appearing in the Yucatec glosses enclose an NP. In (17f), one participant – the speaker – is both the experiencer of the process and the possessor of the theme. Yucatec Maya expresses the possessor role in an adnominal possessive construction, German (18) merges the experiencer role into the indirectus, on the model of the indirect object. (17) yah in nak’ sore [poss.1.sg belly] ‘my belly hurts’ (18) Der Bauch tut mir weh. the belly does me pain

YM

Germ (ditto)

In (19f), one participant – the man – is both the sympatheticus of the act and – in a whole-part relationship – the possessor of the patient. Yucatec Maya expresses the possessor role, German (20) merges the sympatheticus role into the indirectus.16 (19) T-in k’op-ah u ho’l le máak-o’. pst-sbj.1.sg hit-cmpl [poss.3 head def person-d2] ‘I hit the man on the head.’ (20) Ich habe dem Mann auf den Kopf geschlagen. I have the.dat man on the.acc head beaten

YM

Germ (ditto)

In (21f), one participant – St. Anthony – is both beneficiary of the act and future established possessor of the patient. Yucatec Maya expresses the possessor role, German (22) merges the beneficiary role into the indirectus.17 (21) Máantats’ táan u t’ab-ik u kib kili’ch constantly prog sbj.3 lighten-incmpl [poss.3 candle saint Anton. Anton] ‘Regularly he lightens candles for St. Anthony.’ (22) Regelmäßig zündet er dem Hl. Antonius Kerzen an. regularly lightens he the.dat St. Anthony candles at

YM

Germ (ditto)

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 Christian Lehmann

In (23f), one participant – the son – is simultaneously the recipient of the transfer and the future established possessor of the undergoer. Yucatec Maya expresses the possessor role, German (24) merges the recipient role into the indirectus. (23) káa t-u máan-s-ah cnj pst-sbj.3j pass-caus-cmpl u éerèensyah u ìihoh-e’ [poss.3i inheritance [poss.3j son]i ]-cntr ‘but he handed over the inheritance to his son’ (24) aber er händigte seinem Sohn die Erbschaft aus but he handed his.dat son the heritage out

YM

Germ (ditto)

In (25f), one participant – the people – is both emitter of the transfer and possessor of the patient. Yucatec Maya expresses the possessor role, German (26) merges the emitter role into the indirectus. (25) K-u lu’s-ik u sahkil-il impf-sbj.3 leave.caus-incmpl [poss.3 afraid.abstr-rel máak-o’b. person-pl] ‘He takes the fear from the people.’ (26) Er nimmt den Leuten die Angst. he takes the.dat people.dat the fear

YM

Germ (ditto)

In (27f), one participant – the youngest brother – is both goal of the transfer and possessor of the undergoer. Yucatec Maya expresses the possessor role, German (28) merges the goal role into the indirectus. YM (27) káa t-u ts’a’-ah-o’b t-u ho’l h-t’ùup cnj pst-sbj.3 put-cmpl-3.pl loc-[poss.3 head m-youngest.sibling] ‘and they placed it [the crown] on the head of the youngest brother’ (28) und sie setzten sie dem jüngsten Bruder auf and they placed.pl it the.dat youngest brother on den Kopf the.acc head

Germ (ditto)

In (29f), one participant is both the (animate) place of the situation and possessor of the theme. Yucatec Maya expresses the possessor role, German (30) merges the place role into the indirectus. (29) ma’ t-u hóok’-ol u me’x-i’ neg impf-sbj.3 get.out-incmpl [poss.3 beard]-negf ‘he does not grow a beard’

YM

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations 

(30) Ihm wächst kein Bart.18 he.dat grows no beard

Germ (ditto)

We can stop the comparison here. The upshot is quite clear: Yucatec Maya consistently opts for coding the possessor role in linguistic structure while leaving the various participant roles to inference. German consistently opts for coding the participant roles by merging them into the indirectus macrorole, leaving the possessive relationship to inference. The functional locus of a strategy is that cognitive or communicative subdomain in which it is functionally – mostly, iconically – motivated. For instance, the locus of the possessive construction is in situations like (17), where possession is inherent and the affectedness of the experiencer is a safe inference. It is functionally much less well motivated in (23), where the recipient role of the participant in question is inherent in the predicate, while its possessive relation is pending and established, and also in (21), where a possessive relation to the beneficiary may only be construed by analogy to similar situations. Again, the locus of the indirectus is precisely in situations like (21) and (23), where the most salient role of the participant in question is being third-most central in the situation. The indirectus is functionally less well motivated in (28) and (30) (and much less is the subject appearing in the English translation; cf. also Note 16). In applying a strategy in a uniform way over a functionally articulated area, a language extends the domain of application of a strategy beyond its locus. Thus, a language may be characterized at the typological level as taking recourse to one particular strategy instead of available alternatives and beyond its functional locus. For instance, Yucatec Maya may be characterized as relying on adnominal possessive constructions in many situations where the majority of the languages of the world use verbal dependents.

. Incorporation of body parts The relation that a participant contracts directly – i.e. not mediated by the situation core – with another participant may be called an interparticipant relation. We saw in the preceding section that whenever three (or more) participants are to be accommodated in clause structure, Yucatec Maya consistently opts for expressing the interparticipant relation of the third participant instead of its participant role. However, it can only do that if the participant possessed by the third participant is actually represented by an NP. This is not the case if the possessum is incorporated in the verb. One kind of noun is incorporated with particular frequency in Yucatec Maya as in many other languages: body-part terms. These are relational terms, so that a possessor is needed in the context. In this section, we investigate the prin-

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 Christian Lehmann

ciples which identify the possessor of an incorporated body-part term among the participants represented in a clause. In Yucatec Maya, body-part terms are incorporated in two participant roles, as an instrument and as an undergoer. (31) shows how an instrumental adjunct can be transformed into an incorporated noun. (31) a.

in lom-ik-ech yéetel in k’ab sbj.3 poke-incmpl-abs.2.sg with poss.1.sg hand ‘I poke you with my finger’ b. in lom-k’ab-t-ik-ech sbj.3 poke-hand-trr-incmpl-abs.2.sg

YM

(ditto)

(32) illustrates the same process with other body-part terms. (32) t-u t’ées-tsèem/nak’-t-ah pst-sbj.3 push-chest/belly-trr-cmpl ‘he pushed it with his chest/belly’

YM

If we ask whose hand it is in (31b) and whose chest or belly it is in (32), the answer is clear: the possessor of the body part is the actor. This is so without exception for body-part terms that are incorporated in instrument function. We now come to the other semantic type of incorporation, where the body part has undergoer (normally patient) function. This is so in (33), where the incorporative verb of (33b) is lexicalized. (33) a.

t-u t’in-ah y-ich ti’ tèen pst-sbj.3 spread.out-cmpl poss.3-eye loc me ‘he raised his brows towards me’ b. t-u t’in-ich-t-ah-en pst-sbj.3 spread.out-eye-trr-cmpl-abs.1.sg ‘he saluted me with his eyes / raising his brows’

YM

(34) shows the same syntactic configuration. (34) he’l túun bin k-u t’on-ho’l-o’b-o’ prsv then quot impf-sbj.3 bend-head-abs.3.pl-d2 ‘this is where they bowed and bowed’

YM

In these examples, the possessor of the incorporated body-part term is obviously the actor. Things are different in (35f). (35) t-in tsol-xikin-t-ah in pàal pst-sbj.1.sg line.up-ear-trr-cmpl poss.3 child ‘I advised my child’

YM

(36) ts’o’k in chuk-pach-t-ik-ech term sbj.1.sg catch-back-trr-incmpl-abs.2.sg ‘I have caught you (by following you)’

YM

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Here the possessor of the body part is the undergoer. At the same time, these incorporatives are lexicalized, too. While the incorporation of body-part terms in instrument function is productive and highly compositional in its semantics, body-part incorporation in undergoer function is less frequent and often highly lexicalized. So the only general principle to be detected in the latter is the limitation of the possessor of the body part to actor and undergoer. Contrariwise, the rule by which a body part incorporated in instrument function belongs to the actor is semantically well motivated, as it is just another reflex of the principle that an instrument in a situation presupposes an actor that uses it. Since the different semantic types of incorporative constructions in Yucatec Maya are structurally uniform, it is clear that we are dealing with semantic, not with syntactic principles here. Body-part incorporation in Yucatec Maya thus emerges as a coding strategy which provides a partial principle by which speaker and hearer may construe the network of participant and interparticipant relations in a situation.

. Conclusion We have reviewed a variety of subfields of participation. We have seen that a participant cannot be analyzed in isolation. It is always part of a complex network of relations between participants and the situation core, where a given participant may bear one or more relations to the situation core and on top a direct relation to another participant. In coding such a network by means of clause structure, a language cannot represent all of these relations at the level of clause structure. Languages fall into types that differ by the choice made in this respect. A language may be characterized by using one typological strategy to the detriment of available alternatives and by extending it beyond its functional locus to semantic configurations where it is not iconically motivated.

Abbreviations 1, 2, 3 = 1st, 2nd, 3rd person; abl = ablative; abs = absolutive; abstr = abstract; acc = accusative; appl = applicative; caus = causative; cmpl = completive; cnj = conjunction; cntr = continuer; comit = comitative; conv = converb; d2 = deictic of 2nd person; dat = dative; def = definite; erg = ergative; impf = imperfective; incmpl = incompletive; io = indirect object; loc = locative; m = masculine; neg = negator; negf = final negator; nom = nominative; perf = perfective; pl = plural; poss = possessive; prog = progressive; prs = present; prsv = presentative; pst =



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 Christian Lehmann

past; quot = quotative; rel = relational; sbj = subject; sg = singular; term = terminative; top = topic; trr = transitivizer.

Notes . Support of Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft for grant Le 358/12 is gratefully acknowledged. . Cf. Coseriu (1987: 177–198). Participant roles and thematic roles are also distinguished in Van Valin and LaPolla (1997: Ch. 3.2.3), but there thematic roles are purely semantic, whereas they have structural properties in the present conception. . Cf. Seiler (1988, 2000) for the theoretical background. . Interlinear morphemic glossing follows the series editors’ style sheet. See Lehmann (2004) on how interlinear glosses should be done. . Central participants are “on the scene”, as Kirsner (1985: 2.1) puts it. . On the concept of macroroles, cf. Foley and Van Valin (1984: 59 et pass.), Van Valin and LaPolla (1997: Ch. 4). . The task is, of course, not specific to the coding of participant roles in a situation. The same goes, for instance, for interpropositional relations, where two propositions may, at the same time, be related temporally and causally, but only one of these relations is coded. . The conception of one participant in a situation / one argument of a predicate bearing more than one role appears to go back to Gruber (1976) and Cook (1979: Ch. 6). See Van Valin and LaPolla (1997: 157 et pass.) for a recent discussion. . Lest it be thought that the indirectus has been posited ad hoc for German: the same construction occurs in Australian languages. Here is a Yidiny example: guli gamba-ng bunya:-nda dun.gu-: louse crawl-prs woman-dat head-loc ‘A louse is crawling on a woman’s head.’

(Dixon 1977: 266f.)

For Mayali see Lehmann and Verhoeven (2005: §3.4.3.1). . Things may be different in extreme cases like the one mentioned in Note 16. . Examples and analysis from Nishina (2004). . This is, in fact, one of at least two benefactive constructions in Japanese. See Shibatani (1996) for another one involving the function verb yaru/kureru ‘give’. . The brackets in the Japanese examples include the basic clause. They do not, however, correspond to syntactic boundaries in the complex sentence. On the contrary, in sentences like (13b), yonde moratta is a periphrastic verb form. . There is, in fact, a grammaticalization continuum starting from the syntactically free combination of a non-finite subordinate clause with a following matrix verb, passing via constructions like (13b), where the main verb has become a function verb and its combination with the subordinate verb form is becoming a periphrastic verb form, and leading to (14b), where it has become a suffix of the erstwhile dependent verb form. . The Japanese benefactive construction thus manifests awareness of the criminological principle ‘cui bono’ at the level of linguistic structure.

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Participant roles, thematic roles and syntactic relations  . Variants of this construction are relatively common in the world’s languages. It is the more natural the more the whole is affected by the impact on the part, as in (19f); and it gets the more restricted the less the undergoer is affected. For instance, Portuguese uses the dativus sympatheticus construction even in such sentences as descobri-lhe os defeitos (discover.pst.sbj.1.sgio.3.sg def.m.pl defect.m.pl) ‘I discovered his defects’, where most languages – including, in this case, English and German – would rather side with Yucatec Maya in preferring the adnominal construction. . The structural relations between possessive and benefactive are manifold. Certain Oceanic languages are like Yucatec Maya in (a) having no basic construction that would contain the beneficiary as a verbal adjunct and (b) having possessive classifiers (not illustrated above). In those Oceanic languages, the possessive construction may be grammaticalized to a benefactive construction (Song 1998). . The example is due to Jóhanna Barðdal. (29) is a translation into Yucatec on the analogy of a very similar example contained in my corpus. . Cf. the conception of a (construction) schema that matches a (represented) situation to some extent, as put forward in Shibatani (1996: 165ff.).

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Lehmann, Ch. & Verhoeven, E. (2005). “Noun incorporation and participation. A typological study on participant association with particular reference to Yucatec Maya”. In Ch. Lehmann (Ed.), Typological Studies in Participation. Berlin: Akademie. Nishina, Y. (2004). Satzverbindung und Satzreduktion am Beispiel der japanischen Konverb konstruktionen. Unpub. PhD dissertation University of Erfurt. Seiler, H. (1988). The Dimension of Participation [Función, 7]. Guadalajara: Centro de Investigación de Lenguas Indígenas, Universidad de Guadalajara. Seiler, H. (2000). Language Universals Research. A Synthesis. Tübingen: G. Narr. Shibatani, M. (1996). “Applicatives and benefactives: A cognitive account”. In M. Shibatani & S. A. Thompson (Eds.), Grammatical Constructions: Their Form and Meaning (pp. 157–194). Oxford: Clarendon. Song, J. J. (1998). “Benefactive marking in Oceanic languages: From possessive classifiers to benefactive markers”. In A. Siewierska & J. J. Song (Eds.), Case, Typology and Grammar. In Honor of Barry J. Blake (pp. 247–275). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Van Valin, R. D., Jr. & LaPolla, R. (1997). Syntax. Structure, Meaning, and Function. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Information focus in relational clause structure Elena Maslova Stanford University

The paper examines case-marking splits conditioned by focus structure. This type of case marking distinguishes two forms, topic/actor (unmarked) vs. focus/patient (marked): the latter encodes focal S and P participants, as well as topical Ps if A and P are not otherwise discriminated. This system (attested in Yukaghir and Dogon) involves a conspicuous markedness paradox: the least frequent constellation of parameters, A-focus, remains unmarked. The emergence of such systems is accounted for in terms of default role interpretation of NPs, guided by correlations between semantic and information-structure roles, whereby a focus marker acquires the P-marking function. If this analysis is formalized in terms of Bidirectional Optimality Theory, the markedness paradox of focus-oriented splits proves to instantiate the more general phenomenon of emergence of the unmarked.

.

Focus-oriented split intransitivity: A markedness paradox1

Cross-linguistic studies of the recent decades have discovered a variety of split case marking systems, which mix nominative-accusative (S=A vs. P) and ergativeabsolutive (A vs. S=P) groupings of core participant roles.2 The range of factors known to condition such splits in different languages includes the semantic nature of NP, its actual semantic role in the situation, tense/aspect/mood, and the grammatical status of the clause (Dixon 1994: 70–110). This paper discusses another type of case-marking split, not mentioned in the classical overviews of split systems (Silverstein 1976; Comrie 1989: 129–135, 185–199; Dixon 1994: 70–110; Harris & Campbell 1995: 240–257; Van Valin 1990; and references therein), namely, splits conditioned by focus structure (in the sense of Lambrecht 1994). This phenomenon can be preliminarily illustrated by two sets of examples from two unrelated languages, Dogon (spoken in Mali, West Africa; ex. (1)) and Tundra Yukaghir (Saha, Far East of Russia; ex. (2)). Each of these languages has a nominal marker (] in Dogon and -le(]) in Tundra Yukaghir) that subsumes three

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functions: it marks information focus (examples (a)–(b) in both sets), P (examples (b)–(c)) and nominal predicate (examples (d)). In what follows, I use the complex functional label F|P to denote such morphological markers; here F stands for “focus”, or, to be more precise, for a language-specific grammatical counterpart of focus (see 2.1 for further details).3 (1) Dogon a. mi dele ] yεlε my brother f|p came ‘My brother came.’ b. wo gaw ] εbε he onion f|p bought ‘He bought onion.’ c. wo ] baanε gε bεndε he f|p father def hit ‘Father beat him.’ d. nndε yaa yεlε gε mi dele ] man yesterday came rel my brother f|p ‘The man who came yesterday is my brother.’

(Sumbatova 1999: 528)

(Sumbatova 1999: 528)

(Sumbatova 1999: 529)

(Sumbatova 1999: 528)

(2) Tundra Yukaghir a. . . . qahime-le] kelu-l raven-f|p came-sf ‘. . . a raven came.’ b. met ten’i n’awn’iklie-le] to]ore-me] I here polar.fox-f|p chase-pf.1|2sg ‘I have been chasing a polar fox here.’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: 8/134) c. nime-le aq pajp wie-nun dwelling-f|p only woman make-hab(af) ‘Only women install dwellings.’ (Krejnoviˇc 1982: 210) d. ta] tett’ie leml’e-le] that rich.man headman-f|p ‘That rich man was the headman.’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: 6/33)4

These markers are incompatible with A, i.e., the information focus on A is expressed without overt nominal marker (examples (1c), (2c)), or, to put it the other way round, A takes the unmarked case form independently of its locus in the information structure. Thus, S is encoded as A (null marker) or as P (F|P marker) depending on its information-structure role: St =A & Sf =P, where T stands for topic and F for focus, cf. (2a) and (3). (3) qad’ir apanala: me-kelu-j dp old.woman aff-come-st(3) ‘The old woman came.’

(Maslova (Ed.) 2001: 1/251)

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Structurally, this pattern resembles canonical split intransitivity (active/inactive) systems, which distinguish active (Sa =A) and inactive (Sp =P) S participants, yet here the split is determined not by the semantic role of S, but by its informationstructure role (T vs. F). It can be referred to as focus-oriented split intransitivity. At first sight, this type of split looks like a direct grammatical manifestation of the long noted discourse-pragmatic similarities between A and S, on the one hand, and P and S, on the other: A and S are the most likely topics of their clauses, and S and P are the most likely sites for introducing new referents; these similarities are commonly invoked to account for cross-linguistic distribution of case-marking systems, including split systems conditioned by topic-worthiness of NPs (Chafe 1976, 1987; Comrie 1989: 127–129; Dixon 1994: 84–85, 207–213; Du Bois 1987; Payne 1997: 141–142). In Dogon and Tundra Yukaghir, the split is conditioned not by the inherent predisposition of NP towards one or another informationstructure role, but by its actual locus in this structure, yet the distribution of marking patterns remains essentially the same: topical elements follow the nominativeaccusative pattern, and focal elements, the ergative-absolutive pattern. It seems, therefore, that the existence of focus-oriented splits can be construed as a strong piece of evidence in favor of the hypothesis that language-specific marking patterns can be shaped by discourse-pragmatic factors, more specifically, by statistical correlations between semantic and pragmatic statuses of NPs (Comrie 1989: 127– 129; Givón 1979; Bybee & Hopper 2001; Du Bois 1987; Haspelmath 1999, 2002; Hawkins 1994; Jäger 2003). On the other hand, this hypothesis is commonly taken to imply that the resulting marking patterns must conform to the well-known correlation between low frequency (functional markedness) and formal markedness (the amount of morphological material), ultimately motivated by the economy principle (Haiman 1983; Du Bois 1987). Then, the same considerations that have been invoked in the preceding paragraph to account for focus-oriented splits entail a false prediction: focal As are expected to be at least as morphologically marked as other, more frequent, constellations of participant roles and pragmatic roles, but in focusoriented split systems they are less marked than focal Ps and Ss (see (1c) and (2c)). It is intuitively clear that the incompatibility of overt F markers with A is intrinsically related to the morphological alignment of F with P, which, in its turn, seems to be motivated by a higher frequency of this constellation of parameters. This observation suggests that somewhat embarrassing exceptions from the welldocumented and apparently well-motivated correlation between low frequency and formal markedness can emerge as a byproduct of the same mechanism that brings about this correlation in the first place (or, to be more precise, by one of such mechanisms). The rest of this paper falls into two parts. Section 2 is a case study of focusoriented split intransitivity, which reveals two properties of this system in Tundra

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Yukaghir: a strong correlation between the grammatical encoding of focus (F) and the semantic macro-role of P, and differential use of the F|P marker for encoding of PT . In Section 3, I attempt to show that this clustering of properties is not accidental and can be straightforwardly accounted for under the hypothesis that focus-oriented split patterns emerge as a result of default role interpretation of information-structure markers. This section also proposes a specific mechanism of the emergence of focus-oriented splits, which is formalized in the framework of Bidirectional Optimality Theory (Blutner 2000); in particular, it is shown that the markedness paradox in focus-oriented split systems can be analyzed as a particular case of the emergence of the unmarked in the sense of McCarthy and Prince (1994).

. A case study: Packaging variants in Tundra Yukaghir . Terminological and notational conventions Following Lambrecht (1994), I will use the term focus structure to refer to different mappings between the propositional contents of a contextualized clause and its pragmatic articulation. There are three basic types of pragmatic articulations, topicfocus, focus-presupposition, and thetic. The topic-focus articulation singles out one discourse referent (topic), t, and the information conveyed by the clause (focus) is construed as information about t. Hence, the focus includes all components of the clause except for the expression referring to t (topic expression) (Strawson 1964; Kuno 1972; Reinhart 1982; Gundel 1988; Lambrecht 1994; inter alia). In the focus-presupposition articulation, the information conveyed by the sentence is contained within one nominal constituent (narrow focus), whereas the remainder of the clause is construed as its pragmatic presupposition (Chafe 1976; Prince 1978; Lambrecht 1994; inter alia). In the thetic articulation, the whole clause is presented as the focus (Kuno 1972; Sasse 1987; Shibatani 1990: 262–264; Lambrecht 1994). In what follows, I refer to all components of pragmatic foci as focal elements; similarly, the notion of topical element subsumes topics proper and nominal elements of pragmatic presuppositions. A morphosyntactic construction can but need not impose a unique focus structure on its propositional contents. Generally, the information-structure semantics of a construction can be described as its focus set (Reinhart 1996), i.e., the set of substructures that can be interpreted as focus in appropriate discourse contexts. For example, the focus set ω(SF ) of the SF construction in Tundra Yukaghir (exemplified in (2a) above) contains two elements: S (focus-presupposition articulation), and S+V (thetic articulation). The focus-presupposition reading is exemplified in (4), the thetic reading, in (2a).5

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(4) . . . jukuol-e-l-da]ut pon’a:-l small-0-anr-dst.f remain-sf ‘. . . only the youngest one remains.’

(Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T1/306)

Packaging variants of a propositional structure π are constructions imposing different constraints on the potential focus set of π. In the context of the present paper, the notion of packaging variant does not cover variations in linear-intonational structure which often constrain the focus set of a clause, i.e., two clauses that differ only in constituent order and/or in stress pattern are taken to instantiate the same packaging variant. For example, in the ST construction of Tundra Yukaghir (exemplified in (3)) S can precede or follow the verb, yet this construction is taken to constitute a single packaging variant. This implies that many languages have unmarked packaging variants, where the focus set contains all possible substructures of π. For instance, the basic clause structure in Russian is unmarked in this sense: e.g., the focus set of a simple intransitive clause (such as Vas’a prišol ‘Vasja came’) includes all possible substructures of π, {V, S+V, S}, and the actual pragmatic articulation can be expressed by modifications in linear-intonational structure, i.e., in constituent order and/or stress pattern (Paduˇceva 1985: 109–119). This paper is concerned only with simple monoclausal packaging variants; these packaging variants cannot be described in terms of canonical voice oppositions, since they do not involve demotion of core participants to clause periphery. In this sense, the elements of the paradigm do not differ in syntactic markedness, that is, the formal markedness relations within the paradigm of packaging variants are limited to presence vs. absence of overt morphological markers. Since the discourse-pragmatic semantics and distribution of packaging variants are language-specific, it seems somewhat misleading to describe their elements directly in terms of universal pragmatic roles. Generally, the relation between “topic” and “focus” as elements of language-specific constructions and their language-independent pragmatic counterparts resembles the relation between the participant roles A, S, P and genuinely semantic case roles (like agent and patient). Therefore, this paper adopts a similar notational convention for pragmatic roles: the labels T and F refer to language-specific grammatical counterparts of “topic” and “focus”, whereas these terms themselves are reserved for components of actual pragmatic articulations of contextualized linguistic expressions. Adopting Lambrecht’s (1994) notion of information structure as a component of grammar, T and F can be referred to as information-structure roles. . Distribution of packaging variants Tundra Yukaghir has no unmarked packaging variants, i.e., any clause structure constrains the focus set in one or another way. There are two intransitive packag-

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ing variants, ST and SF , and three transitive packaging variants AF , PF and AT PT . Packaging variants without nominal F (i.e., ST and AT PT ) can be subsumed under the general category of F-neutral constructions. The focus set of a packaging variant generally contains more than one element, with the only exception of AF construction; see (6-i). However, the distributions of possible focus readings among discourse occurrences of packaging variants are strongly skewed towards one element of the focus set, that is, each packaging variant encodes one focus structure significantly more frequently than other elements of its focus set. The most frequent element of the focus set is referred to here as default focus interpretation of a packaging variant and is shown in boldface in the descriptions of focus sets. The focus sets of Tundra Yukaghir packaging variants are shown in (5)–(6), where X stands for any peripheral constituent and parentheses indicate optional elements. (5) i. ω (SF ) = {S, S+V} ii. ω(ST ) = {(X+)V, S+V} (6) i. ω (AF ) = {A} ii. ω (PF ) = {P, P+V, P+A+V} iii. ω (AT PT ) = {X, (X+)V, P(+X)+V, A(+X)+V}

The two possible readings of SF construction are illustrated by (2a) and (4). The AF construction is exemplified in (2c). The sentence (2b) exemplifies a predicatefocus encoded by the PF construction. The following examples illustrate two other possible readings of this construction, P (7a) and P+A+V (7b).6 (7) a.

e, met-ek n’ie-mele intj 1sg-f call-pf.3sg ‘Yes, she is calling me (not you).’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T1/313) b. ma:rquo-d’e mit uo korel bun’i-l-]in’ l’e-mle one-at 1pl child ogre kill-anr-dat aux-pf.3sg ‘An ogre is going to kill our only son.’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T6/86)

The relevant functions of F-neutral constructions are exemplified in (3) and (8): (8) a.

tu] tude uo-hane tude emd’ie-n’ tadi-m this 3sg child-loc 3sg brother-dat give-pt.3sg ‘She (topic=A) gave her child (P) to her brother.’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T1/101) b. tang peldudie-ha l’e-l-ha met t’umuot’ie [. . . ] kode-]in’ that old.man-loc be-1|2sg-ds 1sg uncle person-dat tadi-l’el-u-m. give-infr-0-pt.3sg ‘While I lived at that old man’s, I(topic=P) was given to someone in marriage by my uncle (A).’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T9/11)

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The choice of packaging variant is uniquely determined by the pragmatic articulation if precisely one component of propositional structure is focal: if it is a core participant, then the appropriate nominal F construction is obligatory; if it is the verb, then the F-neutral construction is the only option. The broad focus including P/S and V (P+V and S+V) can be encoded by two packaging variants: SF and ST for intransitive clause and AT PF and AT PT for transitive clause. The choice of packaging variant for broad focus structures is affected by two discourse-pragmatic factors. Firstly, if the clause introduces a new discourseprominent referent, this referent is likely to be encoded as F (see (2a) and (2b)). If S/P does not refer to a discourse-prominent referent (9a) or its referent is already present in the world of discourse (8a), then the F-neutral construction is more likely to be chosen. (9) a.

e, ma:rqall’eha t’a:j-le lawi:-t’e-kodi-l’el-]a intj together tea-f|p drink-ven-hcr-infr-pt.3pl ‘They probably went to drink tea together.’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T1/346) b. emd’e-pul-gi arej t’aj-le par-nu-mle brother-pl-3 dp tea-f|p cook-prog-pf.3sg ‘(Suddenly they saw that) their brother was preparing tea.’ (Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T1/171)

Thus, PT subsumes two distinct classes of NPs: NPs low in discourse prominence and NPs referring to accessible referents. Secondly, the nominal F constructions signal some sort of contrast between the situation being described and context-based expectations (Krejnoviˇc 1982: 214–216). This parameter refers not to the role of NP, but to the situation as a whole. For example, the situation described in (9b) contradicts the expectations of the protagonists (and, presumably, of the listeners) because its primary participant (A) has been killed by the protagonists, not because he is expected to cook something other than tea (P). In this case, then, the unexpectedness of the situation overrides the obviously low discourse prominence of P and triggers the PF construction. On the other hand, since the default focus of ST construction is (X+)V, the SF variant can be required to override the default interpretation in most discourse contexts, so most thetic sentences are in fact encoded by the SF construction. This factor is irrelevant for transitive clauses, since the default focus of both F-neutral and PF constructions contains P. As a result, predicate-focus transitive clauses with focal Ps can be freely encoded by the PT construction. To sum up, the discourse functions of F are not limited to encoding of narrow and contrastive foci, as seems to be more common for morphological focus markers in other languages. Moreover, the default focus interpretation of PF and SF constructions is a broad focus structure (predicate-focus and thetic respectively).

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This is reflected in a strong statistical correlation between F and P, which can be demonstrated by the following preliminary text counts: AT PT ∼ ca. 65% (of finite transitive clauses) AT PF ∼ ca. 35% AF PT ∼ less than 1% b. ST ∼ ca. 90% (of finite intransitive clauses) SF ∼ ca. 10%

(10) a.

The distribution of transitive packaging variants (10a) implies that more than 97% of F elements of transitive clauses are Ps. If intransitive clauses are taken into account, more than 75% of all nominal Fs correspond to (semantic) Ps. On the other hand, most core participants (including Ps) are encoded as Ts, that is, F functions as a semantically marked option. Quite predictably, the information-structure role T correlates with the A semantic role. However, since many focal Ps are encoded as Ts, this correlation is not as strong as might be expected: ca. 60% of all T expressions refer to A participants (this estimate includes A-like participants of intransitive clauses). . Encoding of packaging variants and distribution of nominal markers Packaging variants are most consistently distinguished by the form of the finite verb. In the ST construction, the verb takes the suffix -j(e) (glossed as ST in examples), followed by person suffixes; the SF form of verb takes the suffix -l (SF) and no person suffixes. In the AT PF and AT PT constructions, the verb agrees with A in person; there are two different sets of person markers, glossed as PF and PT in examples, which consistently distinguish these packaging variants (these markers are shown in boldface in (7) and (9). The AF verb form contains no person markers, so the absence of person suffixes serves as a (null) marker of AF construction. A nominal F-element usually takes the immediately preverbal position. For AF , this position is obligatory; SF and PF can be separated from the verb (see (7b)), but cannot occur postverbally. T-elements can occur in any linear position, but the postverbal position is significantly less frequent. In the AT PT construction, the constituent order indicates the topic expression: it occurs either in the clauseinitial position or (much less frequently) in the postverbal position. If the topic referent is recoverable from the discourse context, the clause contains no topic expression; see (8) and (9a). As described in Section 1, AT , AF and ST take unmarked case form, that is, this form is linked to two strongly correlated meanings, T and A. More specifically, A takes this form independently of its information-structure role, and ST , independently of its semantic macro-role (A or P).

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The case form of SF and PF depends on inherent semantic properties of NP. More specifically, NPs fall into three classes, which can be referred to as basic, anaphoric, and specific (Maslova 2003). The F|P marker -le(]) introduced in Section 1 is compatible only with basic NPs, i.e., NPs construed as providing only basic semantic categorization of potential referents. This class comprises primarily lexical NPs without attributive modifiers and quantifiers (see (2b)), yet some modified nouns can be encoded as basic and some highly semantically specific nouns can be encoded as specific. Demonstrative determiners are irrelevant for this grammatical distinction. The class of anaphoric NPs includes third-person personal pronouns, proper names, and possessive NPs; they are incompatible with overt focus markers and remain unmarked in the F role (see (7b)).7 Finally, all other NPs are classified as specific and take another F marker, -(e)k, in the SF and PF roles (7a). The case form of PT is determined by a typologically uncommon system of differential case marking. First, a third-person PT takes the unmarked case form if A is a speech act participant (locutor); the first and second person pronouns take a specialized PT marker in the same environment: (11) a.

met ama: me-pun’-mek 1sg father aff-kill-pt.2sg ‘You have killed my father.’ b. ugune] mit-ul mer-ed’ite-mk right 1pl-p aff-save-2pl ‘It’s good that you have saved us.’

(Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T2/40)

(Maslova (Ed.) 2001: T1/459)

If A is a non-locutor, PT must take an overt case marker, namely, the F|P marker -le(]) for basic NPs (see (9a)) and one of the locative markers, -hane, for nonbasic NPs (see (8a)). Thus, an unmarked non-locutor NP is interpreted as P if the clause contains a first or second person pronoun in the unmarked form and/or the corresponding cross-reference suffix on the verb (see (11a)), and as A/S otherwise. Cross-linguistically, differential P marking is commonly conditioned by the person parameter (locutor vs. non-locutor), yet it seems quite unusual that the case form of P depends on the person of A. This type of differential case marking can be referred to as globally conditioned P marking (Silverstein 1976), in contrast to more common locally conditioned case-marking systems, where the case form of NP is determined solely by its own inherent properties (Dixon 1994: 83–86; Comrie 1989: 129–135; Aissen 1999). The nominal F markers have different distributions: -(e)k is constrained to F elements, and -le(]) can encode P independently of its information-structure role; this difference may be motivated by the inherent properties of NPs which condition the choice between these markers. Recall that PT can encode both accessible discourse referents and NPs low in referentiality and/or discourse prominence (2.2). Since low discourse prominence usually implies basic semantic characteri-

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zation, this distinction correlates with that between basic and non-basic NPs. This means that the T vs. F can be neutralized in the PT construction only for NPs low in referentiality and/or prominence, whereas accessible discourse references cannot be encoded by F markers in the PT role. In spite of this difference, both overt F markers are linked to both meanings. On the one hand, the P-marking function of -le(]) is limited to environments where core participants are not discriminated by the clause-level context; in the context of a locutor A, it can only be used in the PF construction (see example (2b)). On the other hand, -(e)k can also be said to function as a P-marker, since it is incompatible with A and thus unambiguously identifies the focused NP as P.

. Disambiguation of A and P and the emergence of focus-oriented splits . Information-structure markers and default role interpretation The hypothesis of discourse basis of focus-oriented split intransitivity (Section 1) implies that the statistical distribution of focus structures in discourse can shape the paradigm of morphosyntactic roles available in a language (here the term “morphosyntactic role” is intended to refer to any conventionalized pairing between structural and/or morphological properties and semantic values). This is a particular case of a more general hypothesis which states that statistical correlations between two semantic scales can lead to the emergence of morphosyntactic roles corresponding to clusters of correlated values of these scales, or to put it the other way round, that the cross-linguistic recurrence of such morphosyntactic roles is determined by universal correlations between certain semantic scales (e.g. animacy and agentivity). The basic intuition behind this hypothesis is that the speakers would tend to avoid constructions with redundant morphological material; this tendency is ultimately motivated by economy (Haiman 1983, 1985). More specifically, if some meaning can be expressed by two constructions, one of which is more formally marked than the other, then the latter is likely to be preferred (provided, of course, that it is likely to be interpreted as intended). Now if two meanings strongly correlate with each other in discourse, and one of these meanings (source meaning) is expressed anyway, then the other (target meaning) is likely to be inferred by the listener in absence of overt marking, simply because it is most likely in the context of the source meaning. I will use the term default interpretation to refer to this mechanism of interpretation. The notion of default interpretation has been commonly invoked to account for differential case-marking systems, where the source meaning is an inherent property of NP and the target meaning is its participant role (Comrie 1989; Dixon 1994); in such systems, the overt case marker of a participant role (e.g.,

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accusative) is absent if the NP carries the source meaning (e.g. inanimate) and present otherwise. This type of default interpretation produces expected markedness patterns, since the source meaning is a component of the lexical meaning of NP and is not marked morphologically; as a result, positively correlated values of parameters correspond to the absence of overt markers. In addition, the case markers retain their participant-role semantics, i.e., the absence of the source meaning (e.g., animate) can hardly be interpreted as a meaning expressed by the marker of the target meaning (accusative). The situation becomes more complicated if the source meaning is not an inherent part of the semantics of NP, and thus must be expressed to serve as the basis for default interpretation of the target meaning. One important implication of this situation is that the resulting morphosyntactic roles turn out to express both the source and the target meanings; in other words, once the relation between the source meaning and the target meaning is conventionalized in a language, the source-target asymmetry is bound to become less transparent and, eventually, disappear. The most famous and widespread class of such morphosyntactic roles are “subjects”, which obviously correspond to both “T” and “A” in the notations adopted here. A similar situation is attested for the morphosyntactic roles corresponding to negatively correlated values of semantic parameters, where the target meaning is marked only in absence of the source meaning: e.g., in differential P marking systems based on referentiality (definiteness), the marker of definite P signifies both meanings (Comrie 1989: 133–136). There is, however, an important difference between morphosyntactic roles corresponding to the presence vs. absence of the original source meaning. In the former case, the resulting morphosyntactic role can encode one value (say, A in the case of subject) even if the other (T) is absent; if “T” and “A” are represented by different NPs, these NPs compete for the subject role. In the latter case (exemplified above by definite Ps), the encoding is used only if both values are present. Let us now consider the Tundra Yukaghir focus-oriented split system from this point of view; in a nutshell, this system contrasts two markers, which correspond to two semantic oppositions and can be denoted as CT|A and CF|P . The basic question I am interested in at the present point is this: assuming that this complex opposition emerges by virtue of default interpretation of one parameter on the basis of the other, which one is the source parameter? It can be easily observed that both markers follow the complex distribution pattern characteristic of the presence of the source meaning: 1. CT|A can encode “A” in the absence of the “T” meaning (in the AF constructions) and “T” in absence of the “A” meaning (in the ST constructions where S corresponds to P semantically and in the PT construction due to the differential P marking).

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2. CF|P can encode “P” in the absence of the “F” meaning (in the PT constructions) and F in absence of the “P” meaning (in the ST construction where S corresponds to A semantically). The distribution of CT|A cannot indicate the source parameter, since “A” and “T” exhibit what can be informally referred to as “bidirectional” correlation: most As are Ts and most Ts are As. The distribution of CF|P is more revealing, since “F” in Yukaghir is a functionally marked (=relatively infrequent) information-structure role for all core participants, including Ps (2.2). This implies that the participant role P cannot serve as a source for default interpretation of information-structure role as F. In contrast to this, F is a natural source for default P interpretation, since most Fs are Ps (2.2). Thus, the distribution of CF|P strongly suggests that the source meaning in the F|P cluster is the information-structure role. It can be hypothesized, then, that focus-oriented splits emerge as a result of default role interpretation of information-structure roles. For the source meaning “T”, the possibility of default role interpretation directly follows from the universal correlation between topic and A, which is confirmed for Tundra Yukaghir by the statistical data presented in (2.2). For the information-structure role F, however, this possibility is conditioned by its language-specific semantics. The point is that F (that is, the grammatical counterpart of nominal focus in a specific language) is often constrained to the narrow focus of focus-presupposition articulation and the so-called contrastive focus. Yet these pragmatic functions are quite infrequent in actual discourse and do not seem to show any significant correlations with any participant role; thus, there can be no default role interpretation associated with F marking; indeed, morphological F markers do not, as a rule, serve as a basis for role interpretation. This is a manifestation of another important implication of the fact that the potential source parameter is not an inherent part of propositional contents but something that has to be encoded in order to serve as the basis for default interpretation of the target parameter. In this case, the relevant statistical correlation is not the correlation between purely semantic parameters, but the correlation between the language-specific grammatical counterpart of the source parameter, on the one hand, and the target parameter, on the other. In the case of information-structure roles, the attested cross-linguistic variation reflects the multitude of pragmatic statuses of NPs which do not fit the prototypes of “topic” of “focus”. In particular, some discourse-prominent components of broad foci can be subsumed under the same information-structure role as narrow foci. As a result, this information-structure role turns out to correlate with P, as shown for Tundra Yukaghir by the data described in 2.2. I assume that this correlation constitutes a necessary prerequisite for the emergence of focusoriented split patterns. Whereas there seem to be no sufficient data on discourse functions of F-marking in Dogon (Vladimir Plungian, p.c.), this assumption is

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indirectly corroborated by other cross-linguistic evidence. More specifically, the association of focus marking with P marking is more common for positional Fs, which tend to cover a broader range of discourse functions than morphological focus markers. For example, in Setswana (Bantu) focal elements must appear postverbally, which is a pragmatically neutral position for Ps; the postverbal F position is accessible for focal Ss, but not for As, exactly like the F|P markers in Tundra Yukaghir and Dogon (Van Valin 1995: 516–517). To sum up the discussion so far, the focus-oriented split intransitivity is hypothesized to emerge if both information-structure roles strongly correlate with participant roles and serve as source meanings for default role interpretation. Since the information-structure role is not an inherent property of NP, the source meaning itself has to be expressed to form the basis for interpretation of the target meaning. Hence, the mechanism of default role interpretation in Tundra Yukaghir, and, presumably, in Dogon, is likely to be triggered by the nominal markers that express the T vs. F distinction (that is, ∅ vs. -le(]) ∼ -(e)k in Tundra Yukaghir and ∅ vs. ] in Dogon respectively), rather than by these information-structure roles as such. Under this hypothesis, the markedness paradox described in Section 1, that is, the incompatibility of overt F markers with A in transitive clauses, can be interpreted as a resolution of the conflict between the information-structure semantics of this marker and its default role interpretation. A convenient and concise framework for modeling such conflicts is given by the Bidirectional Optimality Theory (Blutner 2000; Jäger 2003). In the spirit of Optimality Theory (OT) (Prince & Smolensky 1993), the distribution of language-specific information-structure markers can be described in terms of violable faithfulness constraints like (12) (cf. Legendre et al. 1993 for a similar constraint type): (12) a. T ↔ CT b. F ↔ CF

The violability of these faithfulness constraints implies that the speaker can choose between two options (CT vs. CF ) for encoding of any NP, independently of its actual information-structure role; the faithful option will be preferred unless it violates one or more stronger constraints. The speakers’ knowledge about the discourse correlation between information-structure roles and participant roles, which allows them to rely on the information-structure marker for default role interpretation, can be represented in the form of the following harmony constraints:8 (13) a. T ⇒ A b. F ⇒ P

The basic idea of bidirectional OT is that the competing coding options are first evaluated with regard to their possible interpretations: informally, if a certain cod-

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ing option is likely to trigger a wrong semantic interpretation, it will be ruled out by the interpretation-based evaluation. Now assume that an NP carries the information-structure role F, so its encoding is subject to the constraint (12b). If the intended participant-role interpretation is P, the CF encoding successfully passes the interpretation-based evaluation by (13b) and is favored by (12b), that is, the information-structure meaning of CF and its default role interpretation are not in conflict. The optimal output is a PF construction with the CF marker on P. In intransitive clauses, disambiguation of participant roles is not an issue (Comrie 1989: 124–126), so the CF option passes the interpretation-based filter independently of the semantic macro-role of S and emerges as the optimal output by virtue of (12b). In contradistinction to this, if the intended participant-role interpretation of F is A, the CF encoding will trigger a wrong (P) role interpretation by virtue of (13b); as a result, this option is ruled out by the interpretation-based evaluation. Although the remaining candidate (CT ) violates the faithfulness constraints (12), this is irrelevant since the faithful option did not pass the interpretation-based filter. The resulting output is an AF construction where F is encoded by CT . Thus, the CF marker on A is blocked by the default role interpretation of F. . Differential P marking As described in 2.3, Tundra Yukaghir combines locally conditioned P marking (for locutor pronouns) with globally conditioned P marking, where the role of unmarked non-locutor NP can be disambiguated by its clause-level context. Strikingly, a very similar situation is observed in Dogon, which exhibits a typologically common type of locally conditioned P marking based on animacy and referential status, subject to a considerable intragenetic variation (Culy 1995). In the Tommo So dialect of Dogon, the F marker -] in its P-marking function is used only with personal pronouns, proper names, and some kinship terms (Plungian 1995: 12–13). In the country variety of Donno So, it applies to animate definite Ps of monotransitive verbs and is more likely for human Ps than for other animate Ps. Thus, the default A interpretation is conventionalized for NPs high in animacy and referentiality. Donno So also features globally conditioned PT marking for animate indefinite NPs: the P marker does not occur (i) if A and P are discriminated by the agreement on the verb, i.e., if A is a speech act participant and/or differs from P in number, or otherwise (ii) if A is represented by a NP that would require overt marking in the P role (i.e., by a definite animate NP). Apart from this, P need not be marked if the participant roles are disambiguated by the propositional contents of the clause (Culy 1995). Thus, the purely P-marking function of F markers is limited to environments where A and P cannot be distinguished by their inherent properties and/or clause-

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level context. In the framework introduced in 3.1, this distribution is straightforwardly accounted for as a result of competition between two coding options for PT (CF and CT ). Since the incompatibility of CF with A is discussed in 3.1, we can consider only the competition between two candidates, which can be represented as follows: (14) a. A-CT & P-CT b. A-CT & P-CF

In (14a), both NPs are encoded as Ts, so the harmony constraints (13) are inapplicable; indeed, (13a) would imply that both NPs correspond to A, which is impossible. In this situation, the discrimination of A and P relies on other grammatical and/or semantic clues. If the clause contains sufficient information for disambiguation of participant roles, (14a) passes the interpretation-based evaluation and is chosen as optimal since it does not violate the faithfulness constraints. Otherwise, the unfaithful option (14b) is selected as optimal by the interpretationbased filter, so the faithfulness constraints are irrelevant. The situation in Tundra Yukaghir is obviously more complicated than this, since the set of available options for PT encoding includes oblique (locative) case marking (2.3). This option violates the constraint T↔CT and an additional universal constraint on oblique encoding of core participants (*P=oblique), but does not violate F↔CF . As it seems, the major motivation for this type of encoding is incompatibility of anaphoric NPs with overt F markers (2.3); for such NPs, the participant role cannot be disambiguated by means of F marking, and thus an oblique marker is required. On the other hand, the locative marking is also preferred for specific NPs, which are encoded by -(e)k in the PF role (2.3). Thus, the distribution of case markers in Tundra Yukaghir demonstrates the following constraint ranking: (15) T ↔ CT , F & specific ↔ -(e)k > *P=oblique > F & basic ↔ -le(])

As described in 2.3, the difference in the relative ranking of two faithfulness constraints associated with overt F markers, on the one hand, and *P=oblique, on the other, may be motivated by the difference in actual discourse-pragmatic functions of constructions with basic and specific NPs in the PT role: the ranking in (15) ensures that accessible discourse-prominent referents are not encoded by an F marker unless this marking is justified by their information-structure role.9 . The markedness paradox revisited The model proposed in 3.2 implies that the differential PT marking is an inherent property of focus-oriented split systems: the mechanism of default role interpretation of information-structure markers is inapplicable if both core participants

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carry the same marker, so the faithful (CT ) encoding for PT can emerge as optimal if the clause contains other disambiguating clues. A natural question, then, is why this system doesn’t license differential AF marking as well, that is, why the CF encoding of AF is disallowed in all contexts. In order to answer this question, let us compare both coding options with CF marking on A: (16) a. A-CF & P-CT b. A-CF & P-CF

In contrast to the faithful encoding of F-neutral structures (14a), the faithful encoding of the AF structure (16a) contains different information-structure markers on A and P. In this case, then, the harmony constraints will trigger the wrong role interpretation, so the faithful candidate is ruled out by the interpretation-based evaluation; this situation is discussed above. Thus, the only possible option is (16b). Now assume that (16b) passes the evaluation-based filter because A and P can be disambiguated by their inherent properties and/or by the clause-level context. Under this assumption, the option (14a) is also acceptable, since A and P can be disambiguated on the basis of the same information as in (16b). Both competing candidates violate the faithfulness constraints (12): in (16b), PT carries the CF marker, and in (14a), AF takes the CT form. Thus, the faithfulness constraints cannot select the optimal candidate. What becomes relevant in this situation is that CT is a phonological null, that is, in effect, the absence of overt marker. As a result, the least marked of the two candidates is evaluated as optimal due to the universal markedness constraint that penalizes overt case markers, *STRUCC (Aissen 1999), or, informally, on the basis of economy considerations. The limited relevance of this constraint in evaluation of coding options for the least frequent focus structure can be taken as an instance of the emergence of the unmarked (McCarthy & Prince 1994). It turns out, then, that the markedness paradox outlined in Section 1 results from the interaction of several factors, all of which are ultimately motivated by economy, namely, formal unmarkedness of T, default role interpretation, and avoidance of overt case markers. . Synchrony and diachrony in the emergence of focus-oriented splits The mechanism outlined in this section is essentially synchronic, that is, it accounts for the emergence of focus-oriented case marking patterns as a result of selection of optimal coding options in the course of actual communication. In the model adopted here, this is reflected by the fact that the regular association between the information-structure markers and participant roles emerges in absence of any faithfulness constraints that would link CT and CF to A and P respec-

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tively and thus penalize violations of this correspondence. The marking pattern emerges solely due to the harmony constraints (13), which simply capture the relevant properties of the distribution of focus structures in discourse. In this form, this mechanism is likely to produce stochastic (rather than deterministic) effects, that is, it motivates a higher probability of unfaithful candidates in environments where the default role interpretation of an information-structure role differs from the intended role interpretation (rather than absolute constraints on the faithful encoding of such focus structures). In contradiction to this prediction, the CF marking of AT and the CT marking of PT are invariably blocked by Tundra Yukaghir grammar in all contexts, with the only exception of F-neutral construction with a locutor pronoun in the A role.10 It seems plausible to hypothesize, however, that the proposed synchronic mechanism is likely to trigger the diachronic process of conventionalization of the emergent pairings between information-structure markers and their default participant role interpretations (see also Haspelmath 1999). Informally, each expression where CF marker is used to encode P leads to entrenchment of this form-meaning pairing and thus further increases the likelihood of this encoding (Croft 2000: 32, 73–74; Langacker 1987: 59); more generally, every actually occurring clause where the output of the synchronic mechanism of evaluation is determined by the default role interpretation of information-structure markers (rather than by their information-structure meanings) slightly strengthens their link to their default role interpretations and weakens their link to the informationstructure meanings (i.e., the original faithfulness constraints).11 Eventually, this process can bring about a conventionalized (or “grammaticalized”) focus-oriented split attested in Tundra Yukaghir.

Notes . It is a great honor and an even greater pleasure to contribute this paper to the volume honoring Masayoshi Shibatani. I hope that the data discussed here fits into his new conception to grammatical voice (2002), which crosses the boundaries between traditional grammatical categories and theoretical frameworks. The approach proposed here is to a large extent inspired by discussions with Joan Bresnan and Gerhard Jäger. I am grateful to Tanya Nikitina for her comments on an earlier version of this paper. . As usual, A and P are Actor and Undergoer of a transitive event, and S is the sole core participant of an intransitive event, which can be either Actor or Undergoer (Van Valin 1990: 226). In this paper, these labels are used in their “semantic” sense, i.e., they are taken to be uniquely determined by propositional (predicate-argument) structure. . Abbreviations: 1, 2, 3 – first, second, third person; 1|2 – first or second person; ANR – action nominalizer; A – first (agent or agent-like) core participant of a transitive construction (as a subscript for S – agent-like); AF, AF – A-focus; AFF – affirmative; AT – attributive; AT – A-



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topic; AUX – auxiliary; DAT – dative; C – case-like nominal marker; CX – nominal marker of X; DEF – definite; DP – discourse particle; DS – different-subject; DST – distal pronoun; F – focus (also as a subscript); F|P – focus or P; HAB – habitual; HCR – hypocoristic; INFR – inferential; INTJ – interjection; LOC – locative; P – second (patient or patient-like) core participant of a transitive construction (as a subscript for S – patient-like); PF, PF – P-focus; PL – plural; PROG – progressive; PT, PT – P-topic; REL – relative; S – core participant of an intransitive construction; SF, SF – S-focus; SG – singular; ST, ST – S-topic; T – topic (also as a subscript); T|A – topic or A; VEN – venitive; 0 – epenthetic. . Note that references to the collection of texts (Maslova (Ed.) 2001) specify not the page number, but the text number followed by the sentence number after slash. . Observant readers will notice that the F form of demonstrative pronoun exemplified in (4) is not covered by the description proposed here; this is an idiosyncratic F form, which follows the same distribution pattern as the F marker -(e)k described in 2.3. . The encoding of F in these examples is described in 2.3. . The lack of overt F markers on focal anaphoric NPs obviously creates an additional markedness paradox; this issue is outside the scope of the present paper. . Formally, these constraints differ from what is called “harmony constraints” or “harmonic alignment” in other works in the OT framework (cf. Aissen 1999; Bresnan 2001). This use of the term is justified by the fact that these constraints correspond to essentially the same type of cross-linguistic phenomena (Haspelmath 2002). . To some extent, this formal opposition correlates with an information-structure distinction not discussed in the present paper, namely, the distinction between focal Ps proper and “secondary topics” (Nikolaeva 2001). . The situation in Dogon seems less obvious (Vladimir Plungian, p.c.), but I have no data to pursue this issue. . As shown by Jäger (2003), such links between synchronic bidirectional evaluation and language evolution can be elegantly modeled in the stochastic OT framework.

References Aissen, J. (1999). “Markedness and subject choice in optimality theory”. Natural Language & Linguistic Theory, 17, 673–711. Blutner, R. (2000). “Some aspects of optimality in natural language interpretation”. Journal of Semantics, 17, 189–216. Bresnan, J. (2001). “The emergence of the unmarked pronoun”. In G. Legendre, J. Grimshaw, & S. Vikner (Eds.), Optimality-theoretic Syntax (pp. 113–142). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Bybee, J. & Hopper, P. J. (Eds.). (2001). Frequency and the Emergence of Linguistic Structure. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Chafe, W. L. (1976). “Giveness, contrastiveness, definiteness, subjects, topics, and point of view”. In Ch. N. Li (Ed.), Subject and Topic (pp. 25–55). New York: Academic Press. Chafe, W. L. (1987). “Cognitive constraints on information flow”. In R. Tomlin (Ed.), Coherence and Grounding in Discourse (pp. 21–52). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins.

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Comrie, B. (1989). Language Universals and Linguistic Typology (2nd edition). Cambridge: Blackwell. Croft, W. (2000). Explaining Language Change: An Evolutionary Approach. Harlow: Pearson Education. Culy, Ch. (1995). “Ambiguity and case marking in Donno So (Dogon)”. In A. Akinalabi (Ed.), Theoretical Approaches to African Linguistics (pp. 47–58). Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Dixon, R. M. W. (1994). Ergativity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Du Bois, J. (1987). “The discourse basis of ergativity”. Language, 63, 805–855. Givón, T. (1979). On Understanding Grammar. New York: Academic Press. Gundel, J. K. (1988). “Universals of topic-comments structure”. In M. Hammond, E. A. Moravcsik, & J. R. Wirth (Eds.), Studies in Syntactic Typology (pp. 209–242). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Haiman, J. (1983). “Iconic and economic motivation”. Language, 59, 781–718. Haiman, J. (1985). Natural Syntax: Iconicity and Erosion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harris, A. C. & Campbell, L. (1995). Historical Syntax in Cross-linguistic Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Haspelmath, M. (1999). “Optimality and diachronic adaptation”. Zeitschrift für Sprachwissenschaft, 18, 180–205. Haspelmath, M. (2002). Explaining the ditransitive person-role constraint. A usage-based approach. Max-Plank Institut für Evolutionäre Anthropologie, downloadable from http://email.eva.mpg.de/∼haspelmt/DPRC.pdf Hawkins, J. (1994). A Performance Theory of Order and Constituency. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jäger, G. (2003). “Learning constraint sub-hierarchies: The Bidirectional gradual learning algorithm”. In R. Blutner & H. Zeevat (Eds.), Optimality Theory and Pragmatics (pp. 251– 287). Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Kuno, S. (1972). “Functional sentence perspective: A case study from Japanese and English”. Linguistic Inquiry, 3, 269–320. Krejnoviˇc, E. A. (1982). Issledovanija i materialy po jukagirskomu jazyku. [The Yukaghir Language: Studies and Materials.] Moscow and Leningrad: Nauka. Lambrecht, K. (1994). Information Structure and Sentence Form. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Langacker, R. (1987). Foundations of Cognitive Grammar. Vol. 1: Theoretical Prerequisites. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Legendre, G., Raymond, W., & Smolensky, P. (1993). “An Optimality-theoretic typology of case and grammatical voice systems”. In J. S. Guenter, B. A. Kaiser, & C. C. Zoll (Eds.), Proceedings of the Nineteenth Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society (pp. 464– 478). Berkeley: Berkeley Linguistics Society. Maslova, E. (Ed.). (2001). Yukaghir Texts. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Maslova, E. (2003). A Grammar of Kolyma Yukaghir. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. McCarthy, J. & Prince, A. (1994). “The Emergence of the unmarked: Optimality in prosodic morphology”. In M. Gonzàlez (Ed.), NELS 24: Proceedings of the North East Linguistic Society (pp. 333–379). Amherst, MA: Graduate Linguistic Student Association, University of Massachusetts. Nikolaeva, I. (2001). “Secondary topics as a relation in information-structure”. Linguistics, 39, 1–49.

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Paduˇceva, E. V. (1985). Vyskazyvanie i ego sootnesennostj s dejstviteljnostju. [Expression and its Relation to the World.] Moscow: Nauka. Payne, Th. E. (1997). Describing Morphosyntax. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Plungian, V. (1995). Dogon. München: Lincom Europa. Prince, E. F. (1978). “On the function of existential presupposition in discourse”. In D. Farkas, W. M. Jacobsen, & K. W. Todrys (Eds.), Papers from the Fourteenth Regional Meeting of Chicago Linguistic Society (pp. 362–386). Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. Prince, A. & Smolensky, P. (1993). Optimality Theory: Constraint Interaction in Generative Grammar. Rutgers University Center for Cognitive Science, Technical Report 2. Rakhilina, E. V. & Testelets, Y. G. (Eds.). (1995). Typology and Descriptive Theory. From Description to Explanation. For the 60th birthday of Aleksandr E. Kibrik. Moscow: Languages of Russian Culture. Reinhart, T. (1982). Pragmatics and Linguistics. An Analysis of Sentence Topics. Bloomington: Indiana University Linguistic Club. Reinhart, T. (1996). “Interface economy: Focus and markedness”. In C. Wilder, M. Bierwisch, & H.-M. Gärtner (Eds.), The Role of Economy Principles in Linguistic Theory (pp. 146–169). Berlin: Akademic Verlag. Sasse, H.-J. (1987). “The thetic/categorical distinction revisited”. Linguistics, 25, 511–580. Shibatani, M. (1990). The languages of Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shibatani, M. (2002). A new perspective on grammatical voice. A paper presented at Greenberg Conference (Stanford University). Silverstein, M. (1976). “Hierarchy of features and ergativity”. In R. M. W. Dixon (Ed.), Grammatical Categories in Australian Languages (pp. 112–171). Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, and New Jersey: Humanities Press. Sumbatova, N. R. (1999). “Little African tricks: Juggling with the structure of predicate and focus marking in Landuma”. In Rakhilina & Testelets (Eds.), 525–538. Strawson, P. F. (1964). “Identifying reference and truth values”. Theoria, XXX, 96–118. Van Valin, R. D., Jr. (1990). “Semantic parameters of split transitivity”. Language, 66, 221–260. Van Valin, R. D., Jr. (1995). “A typology of the interaction of focus structure and syntax”. In Rakhilina & Testelets (Eds.), 511–524.

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Voice without subjects, objects, or obliques Manipulating argument structure in Agent/Patient systems (Mohawk) Marianne Mithun University of California, Santa Barbara

Grammatical voice was originally understood as a system of alternating clause structures that cast different participants as subject, but it is now well known that not all languages distinguish a subject category comparable to those of Greek or English. Here we examine argument structure in Mohawk, an Iroquoian language of the northeastern North America, which exhibits no evidence of subject, object, or even oblique categories. Despite the absence of such categories, the language displays robust middle, reflexive, reciprocal, causative, and applicative constructions. Because there is no subject category, indeed no single ‘most grammatically prominent constituent’, Mohawk voice alternations do not serve the syntactic functions seen in some languages, but these constructions do serve important semantic, lexical, and discourse functions.

A key category in discussions of voice has been that of subject. Fine surveys of the topic can be found in Shibatani (1985, 1988, and 1999). Grammatical voice was originally understood as a system of alternating clause structures that cast different participants as subject: active voice clauses cast semantic agents as subjects, while passive voice clauses cast semantic patients as subjects. But it is now well known that not all languages distinguish a subject category comparable to that of Greek or English. Their numbers raise the issue of whether the notion of voice should be explicitly formulated to exclude them or generalized to include them. Many languages that lack a subject category classify core arguments into ergative and absolutive categories. These languages can be accommodated if the key category is generalized from ‘subject’ to ‘the most grammatically prominent constituent’ (Mithun 1994; Shibatani 1999). Their ‘most grammatically prominent constituent’ is simply defined as the absolutive. But a number of languages do not isolate a single, ‘most grammatically prominent constituent’. Many of these classify core arguments a third way: into grammatical agent and patient categories. We might wonder whether such languages can show voice at all, and if

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they can, how their voice systems might differ from those in languages with subjects or absolutives. Here it will be seen that such languages can indeed exhibit the kinds of phenomena included by Shibatani in the broader view of voice as alternations in argument structure, including not only actives, passives, and middles, but also reflexives, reciprocals, resultatives, causatives and applicatives. It will also be seen that the functions of these alternatives can be shaped by the nature of the grammatical argument categories in the language. Examples will be drawn from Mohawk, an Iroquoian language spoken primarily in northeastern North America in Quebec, Ontario, and New York State.

.

Mohawk basic argument structure

Core or direct arguments are easy to identify in Mohawk. All verbs contain pronominal prefixes referring to them, whether or not additional independent nominals are present. (1) Mohawk core arguments: Watshenní:ne Sawyer, speaker p.c. a. Tahonwáhsere’ nón:kwe. ta-honwa-hser-e’ n=onkwe cisloc.fac-3.pl/m.sg-chase-prf the=person ‘The people chased him.’ Tahonwáhsere’. ‘They chased him.’ b. Ia’thá:ta’ne’ ki: raksà:’a. i-a’-t-ha-t-a’-ne’ kí:ken ra-ksa’=a trloc-fac-dv-m.sg.agt-stand-inch-prf this m.sg-child=dim ‘The boy stopped there.’ Ia’thá:ta’ne’. ‘He stopped there.’

There are three paradigms of pronominal prefixes in Mohawk: one for grammatical Agents, one for grammatical Patients, and one for transitive Agent/Patient combinations. Prototypical grammatical Agents actively instigate, perform, and control events or states. Examples of verbs with the masculine singular Agent pronoun -ha- are in (2). (The basic form of the prefix is -hra- but it appears most often as ra- or -ha-.) (2) Mohawk pronominal Agents wa-ha-’niá:ken’ne’ ‘he escaped’ wa-há-’kwate’ ‘he dug’ wa-ha-’terón:take’ ‘he stayed home’

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Prototypical grammatical Patients are not in control but are affected by events or states. Examples of verbs with the masculine singular Patient pronoun -ho- are in (3). (The basic form of this prefix is -hro-, but it appears most often as ro- or -ho-.) (3) Mohawk pronominal Patients wa-ho-’nikónhrhen’ ‘he forgot’ wa’t-ho-hén:rehte’ ‘he yelled’ ‘he slept’ wa-hó-ta’we’

Transitive pronominal prefixes represent combinations of grammatical Agents and Patients, like -honwa- ‘they/him’ in (1a) above. In many forms the Agent and Patient components have become fused. The pattern is not simply one of ‘split subjects’. The Patient category includes not only many participants that would be cast as subjects in a language like English, as in (3) above, but also many that would be cast as direct or indirect objects. This is easiest to see in transitive forms with neuter Agents, which are zero in that context. (4) Mohawk transitive Patients wa-hó-hsere’ ‘it chased him’ wa-hò:-rene’ ‘it cut him’ wa-hò:-sere’ ‘it dragged him’

The original semantic motivations behind the Agent and Patient categories are easy to see, but the distinction is now fully grammatical and categorical, established for each lexical item. Speakers do not weigh degrees of instigation, control, or affectedness as they speak. They simply learn the appropriate pronominal paradigm with each verb and select the two together. Over time, the original motivation behind particular pronominal choices can become obscure as the meanings of verb stems shift. The verb ‘throw’, for example, appears with Patient prefixes, though someone who throws something would certainly seem to be actively instigating and controlling an event. The original meaning of this stem was ‘lose’, a meaning it still retains as well. Losing something is not usually intentional, instigated, or controlled, so the verb was established with Patient pronominal prefixes. The same prefixes were retained when the meaning was extended to throwing. (5) Mohawk less transparent pronominal choice iahótion’ ‘he threw it away’

When the stem is used for throwing, the verb usually contains a directional prefix, either a Translocative meaning ‘away’ like the i- in the verb above, or a Cislocative prefix meaning ‘toward’.

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Aspect also enters into the system. Mohawk verbs denoting events, like escape, dig, stay home, chase, cut, drag, throw, and stop, occur in three aspects: Perfective, Habitual, and Stative. (6) Mohawk aspects Perfective: waha’niá:ken’ne’ ‘he escaped’ Habitual: ra’niá:ken’s ‘he escapes’ Stative: ro’niakèn:’en ‘he has escaped’

Perfective verbs denote events presented as wholes, complete with beginning and end, as in many other languages. Habitual verbs denote recurring events. Event verbs in the Stative aspect have meanings much like perfects in many languages. They denote a state resulting from a past event: ‘he has escaped’. The aspect has an effect on pronominal selection. Intransitive event verbs in the Stative aspect always appear with grammatical Patients. In (6) the Perfective and Habitual aspect verbs contain the masculine Agent prefix ra-/-ha-, but the Stative aspect verb shows the Patient prefix ro-. It is easy to imagine a motivation behind this pattern. The person involved in he has escaped is not now actively instigating an action, simply experiencing the result of a previous event. Ongoing activities are expressed for some verbs with the Habitual aspect, and for others with the Stative aspect, especially those with no obvious results. (7) Mohawk ongoing activities Habitual ra’niá:ken’s ‘he escapes, he is escaping’ Stative ro’niakèn:’en ‘he has escaped’ Habitual rahnekíhrha’ ‘he drinks’ Stative rohnekì:ren ‘he has drunk, he is drinking’

Some verbs occur only in the Stative aspect. They have no Perfective or Habitual forms. (8) Mohawk Stative-only verbs ró-hton ‘he is full’ ró:-ion ‘he is old’ ro-kwáhtshe’ ‘he is rich’

(It is often possible to derive event verbs from these Stative-only verb stems, but the derived forms are new lexical items, with their own aspectual properties.) The Stative-only verbs in (8) contain the Patient pronoun ro- ‘he’. Other Stative-only verbs appear with Agent pronouns. As with event verbs, the choice of pronominal paradigm is established for each lexical item and learned with it. But certain patterns can be seen to underlie the occurrences of each. Stative-only verbs with Patient pronouns tend to denote situations that are viewed as temporary, or the result of previous events, as in (8) above: ‘he is full’, ‘he is old’, ‘he is

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rich’. Stative-only verbs with Agent pronouns generally denote states portrayed as inherent, as in (9). (9) Mohawk Stative-only verbs with Agent rara-kowá:nen ‘he is big’ ra-hnén:ies ‘he is tall’ ra-’shátste’ ‘he is strong’

Neither the Agent nor the Patient category in Mohawk is equivalent to that of subject. In languages with subjects, the subject is indeed the ‘most privileged grammatical constituent’ in certain ways. It is the one argument that appears in every clause. It is often the only argument unmarked for case. It may play a key role in various clause-combining constructions, such as coordination, complementation, or relativization. Such constructions may, for example, be formed only when the combined clauses have coreferential subjects (or absolutives). In many languages subjects of dependent clauses are omitted if they are coreferential with a subject or other core argument of their matrix clause (He seems __ to like it.) In Mohawk, neither Agents nor Patients appear consistently in every clause; some clauses have one, some the other, and some both. Independent nominals carry no case marking. Neither Agents nor Patients play a role in clause combining; clauses may be combined in Mohawk if they are semantically or pragmatically relevant to each other, no matter what their argument structure. Pronominal prefixes are never omitted under coreference; every clause contains full pronominal specification of its core arguments. For some time it has been recognized that subjects generally represent discourse topics. Stretches of discourse centered on a continuing topic will generally have a common point of departure, so sentences within such stretches tend to have coreferential subjects. The subject category thus codifies a discourse role. A look at spontaneous speech in Mohawk shows that the participant consistently represented as a subject in English is not represented consistently by either Agent or Patient pronominal prefixes in Mohawk. What would be a subject in English is always a core argument, so it is always represented among the pronominal prefixes in Mohawk, but sometimes as a grammatical Agent, sometimes as a grammatical Patient. In (10) the boy is the grammatical Agent of the first clause and the grammatical Patient of the second. (10) Mohawk Agents and Patients: Kaia’titáhkhe’ Jacobs, speaker p.c. Sok ki’ wahatóhetste’ ne raksà:’a sok ki’ wa-ha-ohetst-e’ ne ra-ksa’=a so just fac-m.sg.agt-pass-prf the m.sg-child=dim so just he passed the boy So the boy just went on by,

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tékeni teiokahkwèn:tote’ tékeni te-io-kahkwen’t-ot-e’ two dv-n.pat-wheel-stand-stat two it wheel stands riding his bike.

rohonwì:sere’ ro-honw-i’ser-e’ m.sg.pat-container-drag-stat it is container dragging him

There is no syntactic or discourse motivation for ‘promoting’ participants in Mohawk to a grammatical role that could be identified as the ‘most grammatically prominent’. Neither Agents nor Patients condition the formation of complex sentences, and neither category encodes discourse topicality. (The absence of a subject category in Iroquoian languages is discussed in further detail in Mithun 1991.) Discussions of voice often invoke the category of oblique as well. Passive constructions are often described not just as ‘promoting’ objects to subject status (The letter was written by Mary), but also as ‘demoting’ semantic agents to oblique status (The letter was written by Mary). Oblique categories are also typically invoked in descriptions of applicative constructions, included in broader conceptions of voice. They are characterized as ‘promoting’ oblique arguments to object status (Mary gave John the money.) Mohawk differs from languages like English in lacking not only subject and object categories, but also obliques. Mohawk sentences may contain adjuncts referring to time or location. (11) Mohawk locative adjunct: Watshenní:ne Sawyer, speaker p.c. te’enhró:kon iahatò:roke’. ate’enhr-okon i-a-ha-at-ohrok-e’ fence-place.under trloc-fac-m.sg.agt-middle-insert-prf ‘He went under the fence.’

Nominals like ate’enhró:kon in (11) are not core arguments: they are not represented among the pronominal prefixes on the verb. They are also not case-marked. The ending -okon is a locative nominalizer ‘place under’ that simply derives a noun referring to a location. The same form of place nominals is used when they serve as core arguments, as in ‘I saw that place’, though this use is rarer for obvious reasons. The role of ate’enhró:kon in (11) is understood by inference: nominals referring to locations most often situate events or states in space or indicate the source or goal of motion. The kinds of participants identified in oblique arguments in other languages, such as companions (I went with my brother), instruments (I fixed it with tape), and beneficiaries (I bought it for my mother) are not expressed as obliques or even adjuncts in Mohawk. Alternative constructions are used instead. These are discussed further in Section 7. If Mohawk contains no identifiable subject, object, or oblique categories, we might wonder whether the language could have grammatical voice at all. If we understand voice in the broader sense, described in Shibatani (1999) and elsewhere,

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as encompassing all alternations in argument structure, we will see that subject, object, and oblique categories are not essential to the existence and functioning of voice alternations. Middles, reflexives, reciprocals, resultatives, causatives, and applicatives can play important roles in languages without those categories. Their functions, however, may be shaped in part by the grammars into which they are integrated.

. Middles Middles have long been included in the notion of voice, even narrowly defined, largely because of their inflectional expression in Greek. Greek verbs exhibit three conjugation patterns, traditionally referred to as active, middle, and passive. Semantically, middle voice verbs have been said to indicate that ‘the action or state affects the subject of the verb or his interests’ (Lyons 1969: 373). Rich surveys of the functions of middles are in Kemmer (1993 and 1994). As Kemmer (1994: 182– 183) points out, middle-voice verbs are typically used for grooming or body care (‘wash’, ‘get dressed’), non-translational motion (‘stretch’, ‘turn’), change in body posture (‘sit down,’ ‘get up’), as well as translational motion (‘climb up’, ‘fly’), indirect effect (‘acquire’, ‘desire’), emotion (‘become frightened’, ‘be angry’), emotive speech (‘complain’, ‘lament’), cognition (‘think over’, ‘believe’), and spontaneous events (‘germinate’, ‘vanish’). Mohawk contains a robust Middle category. A derivational prefix with the basic shape -at- (appearing as -at-, -ak- -ate-, -aten-, -an-, or -a-) can be seen in verb stems with exactly the kinds of meanings typical of middles in other languages. In some cases both the original stem and the derived middle stem persist in the language. In others, only the middle form remains. (12) Some Mohawk middle stems -at-konhsohar- ‘wash one’s face’ -ate-nawirohar- ‘brush one’s teeth’ -at-awen ‘bathe, swim’ -at-sheronni ‘dress oneself ’ -at-ia’tawi’t ‘put on coat, shirt, dress’ -at-karhateni ‘turn around’ ‘get up’ -at-ketsko -at-ien ‘sit down’ -at-ita’ ‘get in’ -ate-’rhorok ‘cover oneself, climb under’ -ate-’ser ‘crawl’ -at-karewaht- ‘get hurt’

-konhs-ohar -nawir-ohar -awen -sher-onni -ia’t-awi’t -karhateni -ketsko -ien -ita’ -’rhorok -’ser -karewaht

‘face-wash’ ‘tooth-wash’ ‘be wet’ ‘prepare’ ‘body-cover’ ‘turn (it) around’ ‘raise’ ‘lay something, lie’ ‘put in’ ‘cover something’ ‘drag’ ‘cause distress’

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-at-ahseht -at-o’kt

‘hide’ ‘run out of something’

-ahseht -o’kt

‘hide something’ ‘come to an end’

The Middle prefix typically alters the argument structure of the verb stem. As Kemmer observes, middles evoke two participant roles, but a single argument fills both. Middles differ from reflexives in showing ‘minimal conceptual differentiation between initiating and endpoint entities’ (Kemmer 1994: 208). Many Mohawk verb stems have been formed from expressions with relatively concrete literal meanings that were then applied to more abstract contexts. The abstract senses are now their primary meanings, and in many cases speakers are no longer even aware of the literal meanings. The function of the Middle prefix can usually be better understood by considering the literal meaning of the derived middle verbs. One of the verb stems used for telephoning, for example, was formed from a compound -wenn-at’a ‘voice-insert’. It appears with a Middle prefix because one is inserting one’s own voice. Verbs built on this stem generally contain a directional prefix indicating the direction of the call, toward the speaker or away. (13) Mohawk metaphorical middles iekatewennáta’s ie-k-ate-wenn-at’a-hs trloc-1.sg.agt-middle-voice-insert-hab ‘I telephone’, literally, ‘I insert myself vocally thither’

In languages with subjects, the single argument of middle verbs is a subject. In Mohawk, the grammatical role of the argument depends on the original meaning and aspect of the particular lexical item, as it does with all verbs. Some middles appear with Agent pronominal prefixes, others with Patients. The difference can be seen in (14) and (15). The middle verbs in (14) contain the first person singular Agent pronominal prefix k-; those in (15) contain the first person Patient prefix wak-. (14) Some Mohawk middles with Agents k-at-konhsóhares ‘I wash my face’ k-ate-nawiróhares ‘I brush my teeth’ k-at-á:wenhs ‘I bathe, swim’ k-at-sheronnià:tha’ ‘I get dressed’ k-á:r-ats ‘I lie down’ k-at-kón:henhs ‘I put my head down’ k-at-è:sere’s ‘I crawl’ k-at-íta’s ‘I get in’ k-atè-:kwahs ‘I run away, escape’ k-ate-weièn:tonhs ‘I put it away, save it’

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k-at-oríshen k-at-ónrie’

‘I take a rest’ ‘I breathe’

(15) Mohawk middles with Patients wak-ate-rièn:tare’ ‘I know’ wak-at-a’karí:te’ ‘I am healthy’ wak-at-shennón:ni ‘I am happy’ wak-at-shè:iaron ‘I am shy’ wak-até-tshen ‘I am greedy’ wak-at-hón:te’ ‘I hear’ wak-at-shwà:ton ‘I am kidding’ wak-á:t-o’kte’ ‘I am short of it, out of it’ wak-ate-wì:rare’ ‘I am scarred’ wak-at-kwahro’takwà:ronte’ ‘I have boils’ wak-ate-wennahtòn:’on ‘I have laryngitis’ te-wak-at-onhwentsó:ni ‘I want, need’

The lexical function of the Middle prefix is clear. It derives verbs for situations that affect the participant or the participant’s interests. It can also serve discourse functions. As a detransitivizer, it can eliminate unimportant or indefinite participants from the set of arguments. This function can be seen in the alternation between the transitive stem -hsni- ‘heal’ and the middle stem -at-hsni- in the passage below. (16) Mohawk discourse use of middles: Watshenní:ne Sawyer, speaker p.c. Ó:nen ia’kwatkáhtho ó:nen i-a’-akwa-at-kahtho-’ then trloc-fac-1.pl.excl-middle-see-prf then we saw (it) there ‘We saw thí:ken tsi nón: thí:ken tsi nón:we that at place that at place the Healing Center

tetewáthsnie, te-te-w-at-hsni-e’ dv-cisloc-n.agt-middle-heal-stat there it heals

tethónthsnie, te-t-hati-at-hsni-e’ dv-cisloc-m.pl.agt-middle-heal-stat they heal there where they do the healing

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ne: onkwehón:we tehshakotíhsni-e’ ne:’e onkwe=honwe te-hshakoti-hsni-e’ it.is person=real dv-3.m.pl/3.pl-heal-stat that is Indian they heal them that is, they heal Indian people.’

As in many languages, the Middle prefix originated as a reflexive marker. As more and more verb stems were derived with this prefix, and their meanings shifted, the original reflexive function of the Reflexive -at- became less transparent. A new Reflexive prefix was then formed by reduplication: -atat-.

. Reflexives The modern Reflexive prefix is basically -atat-. Its shape is affected by context, so it appears as -atat-, -atak- -atate-, -ataten-, -atan-, or -ata-. (17) Mohawk Reflexives wà:khrene’ ‘I cut it’ wa’k-atát-hrene’ ‘I cut myself’ wa’kenhó:ton’ ‘I closed it, locked it’ wa’k-atate-nhó:ton’ ‘I locked myself in or out’

Like the Middle, the Reflexive prefix affects argument structure by detransitivizing. In both constructions, a single participant functions as both semantic agent and semantic patient. But as observed by Kemmer (1993, 1994) and others, reflexives differ from middles in retaining a clearer conceptual distinction between the two semantic roles. In languages with nominative/accusative systems, the single argument of reflexives is usually a subject. Reflexive actions are typically initiated by a semantic agent. The Mohawk reflexive verbs in (17) contain the first person Agent prefix k‘I’. (The initial prefix wà:-/wa’- is the Factual.) But as we saw earlier, pronominal paradigm choice in Mohawk also depends on aspect. The verbs in (17) are all in the Perfective aspect. When the same verbs are in the Stative aspect, the pronominal prefixes are the Patient form wak-. These Stative verbs focus not on an event, but rather on the state resulting from a prior event. If I have cut myself, I am now suffering from my wound. (18) Mohawk Stative reflexives with grammatical Patients wak-hré:nen ‘I have cut it’ wak-atathré:nen ‘I have cut myself ’ wak-enhó:ton ‘I have locked it’ wak-atatenhó:ton ‘I have locked myself in/out’

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The use of reflexive constructions in Mohawk is otherwise quite similar to the uses of reflexives in other languages. Reflexives have a syntactic effect, reducing the number of core arguments of clauses without reducing the number of participants, but they have relatively little discourse effect. They can, however, imply contrast with expectations, an effect in keeping with their diachronic origin in reduplication. (19) Mohawk reflexives and middles Middle wa’-k-at-konhsóhare’ ‘I washed my face’ Reflexive wa’-k-atat-konhsóhare’ ‘I washed my own face’

. Reciprocals As in many languages, there is a close relation in Mohawk between reflexives and reciprocals. Mohawk reciprocals are formed with the Reflexive prefix plus a Duplicative prefix t(e)- before the pronominal prefix. (20) Mohawk reflexives and reciprocals a. wahontatié:nawa’se’ wa-hon-atat-ienawa’s-e’ fac-3.pl.agt-reflexive-help-prf ‘they helped themselves’ b. wa’thontatié:nawa’se’ wa-t-hon-atat-ienawa’s-e’ fac-dv-3.pl.agt-reflexive-help-prf ‘they helped each other’

Like middles and reflexives, reciprocals are derived intransitives. Two distinct semantic roles are involved, those of agent and patient, but one set of participants fills both. Whether this set of participants is represented by a grammatical Agent or Patient prefix depends primarily on the aspect of the verb. Stative aspect reciprocals generally appear with Patient pronominal prefixes. Reciprocals serve no obvious discourse functions.

. Resultatives Mohawk contains an additional intransitive construction that does not change grammatical argument structure, but eliminates implication of certain arguments. As seen earlier, event verbs in the Stative aspect can have perfect meanings, denoting the state resulting from a prior event, such as ro’niakèn:’en ‘he has escaped’. If

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these verbs are intransitive, like ‘he has escaped’, or involve a neuter participant like ‘he has seen it’, Patient pronominal prefixes are used. Event verbs in the Stative aspect can also be combined with Agent prefixes to form resultative constructions. These eliminate the indirect reference to a prior event. They have meanings like ‘the table is set’, ‘the bread is cut’, or ‘they are locked up’, instead of ‘the table has been set’, ‘the bread has been cut’, or ‘they have been locked up’. Such verbs are often used syntactically as nominals to represent persons or objects in the condition described. (21) Mohawk resultative constructions a. kaksahrónnion’ ka-ks-a-hr-onnion’ n.agt-dish-jr-set-dist.stat ‘the table is set’ b. kana’tarakwè:taron ka-na’tar-a-kwe’tar-on n.agt-bread-jr-slice-stat ‘the bread is sliced’ = ‘the sliced bread’ c. rati-nhó:ton rati-nho-t-on m.pl.agt-door-cover-stat ‘they are locked up’ = ‘prisoners’

This use of Agent pronominal prefixes echoes their use with Stative-only verbs seen earlier. Agent prefixes tend to be used with inherent states, while Patient prefixes are used with temporary states or those that are portrayed as the result of previous events or processes.

. Causatives Most languages contain grammatical devices that increase the number of core participants by adding a semantic agent, the causer. Mohawk contains several Causative suffixes, some of which can be seen in the passage below. (22) Mohawk causatives: Kaia’titáhkhe’ Jacobs, speaker p.c. Tonsahonwá:tahste’ t-onsa-honwa-t-ahst-e’ dv-rep.fac-3.pl/m.sg-stand-caus-prf ‘They stood him back up

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tanon’ sahonwaia’tokewánion’. tanon’ sa-honwa-ia’t-okew-anion-’ and rep.fac-3.pl/m.sg-body-wipe-dist-prf and they wiped him off Sok wahonwaié:nawa’se’ sok wa-honwa-ienaw-a’s-e’ so fac-3.pl/m.sg-hold-ben.applic-prf So then they helped him kí:ken ka’serehtà:ke kí:ken ka-’sre-ht=a’ke this n.agt-drag-nominalizer=place and tho sahonwatskó:ten’ tho sa-honwa-itskw-ot-en-’ there rep.fac-3.pl/m.sg-seat-stand-caus-prf sat him back on the bike.’

Since the effect of causatives is to add a semantic agent, it is not surprising that the causer is usually represented as a grammatical Agent in most Mohawk causative constructions. But as with other verbs, aspect can affect the choice of pronominal paradigm. As noted earlier, neuter participants are not overtly represented in pronominal prefixes if another participant is present. Intransitive prefixes are used instead. When causative verbs with intransitive prefixes appear in the Stative aspect, the causer is a grammatical Patient. (23) Mohawk Stative aspect causative rohséhton ro-hse-ht-on m.sg.pat-be.hiding-caus-stat he has hidden it

Resultative constructions can be formed from causative stems. The caused state is highlighted and the causing event eliminated from view. The causer is accordingly absent from the set of core arguments. (24) Mohawk resultative causative karistoiénuhton ka-risto-ien-ht-on n.agt-stove-lie-caus-stat ‘it is set on the stove’ = ‘scone(s)’

Causatives are not exploited in Mohawk for additional syntactic or discourse purposes, as they are in some languages (Mithun 2000). Since there are no syntactic

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constructions that require coreferential Agents, there is no syntactic motivation for manipulating argument structure so that a participant is accorded Agent status. Since grammatical Agents do not represent discourse topics, there is also no discourse motivation for moving topical participants into the grammatical Agent role through causativization.

. Applicatives A final set of constructions that affect argument structure are applicatives. Applicatives are often described as transitivizers that derive verb stems whose objects would otherwise be expressed as oblique arguments, such as semantic locations, directions, companions, instruments, recipients, or beneficiaries. While an English sentence like I knit a sweater for my mother is an active-voice construction with oblique beneficiary for my mother, the sentence I knit my mother a sweater is a benefactive applicative construction in which my mother has assumed the role of direct object. Applicatives are thus usually described in terms of the categories of direct object (or absolutive) and oblique. An interesting feature of Mohawk clause structure is the lack not only of subjects and direct objects, but also obliques. As seen earlier, core arguments are specified by obligatory pronominal prefixes on every verb. Clauses may contain, in addition, independent nominals further identifying the core arguments, and adjuncts indicating time or location. But there are no oblique arguments or adjuncts identifying semantic companions, instruments, beneficiaries, or recipients. Companions are included in core arguments. In (25), the dog is part of the Agent. (25) Mohawk companion: Watshenní:ne Sawyer, speaker p.c. È:rhar iatiá:rats. è:rhar iaki-arat-s 1.excl.du.agt-lie-hab dog dog we two habitually lie ‘I sleep with the dog.’

Describing a film, English speakers described one scene with comments like ‘A man passed by with a goat’. The goat was cast as a comitative oblique. Mohawk speakers described the scene by identifying the goat as part of the grammatical Agent ‘they two’.

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(26) Mohawk coordination: Kaia’titáhkhe’ Jacobs, speaker p.c. kí:ken rónkwe Wahiatóhetste’ wa-hi-at-ohetst-e’ kí:ken r-onkwe fac-m.du.agt-middle-pass-prf this m-person they two passed by this man tanon’ kaia’tákerahs. tanon’ ka-ia’t-a-kera-hs and n-body-jr-stink-hab and goat ‘A man passed by with a goat.’

Instruments are often introduced as core arguments in clauses of their own. Describing early experiences in school, one speaker reported that a nun threatened to hit her with a stick if she spoke Mohawk. The stick was introduced in a separate clause. (27) Mohawk introduction of instrument: Watshenní:ne Sawyer, speaker p.c. Kaná:kare’ káhere’; ka-nakar-e’ ka-her-e’ n-stick-ns n.agt-be.on-stat ‘There’s a stick there; enhsatéweienhste’ en-hs-ate-weien-hst-e’ fut-2.sg.agt-middle-learn-caus-prf you’ll learn tóka iáh or not or else enkónrio’. en-kon-rio-’ fut-1.sg/2.sg-hit-prf I’ll hit you.’

In (28) an instrument was introduced as the grammatical Patient of ‘hold’. (28) Mohawk introduction of instrument: Watshenní:ne Sawyer, speaker p.c. Atátken ráhawe’ atat-ken ra-haw-e’ rfl-see m.sg.agt-hold-hab mirror he is holding it

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akwé:kon enhaka’eniónnion’, akwé:kon en-ha-ka’en-nionnion-’ all fut-m.sg.agt/n.pat-inspect-dist-prf all he will inspect it all over ‘He was going to inspect everything with a mirror.’

Instruments are often introduced as core arguments of a verb ‘use’. (29) Mohawk introduction of instrument: Carolee Jacobs, speaker p.c. Tontahahtén:ti’, t-onta-ha-ahtenti-’ dv-cisloc.fac-m.sg.agt-go-prf he came back ‘He came back shahá:wi’ s-ha-hawi-’ rep-m.sg.agt-carry-hab he was carrying it back with half a blanket.

ne ne the the

sha’tewahsirí:hen. sha’-te-w-ahsir-ih-en coin-dv-n-blanket-middle-stat half blanket

Né:’ én:katste’ tenkoniahsirawèn:’eke’. né:’ en-k-atst-e’ t-en-koni-ahsir-a-wen’ek-e’ it.is fut-1.sg.agt-use-prf dv-fut-1.sg/2.sg-blanket-wrap-prf it is I will use it I will blanket wrap you “This is what I’ll use to wrap you up.”’

The absence of instrumental obliques in Mohawk would be easy to miss without a specific search for them, since the kinds of constructions by which instruments are actually introduced, like those in (27)–(29), are not unusual cross-linguistically. But instruments can also be specified in clauses that are not dedicated to bringing them onstage with verbs like ‘use’, ‘hold’, or ‘be there’. An Instrumental applicative suffix may be added to a verb stem to derive a new stem whose grammatical Patient is an instrument. The verb root -hthar-, for example, means ‘talk’, but -hthar-ahkw-, with the Instrumental applicative suffix -(a)hkw- means ‘talk about’, that is, ‘use a particular topic as a basis for discussion’. The stem -na’tonmeans ‘point out’, but with the Instrumental applicative -hkw- it means ‘point out with’ (a certain name), that is, ‘call’. Both verbs can be seen in (30) in a remark from an unidentified speaker on a call-in radio talk show. (30) Mohawk Instrumental applicative Ò:ia ni:’ tsi orì:wa’ kí:ken other myself that matter this

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wà:kehre’ wa’-k-ehr-e’ fac-1.sg.agt-think-prf I thought

ne ne the the

enkhthá:rahkwe’ en-k-hthar-ahkw-e’ fut-1.sg.agt-talk-inst.appl-prf I will talk about it

Malone Highway shé:kon ratina’tónhkhwa’ shé:kon rati-na’ton-hkw-ha’ still m.pl.agt-point.out-inst.appl-hab still they point out with it ‘There’s another matter I thought I’d bring up, they call it the Malone Highway.’

Instrumental applicatives can ensure that important entities are carried along as core arguments through a discussion. Two other speakers were discussing an old building. The building, the topic of the conversation, was a core argument of each clause. (31) Mohawk Instrumental applicative: Awenrathen Deer, speaker Wahi’ thi:ken kanonhséshne wáhi’ thí:ken ka-nonhs-es=hne tag that n.agt-building-be.long=place.at you know that long building thi thí:ken that that

ratina’tónhkhwahkwe’ . . . rati-na’ton-hkw-hah-kwe’ m.pl.agt-point.out-inst.appl-hab-past they used to point it out with it

ienekeraientáhkhwa’ . . . ie-neker-a-ient-ahkw-ha’ fi.agt-hay-jr-set-inst.appl-hab they used to keep their hay with it ó:nen ne:’ thí:ken rati’terontónhkwe’s nè:’e ó:nen ne:’ thí:ken rati-’teronton-khw-e’-s nè:’e now it.is that m.pl.agt-live-inst.appl-stat-dist it.is it is now it is that they live with it variously ‘That longhouse you know, they used to call it that, they used to store their hay in it, and now people live in it.’

Instrumental applicatives have a syntactic effect, altering the core argument structure of verbs to include a semantic instrument. But they are not exploited for syntactic purposes: there are no syntactic constructions that depend on the core argument status of arguments. They are, however, exploited for the manipulation

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of information flow at both the lexical and discourse levels. They allow speakers to package together ideas that are closely related as elements of a single concept. As derivational suffixes, they are used pervasively to create new words, particularly names for objects best identified by their function. The word ienekeraientáhkhwa’ seen in (31), literally ‘one stores hay with it’ is the usual word for ‘silo’. Instrumental applicatives also allow speakers to package elements of what is viewed as a single action or state together in a single clause instead of several. One can say ‘they store their hay in it’ instead of ‘they use it, they store their hay’. As seen in (31), Instrumental applicatives can have another discourse function as well: they can allow speakers to carry a referent through a stretch of discourse as a core argument, with reference to it in every verb. Like instruments, beneficiaries and recipients are never identified in grammatical obliques or adjuncts in Mohawk. As in many languages, they can appear as core arguments of a few verb roots like ‘give’. With ‘give’ they are grammatical Patients. (32) Mohawk recipients as grammatical Patients: Charlotte Bush, speaker, p.c. Iáh tha’taontahshakó:ien’ iáh tha’-t-a-onta-hshako-ien-’ not contr-dv-optative-cisloc-m.sg/m.pl-give-prf ‘He wouldn’t give it back to them.’

More often, however, recipients or beneficiaries are brought into clauses with Benefactive applicative constructions. When a Benefactive suffix is added to the verb root -na’ton- ‘point out’, for example, the result is a new stem meaning ‘point.out-to’ or ‘show’, as in (33). The grammatical Patient argument of the original root ‘point out’ remains in the clause, but since it is neuter, there is no overt reference to it in the pronominal prefix -hshako- ‘he/them’. (33) Mohawk Benefactive applicative: Josephine Horne, speaker p.c. Wahshakona’tón:hahse’ ononhkwa’shòn:’a. wa-hshako-na’ton-hahs-e’ o-nonhkwa’=shon’a fac-m.sg/3.pl-point.out-ben.appl-prf n-medicine=dist ‘He showed them various medicines.’

The participants added by Mohawk Benefactive applicatives may be affected in a variety of ways. They may be recipients, as in ‘send to’, they may be positively affected as in ‘cook-for’, they may be adversely affected, and more. The introduction of a prototypical beneficiary can be seen in (34). Holding council is expressed in Mohawk as kindling the council fire. The speaker was congratulating the newly elected representatives to the town council, who would serve two-year terms.

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(34) Mohawk Benefactive applicative: Awenhráthen Deer, speaker Ne: teiohserá:ke nikarì:wes nenhatitsénhaien’ ne: te-io-hser-ake ni-ka-rihw-es en-hati-tsenh-a-ien’ it.is dv-n-year-number prt-n-matter-be.long fut-m.pl.agt-fire-jr-set it is two years so the matter is long they will kindle the fire ‘They will meet for two years, enionkhitsenhaiénhahse’ en-ionkhi-tshenh-a-ien-hahs-e’ fut-3.pl/1.pl-fire-jr-set-ben.appl-prf they will kindle fire for us they will meet on behalf of us all.’

akwé:kon. akwé:kon all all

The applicative verb ‘say-about’ is usually more malefactive, suggesting malicious gossip. (35) Mohawk Benefactive applicative: Tiorhakwén:te’ Dove, speaker, p.c. Nahò:ten nòn:wa enhskwénhahse’ naho’ten nonhwa en-hskw-en-hahs-e’ what now fut-2.pl/1.sg-say-ben.appl-prf ‘What are you going to say about me?’

Benefactive applicatives can occur in middle, reflexive, and reciprocal constructions. In these the grammatical Agent and the affected person are the same. (36) Mohawk reflexive Benefactive applicative: Kaia’titáhkhe’ Jacobs, speaker p.c. Enwá:ton’ ken enkatathnekáhrhahse’ en-w-aton’ ken en-k-atat-hnek-a-hr-hahs-e’ fut-n-be.posslble-prf q fut-1.sg.agt-rfl-liquid-jr-set-ben.appl-prf it will be possible ? I will set out liquid for myself ‘May I get a cup of coffee?’

Like Instrumental applicatives, Benefactive applicatives allow speakers to package together elements viewed as parts of a single idea. They can serve both lexical and discourse functions. As derivational suffixes, they create new vocabulary, verb stems with specific meanings, like -na’ton-hahs- ‘point.out-for’ = ‘show’. They allow speakers to package elements of a single concept into a single word. They also provide a device for combining information about a single situation in a single clause, in this case mention of affected participants with the event or state. In (37), for example, rather than saying ‘they would just stand up a bag of money and give it to him’, the speaker said the equivalent of ‘they would just hand him a bag of money.’

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(37) Mohawk Benefactive applicative: Awenhráthen Deer, speaker Ì:rehre’ katiken’ óksa’k ken i-hra-ehr-e’ katiken’ óksa’k ken prothetic-m.sg.agt-think-stat just immediately Q ‘Well, what did he think, enthonwaiaróthahse’ en-t-honwa-iar-ot-hahs-e’ fut-cisloc-m.pl/m.sg-bag-stand-ben.appl-prf they will stand up a bag for him there they’d just give him a bag of money right away?’

ne ne the the

ohwísta’? o-hwist-a’ n-money-ns money

Expressing the beneficiary in a separate clause would not convey the situation as a single event. Proto-Northern-Iroquoian, the ancestor of Mohawk, also contained a Directional applicative, which cast directions as core arguments of motion verbs, but only traces of it remain in Mohawk in a few lexical items (Mithun 2001).

. Conclusion Though grammatical voice has traditionally been described in terms of subjects, direct objects, and obliques, an examination of Mohawk speech shows that these categories are not essential to the existence of voice broadly understood. Mohawk contains no subject, object, or oblique categories, but it does exhibit a robust set of alternating clause structures, including middles, reflexives, reciprocals, causatives, and applicatives. Because there is no subject category, indeed no single ‘most grammatically prominent constituent’, Mohawk voice alternations do not serve the syntactic functions they serve in some other languages. They can certainly have syntactic effects, altering the number of core arguments in the clause. But participants need not be cast in specific grammatical roles for the purpose of forming complex sentences, as in many other languages, so voice alternations are not exploited for purely syntactic purposes. They can serve important semantic, lexical, and discourse, functions, however. The detransitivizing middle, reflexive, and reciprocal constructions serve the same kinds of semantic functions they do in other languages. All indicate that the semantic agent and patient roles are filled by the same party. Middles indicate that the distinction between the two roles is less sharp and the effect of the situation on the participant less direct. Middles can also serve a discourse function, eliminating incidental or nonspecific participants from mention entirely, as in alternations

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between ‘They cure Indian people’ and ‘They cure’. Subject and object categories are not essential to these functions. The transitivizing applicatives are typically described as shifting participants from oblique to direct object status. Mohawk contains neither oblique nor object categories, yet Mohawk Instrumental and Benefactive applicatives serve important lexical and discourse functions. They allow speakers to package together, in a single word or clause, elements of information portrayed as components of a single concept. On the lexical level they serve to create new vocabulary, single words for single ideas. On the discourse level they allow speakers to present elements of information viewed as integral parts of a larger event or state in a single clause. The choice provided by Mohawk applicatives is not between oblique and object status of arguments, but between two clauses and one. Applicatives in Mohawk do add a participant to the set of core arguments, as in other languages. Core argument status is important in Mohawk, since core arguments are specified in every clause by pronominal affixes. For this reason, applicatives can serve an additional discourse function as well. They allow speakers to encode topical semantic instruments or beneficiaries as core arguments, ensuring overt reference to them through a stretch of discourse. These functions do not depend on the existence of oblique and object categories. The Mohawk voice alternations are expressed by derivational verbal morphology that creates new lexical items. The affixes involved vary in productivity, but speakers know which derived verb stems exist in the lexicon and which do not. For the most part, voice alternations are exploited not by concatenating morphemes online, but by selecting among existing verb stems, often morphologically related stems with alternative argument structures. The lexicon provides a valuable record of the conceptual units speakers have formed and used over generations of speech. In this way, languages with rich morphological structure like Mohawk can provide us with additional insight into the specific uses to which voice alternations are actually put in speech.

Abbreviations agt – grammatical agent; ben.appl – benefactive applicative; caus – causative; cisloc – cislocative; coin – coincident; contr – contrastive; dim – diminutive; dist – distributive; du – dual; dv – duplicative; excl – exclusive; fac – factual; fi – feminine-indefinite; fut – future; hab – habitual aspect; inch – inchoative; inst.appl – instrumental applicative; jr – stem joiner; m – masculine; n – neuter; ns – noun suffix; pat – grammatical patient; pl – plural; prf – perfective aspect; prt – partitive; q – interrogative marker; rep – repetitive; rfl – reflexive; sg –

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singular; stat – stative; trloc – translocative. The symbol “=” represents clitic boundaries.

References Fox, B. & Hopper, P. J. (Eds.). (1994). Voice: Form and Function. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kemmer, S. (1993). The Middle Voice. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Kemmer, S. (1994). “Middle voice, transitivity, and the elaboration of events”. In Fox & Hopper (Eds.), 179–230. Lyons, J. (1969). Introduction to Theoretical Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mithun, M. (1991). “When grammaticization is superfluous”. In B. Heine & E. Traugott (Eds.), Approaches to Grammaticalization, II (pp. 159–184). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Mithun, M. (1994). “The implications of ergativity for a Philippine voice system”. In Fox & Hopper (Eds.), 247–277. Mithun, M. (2000). “Valency-changing derivations in Central Alaskan Yup’ik”. In R. M. W. Dixon & A. Akihenvald (Eds.), Changing Valency (pp. 84–114). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mithun, M. (2001). “Understanding and explaining applicatives”. In M. Andronis, C. Ball, H. Elston, & S. Neuvel (Eds.), CLS 37: The Panels 2001[:] Proceedings from the Parasessions of the Thirty-seventh Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society: Volume 37–32 (pp. 73–97). Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. Shibatani, M. (1985). “Passives and related constructions: A prototype analysis”. Language, 61, 821–848. Shibatani, M. (Ed.). (1988). Passive and Voice. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Shibatani, M. (1999). “Voice”. In K. Brown & J. Miller (Eds.), Concise Encyclopedia of Grammatical Categories (pp. 406–412). Amsterdam: Elsevier.

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Chukchi reciprocals (with an appendix on Koryak and Itelmen) Vladimir P. Nedjalkov Institute of Linguistic Research, St. Petersburg

In Chukchi, a rather rare typological phenomenon is observed: the existence of two monosemous productive reciprocal markers, the suffix -w6lγ ‘each other’ and a pronoun-like reciprocal adverb 6rγiˇcγu ‘they.mutually’ inflected for person and used in combination with the antipassive predicate. These two devices can be used together pleonastically. There are also a number of peripheral devices used on a limited number of stems: the polysemous suffixes -ˇcit/-ˇcet, -tku/-tko (which can be used pleonastically with the above two) and detransitivization by means of agreement-change. In Koryak, the reciprocal suffix -v6lη is used which corresponds to the Chukchi -w6lγ, and no reciprocal adverb is attested. In Itelmen, there are no cognates of these devices; instead, a reciprocal prefix lu-/lois used. A peculiarity of the Chukchi reciprocal suffix is its combinability with nouns, pronouns and adverbs.1

.

Introductory: Grammatical notes

Brief grammatical notes may be helpful to the reader unfamiliar with Chukchi grammar (for details see Kämpfe & Volodin 1995). 1. Vowel and consonant alternation. In Chukchi, vowel harmony is observed; there are numerous assimilation and dissimilation rules, and insertion of the super-short epenthetic vowel /6/ (schwa). Vowel alternation can be determined diachronically; cf. muri ‘we’ (ABS) – morγ6nan ‘we’ (ERG). 2. Sentence structure. Case markers. Number. In Chukchi, the ergative-absolutive construction is used: the transitive subject is in the instrumental-ergative case (it has two markers, -e/-a and -te/-ta, for the instrumental meaning (glossed as INST) and for the ergative meaning on nouns (glossed as ERG), and -(6)nan for the ergative of personal pronouns (glossed as ERG); in the latter instance the pronominal stem can change partially or entirely; cf. 6tlen ‘s/he’ (ABS) – 6nan ‘s/he’ (ERG); the intransitive subject and direct object are in the absolutive case (ABS). Word order is free. There are many types of incorporation,

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i.e. inclusion of a word within another. The noun has nine cases. The absolutive case in the singular has several markers in complementary distribution, viz. various suffixes, zero marking and root reduplication (cf. 6tl6γ-6n ‘father’, w6kw6-lγ6n ‘stone’, ek6k-Ø ‘son’, tumγ6-tum ‘comrade, friend’). The plural number is marked obligatorily in the absolutive case (as -t, -ti, -tti) and not in the other cases. The essive case (markers -u/-o, -nu/-no) needs some explanation: it denotes in what capacity the subject or object referent appears in sentences like ‘In the fog the stone looked like a jaranga’, ‘He used the rope as a belt’) (cf. (1), (51), (64d), (66a)). Antipassive markers are the prefix ena-/ine- and suffix -tku/-tko (cf. (9a)). The choice of the markers is not clear; at least on some bases they are in complementary distribution. The infinitive marker is -6k/-k (cf. (65a)); the active participle is marked by the suffix -l‘- (cf. (15), (43a, b)), the passive by the suffix -jo (cf. (27a, b)). There are also converbs marked by the suffixes -e/-a, -te/-ta, -ma, etc. 3. Tense/aspect, agreement. Intransitive predicates agree with the subject and transitive predicates agree with the subject and direct object; the agreement system is highly complicated, depending on different tense-aspect and mood forms. Progressive aspectual forms are marked by the suffix -rk/-rk6n/-rk6ni (cf. (58d)); if a verb contains no other marker, this form has the present progressive meaning (cf. (1), (2a–d), (8b)). The aorist has no marker of its own and is identified by the agreement markers, as in (3a), (3c–g), (9a, b). The future tense marker is the prefix re-/ra-/r- (cf. (39)). The imperfect is marked by the prefix n6-/n- (cf. (3b), (8a)) and a special agreement system (on intransitive verbs it coincides with the agreement of predicative adjectives), and it may refer both to the past and to the present. The perfect marker is the prefix γe-/γa-/γ- and an agreement system partly similar to that of the imperfect (cf. (26c), (42c)). With the negations wanewan and q6r6m, the imperative form alone is used, as in (21a), (58b). The suffix -lq6l ‘must’ is used with participial forms and not in the imperative form even with the negations just named; cf. (43b), (46b). 4. Periphrastic forms. Basically, all tense/aspect forms may have parallel periphrastic forms composed of the invariable converb in -e/-a, -te/-ta of the lexical verb and an auxiliary different for transitives and intransitives and marked for tense, mood, and agreement. These forms serve to emphasize the meaning of the verb; cf. jet-γ‘i ‘he came’ and jet-e it-γ‘i ‘he did come’, t6m-nen ‘he killed him’ and t6m-a r6n-nin ‘he did kill him’; cf. (26d), (29), (39)). Some negative forms are also periphrastic, e.g. luη-jet-e it-γ‘i ‘he did not come’; cf. (10a), (50b). 5. Causation. Causation (on intransitive verbs, with a few exceptions) is marked by the prefix r-/r6- in the initial position and by -n/-n6 if preceded by an-

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other morpheme; cf. eret- ‘to fall’ → r-eret- ‘to drop’; this prefix mostly occurs within confixes with the second component being complementarily distributed suffixes -ew/-aw/-w, -et/-at/-t or -ηet/-ηat (cf. (2d), (23), (43a, b)). There are a number of derivational verbal suffixes denoting intensity, plurality of actions and/or participants, etc., which are mostly not glossed in the examples below. 6. Labile verbs. In Chukchi, there are numerous labile verbs, i.e. verbs used both transitively and intransitively, with a difference in meaning. The semantic oppositions may be causative (e.g. m6le-nin ‘he broke sth in two’ – m6le-γ‘i ‘sth broke in two’), reflexive (cf. at6nwan-nen ‘he hurt him’ – at6nwat-γ‘e ‘he hurt himself ’), etc. 7. Reflexive pronoun. A universal means of expressing reflexivity is the word uwik ‘body’ (also used as a noun in this meaning; cf. (31)) which may be preceded by the reflexive adjective ˇcinit(-kin) ‘one’s own’ (for all persons), sometimes spelt as ˇcinituwik; cf.: (1) 6tl6γ-e ˇcinit-kin uwik 6lγ-u l6η6-rk-6-nen father-inst his.own-poss body.abs.sg love-ess aux-progr-6-3sg+3sg ‘Father loves himself ’, lit. ‘. . . his own body.’

Database. Most of the material for this paper has been obtained from original Chukchi texts and also from translations from the Russian by native speakers of Chukchi. Examples without attribution belong to my informants, P. I. Inenlikej and V. G. Raxtilin. For a number of reasons, I will discuss lexical reciprocals and the suffix -tku/-tko (cf. Section 3) first, prior to the marked reciprocals with the specialized reciprocal markers the suffix -w6lγ and the adverb 6rγiˇcγu ‘they.mutually’.

. Lexical reciprocals Lexical reciprocals are words with an inherently reciprocal meaning. They are otherwise termed “natural reciprocals” (cf. Kemmer 1993: 100–108). In Chukchi, most of them are two-place intransitives. Both reciprocal arguments can be expressed by the subject or the second one can be expressed by an object, either absolutive, or dative, or locative, or ablative, or comitative. Of special interest are the lexical reciprocals with an absolutive object which requires the causative confix on the verb (applicative use; the overall meaning of the verb undergoes a slight change; this concerns maraw- ‘to fight, quarrel, argue’, tejkew- ‘to wrestle’, uwitwet‘to play’, wetγaw- ‘to talk, converse’); depending on the case form of the second reciprocant, the reading may vary slightly; e.g.:

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6tl6γ-6n 6nk‘am ek6k wetγaw-6-rk-6t father-abs and son.abs talk-6-pres.progr-3pl ‘Father and son are talking.’ (most likely, with each other) b. 6tl6γ-6n γ-ekke-te wetγaw-6-rk-6t father-abs com-son-com talk-6-pres.progr-3pl ‘Father is talking with his son.’ (other co-participants are possible though unlikely) c. 6tl6γ-6n ekk-6k reen wetγaw-6-rk6n father-abs son-loc with talk-6-pres.progr.3sg ‘Father is talking with [his] son.’ (other co-participants are ruled out) d. 6tl6γ-e ek6k r6-wetγaw-at-6-rk-6nen father-erg son-abs caus-talk-caus-pres.progr-6-3sg+3sg ‘Father is talking to his son.’ (the son may be answering)

(2) a.

Below in this paper, lexical reciprocals are considered along with other reciprocals. Reciprocal markers seem to be rather frequent on lexical reciprocals (this is probably due to the “mutual attraction” of implicit lexical and explicit reciprocity). There occur various combinations of reciprocal markers on the same verb, and particularly numerous they are on lexical reciprocals. The following examples illustrating this may differ in subtle nuances which they are very hard to formulate: (3) a. → b. c. d. e. f. g.

6nan ukwen-nin 6tlon (RT. 110) ‘He kissed her’ 6tri n-ukwet-qinet (ŠL.101) ‘They kissed each other’ 6tri ukwet-6-tku-γ‘et (SM. 89) (same as (b)) 6tri ukwet-ˇcit-γ‘et (same as (b)) 6tri ukwet-6-tku-ˇcit-γ‘et (ŠL. 16) (same as (b)) 6tri ukwet-w6lγ-6-γ‘et (same as (b)) 6tri 6rγiˇcγu ukwet-6-tku-γ‘et (same as (b)); etc.

Lexical reciprocals are grouped according to the word-classes below. a. Reciprocal verbs: (4) enaγlat- ‘to resemble’ ‘etjiw- ‘to bicker, argue’ ittil- ‘to bump, collide’ janr‘at- ‘to part’ maraw- ‘to fight, quarrel’ m6η-ajmet- ‘to shake hands’ r‘eˇcumket- ‘to get entwined’

r6nγiiw- ‘to meet’ (vi) tejkew- ‘to wrestle’ tumγ-6-l‘et- ‘to be friends’ ukwet- i. ‘to kiss’ (vt), ii. ‘to kiss’ (vi) uwiˇcwet- ‘to play’ wetγaw- ‘to talk’.

b. Reciprocal actional nouns (not derived from verbs; the nouns listed are identical with respective verbs):

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(5) ‘etjiw ‘argument, debate’ maraw ‘a fight, quarrel, war’

wetγaw ‘conversation’.

c. Reciprocal personal nouns: (6) enaal‘-6n ‘neighbour’ ‘ekel‘-in ‘enemy’

tumγ6-tum ‘comrade’.

d. Reciprocal adverbs: (7) aˇcγ6ta ‘side by side, next to’ ˇc6mˇce ‘nearby, close by’

ran‘aw ‘equally’ 6jaa ‘far away’.

Reciprocal personal nouns and reciprocal adverbs with reciprocal markers are illustrated below (see (32), (33), (51), (52)). Example (8a–b) is a case of unusual reciprocal use of the word tumγ6-tum ‘comrade, friend’ (PL tumγ6-t). This usage is not accidental: nouns with this meaning and their derivatives are often used to express reciprocity across languages.2 In Chukchi, this phenomenon has not developed but there are instances worth mentioning. 6rγ6nan n6-tul‘et-qinet tumγ-in m‘em-it (FM. 16) they.erg impf-steal-3pl comrade-poss cartridge-abs.pl ‘They were stealing cartridges from each other’, lit. ‘. . . comrade’s cartridges.’ b. Morγ6nan ‘atkewma l6γi m6t-6-lγ-6-rk6n we.erg badly know 1pl-aux-pres.progr tumγ-6-tku-r-kin n6m6twaγ6rγ-6n (Ry. 121) comrade-tku-pl-adj life-abs.sg ‘We know poorly each other’s (lit. comrades’) life.’

(8) a.

. Reciprocals with the suffix -tku/-tko Although this marker has limited use as a reciprocal marker, it is convenient to consider it first because it is used optionally or obligatorily simultaneously with other reciprocal markers; it is the most polysemous suffix in Chukchi. This suffix deserves special consideration not only due to its specific position in the system of Chukchi grammar and its role in the expression of the reciprocal meaning but also due to its typologically distinctive polyfunctionality. 1. Alongside the prefix ine-/ena- (23a, b), it serves as an antipassive marker, in which case it detransitivizes transitive verbs. In the case of antipassivization proper, the meaning of the verb does not change, although its case frame does: the ergative construction is replaced by the absolutive.

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‘eqel‘-e 6tl6γ-6n penr6-nen enemy-erg father-abs fall.on-aor.3sg+3sg ‘The enemy fell on father.’ b. ‘eqel‘-6n [6tl6γ-et6] penr6-tko-γ‘e enemy-abs father-dat fall.on-apass-aor.3sg (same translation).

(9) a.

2. Sometimes, however, detransitivization involves a change of meaning (it entails changes in a variety of ways also attested in other languages (see paragraph 6 in Section 1), sometimes expressing the reciprocal meaning by default. (10) a.

Otˇcoj-kena-more lun-l‘u-tku-te m6t-in-m6k (MP. 101) long.time-poss-we neg-see-apass-conv 1pl-aux-aor.1pl ‘We haven’t seen each other for a long time.’ ˇ 49) b. Ten-tumγ-6t ommaˇcajp6-tko-γ‘at (CG. bosom.friend-abs.pl embrace-apass-aor.3pl ‘The bosom friends embraced each other.’ wejp6-tku-rk-6t c. 6tri they.abs scratch-apass-pres.progr-3pl ‘They are scratching each other.’

3. While detransitivizing verbs this suffix allows a reflexive (11a), or reciprocal (11b), or anticausative (11c), or absolutive (11d) reading by default; some of the forms are polysemous and allow two or more readings (cf. juu-tku- in (11b) and (18)). These meanings, along with some others, are typical of socalled middle markers. (11) a. tewla-nen ‘he shook it off ’ → tewla-tko-γ‘e ‘he shook himself ’ b. ommaˇcajp6-nen ‘he hugged him’ → ommaˇcajp6-tko-γ‘at ‘they hugged each other’ c. ejp6-nin ‘he closed it’ → ejp6-tku-γ‘i ‘it (e.g. eyes) closed’ d. ‘6tt‘-e juu-nin ‘the dog bit him’ → ‘6tt‘-6n n6-jγu-tku-qin ‘the dog bites.’

Some of the lexical reciprocals (which can express reciprocity in the construction with both participants expressed by the subject without additional marking; see (3b)) acquire -tku without any change of meaning, under a kind of momentum or for highlighting reciprocity (cf. the analogous use of the suffix -w6lγ and the adverb 6rγiˇcγu in (24) and (44), respectively). (12) . . . 6tri qlaw6l-mel ukwet-6-tku-γ‘et (SM. 89) they.abs man-as kiss-6-apass-aor.3pl ‘They kissed each other as men do.’ (situation: ‘they kissed once only’)

This unique morpheme also marks the following.

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Chukchi reciprocals 

1. Denominal verbs; e.g.: (13) milγer ‘rifle’ → milγer6-tku- ‘to shoot’ w6lp6 ‘spade’/w6lpa-t ‘spades’ → w6lpa-tko- ‘to dig with a spade.’

2. The nouns meaning ‘few, some (things)’ (a very approximate definition): (14) ilir ‘island’ → eler-et6 ‘to the island(s)’ → eler6-tko-γt6 ‘to a group of islands’ w6kw6-lγ6n ‘stone’ → 6kw6-t ‘stones’ → 6kw6-tko-t ‘a group of stones.’

3. Active participles of transitive verbs, along with the prefix ine-/ena- (see (9) above). (15) penr- ‘to fall on sb’ → penr6-tko-l‘-6n ‘(the one who is)attacking/(has) attacked’ t6m-/-nm6- ‘to kill’ → ena-nm6-l‘-6n ‘(the one who is) killing/(has) killed.’

The active participle of intransitive verbs is formed by means of the suffix -l‘alone, e.g. raγt- ‘to return home’ → raγt6-l‘-6n ‘(the one who is) returning home’. 4. Two agreement forms of transitive verbs where tko-/tku- denotes 1PL of the object if the subject is 2SG or 2PL; e.g.: (16) pela-tko-γ‘e ‘you(sg) left us’ pela-tko-t6k ‘you(pl) left us’

Another antipassive marker ena-/ine- serves as a 1SG object marker if the subject is 2SG or 2PL as well: (17) ena-pela-γ‘e ‘you(sg) left me’ ena-pela-t6k ‘you(pl) left me’

5. Iterative forms from both transitive and intransitive verbs; cf.: (18) juu-nin ‘he bit him (once)’ → juu-tku-nin ‘he bit him (several times).’

Semantic relatedness of some of these functions is obvious, while for some of the functions it is established in diachrony.

. Reciprocals with the suffix -w6lγ3 . Intransitive reciprocal constructions This is the principal type of reciprocals with the suffix -w6lγ; there seem to be no non-trivial restrictions on their derivation. There are practically no reliable examples of transitive reciprocal constructions.

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.. Derived from two-place transitives The suffix -w6lγ detransitivizes verbs by itself and therefore it makes an antipassive marker redundant, in contrast to constructions with 6rγiˇcγu (see (40b, c)). In preor postposition to -w6lγ, the suffix -tku/-tko occurs in a number of examples (its postposition indicates that it is not used in the antipassive function). On some bases, it marks reciprocity, though it is mostly iterative in meaning or does not render any perceptible meaning (cf. (22)). Another antipassive marker, viz. ine/ena-, also sometimes co-occurs with -w6lγ. The following forms have occurred in our corpus (the meaning of the base verbs is clear from the translations). As we see, some of the verbs occur both with and without -tku/-tko (as a rule, the informants cannot determine in the tests which variant, with or without -tku, is the one used in the original text). (19) a. ˇciˇcek-w6lγ‘to understand each other’ k6lt6-w6lγ‘to tie, bandage each other’ l‘u-w6lγ‘to see/meet each other’ ommaˇcajp6-w6lγ‘to embrace each other’ b. ˇciˇcek-w6lγ-6-tku‘to understand each other’ ejmit-w6lγ-6-tku‘to grasp each other’ c. ‘ejηew-tku-w6lγ‘to call each other’ γite-tku-w6lγ‘to glance at each other’ lewal6-tko-w6lγ‘to call each other waving a hand’

palomtel-w6lγ‘to listen to each other’ penr6-w6lγ‘to attack each other’ p6nlo-w6lγ‘to ask each other’

γite-w6lγ-6-tku‘to glance at each other’ l‘u-w6lγ-6-tku‘to see/meet each other’ ommaˇcajp6-tko-w6lγ‘to embrace each other’ r6r6me-tko-w6lγ‘to replace/stand in for each other’ piri-tku-w6lγ‘to grasp each other’

I have also encountered a case of -tku/-tko used twice, both before and after the reciprocal suffix: it denotes both iterativity and plurality (‘many’) of subject referents: (20) Q6nwer, t6m-6-tko-w6lγ-6-tko-γ‘at (TM. 141) at.least kill-6-tku-rec-6-tko-aor.3pl ‘At least (they) killed each other.’ (of many, repeatedly)

Here are a few more textual examples:

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Chukchi reciprocals 

6m6l‘o. . . maˇc-wanewan n6-ˇciˇcek-w6lγ-6-net (ST. 49) all.abs almost-neg imp.3-understand-rec-6-3pl ‘All [the people] practically did not understand each other.’ b. 6m6l‘o q-ejmit-w6lγ-6-tku-t6k! (RO. 60) all imp.2-grab-rec-6-tku-2pl ‘Everybody, catch hold of each other!’ c. Nute-lejw6-l‘-6t l6lep6-tku-w6lγ-γ‘et (RI. 53) earth-wander-part-abs.pl look-apass-rec-aor.3pl ‘The travellers exchanged glances between themselves.’ d. . . . kapˇcaˇcet6 n-‘ejηew-6-tku-w6lγ-6-qinet (TN. 14) in.confusion impf-call-6-apass-rec-6-3pl ‘. . . (birds) were calling to each other with alarm.’

(21) a.

When added to the reciprocal suffix, -tku/-tko stresses repetition but it is not obligatory and can be omitted without any significant change in meaning. An illustration of this is (22), where a reciprocal in -w6lγ is used in an iterative context with and without -tku/-tko: (22) Taγrat 6nk‘am T‘aju empetle n6-l‘u-w6lγ-6-tku-qinet ewene-ma. . . T. and T. soon impf-see-rec-6-tku-3pl hunt-conv γ6nniηη6tt6l‘-6t l6nγ6rit n6-l‘u-w6lγ-6-qinet γel-6-tk6n-6k hunter-abs.pl usually impf-see-rec-6-3pl ice-surface-loc ‘ir-w6tγ6r-6k (Ry. 30-1) cross-middle-loc ‘Tagrat and Taju often saw each other when hunting. . . The hunters usually saw each other (= met) on an ice-floe in the strait’.

In all the examples cited above there are no reciprocals derived from morphological causatives, whereas for unclear reasons, in both attested reciprocals derived from morphological causatives the antipassive prefix ine- is used (cf. causative derivations: r6nγiiw- ‘to meet with sb’ → r6-r6nγiiw- ‘to meet sb’; pirk6l-et- ‘to choke’ → r6-pirk6l-ew- ‘to strangle’). 6tri neme ine-n-r6nγiiw-w6lγ-6-γ‘et (RO. 38) they.abs again apass-caus-meet-rec-6-aor.3pl ‘They met again.’ (cf. (28c) with a reciprocal formed from a two-place vi) b. Utt-6t ine-n-pirk6l-ew-w6lγ-6-rk6-t (MP. 86) tree-pl.abs apass-caus-choke-caus-rec-6-progr-3pl ‘The trees strangle one another.’

(23) a.

.. Derived from two-place intransitives In this group the base verbs take an object in the dative or comitative case. Two subtypes can be distinguished, derivations from lexical reciprocals on which the

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reciprocal suffix may generally be omitted, and from other verbs on which it cannot be omitted. The following forms have occurred in my corpus (in contrast to the reciprocals of transitives, all of these reciprocals are attested without -tku/-tko): 1. With lexical reciprocals: (24) ittil-w6lγ‘to bump against each other’ m6η-ajmet-w6lγ‘to shake hands with each other’ r6nγiiw-w6lγ‘to meet each other’

ukwet-w6lγ‘to kiss each other’ wetγak-w6lγ‘to talk with each other’

2. With other verbs: (25) iw-w6lγ‘to exchange words’ l6lep-w6lγ‘to look at each other’ p6kir-w6lγ‘to come to each other(’s place)’

wejmen-6-ˇc‘et-w6lγ‘to respect each other’ winret-w6lγ‘to help each other’ ‘6lγ6-ˇc‘et-w6lγ‘to love each other’

Sentential examples: 6tri m6η-ajmet-w6lγ-6-γ‘at (RO. 99) they.abs hand-press-rec-6-aor.3pl ‘They shook hands [with each other].’ b. Qora-t n6-lejw-6-qinet, n-ittil-w6lγ-6-qinet . . . r6nn-a (ST. 79) deer-abs.pl impf-go-6-3pl impf-hit-rec-6-3pl horn-inst ‘The deer wandered about and hit each other with their horns.’ c. Wopq6 6tri qora-η6 γe-r6nγiiw-w6lγ-6-linet (JL. 28) elk.abs and deer-abs perf-meet-rec-6-3pl ‘The elk and the deer met.’ d. . . . 6n6kit tumγ-6t wejmen-6-ˇc‘et-w6lγ-e, winret-w6lγ-e if comrade-pl respect-6-ˇc?et-rec-conv help-rec-conv ra-twa-rk6ne-η6t. . . (RI. 52) fut-live-progr-3pl ‘. . . if friends will live respecting each other and helping each other. . . ’ e. 6tri p6kir-w6lγ-6-γ‘et jara-k (BL. 145) they arrive-rec-aor.3pl house-loc ‘They met at home.’

(26) a.

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Chukchi reciprocals 

. Reciprocal constructions containing an object. Reflexive-reciprocal pronoun? I have no reliable examples of this type. The following example derived from a lexical reciprocal may give an idea of this type of construction. There seems to be a tendency to avoid a direct object with suffixed reciprocals. In (27b) the recovered object should be in the instrumental case (this is probably the reason behind the use of the suffix -tku). (27) a.

[Morγ6nan] m6t-tejw6η-γ‘en t6m-jo we.erg 1pl-divide-aor.3sg kill-pass.part.abs ‘We divided the catch.’ b. [Muri] m6t-tejw6η-w6lγ-6-tku[-m6k] [t6m-jo-ta] (ST. 40) we.abs 1pl-divide-rec-6-tku-aor.1pl kill-pass.part-inst ‘We shared the catch between ourselves.’

(28d) taken from a Chukchi fairytale is the only example with a grammatical direct object I have at my disposal, with the base non-reciprocal constructions (28a–b) added. This example is not proof that reciprocals in -w6lγ can take a direct object expressed by a noun other than uwik. The point is, the expression ˇcinit-kine-t uwiki-t (ABS) lit. ‘ones’ own bodies’ which is regarded in the literature as reflexive can express the reciprocal meaning ‘each other’, i.e. the meaning attested for the corresponding Koryak expression (see (70), (71) below). And cross-linguistically such [reflexive-]reciprocal pronouns not infrequently co-occur with affixed reciprocals,4 as is attested in Alyutor (cf. (72) below). γ6mnan γ6t t6-n6-mˇcek-w6t 5 I.erg you.sg.abs 1sg.sb-caus-break-aor.2sg.ob lit. ‘I broke you of a bad habit.’ b. γ6nan γ6m ine-n6-mˇcek-w‘i you.erg I.abs 1sg.ob-caus-break-aor.2sg.sb lit. ‘You broke my body of a bad habit.’ c. Muri m6t-6-n6-mˇcek-w6lγ-6-m6k we.abs 1pl.sb-6-caus-break-rec-aor-1pl.sb ‘We have broken each other of a bad habit!’

(28) a.

transitive

transitive

intransitive

(28c) illustrates the standard formation of reciprocals with the suffix -w6lγ which results in detransitivization of the base verb. In (28d), however, the same reciprocal is used as transitive and it is in agreement with the reflexive pronoun as object (cf. (1) where it is ABS.SG).

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(28) d. Weler [morγ6nan] ˇcinit-kine-t uwiki-t at.least we.erg self-poss-pl body-abs.pl ˇ 12) m6t-6-n6-mˇcek-w6lγ-6-net! (TC. 1pl.sb-6-caus-break-rec-aor-3pl.ob ‘At least we have broken each other of a bad habit!’

transitive

. Successive subevents As in other languages, the meaning of succession or simultaneity of reciprocal subevents is determined by the lexical meaning of the base. Succession of subevents may be indicated by the adverb emr6nγiite ‘by turns’; cf.: (29) Naqam emr6nγiite palomtel-w6lγ-a n-it-qinet: ev6r 6nnen well by.turns listen-rec-inst impf-aux-3pl when one n6-wetgaw-qen, qol-6m n6-palomtel-qen (BL. 27) impf-tell-3sg other-emph impf-listen-3sg ‘Well, they listened to each other by turns: when one talked the other listened.’

. Causatives from suffixed reciprocals (30) is the only example of this type I have found in running texts (derivational chain: l‘u- ‘to see’ > l‘u-w6lγ- ‘to see each other, meet’ > r6-l‘u-w6lγ-et- ‘to make see each other’): (30) Qol [g6m] ine-nt-6-γ‘i ine-n-l‘u-w6lγ-et-γ‘i γ6nan one I.abs 1sg-aux-6-aor.3sg 1sg-caus-see-rec-caus-aor.3sg you.erg γ6n-6γ-ηaakka-γt6 (ŠL. 109) you-loc-daughter-dat ‘Once you brought me and your daughter together’, lit. ‘. . . you made me see each other to your daughter.’

. The suffix -w6lγ on nouns, pronouns and adverbs The reciprocal forms in question denote spatial proximity or contiguity of two or more entities. 1. The suffix -w6lγ on nouns (31) 6tri. . . ‘6l-ra-ˇc6ko w6janlan-ma n-atˇc6-qenat, ˇcinit they.abs snow-house-inside storm-conv impf-hide-3pl self uwik-w6lγ-6k n-omaw-qenat (RO. 67) body-rec-loc impf-warm-3pl

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Chukchi reciprocals 

‘During the snow-storm they were hiding in the igloo, warming up with their own (lit. ‘mutual’) bodies.’ (i.e. ‘A warms himself with B’s body and B warms himself with A’s body’).

2. The suffix -w6lγ on pronouns (32) 6tri n6-le-qinat ˇcik-w6lt-e, q6mek 6r-6k-w6lγ-e they impf-walk-3pl almost-tight-conv almost they-loc-rec-inst aˇcγ6ta (SM. 55) next.to ‘They walked very closely packed, they were almost in one row with each other.’

3. The suffix -w6lγ on adverbs. In the examples at my disposal the reciprocal suffix is used on a lexical reciprocal; cf.: ˇ 88) (33) ηirek 6rγin-et ηelw6l‘-6t ˇcimˇce-w6lγ-e n6-twa-qenat (OC. two their-pl herd-abs.pl near-rec-adv impf-be-3pl ‘Their two herds were near each other.’

. Nomina actionis Suffixed reciprocals can be nominalized, like any other verbs, by means of the suffix -γ6rγ, and the derivatives function as common nouns; cf.: 6tri l‘u-w6lγ-6-γ‘et they.abs see-rec-6-aor.3pl ‘They met.’ b. Tintin n-unt6m-‘ew n-‘atˇca-qen l‘o-w6lγ-6-γ6rγ-et6 (RI. 133) T.abs adv-quiet-adv impf-wait-3sg see-rec-6-nr-dat ‘Tintin was quietly awaiting the meeting.’

(34) a.

(35) ηaw‘an-penr6-w6lγ-6n (TM. 141) woman-attack-rec-place-abs lit. ‘the place where women attacked each other.’ (the name of a mountain) (-6n/-6nw is a partial homonym of -6n in 6tl6g-6n; cf. paragraph 2 in Section 1)

. Lexicalization So far, I have found only one instance of lexicalization of a reciprocal verb, which may be evidence of the recent origin of the suffix -w6lγ. Both lexicalized meanings are predictable: they have parallels in other languages of the area. This verb retains its standard reciprocal meaning as well:

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(36) l‘u- ‘to see, find’ → l‘u-w6lγi. ‘to see each other’ (standard meaning); ii. ‘to meet’ (slight lexicalization); iii. ‘to fight (in order to measure swords with sb’) (MI. 75).

. Reciprocal constructions with the pronominal adverb 6rγiˇcγu ‘they mutually’ . Introduction The semantic distinctions between suffixed reciprocals and those with the adverb 6rγiˇcγu ‘they mutually’ are hard to formulate. Both of these reciprocal markers may be used on the same base verbs and they can also be used together pleonastically. I have in mind their use on two-place transitive and two-place intransitive bases. Unlike constructions with reciprocals in -w6lγ, those with 6rγiˇcγu can retain the direct object when derived from three-place transitive bases (see 5.3). In this case the adverb replaces the indirect object. Due to its adverbial status, 6rγiˇcγu cannot occupy the direct object position (thus it differs from the English pronoun each other which is employed as its translation equivalent). Therefore, when used with this adverb two-place transitive verbs necessarily undergo antipassivization. Thus, this type of reciprocal constructions cannot contain a direct object. Constructions with two-place transitives are intransitive, like constructions with suffixed reciprocal verbs. The reciprocal adverb has three personal forms related to the respective personal pronouns muri ‘we’, turi ‘you.PL’ and 6tri ‘they’ In (37) the final -u is a fossilized essive case marker (see paragraph 2 in Section 1); the stem murγi- is related to the possessive murγ-in ‘our’ and this form in its turn is descended from the locative form mur-6k/mur-6γ- which can be used attributively in the meaning ‘our’; the suffix -ˇcγ- occurs in the magnifying meaning but its semantic relation to the reciproal meaning is not traceable: (37) murγi-ˇcγ-u ‘we mutually’ (cf. (53a, b)) turγi-ˇcγ-u ‘you mutually’ (cf. (38) where it is replaced by the 3rd p. form) 6rγi-ˇcγ-u ‘they mutually’ (cf. (39))6

The 1st and 2nd person forms are very rare, and there seems to be a tendency to use the 3rd person form instead of them (some of my informants did not understand the 1st and 2nd person forms, and some did not understand even the 3rd person form). Here is an example of such usage:

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Chukchi reciprocals

(38) “Torγ6nan γemo, mik6-ne ipe 6rγiˇcγu [instead of turγiˇcγu] you.erg not.know who-loc really mutually you.mutually n6-nju-tku-turi, ‘orawetl‘a-t qora-k qaˇca ew6tl6m qaa-t impf-pasture-apass-2pl man-abs.pl deer-loc near or deer-abs.pl ‘orawetl‘a-k qaˇca ?” (Ry. 184) man-loc near ‘Do you really not know where (lit. ‘by whom’) you pasture each other, people next to the deer or the deer next to the people?’ (the situation: a jocular question to the Chukchis who follow the herds of semi-domestic reindeer).

The reciprocal adverb may take any position in the sentence structure, even between the notional part of a periphrastic predicate and the auxiliary; cf.: (39) Remk-6n taη-am-maraw-a 6rγiˇcγu re-n‘el-6 (TN.7) people-abs.sg very-only-fight-conv mutually fut-become-3sg ‘The people will begin fighting with each other.’

. Intransitive reciprocal constructions .. With two-place transitive bases There are constructions with two types of antipassives. In most of the examples at my disposal, antipassives are formed by means of the suffix -tku/-tko, and in one instance by the prefix ine-/ena- (these markers are generally absent on intransitives). 1. Reciprocal constructions with antipassives in -tku/-tko: Ajwanal‘-a 6tri n6-γite-qinet Eskimo-inst they.abs impf-look-3pl ‘The Eskimos looked at them.’ b. *Ajwanal‘-a n6-γite-qinet 6rγiˇcγu Eskimo-inst impf-look-3pl mutually (intended meaning:) ‘The Eskimos looked at each other.’ paγˇceη-et6 n6-γite-tku-qinet 6rγiˇcγu (Ry. 118) c. Ajwanal‘-6t Eskimo-abs.pl curious-adv impf-look-apass-3pl mutually ‘The Eskimos looked with curiousity at each other.’

(40) a.

Here is a list of reciprocals of this type encountered in the running texts; as we see, some of the bases cited above with the reciprocal suffix recur here: (41) 6rγiˇcγu ejp6-tku‘to cover each other’ 6rγiˇcγu γite-tku‘to look at each other’

6rγiˇcγu p6η6lo-tko‘to ask each other’ 6rγiˇcγu ru-tku‘to devour each other’



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6rγiˇcγu l6γi l6η6-tku‘to know each other’ 6rγiˇcγu ommaˇcajp6-tko‘to embrace each other’

6rγiˇcγu r6r6me-tko‘to relieve each other’ 6rγiˇcγu up6-tku‘to push each other’

‘6tt‘-6t 6rγiˇcγu n6-nu-tku-qinet (Ry. 212) dog-pl.abs mutually impf-devour-apass-3pl ‘The dogs devoured each other.’ b. γ6nr6ret6-l‘-6t n6-nr6me-tko-qenat 6rγiˇcγu (Ry. 43) guard-act.part-abs.pl impf-relieve-apass-3pl mutually ‘The guards relieve each other.’ c. 6rγiˇcγu naqam telenjep ten-l6γi γe-tˇc-6-tku-linet (KK. 6) mutually but long.ago very-know perf-aux-6-apass-3pl ‘But they have known each other very well for a long time.’

(42) a.

2. Reciprocal constructions with antipassives in ine-/ena-. Following is the only example of this type at our disposal. Characteristically, as in the cases with -w6lγ (see (23a, b)), this reciprocal is derived from a morphological causative: Tejkew6-l‘-e 6tlon r6-t‘6l-ew-nin wrestle-act.part-inst he.abs caus-ache-caus-aor.3sg:3sg ‘The wrestler caused him pain.’ b. Tejkew6-l‘-6t ˇcama q6r6m 6rγiˇcγu wrestle-act.part-abs.pl besides neg they mutually ˇ 27) ine-n-t‘6l-ew-6-l‘-6-lq6l-ti (OC. apass-caus-ache-caus-6-act.part-6-must-pl.abs ‘Besides, the wrestlers should not cause pain to each other.’

(43) a.

.. With two-place intransitive bases In these cases the antipassive marker is usually redundant, though possible in one of its other functions, e.g. in the iterative function. This case also covers reciprocals from labile verbs (see paragraph 6 in Section 1). 1. Examples with lexical reciprocals: (44) 6rγiˇcγu enaγlat‘to be alike’ 6rγiˇcγu janr‘at‘to part from each other’ 6rγiˇcγu maraw‘to fight, quarrel’

6rγiˇcγu r‘eˇcumket‘to get entwined’ 6rγiˇcγu wetγaw‘to talk with each other’

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Chukchi reciprocals 

2. With other verbs, such as the following (teγinηet- ‘to kill (a man)’ is intransitive!) (45) 6rγiˇcγu ˇciˇc6-l‘et ‘understand each other’ 6rγiˇcγu ejmew‘to approach each other’ 6rγiˇcγu ‘eqeliηet‘to be afraid of each other’ 6rγiˇcγu γ6nr6ret‘to guard each other’

6rγiˇcγu l6lep‘to glance at each other’ 6rγiˇcγu teγinηet‘to kill each other’ 6rγiˇcγu teη6ˇc‘et‘to love each other’

Sentential examples: 6tr‘eˇc quneˇce 6tl6γ-6n 6nk‘am ek6k 6rγiˇcγu true once father.abs and son.abs mutually γa-janr‘at-lenat (TN. 46) perf-part-3pl ‘And only once did the father and son part from each other.’ b. 6tri q6r6mena-t maraw6-l‘-6-lq6l-te 6rγiˇcγu (RO. 7) they.abs neg-pl fight-act.part-6-must-pl mutually ‘They must not fight with each other.’ c. 6tt‘-6t 6rγiˇcγu n6-r‘eˇcumket-qinet, n6-k‘ola-qenat (ST. 50) dog-pl.abs mutually impf-entangle-3pl impf-whine-3pl ‘The dogs were entangled [in their harness], whined.’ d. 6tri 6rγiˇcγu l6γ-ejmek-w‘et (RI. 107) they.abs mutually very-approach-aor.3pl ‘They approached each other.’

(46) a.

. Transitive reciprocal constructions In this case the antipassive marker is generally absent because the reciprocal adverb substitutes for a non-direct object. The direct object is retained and an indirect object is replaced by the reciprocal adverb, the ergative construction being preserved: 6tl6γ-e akka-γt6 n-ena-tw6-qen marak-w6rγ-6n father-erg son-dat impf-ena-tell-3sg war-nr-abs.sg ‘Father told his son about the war.’ b. 6tl6γ-e 6nk‘am ekke-te 6rγiˇcγu n6-tw6-qen father-erg and son-erg mutually impf-tell-3sg(obj) marak-w6rγ-6n (TN. 62) war-nr-abs.sg ‘Father and son told each other about the war.’

(47) a.

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 Vladimir P. Nedjalkov

6rγ6nan 6rγiˇcγu keli-t ne-n-l‘u-ηet-6-net they.erg mutually book-abs.pl 3pl.sb-caus-see-caus-6-aor.3pl.ob ‘They show books to each other.’ b. 6rγ6nan 6rγiˇcγu ne-j6l-6-rk6-net qaa-t they.erg mutually 3pl.sb-give-6-pres.progr-3pl.ob deer-pl ‘They give deer to each other.’

(48) a.

. Pleonastic use of 6rγiˇcγu with suffixed reciprocals As (49) shows, the reciprocal adverb can be used pleonastically, for highlighting reciprocity, with verbs of various lexical classes. The following collocations are registered in texts: (49) p6nlo-w6lγ- 6rγiˇcγu lit. ‘to ask each other mutually’ 6rγiˇcγu ukwet-w6lγ- lit. ‘to kiss each other mutually’ l6lep6-tku-w6lγ- 6rγiˇcγu lit. ‘to look at each other mutually’ l‘u-w6lγ- 6rγiˇcγu lit. ‘to see each other (= meet) mutually’ 6rγiˇcγu ˇciˇcek-w6lγ- lit. ‘to understand each other mutually’.

The following examples registered on the same page of a book illustrate nonpleonastic and pleonastic use of the reciprocal adverb with the same base. 6rγiˇcγu 6tri n6-teη-ˇciˇcek-qinet (MN. 4) mutually they.abs impf-well-understand-3pl ‘They understood each other very well.’ b. . . . 6tr‘eˇc-6m ˇcinit 6rγiˇcγu lun-ˇciˇcek-w6lγ-e but-inst themselves mutually neg-understand-rec-conv n-it-qinet (MN. 4) impf-aux-3pl ‘. . . but they themselves did not understand each other.’

(50) a.

. The use of the adverb 6rγiˇcγu with nouns and adverbs The base nouns and adverbs are two-place lexical reciprocals (e.g. ‘A is the enemy of B’, ‘A is not far from B’). Note that in Section 4.5 adverbs taking the suffix -w6lγ are also lexical reciprocals (see (33)). 1. The adverb 6rγiˇcγu with nouns (51) . . . tite emnuη6-l‘-6t 6rγiˇcγu ‘eqel‘-u when tundra-act.part-pl.abs mutually enemy-ess n6-n‘el-qinet (RI. 33) impf-become-3pl ‘. . . when the tundra Chukchis become enemies to each other.’

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Chukchi reciprocals 

2. The adverb 6rγiˇcγu with adverbs; e.g.: (52) 6tri n6-twetˇca-twa-qenat 6rγiˇcγu maˇc-6jaa (BL. 50) they impf-stand.up-be-3pl mutually not.quite-far ‘They stood not quite far from each other.’

. Nomina actionis Deverbal nouns are formed by means of the suffix -γ6rγ. It is usually preceded by the antipassive -tku/-tko; e.g.: Muri murγiˇcγu m6t-6-n-r6nγiiw6-tku-m6k we.abs we.mutually 1pl-6-caus-meet-apass-aor.1pl ‘We met each other.’ b. 6tl6γ-e ket‘o-ηηo-nen murγiˇcγu father-erg remember-begin-aor.3sg+3sg we.mutually r6-r6nγeew6-tko-γ6rγ-6n (ST. 31) caus-meet-apass-nr-abs.sg ‘Father began to recollect our meeting’, lit. ‘. . . meeting mutually.’

(53) a.

. Reciprocals with the suffix -ˇcit/-ˇcet . Introductory This marker is peripheral in expressing reciprocity but it is of typological interest because of its polysemy (unlike the above two means, namely the suffix -w6lγ and the adverb 6rγiˇcγu) and concerns certain semantic domains of reciprocity. Its reciprocal meaning is context-dependent and it is low on the scale of productivity (which testifies, most likely, to its being “older” than -w6lγ and 6rγiˇcγu). Its other meanings, more or less closely related to the reciprocal proper, are competitive (including playing and struggling), iterative and intensive. Sometimes, it has a pejorative connotation, i.e. a negative evaluation of the action. Not infrequently, one or the other meaning is difficult to identify even in a context. On a number of verbs, it is lexicalized; some verbs are not used without this suffix. It does not possess an intransitivizing function; therefore, when used reciprocally on transitives, it co-occurs with the antipassive marker -tku/-tko (cf. (54)). I have not found any examples of the occurrence of the suffix -w6lγ after the suffix -ˇcit/-ˇcet, while the reverse sequence occurs sometimes (see (60b)). There are also instances of cooccurrence of derivatives in -ˇcit/-ˇcet with the adverb 6rγiˇcγu (see (60a)). Below, I shall briefly consider all the main meanings of this suffix, as a background for the reciprocal meaning, in order to show what meanings are contiguous to it.

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 Vladimir P. Nedjalkov

. Reciprocal meaning .. Intransitive reciprocal constructions ... Derived from two-place transitives. As well as in the cases with 6rγiˇcγu, the use of the suffix -ˇcit/-ˇcet in the attested examples requires prior antipassivization of the base by means of -tku/-tko. The examples at my disposal describe struggling, competing, ousting. This type of derivation concerns bases used transitively only (i.e. labile verbs do not belong here; verbs which occur with -tku/-tko regularly enough and are therefore labile are included in the type considered in 6.2.1.2). The reciprocals in (54a, b) are derived from the transitives r6ttel-nen ‘he pressed him down’ and ‘elemqute-nen ‘he pushed him’. ‘orawetl‘a-t . . . r6ttel6-tko-ˇcet-6-rk6-t (GP. 107) man-pl.abs press-apass-ˇcet-6-pres.progr-3pl ‘People jostle each other (while there is so much room on earth).’ b. . . . 6m6l‘o . . . t6ηeret-ti . . . ‘elemqute-tku-ˇcit-γ‘et (MP. 85) all.abs plant-abs.pl oust-apass-ˇcit-aor.3pl ‘. . . all the plants ousted each other.’

(54) a.

... Derived from two-place intransitives. Some of the bases are underived labile (transitive/intransitive) verbs. Therefore they do not require antipassivization, contrary to the verbs in 6.2.1.1, although they may occur with the suffix -tku/-tko due to a kind of “antipassive inertia” (this concerns the verb ukwet- i. ‘to kiss sb’, ii. ‘to kiss each other’; cf. (3)) or in the iterative meaning. About a half of the base verbs are lexical reciprocals, and the suffix -ˇcit/-ˇcet is particularly frequent on some of them. They fall into the following lexical groups (the meaning of the base verbs is usually clear from that of the derivatives, excepting those which have no bases). 1. Verbs of hostile actions (55) ‘etjiw-ˇcittejkew-ˇcit‘to scold each other, quarrel’ ‘to wrestle with each other, fight’ utku-ˇcitlewlew-ˇcet‘to jeer at each other’ ‘to fight, beat’ (cf. utku-ˇc‘-6n ‘trap’) maraw-ˇcetwet‘at-ˇcet‘to squabble, fight with each other’ ‘to butt each other’ r6np6-ˇcetup6-tku-ˇcit‘to quarrel’ (? r6np6-) (MI. 119) ‘to peck each other’ (cf. up- ‘to push’) ‘eqe-ˇcit- ‘to quarrel’ (eqe- = bound stem, cf. ‘eqe-tku- ‘to abuse each other’) m6ηep-ˇcit- ‘to jeer at each other’ (cf. m6ηep-et- ‘same’; MI. 80)

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Chukchi reciprocals 

2. Verbs of communication and the like (56) l6lep-ˇcit‘to look at each other’ ukwet-ˇcit‘to kiss each other’ wetγaw-ˇcet‘to talk with each other’ l6lep-w6lγ-6-ˇcit-e ‘looking at each other’

γite-tku-ˇcit‘to look at each other’ ukwet6-tku-ˇcit‘to kiss each other’ r6r6me-tko-ˇcet‘to relieve each other’ j6ηo-tko-ˇcet‘to sniff each other’ (traditional greeting instead of kissing)

3. Denominal verbs with the suffix -u/-o denoting obtaining or consuming are labile (‘to get, kill, obtain, eat, etc.’; pont6 ‘liver’ > pont-o-γ‘e ‘he has eaten liver’ > pont-o-nen ‘he has eaten his liver’ > pont-o-ˇcet-γ‘at ‘they have eaten each other’s liver’). (57) m6ml-u-ˇcit- ‘to look for lice on each other’ pont-o-ˇcet- ‘to eat each other’s liver’ wanw-o-ˇcet- ‘to seize each other’s place, oust each other’

Sentential examples: 6tri γ-‘etjiw-ˇcit-linet (SM. 101) they.abs perf-scold-ˇcit-3pl ‘They quarrelled.’ b. . . . briγada-k wanewan n-‘eqe-ˇcit-6-net (ŠL. 55) brigade-loc neg imp.3-bad-ˇcit-6-3pl ‘. . . in the brigade, they did not quarrel.’ c. . . . ukwet-6-tku-ˇcit-6-rk6-t ηew6sqet-ti (ŠL. 16) kiss-6-tku-ˇcit-6-pres.progr-3pl woman-pl.abs ‘. . . the women kiss each other.’ d. “Am6n iwke, m6n6-ml-u-ˇcit-6-rk6n!” (BL. 79) well imp.1pl-louse-get-ˇcit-6-progr ‘Well, let us look for lice on each other/by turns!’ e. “. . . 6nrak-6m m6n-pont-o-ˇcen-m6k!” (JL. 59) well imp.1pl-liver-eat-ˇcit-pfv.1pl ‘. . . Well, let’s eat each other’s liver!’

(58) a.

.. Transitive reciprocal constructions These reciprocals are derived from three-place verbs. In (59b), the underlying direct object and ergative construction are retained and the indirect object undergoes deletion.

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 Vladimir P. Nedjalkov

‘6tt‘-e 6n6ka-jp6 nelγ6-t‘ul n-in-itke-qin dog-erg he-abl skin-piece.abs impf-ine-snatch-3sg ‘The dog tried to snatch a piece of deer-skin from him.’ b. ‘6tt‘-e nelγ6-t‘ul n-itke-ˇcit-qin (ST. 33) dog-erg skin-piece impf-snatch-ˇcit-3sg ‘The dogs tried to snatch a piece of deer-skin from each other.’

(59) a.

. Pleonastic use of -ˇcit/-ˇcet There are cases of the suffix -ˇcit/-ˇcet co-occuring with -w6lγ or 6rγiˇcγu on the same verb, e.g. on l6lep-/-tlep- ‘to look’ in the following examples: . . . naqam l6γe-kaˇc‘aret6 6rγiˇcγu n6-tlep-ˇcit-qinet (RI. 14) but very-joyfully mutually impf-look-ˇcit-3pl ‘. . . but they looked at each other with joy.’ b. . . . l6lep-w6lγ-6-ˇcit-e (SM. 15) look-rec-6-ˇcit-conv ‘. . . looking at each other.’

(60) a.

. Verbs of competition. Derivatives from verbs, adjectives and nouns I will consider here all the derivations with the lexical meanings of competition and playing. 1. Deverbal derivatives. The base verbs denote actions which are often performed in competition (e.g. ‘to jump’, ‘to pull’, ‘to push’, etc.) and also overtaking (cf. γala- ‘to overtake’).7 Some of the derivatives are synonymous to the bases. (61) γala-ˇcet- ‘compete in driving deer- or dog-sledges’ (MI. 30) ← γala- ‘to overtake’ γala-tko-ˇcet- (same as γala-ˇcet-) (MI. 30) ← γala-[tko-] ‘to overtake’ ‘iret-ˇcit- i. (same as γala-ˇcet-), ii. ‘to run fast’ ← ‘ire- (same) piηku-ˇcit- i. ‘to jump repeatedly’, ii. ‘to compete in jumping’ ← piηku- ‘to jump’ tiηu-ˇcit- ‘to compete in pulling a rope’ (MI. 131) ← tiηu- (vt) ‘to pull’ up-ˇcit- ‘to compete in weight-lifting’ (MI. 140) ← up- (vt) ‘to push’ qr‘a-ˇcet- ‘to compete’ (= qraq-at- (same); MI. 66).

2. Deadjectival derivatives. Their meaning of competition is lexically dependent and they comprise a closed set, most of them being lexicalized reciprocals. There are other verbal derivatives from these bases, e.g. erme-w- ‘to become strong’; γ6tte-w- ‘to become sly’.

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Chukchi reciprocals 

(62) erme-ˇcit- ‘to compete in strength’ (cf. n-erme-qin ‘he [is] strong’) erme-γite-tku-ˇcit- = erme-ˇcit-; γite- ‘to see’8 γ6tte-ˇcit- ‘to outwit each other’ (MI. 36) (cf. n6-γ6tte-qin ‘he [is] sly’) m6tlo-ˇcet- ‘to be in training (for competitions)’ (cf. n6-m6tlo-qen ‘agile’)

3. Denominal and deverbal derivatives with the meaning of playing. Relative productivity of the suffix -ˇcit/-ˇcet in the meaning of playing is witnessed by the fact that none of the last three derivatives is registered in the dictionaries. (63) atˇc6-ˇcet- ‘to play hide and seek’ (MI. 15) (cf. atˇc6- ‘to hide’) ‘elul‘-6-ˇcit- ‘to lasso a doll imitating saving sth/sb’ (cf. ‘elul‘6 ‘doll’) kel‘e-ˇcit- ‘to play devils’ (cf. kel6 ‘devil’) maraw6l‘-6-ˇcet- ‘to play soldiers, war’ (cf. maraw6l‘-6n ‘fighter’).

Textual examples: 6tri n-‘iret-ˇcit-qinet, they.abs impf-rush-ˇcit-3pl n6-γala-ˇcetko-qenat (KK. 89) (-ˇcetko < -ˇcet-tko) impf-overcome-ˇcetko-3pl ‘They (dog-sledges) rushed forward competing, leaving each other behind.’ b. . . . tite qlaw6l-te 6tr‘eˇc erme-γite-tku-ˇcit-e 6nk6 when man-abs.pl only strong-look-tku-ˇcit-conv then n-it-qinet (RI. 84) impf-aux-3pl ‘. . . when the men were busy only competing in strength.’ ˇ 38) c. “Kitaqun-6m m6n-γ6tte-ˇcin-m6k, erγat6k neme q6-jet-γi (TC. hey-emph imp.1pl-sly-ˇcit-1pl tomorrow again imp.2-come-2sg ‘Hey, let us try to outwit each other, come again tomorrow.’ d. “M6n-kel‘e-ˇcin-m6k. γ 6m kel‘e-nu m-it-γ‘ek” (JN.18) imp.1pl-devil-ˇcit-1pl I.abs devil-ess imp.1sg-aux-1sg ‘Let us play devils. I shall be a devil.’

(64) a.

. Intensive meaning This meaning is not clearcut and it is often related to competition with an implication of overcoming some difficulties or resistance, sometimes of a chaotic reckless action. Most of the examples are from direct speech. (65) a.

“. . . remk-6n moo-rk6n qor-o-ˇcet-6k” (BL. 209) people-abs begin-pres.progr.3sg deer-get-ˇcet-inf ‘. . . the people are in a hurry to take their deer from the (common) herd.’

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 Vladimir P. Nedjalkov

b. “. . . 6nk‘am m6n6-tku-ˇcit-6n γ6tγ6n. . . !” (BL. 57) and imp.1pl-make.empty-ˇcit-3sg lake.abs ‘. . . and let us scoop out (empty) the lake!’ c. . . . 6nr‘a ηan ne-piri-ˇcit-γ‘en 6nk6 enm6-sq-6k at once 3pl-seize-ˇcit-aor.3sg there rock-surface-loc ηew6sqet (BL. 108) woman.abs ‘. . . and at once they fell on (as if pushing each other) the woman on the rock.’ d. . . . r6pet 6tri ‘6t‘6joˇca n6-ta-tko-ˇcet-qenat (JL. 23) even they.abs forward impf-pass.by-tko-ˇcet-3pl ‘. . . even they passed forward (as if jostling each other).’

. Unclear usages of the suffix -ˇcit/-ˇcet To complete the picture, it may be useful to mention verbs on which the meaning of this suffix is not clear. The context of returning to the initial state, i.e. a kind of sinusoidal change, can be observed here: strong (people) > dying out > strong (people); strong (wind) > calming down > strong again. The last example under (66c) seems to indicate a connection with the dispersive meaning ‘in many places’. “. . . r6pet 6m6 w‘i-tku-ˇcit-6-l‘-6t warat-te even also die-iter-ˇcit-act.part-abs.pl people.abs.pl arma-warat-o n6-n‘el-qinet” (RO. 109) strong-people-ess impf-become-3pl ‘. . . (it so happens that) even the peoples that are dying out may become strong.’ b. K6t6jγ-6n n6-meˇc-unt6mew6-ˇcet-qin, 6nko neme wind-abs.sg impf-slightly-abate-ˇcet-3sg then again p6tq-arma-η n6-n‘el-qin (MP. 40) even-strong-cmpr impf-become-3sg ‘The wind would calm down and then again become even stronger.’ c. 6rγine-t wank6t-te . . . γa-ˇcγat-ˇcet-lenat (Ry. 116) their-pl fang-abs.pl perf-crack-ˇcet-3pl ‘Their (old walruses’) fangs are covered with cracks.’

(66) a.

In conclusion, here is a passage from an original text especially rich in different ways of reciprocal marking: (67) Tejkew6-l‘-6t mal-‘ataw penr6-tko-w6lγ-6-mγo-γ?at, wrestle-act.part-abs.pl seems-in.vain attack-apass-rec-begin-aor.3pl naqam tan-ran‘aw 6rγiˇcγu n6-twa-qenat . . . Waj-6m neme but quite-equally they.mutually impf-be-3pl and-then again

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Chukchi reciprocals 

6tri piri-tku-ˇcit-γ‘et, ‘aqa-njanr‘aw-6, k6nur l6γen they.abs grasp-apass-ˇcit-aor.3pl impossible-part as.if simply ˇ 27) k6lt6-w6lγ-6-γ?at (OC. tie-rec-aor.3pl ‘The wrestlers kind of began attacking each other, but (in fact) they were standing just facing each other. . . But then they seized each other again so that one could not separate them, as if they were tied together (lit. ‘as if they tied each other’).’

. Reciprocals in Koryak . Reciprocal suffixes The Koryak language does not seem to possess a reciprocal device genetically related to the Chukchi adverb 6rγiˇcγu ‘mutually’, but it has two morphological reciprocal markers, the suffixes -v6lη (see (68)) and -ˇcit/-ˇcet, genetically related to the respective Chukchi suffixes. The latter suffix may also denote the competitive meaning (see (69b)) and it also derives denominal verbs with the meaning ‘to play’ (see (69c)) (Zhukova 1972: 208). (68) l’u- ‘to see’ → l’u-v6lη- ‘to see each other, meet’ ommaˇcajp- ‘to embrace’ → ommaˇcajp6-ˇcet- ‘to embrace each other’ ηot-av- ‘to be angry’ → ηot6-ˇcet- ‘to be angry with each other’ uwwa- ‘to kiss’ → uwwa-ˇcit- ‘to kiss each other’ b. l6v- ‘to win’ → l6v6-ˇcet- ‘to compete’ ’6je- ‘to take part in races’ → ’6je-ˇcit- ‘to compete in racing’ c. qoja-ηa ‘deer’ → qoja-ˇcet- ‘to play deer’ ’iγ-u ‘wolves’ → ’iγ6-ˇcit- ‘to play wolves’

(69) a.

. Reflexive-reciprocal pronoun Judging by the literature, Koryak in comparison with Chukchi seems to employ the reflexive pronoun uvik ‘self ’ (< uvik ‘body’, stem uviki-/oveke-; on its use in Chukchi see (1) and (28d)) regularly for marking reciprocity, in which case it is used in the dual or plural form instead of the singular which has a reflexive reading, cf. uviki-t ‘each other’ (of two) and uviki-w ‘each other’ (of more than two). Koryak differs from Chukchi in that it possesses the dual and plural number on nouns and also dual inflection of verbs. When used in the reflexive sense proper, this pronoun is inflected for cases (cf. uviki-te ‘self-INST’, oveke-η ‘self-DAT’, etc.) when used reciprocally it is not inflected for cases (Zhukova 1972: 192–193).

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Uviki-t γ-ommaˇcajp6-lenat self-du perf-embrace-3du ‘[They two] embraced each other.’ b. Tit ηano qoja-ta uviki-w j6nn-a in.order.to this deer-erg self-pl horn-inst a-t6npo-ka . . . (Zh1. 193) neg-stab-neg ‘So that the deer would not butt each other with horns. . . ’

(70) a.

There occur instances of parallel use of -ˇcit/-ˇcet and uvik-iw on the same verb in adjacent sentences of the same text (unfortunately, I do not know if these forms are interchangeable in this context): (71) To waˇca pojγ-a ko-ηvo-la-η t6n’po-ˇcet-6k. ’ataw and sometimes spear-inst pres-begin-pl-pres stab-ˇcet-inf but am6ll’oka-w akt6ka uviki-w p6ˇce 6n-t6n’po-naw (Zh2. 15) adroit-pl impossible self-pl at.once imp-stab-3pl ‘And sometimes, they begin to stab each other with spears. But if (they are) adroit enough, they cannot stab each other at once.’

In the closely related Alyutor language (or dialect?), simultaneous use of the pronoun uvik with a suffixed reciprocal is registered, and this reciprocal has subjectobject agreement like a transitive verb (cf. (28d) where this verb is intransitive): (72) Alla tita uviki-w a-la’u-v6lη-ka m6t6-nt6-na (M. 166) neg when self-pl neg-see-rec-neg 1pl.sb-aux-3.ob ‘We never saw each other’, lit. ‘We never saw each other ourselves.’

. Reciprocals in Itelmen Judging by the literature (Volodin 1976: 210–211), there is only one reciprocal marker in Itelmen, a monosemous prefix lo-/lu-. This prefix has no cognates in Chukchi and Koryak. Alternation of the two allomorphs is grammatical: lo- occurs on non-finite verbs forms and nominal derivatives and lu- on finite forms (Georg & Volodin 1999: 189). Here are a few examples provided by A. Volodin (p.c.) (the forms below are infinitives in -s; the suffix -ka is used, with few exceptions, on intransitive bases): 1. Reciprocals derived from two-place transitives (73) ftalate-s ‘to love sb’ → lo-lftatalat-ka-s ‘to love each other’ pilk’ate-s ‘to stroke sb’ → lo-pilk’at-ka-s ‘to stroke each other’ tłazo-s ‘to wash sb’ → lo-tłazo-ka-s ‘to wash each other’

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Chukchi reciprocals 

tnete ‘to push sb’ → lo-tnete-ka-s ‘to push each other’ t6mzo-s ‘to lick sb’ → lo-t6mzo-s ‘to lick each other’

2. Reciprocals derived from (two-place) intransitives (74) kel-ka-s ‘to shout’ → lo-kel-ka-s ‘to shout to each other’ lenk’ol-ka-s ‘to smile’ → lo-lenk-ol-ka-s ‘to smile at each other’ łqze-ka-s ‘to follow’ → lo-łqze-ka-s ‘to follow/spy on each other’ ła-ka-s ‘to sit’ → lo-ła-ka-s ‘to sit next to each other’ tekej-ka-s ‘to stand’ → lo-tekej-ka-s ‘to stand next to each other’

These data do not support the hypothesis of the genetic relatedness of Itelmen to Chukchi and Koryak. At the same time, it is not difficult to see the material similarity between the Itelmen lo-/lu- and the reciprocal prefixes u- in Nivkh and Ainu. All the three peoples occupied adjacent territories in the past. But accidental coincidence cannot be outruled either.

Abbreviations ABL = ablative; ABS = absolutive; ACT = active; ADJ = adjective; ADV = adverb(ial) suffix; AOR = aorist; APASS = antipassive; AUX = auxiliary; CAUS = causative; CMPR = comparative; COM = comitative; CONV = converb; DAT = dative; DU = dual; EMPH = emphatic; ERG = ergative; ESS = essive; FUT = future; IMP = imperative; IMPF = imperfect; INF = infinitive; INST = instrumental; ITER = iterative; LOC = locative; NEG = negation; NR = nominalizer; OB = object; PART = participle; PERF = perfect; PFV = perfective; PL = plural; POSS = possessive; PROGR = progressive; REC = reciprocal; SB = subject; SG = singular.

Notes . The three major languages within the Chukotko-Kamchatkan family, whose genetic relatedness to any other language families remains so far speculative, are Chukchi, Koryak and Itelmen. Chukchi and Koryak are very close to one another, the differences between them amounting to differences between dialects of one language (see Comrie 1981: 240–252). Chukchi is spoken by about 15 thousand people in the Chukotka peninsula and adjacent territories in the Far North-East of Siberia (Tishkov 1994: 408). There are two dialects, western (of the tundra nomads) and eastern (of the settled population of the seashore); dialectal variation is very slight and does not hinder mutual understanding. Written Chukchi (which exists since 1932) is based on the eastern dialect. Newspapers and books (both original and translations) are published in Chukchi, it is also used in education, but Standard Chukchi is still in the process of formation (Volodin & Skorik 1997: 23).

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 Vladimir P. Nedjalkov

Koryak is spoken in the north of Kamchatka by about a half of the population of 9,200 (according to the 1989 census). It comprises about 11 dialects one of which is Alyutor (about 3 thousand individuals, usually included among Koryaks; see Zhukova 1997: 52). There is also Kerek which is sometimes considered a dialect of Koryak. Kereks were a small tribe and they have been assimilated by the Chukchis (in 1991, only three persons spoke Kerek; see Volodin 1997: 53). The Itelmen language spoken by less that 100 people (out of about 3,500; see Tishkov 1994: 164), south of Koryak in Kamchatka, differs drastically from the other languages of the family, and even its affiliation to this group is subject to doubt (see Comrie (1980: 109–120) on the one hand, and Volodin (1997: 60), on the other). . Thus, for instance, a word with this meaning is used as a regular or the only reciprocal marker in such languages as Koyra Chiini (Songhay family) ˇcere, cf. ‘each other, mutually’ (< ˇcere ‘friend, peer, mate’; Heath 1999: 343), while a reflexive marker usually develops from nouns meaning ‘body’, as is the case in Chukchi (see (1)). . The suffix -w6lγ. Skorik (1960: 147–148) argues that this suffix is descended from the verb w6lγ- with a broad meaning ‘to collide, meet, join, cross together’ (incorporating other verbs). He cites a number of examples illustrating the use of this verb; e.g.: (a) . . . w6lγ-6-γ‘et ‘they met together’, (b) . . . orw-6-w6lγ-6-γ‘at ‘their sleds collided’ (lit. ‘they sled-collided’), (c) . . . pojγ-6w6lγ-6-γ‘at ‘they crossed their spears’ (lit. ‘they spear-crossed’). In present-day dictionaries of Chukchi the verb w6lγ is not registered, and the informants I have consulted do not know it. The nearest parallel to this etymological relation is the Japanese main reciprocal marker -a/-aw-/-at- which is descended from the verb a-u with meanings, among others, ‘to meet’, ‘to coincide’. . Thus, for instance, in Yakut the two reciprocal markers, a pronoun and a suffix, can be used each separately and both jointly, as in (28d): (i)

Kiniler beje beje-leri-n öjdö-tü-ler (-tü = past, -ler = 3pl) ‘They understood each other.’

(ii) Kiniler öjdö-s-tü-ler (-s- = rec) (same meaning). (iii) Kiniler beje beje-leri-n öjdö-s-tü-ler (same meaning). . The causative derivative r6-mˇcew- is formed from the intranstive base m6ˇcew- with the meaning ‘to stop doing sth after punishment or circumstances’. . The nearest parallel is found in Greenlandic Eskimo where the respective pronoun also requires the use of the antipassive construction. In contrast to the monosemous Chukchi reciprocal adverb the Greenlandic counterpart pronoun immi-tsin-nut ‘ourselves/each other’, immi-ssin-nut ‘yourselves/each other’, immin-nut ‘themselves/each other’ is reflexive-reciprocal (Fortescue 1984). . These meanings are typical of competitives derived by means of reciprocal markers in a number of languages (cf. Yakut kuot- ‘to outrun sb’ > kuot-us- ‘to compete [in running]’, Bulgarian nadbjagva ‘to outrun’ > se nadbjagva ‘to compete in running’). . The use of a derivative from the verb with the meaning ‘to look’ in (62) for the expression of the competitive meaning is not accidental here. Typologically similar usage occurs in other languages as well; cf. Tuvan Olar küzun kör-üš-tu ‘They measured strength with each other’, lit. ‘. . . looked at each other’s strength’ (K. Kuular, p.c).

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Chukchi reciprocals 

Sources BL – Belikov, L. (1979). L6γ‘orawetl‘en l6mη6lte 6nk‘am teleηkin t6wjotte [Chukchi Folktales and legends]. Collected by L. Belikov. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 230 pp. ˇ – Cexov, ˇ CG A. P. (1963). Geˇcewk6 wal‘6t p6η6lte [Humorous Stories. Tranlated from the Russian by G. L. Ermošina]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 73 pp. GP – Gor’kij, M. (1961). P6η6ltelte [Stories. Translated from the Russian by Rytgew and P. Inenlikej]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 123 pp. JL – Jatgyrgyn, W. (1963). L6mη6lte ejγ6sq6kin [Tales of the Peoples of the North]. Collected by W. W. Yatgyrgyn. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 110 pp. JN – Jatgyrgyn (1963). Nginqej n6mn6mγ6p6 [The Boy from a Deerbreeders’ Camp]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 76 pp. FM – Fadeev, A. (1964). Marawrol6ltatγ6rγ6n [Defeat. Translated from the Russian by T. L. Ermošina]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 198 pp. KK – Kratt, I. (1963). K6tk6tken tirk6tir [The Spring Sun. Translated from the Russian by M. P. Legkov]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 110 pp. M. – Maltseva, A. A. (1998). Morfologija glagola v aljutorskom jazyke [Verbal morphology in the Alyutor language]. Novosibirsk: Sibirskij chronograf. MI – Moll, T. A. & P. I. Inenlikej (1957). Chukotsko-russkij slovar’ [Chukchi-Russian dictionary]. Leningrad: Gos. uˇcebno-pedag. izd-vo. (8,000 entries). MN – Murγin nutenut [Our Land (newspaper)]. 1990, No. 49. MP – Mamin-Sibirjak, D. N. (1951). P6η6ltelte [Stories. Translated from the Russian by N. M. Giutegin & V. V. Leont’ew]. Moskva, Leningrad: Uˇcebno-ped. izd-vo. 105 pp. ˇ c6wen jaatl‘at [The Descendants of the Nomadic Chukchis]. OCˇ – ‘Omruwje (1983). Cawˇ Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 111 pp. RI – Rytgew (1983). Iγ6rkinet l6mη6lte [Contemporary Folktales. Translated from the Russian by L. G. Tynel & Rytgew]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 178 pp. RO – Rytgew (1955). ‘Orawetl‘en waγ6rγ6n [The Life of Man]. Leningrad: Uˇcebno-ped. izd-vo. 119 pp. RT – Rytgew (1959). Tite t6lγ6rk6n ‘6l‘6l [When Snow is Melting]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knizhnoe izd-vo. 130 pp. Ry – Rytgew (1980). 6nantaη6ˇc‘6t lelutw6t [The Most Beautiful Ships. Translated from the Russian by M. P. Legkov]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 382 pp. SM – Sobolev, L. (1961). Maraw‘6tw6tkol‘en ˇcimγ‘un [lit. The Warship Sailor’s Thoughts. Translated from the Russian by L. G. Tynel]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 113 pp. ST – Semuškin, T. (1951). Tort6ηatγ6rγ6n [lit. The Shoots of the New. Translated from the Russian by Ju. Rytgew]. Leningrad, Moskva: Uˇcebno-ped. izd-vo. 352 pp. ŠL – Šestalov, Ju. N. (1970). Lelelk6tijγ6n jalγ6t6nw6ken [The Blue Wind of the Camp of Nomads. Translated from the Russian by A. Kymytwal]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 139 pp. ˇ c6wen l6mη6lte [Deerbreeders’ Folktales]. Magadan: Magadanskoe TCˇ – Tyngetegyn (1959). Cawˇ knižnoe izd-vo. 87 pp. TM – Takakawa, M. (1974). Meηin 6nanarmaηwal‘6n nutenjikwik [Who is the Strongest on Earth. Chukchi tales]. Collected by M. Takakawa. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 150 pp.

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TN – Tynel, L. G. (1987). N’inyl‘et gerojyt. P6η6ltelte [The Young Heroes. Stories. Translated from the Russian by L. G. Tynel]. Magadan: Magadanskoe knižnoe izd-vo. 196 pp. ZH1. – Zhukova (1972). ZH2 – Zhukova, A. N. (1988). Materialy i issledovanija po korjakskomu jazyku [Texts and Comments on Koryak]. Leningrad: Nauka.

References Comrie, B. (1980). “The genetic affiliation of Kamchadal: Some morphological evidence”. International Review of Slavic Linguistics, 5, 109–120. Comrie, B. (1981). The Languages of the Soviet Union. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fortescue, M. (1984). West Greenlandic. London: Croom Helm. Georg, St. & Volodin, A. (1999). Die itelmenische Sprache. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Heath, J. (1999). A Grammar of Koyra Chiini. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Kämpfe, H.-R. & Volodin, A. P. (1995). Abriss der Tschuktschischen Grammatik auf der Basis der Schriftsprache. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Kemmer, S. (1993). The Middle Voice. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Skorik, P. Ja. (1960). “O kategorii zaloga v chukotskom jazyke” [On the category of voice in Chukchi]. In V. M. Zhirmunskij et al. (Eds.), Voprosy grammatiki (pp. 129–150). Moskva and Leningrad: Izd-vo Akademii Nauk SSSR. Tishkov, V. A. (Ed.). (1994). Narody Rossii. Enciklopedija [The Peoples of Russia. Encyclopaedia]. Moskva: “Bol’shaja Rossijskaja Enciklopedija”. Volodin, A. P. (1976). Itel’menskij jazyk [The Itelmen Language]. Leningrad: Nauka. Volodin, A. P. (1997). “Kereksij jazyk” [The Kerek Language]. In A. P. Volodin et al. (Eds.), Jazyki mira: Paleoaziatskie jazyki (pp. 53–60). Moskva: Indrik. Volodin, A. P. & Skorik, P. Ja. (1997). Chukotskij jazyk [The Chukchi language]. In A. P. Volodin et al. (Eds.), Jazyki mira: Paleoaziatskie jazyki (pp. 23–39). Moskva: Indrik. Zhukova, A. N. (1972). Grammatika korjakskogo jazyka [A Grammar of the Koryak Language]. Leningrad: Nauka. Zhukova, A. N. (1997). “Korjakskij jazyk” [The Koryak language]. In A. P. Volodin et al. (Eds.), Jazyki mira: Paleoaziatskie jazyki (pp. 39–53). Moskva: Indrik.

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction, illustrated from German Frans Plank University of Konstanz

Comitative and coordinative constructions are known to often share in the expression of reciprocal situations, but the relationship between them is in need of clarification. Illustrating from German, it will be shown how regular comitative constructions with intransitive symmetric predicates can be analogically extended to transitive verbs not inherently denoting symmetric relations. Such extensions are subject to various conditions, especially those that a situation can be conceptualised as a single event or state, with the co-participants sharing the involvement, and that a reflexive or reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun is inactivated, hence does not require local binding. There is considerable variation among speakers in the acceptance of extended comitative constructions formed on these conditions, whereas their regular models are wholly uncontroversial.

.

Aim

My aim here is to clarify the relationship between comitative and coordinative constructions in the expression of reciprocal situations. Illustrating from German, it will be shown how regular comitative constructions with intransitive symmetric predicates can be analogically extended to transitive verbs not inherently denoting symmetric relations. Such extensions will be seen to be subject to various conditions, chief among which are the conventional conceptualisation of a situation as a single event or state, brought about through the shared involvement among co-participants, and the inactivation of a reflexive or reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun so that it does not need to be locally bound. As demonstrated by a questionnaire study, for some speakers these conditions are satisfied more easily than for others, resulting in considerable variation in the acceptance of extended comitative constructions, whereas their regular models are wholly uncontroversial.

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 Frans Plank

. The regular coordinative/comitative alternation . Symmetry In a symmetric relation the kind of involvement of the participants is conceived of as being (essentially) the same. When such symmetry holds for an action with an agent affecting a patient, symmetry means that participant A acts and coparticipant B is acted upon, and, as integral part of what is conceived of as being the same event,1 participant A is acted upon (essentially) as co-participant B is and co-participant B acts (essentially) as participant A does. An example of such symmetric interaction is fighting, in the basic sense of a contest to be decided through the physical force or skill which the antagonists engaged in it each bring to bear on the other, in direct bodily contact or mediated through weapons. The antagonists may not in fact be doing and undergoing exactly the same: one might be the attacker and the other the defender; one might wield a sword and the other fire a pistol; one might look the winner and the other the loser; one might be the good guy the narrator empathises with and the other the villain one is to be distanced from. Nonetheless, for an interaction to be categorised as a fight it has perforce to be conceived of as one of equals with respect to the relation designated by the predicate – as distinct from kindred, but asymmetric interactions (which happen to be covered by the same verb in the same transitive construction in English) such as striving to keep someone or something at a distance or to overcome someone or something. And relational equality presupposes (essential) categorial equality. Thus, the antagonists in a fight will both have to be categorised as being capable of volitional agency, i.e., as animate: a hostile interaction between such unequals as, say, a knight-errant and a windmill will not be conceived of as a fight unless categorial equality can be established among the participants (such as through personification). Symmetry is the very essence of concepts such as fighting (in the physicalcontest sense): you can’t fight with no one to fight with or against. But concepts can be more flexible. That of dancing, for example, is: it does take two to tango, but one is enough to flamenco. That is, a concept such as dancing, at any rate in a European cultural context, subsumes activities performed in pairs, with the participants interacting symmetrically, as well as alone (or by individuals as members of a group, each doing their own thing). . Intransitive verbs In German, verbs designating symmetric interactions – which are typically intransitive, with the co-participant not strictly a verb-governed argument (but see Section 2.3 for less typical symmetric transitives) – can equally occur in two con-

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

structions, one coordinative (1), the other comitative (or sociative, or cooperative) (2). To exemplify, ignoring irrelevant meanings (such as that of fighting together against a third party unspecified):2 (1) David und Goliath kämpften ‘David and Goliath fought’ (2) David kämpfte mit Goliath ‘David fought with Goliath’

In the coordinative construction the participant and co-participant, joined by a coordinative connector, have the same syntactic rank and together form one constituent, functioning as intransitive subject. In the comitative construction they have different syntactic status, one appearing as intransitive subject and the other, adjoined through a prepositional phrase, forming a constituent of its own at the level of the verb phrase. Verb agreement (invariably plural in (1) and singular in (2)) and all other morphosyntactic evidence also serve to clearly distinguish the two synonymous constructions. The symmetric nature of the interaction as such, fighting, remains unaffected by additional extra-constructional constituents – adverbs such as widerwillig ‘reluctantly’ or instrumental adjuncts such as ohne Waffe ‘without a weapon’ – which are oriented specifically towards subjects, hence to both co-participants in (1) and only one in (2). However distinct the syntax, what the coordinative and the comitative construction share is that each has a counterpart of its own kind: just as the linear ordering of conjuncts in (1) is reversible salva veritate, though perhaps not salvo impetu dicendi, so is the ranking of subject and adjunct in (2). (1´) Goliath und David kämpften (2´) Goliath kämpfte mit David

“Comitative” is here being used as a term for a syntactic construction covering a whole family of semantic relations, including the adversative one illustrated in (2). What matters for present purposes is that a comitative construction coexists with a coordinative one, and this also applies to separative symmetric interactions, where the appropriate preposition in German is von or sometimes also mit: (3) Adam und Eva schieden ‘Adam and Eve parted’ (4) Adam schied von Eva ‘Adam parted from Eve’

In recognition of such overt verb-related contrasts, and also of the fact that many verbs bar a comitative adjunct on semantic grounds, the preposition in comitative

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 Frans Plank

constructions can thus be seen as influenced by the verb, though probably not as strictly governed like object cases are. Symmetric-interaction verbs like kämpfen and scheiden are not formally marked in any way that would overtly distinguish them from other verbs. With flexible verbs like tanzen ‘to dance’ there is no formal difference either between the symmetric (coordinative as well as comitative) and non-symmetric uses. However, there are other symmetric-interaction verbs, such as duellieren ‘to duel’ (derived from a noun, Duell ‘duel’) or lösen ‘to disassociate’ (derived from an adjective, los(e) ‘loose’, and not used transitively in German, at least not with an animate direct object, which is the prerequisite for a symmetric reading, with the subject also animate), which obligatorily combine with an extra word of the form of the reflexive pronoun; yet others, such as streiten ‘to quarrel’, take the reflexive pronoun only optionally, perhaps subject to dialectal variation. Like simple symmetricinteraction verbs, these complex verbs occur in both the coordinative (5) and the comitative construction (6), obligatorily or optionally taking the reflexive pronoun in both, as is only to be expected, since this is part of their lexical form: (5) a.

Crampas und Instetten duellierten sich ‘Crampas and Instetten fought a duel with each other’ b. Adam und Eva lösten sich ‘Adam and Eve severed (the ties between) themselves’ c. Ich und Oma stritten (uns) ‘I and grandma quarrelled (with each other)’

(6) a.

Crampas duellierte sich mit Instetten ‘Crampas fought a duel with Instetten’ b. Adam löste sich von Eva ‘Adam dissociated himself from Eve’ c. Ich stritt (mich) mit Oma ‘I quarrelled with grandma’

Since all such symmetric interactions are instances of reciprocal situations, whatever else reciprocity is assumed to include,3 it may seem surprising that no special reciprocal marking is required here. The reciprocal marker, the invariable compound word einander ‘one another’, accompanied by the preposition that would be used in the comitative construction (typically mit ‘with’, or von ‘from, of ’ when separative), can in fact be added to the coordinative renderings, but only optionally; and if there is a semantic difference at all, it consists in the added emphasis on the reciprocal reading being the only one intended (David and Goliath might have been jointly fighting with someone else unspecified, etc.): (7) a.

David und Goliath kämpften miteinander

(1)

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

b. Crampas und Instetten duellierten sich miteinander c. Ich und Oma stritten (uns) miteinander (8) a. Adam und Eva schieden voneinander b. Adam und Eva lösten sich voneinander

(5a) (5c) (3) (5b)

On the other hand, there is no real reason to be surprised since reciprocal situations as such can also be expressed lexically, through verbs or other relationdesignating words of appropriate meaning, with no special grammatical forms or constructions advertising them as reciprocal. Also, owing to their inherent dedication to symmetry of involvement among multiple participants, coordinative and comitative (or sociative, cooperative, and the like) constructions themselves are natural ways of expressing reciprocal situations, and are commonly found to subserve this function in their own right when languages lack dedicated reciprocal forms or constructions. Through adding a noun phrase as a conjunct or as a comitative adjunct, in structural symmetry or near-symmetry with a noun phrase for the participant, the co-participant needed for an interaction to count as symmetric can easily be supplied without extra grammatical machinery. Given an appropriate meaning of the predicate of clauses thus elaborated, such symmetric relations among co-participants will lend themselves to reciprocal interpretations without extra reciprocal marking. Other than attaining only near-symmetry in structural terms, comitative adjunction would generally seem to differ from coordinative conjunction (i) in forcing a single-event reading (Smith and Jones left can truthfully be said also when there were two independent leaving events), and (ii) in being limited to involvements in activities or experiences that can be shared (finding an answer or dying can be, but knowing the answer or being dead can’t – and such examples suggest the generalisation, variously proposed in the literature, though inaccurate, that dynamic predicates allow comitatives, but static ones don’t; some of the latter do: e.g., jointly owning something with someone). Not uncommonly reflexive markers also do reciprocal duty. In line with this crosslinguistic tendency, dedicatedly reciprocal einander is extremely rare in spoken German: other than in combination with prepositions, the reflexive pronoun takes care of most reciprocal situations too. The reflexive pronouns of German are identical with the personal pronouns, in the accusative, dative, or genitive, but for 3rd person there is a special form, sich, invariable as to number, case, and gender, and marginally also used as a default reflexive form for other persons. Now, comparing verbs like kämpfen, tanzen, or scheiden on the one hand and sich duellieren, sich lösen, (sich) streiten on the other, it is evident that the reflexive-like word that occurs with the latter does not have the regular function of a genuine reflexive or reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun (or “anaphor”), marking coreference within a local domain, but is a mere lexical marker, semantically vacuous owing to the absence of a contrast with non-reflexive. Plain intransitive verbs, not denoting in-

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 Frans Plank

teractions among participants, can likewise take this reflexive look-alike: compare eilen and sich beeilen, the latter with a prefix be- (which elsewhere often has a transitivising function), but both meaning essentially the same, ‘to hurry’, or irren and sich irren, ‘to err’, here without prefixal differentiation. This is not to say such extra markers of the form of reflexives are distributed over the verbal lexicon randomly: in a crosslinguistically predictable manner (as has often been shown), there are semantic domains where they are most likely to occur – and verbs whose meaning can be construed as implying more than one semantic role, as in autolocomotion, emotion and cognition with an inner state vaguely linked with an outer correlate, or in symmetric interaction, are among them. Other than its lexical role in certain semantic domains, the reflexive look-alike also has a productive syntactic function as a marker of intransitivisation in German (again, as elsewhere).4 In the domain of symmetric interactions this can be illustrated from verbs like paaren ‘to pair, mate’ or trennen ‘to separate’. Used transitively, the symmetric relation, effectuated by the subject/causer, obtains between the object co-participants, and as with subject-centred symmetry there are coordinative and comitative (or separative) constructions available to express this (9a, b, 11a, b); intransitivisation, in order to background the causer or cause, is signalled by an added reflexive look-alike, present in both the coordinative and the comitative version (10a, b, 12a, b).5 (9) a.

Darwin paarte Finken und Kanarienvögel (miteinander) ‘Darwin mated finches and canaries (with each other)’ b. Darwin paarte Finken mit Kanarienvögeln ‘Darwin mated finches with canaries’

(10) a.

Finken und Kanarienvögel paarten sich (miteinander) ‘Finches and canaries mated (with each other)’ b. Finken paarten sich mit Kanarienvögeln ‘Finches mated with canaries’

(11) a.

Chrysler trennte Mercedes und Benz (voneinander) ‘Chrysler separated Mercedes and Benz (from each other)’ b. Chrysler trennte Mercedes von Benz ‘Chrysler separated Mercedes from Benz’

(12) a.

Mercedes und Benz trennten sich (voneinander) ‘Mercedes and Benz separated’ b. Mercedes trennte sich von Benz ‘Mercedes separated from Benz’

Although the forms employed are exactly the same, genuine reflexive, or nondistinct reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronouns, are not implicated in such lexical and syntactic uses of the reflexive look-alike. In neither of them is there a contrast

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

with non-reflexive. (Reading constructions like (10b) or (12b) as genuine reflexivisations corresponding to constructions like (9b) and (11b), with referentially distinct subject and direct object, would be misguided, as is especially plain when subject and direct object are categorially as different as in (9b), man and bird, while the reciprocal reading, as in (10b), requires identity in this respect.) The only common ground of genuine reflexive(-cum-reciprocal) pronouns and reflexive look-alikes is the vast area of the mismatching of the number of semantic relations in a situation and the (lesser) number of distinct participants overtly expressed in the clause expressing that situation. This commonality, however abstract, is of course also the motivation for using genuine reflexive pronouns, of all forms, for such non-genuinely reflexive purposes. . Transitive verbs Symmetric relations do not lend themselves naturally to being expressed through transitive clauses: this syntactic format is destined for participants which are opposites rather than equals. Nonetheless, there are a number of predicates, verbal and other, which, at least in some of their uses, connect a subject with an object interrelated as participant and co-participant in an arguably symmetrical manner. More commonly their governed object is in the dative, which in German is the case specialising in relationships of less than diametrical opposition, with the object often animate or human just like the subject. Diametrical opposition of agent and patient is the domain of the accusative; nonetheless, there are a few symmetric verbs governing this case too. Transitive symmetric predicates now show a few variations on the by now familiar theme of the coordinative/comitative alternation. Alongside adjectival predicates of identity or similarity (gleich/ähnlich sein ‘to be identical/similar’), German also has equivalent derived verbs (gleichen/ähneln), likewise governing the dative. Roughly equivalent to the transitive construction (13), whose alternative with subject and object reversed is omitted here, there is a coordinative construction with the verb now accompanied by a reciprocal or reflexive-cum-reciprocal marker (14), just as any non-symmetric transitive verb in a situation of reciprocal interrelations (15). (13) Ein Alligator gleicht einem Krokodil ‘An alligator resembles a crocodile’ (14) Ein Alligator und ein Krokodil gleichen sich/einander ‘An alligator and a crocodile resemble one another’ (15) Ein Alligator und ein Krokodil bissen sich/einander An alligator and a crocodile bit one another’

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What is missing is a comitative analogue to (14), so far seen to be a possible alternative to every coordinative construction with symmetric predicates:6 (16) *Ein Alligator gleicht sich/einander mit einem Krokodil

In the pair (14) and (16) the transitive, dative-governing verb gleichen combines with a genuine reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun as its object, whereas intransitive symmetric predicates licensing a comitative construction were not accompanied by a genuine reflexive or reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun, but only by a reflexive look-alike, as a purely lexical marker (6) or an intransitiviser (10b, 12b); and in the coordinative construction dedicatedly reciprocal einander plus the comitative preposition could only be added to this reflexive look-alike (7, 8, 10a, 12a), but could not replace it, as it does in (14) and (15). A genuine reciprocal anaphor, as in (14), just as in (15), wants to be locally bound, and the participant and co-participant intended to bind it together form the subject only in the case of coordination (14), but not when they are syntactically split up as in the comitative construction (16). Apart from governing the accusative, heiraten ‘to marry’ differs from gleichen and its kind in taking an reflexive-cum-reciprocal or dedicatedly reciprocal in the coordinative construction only optionally, for special disambiguating emphasis, if at all: (17) Die Prinzessin heiratet den Grafen ‘The princess marries the earl’ (18) Die Prinzessin und der Graf heiraten (sich/einander) ‘The princess and the earl marry (one another)’

All the same, the comitative construction is out, even with no overt reflexive-cumreciprocal present:7 (19) *Die Prinzessin heiratet (sich/einander) mit dem Grafen ‘The princess marries (refl/recip) with the earl’

For one thing, without the reflexive-cum-reciprocal or dedicated reciprocal the syntax is off: being a transitive, accusative-governing object, heiraten resists being in construction with a comitative adjunct but no accusative object, even though the relationship between subject and either comitative or accusative could equally be construed as symmetric. With the reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun present, this would get bound by the subject, which does not yield the right reciprocal semantics. That it is the presence of an overt (reflexive-cum-) reciprocal marker, or the equivalent meaning component of the verb heiraten on its own, that matters in ruling out (19) is seen when comparing heiraten to sich verloben ‘to become engaged to’, which is intransitively symmetrical and takes the reflexive look-alike as a lexical marker, or to sich verheiraten ‘to marry’, which is basically transitive, ‘to

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

give away one’s child in marriage’, and takes the reflexive look-alike when intransitivised. In both cases, a comitative construction coexists with a coordinative one: (20) a.

Die Prinzessin und der Graf verloben sich (miteinander) ‘The princess and the earl are getting engaged (with each other)’ b. Die Prinzessin und der Graf verheiraten sich (miteinander) ‘The princess and the earl marry (each other)’

(21) a.

Die Prinzessin verlobt sich mit dem Grafen ‘The princess is getting engaged with the earl’ b. Die Prinzessin verheiratet sich mit dem Grafen ‘The princess marries with the earl’

There are several further transitive verbs which unlike gleichen and heiraten are not inherently symmetric, but which can be understood as symmetric depending on appropriate categorisations of the participants. They fall among the cases where a comitative alternative to coordination needs special licensing, which is the subject of the next section.

. The coordinative/comitative alternation analogically extended . Transitive verbs asymmetric on their own The cardinal syntactic format for verbs designating non-symmetric interactions is the transitive clause, with one participant as subject and the other as direct object. To exemplify with an action verb (and bekämpfen, mentioned above as an equivalent of transitive uses of to fight, would have served equally well): (22) David verletzte Goliath ‘David injured Goliath’

David injuring Goliath does not perforce mean that Goliath also injured David. However, it is possible that in the course of a fight the victim reciprocates, so that there are two injuring events, which may even be simultaneous, where both participants are involved in opposite roles. This can be expressed through coordinative constructions, either of two full clauses (23a), of a full clause and an expression for role reversal (23b), or of only the subjects, with an overt reciprocal (or reflexive-cum-reciprocal) form added (23c): (23) a.

David verletzte Goliath und Goliath (seinerseits) verletzte David ‘David injured Goliath and Goliath (in turn) injured David’ b. David verletzte Goliath und andersrum ‘David injured Goliath and the other way round’

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c.

David und Goliath verletzten sich/einander ‘David and Goliath injured each other’

Although noun phrase coordination in such cases superficially resembles that seen above for symmetric-interaction verbs with a lexical reflexive ((5a), David und Goliath duellierten sich; but notice the impossibility of the reciprocal marker in that case: *duellierten einander), it is clear that reflexive and reciprocal forms here are not semantically vacuous, but have their regular function and conform to the regular rule for the local binding of anaphors through subjects. The fundamental difference is also underlined by the impossibility of a comitative construction, analogous to (6) above, with such transitive verbs: (24) *David verletzte sich mit Goliath

Despite the complexity of the role structure of such events, the comitative construction for symmetric-interaction verbs still denotes a single event or state, of the type designated by the verb – one fight, one duel, one quarrel, one separation, one marriage, one resemblance. By contrast, mutual injurings represent more than one event – one with X as agent and Y as corresponding patient, the other with Y as agent and X as corresponding patient –, irrespective of whether they are comprehended within a single overall event, such as a fight. To beat or strike or, to also have a separative example, to bid farewell are activities in relevant respects comparable to injurings rather than to fights or to partings. They are non-symmetric, hence the transitive uses of the corresponding verbs with referentially distinct subjects and object: (25) David schlug Goliath ‘David beat/struck Goliath’ (26) Der Präsident verabschiedete den Botschafter ‘The president bade the ambassador farewell’

Naturally, the patient participant can reciprocate, which is expressed through the regular coordinative reciprocal (or reflexive-cum-reciprocal) construction: (27) David und Goliath schlugen sich/einander ‘David and Goliath beat/struck each other’ (28) Der Präsident und der Botschafter verabschiedeten sich/einander ‘The president and the ambassador bade each other farewell’

However, differing from mutual injurings, mutual beatings and farewellbiddings can also be expressed through what looks like the comitative reciprocal construction:

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

(29) David schlug sich mit Goliath ‘David beat/struck refl with Goliath’ (i.e., ‘David and Goliath beat/struck each other’) (30) Der Präsident verabschiedete sich vom Botschafter ‘The president bade refl farewell from the ambassador’ (i.e., ‘The president and the ambassador bade each other farewell’)

In the comitative reciprocal construction as illustrated above for inherent symmetric-interaction verbs, the reflexive was only a look-alike, present as a lexical marker of the verbs concerned or as an intransitiviser. Upon a little reflection, the reflexive with non-symmetric-interaction verbs like those in (29) and (30) is seen not to be the regular reflexive(-cum-reciprocal) pronoun either, for a compositional construal of these constructions would only link it with the subject – which would leave the essence of the reciprocal situation unaccounted for. Also, dedicatedly reciprocal einander, though possible in coordination, is no option in such cases either: (31) *David schlug einander mit Goliath (32) *Der Präsident verabschiedete einander vom Botschafter

I would therefore like to suggest that what I call the extended comitative reciprocal construction, as exemplified in (29) and (30), is not really constructed compositionally in the first place, but is a derivative or analogical construction modelled on the regular comitative reciprocal construction with those symmetricinteraction verbs that take a reflexive look-alike. The analogy is inspired by the coordinative reciprocal construction that is shared by both verb types. Naturally, further properties of the copy will in essence also be inherited from the model. Thus extending the regular comitative reciprocal construction to verbs with which it is not original needs an additional license, and herein lies the subtle difference in meaning between extended-comitative (29)/(30), and coordinative (27)/(28), which is not subject to this condition:8 the reciprocal interaction associated with basically non-symmetric verbs must be able to be conceptualised as a single event, which is the only reading with symmetric-interaction verbs in the model construction, owing to their inherent meaning. Two instances of one combatant injuring the other and vice versa will not, in the German worldview as reflected in the German verbal lexicon, make up a single event, even when simultaneous; two instances of one combatant striking the other and vice versa, or of one companion bidding the other farewell and vice versa, will (assuming a uniform German worldview in these matters at least; but see further Section 3.3). Even the nouns derived from these latter verbs, Schlacht ‘battle’ and Abschied ‘farewell’, encode the essential mutuality. This justifies using verbs like schlagen and verab-

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schieden, which are basically transitive and non-symmetric and can take genuine reflexive pronouns as direct objects (although they will not specially encourage them, since they denote actions, beating and bidding farewell, which are typically outer-directed), as intransitive symmetric verbs, analogically accompanied with the reflexive look-alike, which as a mere look-alike does not need to be locally bound by the subject and does not enter into the compositional construal of a reciprocal situation. The contrast between a reflexive and a non-reflexive object, in principle admitted by the basic asymmetric transitive verbs, is suspended through the single-event conceptualisation of the interaction and the concomitant formal marking of the verb. The additional single-event condition is nothing special: as suggested earlier, it generally obtains for comitative constructions in contradistinction to coordination. As also mentioned earlier, comitative constructions are limited to predicates designating involvements that can be shared, which condition likewise carries over from regular to extended constructions. When comitative reciprocal constructions with sich schlagen mit or sich verabschieden von etc. are analysed as analogically formed on the model of intransitive symmetric verbs such as sich duellieren mit or sich lösen von, the assumption still is that they are syntactic constructions, though with the reflexive word not interpreted as a genuine reflexive(-cum-reciprocal) pronoun that would need local binding. With the verbs used for illustration this would not seem the whole story, however, insofar as the extended comitative reciprocal construction, in addition to being subject to the single-event condition, also shows some semantic specialisation. As a transitive verb, schlagen literally means ‘to beat, to strike’, with the agent’s hand(s) or a stick-like weapon as an extension of her/his arm making the forcible contact with the body of the patient; sich schlagen, on the other hand, essentially only means ‘to fight’, and although the fights thus described could be boxing or fencing matches, the precise nature of the instrument is considerably backgrounded (it might even be firearms). Similarly, while transitive verabschieden means ‘to ceremonially send away, formally discharge from a duty’, sich verabschieden largely drops the formal or ceremonious connotations and simply means ‘to leave the company, say good-bye’. Owing to such semantic differences, one could consider the formation of symmetric intransitive predicates, overtly marked by a reflexive look-alike, a lexical process. But then, if these examples are representative, it is not really the symmetric intransitives that are semantically more specialised than the basic transitives: it is rather the other way round. What is more specific on the symmetric intransitive side is the single-event reading, but this is to be attributed to this construction, or ultimately its model, rather than to particular verbs instantiating it. There is, however, something particular to verbs as such, or rather the ways interactions are conceptualised through them, that could give the impression of a kind of semantic

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

specialisation that ought to be accounted for lexically: transitive verbs will only allow the comitative reciprocal construction if the conceptualisation of the interaction concerned as symmetrical is conventional. Fighting with each other, with whatever weapons, and taking leave of each other, in whatever circumstances, are culturally salient symmetric interactions; they are not conceptualised as such at the momentary whim of an individual speaker. . Transitive verbs potentially symmetric on their own Though atypical, we have seen above (Section 2.3) that there are some transitive verbs which inherently designate symmetric interactions (such as gleichen and heiraten). Several further transitive verbs, though ostensibly inherently asymmetric like those used for illustration in the preceding section, may in fact shade into designating symmetric relations without extra formal marking, given the right circumstances. These circumstances have to do with the kinds of subjects and objects they occur with. Two relevant examples are widersprechen ‘to deny, contradict’ (governing the dative; ergänzen ‘to complement’, governing the accusative, works analogously) and schneiden ‘to cut, intersect’ (governing the accusative, and also admitting an external possessor in the dative). They can be used with animate, or in fact human, subjects acting on inanimates – and there is no question of such interactions being symmetric: (33) a.

Der Angeklagte widersprach der Beschuldigung ‘The defendant denied the accusation’ b. Der Friseur schnitt (dem Kunden) die Haare ‘The barber cut the (customer’s) hair’

When the objects of such verbs are also animate/human, the interactions designated remain asymmetric: (34) a.

Der Angeklagte widersprach dem Zeugen ‘The defendant contradicted the witness’ b. Der Friseur schnitt den Kunden ‘The barber cut the customer’

Should the object participants reciprocate, in events separate from those initiated by the subject, an overt reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun or reciprocal einander are called for, bound by the coordinate subject: (35) a.

Der Angeklagte und der Zeuge widersprachen sich/einander ‘The defendant and the witness contradicted each other’ b. Der Friseur und der Kunde schnitten sich/einander ‘The barber and the customer cut each other’

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Comitative alternatives are ruled out again because the local binding of a genuine reciprocal anaphor by the subject alone would leave the co-participant, essential for a reciprocal situation, unaccounted for:9 (36) a. *Der Angeklagte widersprach sich/einander mit dem Zeugen ‘The defendant contradicted refl/recip with the witness’ b. *Der Friseur schnitt sich/einander mit dem Kunden ‘The barber cut refl/recip with the customer’

Now, when the same transitive verbs are used with both subject and object inanimate, as in (37), the relationships designated are to all intents and purposes symmetric: subject and object can be reversed salva veritate, and the reversals represent the same instantiations of the relationships concerned (not two separate contradicting or cutting events as in (35)). (37) a.

Die Aussage des Zeugen widersprach der Behauptung des Angeklagten ‘The statement of the witness contradicted the claim of the defendant’ b. Linie a schneidet Linie b in Punkt P ‘Line a crosses line b in point P’

As with the symmetric transitive verbs above (gleichen, heiraten), there is a coordinative reciprocal construction (38); but unlike with these, there is now also a comitative equivalent (39). (38) a.

Die Aussage des Zeugen und die Behauptung des Angeklagten widersprachen sich/einander ‘The statement of the witness and the claim of the defendant contradicted each other’ b. Linie a und Linie b schneiden sich/einander in Punkt P ‘Line a and line b intersect in point P’

(39) a.

Die Aussage des Zeugen widersprach sich (*einander) mit der Behauptung des Angeklagten ‘The statement of the witness contradicted refl (*recip) with the claim of the defendant’ b. Linie a schneidet sich (*einander) mit Linie b in Punkt P ‘Line a crosses refl (*recip) line b in point P’

The comitative construction excludes the dedicated reciprocal marker einander, which was interpreted above as one of the indicators that the word accompanying the verb is not the reflexive-cum-reciprocal pronoun, requiring to be bound by the subject, but the reflexive look-alike. Arguably, then, this is another subtype of the extended comitative reciprocal construction, modelled on the regular comitative reciprocal construction with inherently symmetric intransitive verbs. Again, the situation denoted by these transitive verbs is conventionally conceptu-

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

alised as a single event or state (one contradiction of statements, one intersection of lines), rather than as two analogous ones, only with the roles reversed. However, unlike with transitive verbs such as schlagen and verabschieden, this condition on analogical extensions is here already satisfied by the basic transitive construction as such, given that the co-participants are both inanimate (37). Thus, nothing is really added in expressive power when transitive widersprechen, schneiden et al. in the symmetric reading are used intransitively, accompanied by the reflexive look-alike. Unlike with animate subjects and objects, there is no question of independent volition in the case of inanimates, with the co-participant intentionally not doing/being what the participant does/is; thus, given suitable transitive verb meanings, inanimacy will be particularly favourable to letting interactions be conceptualised as symmetric. Further, inanimate subjects are liable to curtail the potential for contrast in object position. With animate subjects, the contrast between non-reflexive and genuinely reflexive objects is a vital one for verbs such as widersprechen and schneiden; with inanimate subjects it is certainly less salient, if present at all (e.g., can lines intersect themselves?). Inanimates being perforce 3rd person, reflexives – should any appear – will be limited to just one person too with such subjects: the relevant form in German is sich, not distinguishing number or gender. These several factors are presumably conducive to extending a reflexive lookalike into a comitative construction with verbs which, per se, could take a genuine reflexive(-cum-reciprocal) pronoun to be bound by the subject. With this sort of reasoning the question remains why gleichen, heiraten and their kind do not also take regular comitative reciprocal constructions as their model (*sich gleichen mit (16), *sich heiraten mit (19) in Section 2.3). Arguably, although the inspiration for analogising is there in the form of the shared coordinative reciprocal construction, these verbs are too determinately symmetric to fit the bill for an extension of the comitative construction meant for verbs which are at heart asymmetric and only lend themselves to symmetric conceptualisations on certain conditions. . Where judgments differ The analysis suggested here, distinguishing a regular comitative reciprocal construction from one analogically formed on its model and potentially lexicalised, is supported by a pattern of variation in acceptability judgments that would otherwise seem peculiar. The appendix to this paper presents the results of a questionnaire study which was intended to determine whether German has or does not have what is in the literature sometimes referred to as “discontinuous” reciprocals. As it turned out, there can be no doubt that German does have the regular comitative reciprocal construction with inherently symmetric intransitive verbs.

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The results of these parts of the questionnaire are not reproduced in the appendix because they are too boring: speakers unanimously accept examples of the regular construction (such as (2), (6), (10b), (12b) above) as perfectly well-formed. More interestingly, massive variation – across both speakers and verbs – was found for the extended comitative reciprocal construction, exemplified above by sich schlagen mit (29) and sich verabschieden von (30). (Unfortunately verbs like those discussed in Section 3.2, sich widersprechen mit or sich schneiden mit, open to symmetric readings even in their basic transitive use, were not tested, but informal enquiries suggest they are among the top candidates for widespread acceptance.) On the present evidence, it would be wrong to conclude that German has or does not have this construction: almost all speakers (at least those fifty consulted, plus myself) have it; but only a few have a lot of it, while most have more or less strong reservations. With the exception of the bottom examples (sich meiden mit, sich misstrauen mit, sich bewundern mit), the average grades for the examples tested (righthand column of the table in the appendix) are not the result of speakers generally agreeing among each other in their evaluations. It is to some extent extremes that are being averaged out here. The average grades awarded by speakers (bottom line), ranging from 3.9 to 2.3, show at a glance or two the full gamut of interindividual variation. At the righthand side a small group emerges of productive extenders, who are happy with many verbs tested in the construction, with one in fifty (or two in fifty-one, with myself included) standing out as showing almost no restraint. Moving left, the reluctance is increasing with verb after verb, but only a very small minority (extreme left) reject the construction more or less wholesale. There are no obvious reasons why speakers should differ so markedly in their like or dislike of the extended comitative reciprocal construction. It is not a matter of recognised dialects or dialect clusters differing on this particular point. Knowing the regional backgrounds of the participants in the questionnaire study, one could suspect some rough areal distribution, with easterners (both north and south) tending to be more prone than westerners to employ reflexive look-alikes in all sorts of constructions including the one at issue; the explanation would be that this is one of the few respects where a Slavonic substratum continues to make itself felt. If there are other grammatical differences correlated with this one, they remain to be identified; probably there are none (other than perhaps a few random Slavicisms). Arguably, it is simply that the variation encountered within the speech community is of precisely the kind to be expected for analogical formations that need special conceptual licensing, as opposed to constructions formed by regular rules of grammar and interpreted compositionally: off and on, daring innovators will stretch today’s rules, and thereby perhaps lay down tomorrow’s. Here are the verbs tested in the extended comitative reciprocal construction, in order of decreasing average acceptance (as also in the table in the appendix: in

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

the questionnaire, these sentences were ordered randomly and were interspersed with examples of regular comitative reciprocal constructions): (40) Effi duzte sich mit Roswitha ‘Effi thou-ed refl with Roswitha’ (i.e., Effi and Roswitha addressed each other with the familiar pronoun du) (41) Effi schrieb sich lange Briefe mit Mama ‘Effi wrote refl long letters with mama’ (Effi and mama wrote long letters to each other) (42) Effi sah sich jeden Nachmittag mit Crampas ‘Effi saw refl every afternoon with Crampas’ (Effi and Crampas saw/met each other every afternoon) (43) Effi gefiel sich mit Crampas immer mehr ‘Effi liked refl with Crampas’ (Effi and Crampas liked each other more and more) (44) Effi umarmte sich mit Crampas ‘Effi embraced refl with Crampas’ (Effi and Crampas embraced each other) (45) Crampas kannte sich mit Buddenbrook von früher ‘Crampas knew refl with Buddenbrook before’ (Crampas and Buddenbrook knew each other before) (46) Rummschüttel ging sich mit Wüllersdorf aus dem Weg ‘Rummschüttel went refl out of the way with Wüllersdorf ’ (Rummschüttel and Wüllersdorf went out of each other’s way) (47) Rummschüttel mied sich mit Wüllersdorf ‘Rummschüttel avoided refl with Wüllersdorf ’ (Rummschüttel and Wüllersdorf avoided each other) (48) Innstetten misstraute sich mit Crampas ‘Innstetten mistrusted refl with Crampas’ (Innstetten and Crampas mistrusted each other) (49) Hitler bewunderte sich mit Stalin ‘Hitler admired refl with Stalin’ (Hitler and Stalin admired each other)

All of the verbs tested are basically transitive (or ditransitive: schreiben ‘to write’), and none is inherently symmetric. All permit coordinative reciprocal constructions along the lines of the English versions in parentheses. Their different ratings in the comitative reciprocal construction reflect the different cultural entrenchments of the concepts associated with these verbs as symmetric single events or states.

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Sich duzen mit (40) is top of the table; if tested, sich schlagen mit and sich verabschieden von would have done equally well. In principle thou-ing is not in fact symmetrical: one interlocutor may use the formal pronoun of address towards another, who in turn feels entitled to use the informal one (though such asymmetry is not now common practice). Moreover, when one person addresses another, this does not mean that (s)he is thereby being addressed as well: you may address someone who never speaks a word in reply, and still an addressing event has occurred. So, there is no question of addressing as such being a single event when two people, as is not uncommon, address each other. On the other hand, in addition to having the literal sense of addressing, mutual or otherwise, sich duzen also means ‘to be on familiar terms with each other’. With this conceptualisation of the interaction, it is harder to split up the relationship in two, where one participant could in principle not be involved or be involved otherwise. And being on familiar terms is such a salient conventional concept that just about everybody feels free to use this verb in the construction tailor-made for the purpose: the comitative reciprocal one. For Briefe schreiben ‘to write letters’ (41), the corresponding symmetricinteraction concept is ‘to correspond’, and it is (still) sufficiently conventional and salient to license the comitative reciprocal construction for most. Personally I would have thought that this is also true for ‘to meet’, corresponding to transitive ‘to see’ (42) (in the sense ‘to perceive visually’ probably nobody would accept the comitative reciprocal construction); for ‘to be attracted, be agreeable to each other’, corresponding to transitive ‘to please’ (43);10 for ‘to be lovingly interlocked in an embrace’, corresponding to transitive ‘to take into one’s arms’ (44); and for ‘to be acquainted’, corresponding to transitive ‘to know’ (45). But on current evidence, many speakers seem to be drawing a line between being on familiar terms and corresponding on the one hand and this group of concepts on the other. The contrast between sich aus dem Weg gehen mit (46) and sich meiden (47) is instructive: especially among those not strongly averse to extended comitative reciprocals, the former is consistently rated better, even though the meaning would seem to be essentially the same, ‘to avoid each other’. The first is conceived of as more active and positive, however: to go out of each other’s way one has to do something, specifically directing one’s movements so as to prevent crossing the paths of the other. Therefore, in a conceptualisation of this interaction as symmetric, in order to be successful this intentional avoidance behaviour has got to be engaged in jointly. Meiden, though also intentional, is only negative, ‘to avoid meeting’, without specifying anything that is done towards this end and the doing of which could be shared between the (non-) interactors.11

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

Although mistrust (48) and admiration (49) are often experienced as being mutual, there do not seem to be cultural conceptions of corresponding symmetric interactions among two equally sharing the involvement. In between being on familiar terms and admiring there is a wide range of interactions where the members of a culture can (tacitly) differ in conceptualising them as symmetric single-event/state or symmetric multiple-event/state, and in particular in recognising these conceptualisations as conventional or as merely occasional, and where the members of the speech community can accordingly differ in expressing these conceptualisations through the comitative or, which is always an option, through the coordinative reciprocal construction. This is, perhaps, the source of most of the variation documented in the questionnaire study.

. Beyond German The regular comitative reciprocal construction and its extension to non-symmetric transitives was illustrated from German, but obviously German is not the only language to have constructions of that kind. In conclusion I would therefore like to at least broach the question what it would need to be like German in having an extended in addition to a regular comitative reciprocal construction. Having the regular construction would not seem very unusual: extending it is what makes German remarkable. First of all, for an analogical formation you need a model – intransitive or intransitivised verbs with a reflexive look-alike, used in particular for symmetric interactions. Such verbal marking is not universal, but common. Among the languages that have it, some use it far less productively than others (English, for example, in comparison to German or Slavonic). Other necessary conditions are (i) regular comitative constructions, typically limited to single-event, shared-involvement (or dynamic) interactions; (ii) regular coordinative constructions; (iii) comitative and coordinative constructions involved in the coding of reciprocal situations; (iv) reflexive pronouns (or other markers) also used for reciprocal situations. Comitative constructions, if not universal, are more widespread than coordinative ones, especially nounphrase coordination, which is definitely not universal. Coding reciprocal situations through structural symmetry among co-participants should be very common, if it is not universal. Reflexives-cum-reciprocals, though common, are definitely not universal. A factor that would seem conducive to having a comitative reciprocal construction alongside a coordinative one is some flexibility in the speech community’s worldview as to event individuation and their conventionalisation.

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 Frans Plank

It is a question for future typological research whether the variables among these conditions correlate with anything else, as implicantia or implicata, and if so, why.

Acknowledgments I am sure what is being said in this paper about symmetric predicates has, in one form(alism) or another, been said a hundred times before, which exempts me from adducing hundreds of references. And it’s not for the first time either that comitatives have been linked with reciprocals. For what I got wrong I alone am to blame. My only, and perhaps ill-founded, aspiration to originality lies in distinguishing the extended from the regular comitative reciprocal construction and in interpreting the relation between them as in essence an analogical extension. Long interested in reciprocals, my inspiration for taking a closer look at these constructions has been work by Alexis Dimitriadis, Tal Siloni, and Tanya Reinhart, as presented at the Utrecht Anaphora Typology workshop (1–2 November 2002, and partly become available since, see Siloni 2001, 2002; Dimitriadis & Seidl 2003), causing some agitation among native speakers of languages supposedly “having” or “not having” comitative (or, as they call them, “discontinuous”) reciprocals. The Berlin workshop on Reciprocity and Reflexivity (1–2 October 2004), where a version of this paper was presented, provided an opportunity to continue the discontinuous reciprocals debate with the Utrecht group and others. Perhaps the approach I take is not as different from theirs as it may seem, although I think I have a more plausible explanation for the puzzlement of natives when asked whether they have or don’t have (extended) discontinuous reciprocals. Also, other than identifying some prerequisites specifically for (adventurously) extending discontinuous reciprocals beyond the regular cases, I am in no position to judge the merits of the construal of discontinuous reciprocals as one of the several correlates of “lexical” (as opposed to “syntactic”) reflexivisation, which Dimitriadis, Siloni, and Reinhart consider a major typological parameter. I am grateful to numerous colleagues and students, mostly at Konstanz, for helping me with a questionnaire which turned out to elicit exuberant disagreement of grammaticality judgments of extended comitative reciprocal constructions, although just about everybody filling it in was under the assumption of being in basic agreement with everybody else. And thanks to the editors of this volume for a careful reading of the (almost) end product. Enjoy, Matt-san.

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

Notes . The significance of this one-event condition will be highlighted later (Section 3). . The German verb used for illustration differs from its closest English equivalent insofar as it is dedicatedly intransitive: it lacks the non-symmetric transitive use of to fight, whose German equivalents are a prefixal combination of the same stem, bekämpfen, or the simplex intransitive verb with the specifically adversative preposition gegen ‘against’ rather than more versatile mit ‘with’ as a marker for the oblique. . There is no symmetry, for example, in Henry VII and Henry VIII followed each other – unless the notional predicate is taken to subsume lexical converses, follow and precede. . Not all intransitivised verbs receive such marking, however; and there are also reverse derivations of transitives, causative and other, from intransitives, often marked by prefixes or suffixes. For a verb such as scheiden ‘to part’, as in (3) and (4) above, it is hard to determine whether the intransitive or transitive use is more basic. The transitive use is essentially like that of trennen in (11) and (12), though there are added semantic complications. . In a slightly more complex variation on this theme, when verabreden is used transitively, the object can only be the joint action that is being agreed on: Gott und Satan verabredeten ein Treffen ‘God and Satan agreed on (the time and place for) a meeting’ Gott verabredete mit Satan ein Treffen ‘God agreed with Satan on (the time and place for) a meeting’ Used intransitively, the verb is again accompanied by the reflexive: Gott und Satan verabredeten sich (zu einem Treffen) ‘God and Satan made an appointment with each other (for a meeting)’ Gott verabredete sich mit Satan (zu einem Treffen) ‘God made an appointment with Satan (for a meeting)’ . I do not pursue here the possibility of a more abstract analysis which has the dative as a comitative marker. The basic transitive construction itself (13) would then be the comitative counterpart to coordinative (14). In equative constructions of corresponding adjectival predicates we do find the familiar mit (as an alternative to equative wie) instead of the verbal dative: Ein Alligator ist gleich groß mit einem Krokodil (or . . . wie ein Krokodil) ‘An alligator is equally big with a crocodile’ (or: ‘. . . as a crocodile’) Also, there are symmetric predicates, especially of an adjectival or participial kind, where dative is in essentially free variation with mit, e.g. benachbart or vertraut sein ‘to be next-door neighbour, familiar to/with’. . The corresponding nominalisation, with the object not case-governed, does permit a comitative construction: die Heirat der Prinzessin mit dem Grafen ‘the marriage of the princess with the earl’ . Differences ensuing from adding subject-oriented constituents (such as adverbs like widerwillig ‘reluctantly’) again do not pertain to conceptualisations of the interactions as such:

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 Frans Plank

fighting or leave-taking can well be reciprocal with one participant eager and the other reluctant to act. . Informal enquiries suggest that there are speakers who accept examples like (36a), though not (36b). Although such examples were not included in the questionnaire study reported in Section 3.3, the motives for liberality here are the same as those to be explained presently. . Some informants interpreted sentence (43) differently, namely as containing a genuine reflexive (‘Effi was pleased with herself in the company of Crampas’), hence the relatively good grades from some not really going in for extended comitative reciprocals. This interpretation was also offered by some who had mixed feelings about (49), with ‘Hitler admired himself in the company of Stalin’ as a possible reading, but with ‘Hitler and Stalin admired each other’ as categorically out. . Dynamic vs. static, the aspectual distinction sometimes invoked to constrain comitatives in general, is not exactly what makes the difference here. An analogous difference would be obtained, I believe, between sich treffen mit and ??? sich begegnen mit ‘to meet refl with’, treffen being the potentially more active verb of meeting.

References Dimitriadis, Alexis & Amanda Seidl (2003). “Statives and reciprocal morphology in Swahili”. In Patrick Sauzet & Anne Zribi-Hertz (Eds.), Typologie des langues d’Afrique et universaux de la grammaire, Vol. 1. Paris: L’Harmattan. Siloni, Tal (2001). “Reciprocal verbs”. Paper from the Proceedings of the Israel Association of Theoretical Linguistics, available online at http://www.tau.ac.il/∼siloni/ Siloni, Tal (2002). “Active lexicon”. Theoretical Linguistics, 28, 383–400.

Appendix: Questionnaire study on the acceptability of extended comitative reciprocal constructions Number of respondents:

50 (numbered in italics, top of each column, arranged in order of decreasing rigidity of judgment), all native speakers of German, with a wide range of regional backgrounds, and all linguists or students of linguistics, though with one exception (No. 47, Ekkehard K.) professionally unconcerned with reciprocals. My own (Bavarian-tinged) judgments, not included here, are avant-garde extrême-droite like those of No. 50 (Carsten E., a native Berliner).

The sentences graded are given in full in Section 3.3, (40)–(49). Grades:

1 2 3 4

grammatical in between, but closer to 1 in between, but closer to 4 ungrammatical

4

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7

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8

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11

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28

3.9 3.8 3.8 3.7 3.7 3.7 3.7 3.7 3.7 3.6 3.6 3.6 3.6 3.6 3.6 3.5 3.5 3.5 3.5 3.5 3.5 3.5 3.5 3.4 3.4 3.4 3.4 3.4

4

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sich duzen mit sich Briefe schreiben mit sich sehen mit sich gefallen mit sich umarmen mit sich kennen mit sich aus dem Weg gehen mit sich meiden mit sich misstrauen mit sich bewundern mit average grade for informant

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1

informants examples graded

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The regular and the extended comitative reciprocal construction 

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3.3 3.3 3.3 3.3 3.2 3.2 3.2 3.2 3.1 3.1 3.1 3.1 3.0 3.0 3.0 3.0 2.9 2.9 2.9 2.8 2.5 2.3

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sich duzen mit sich Briefe schreiben mit sich sehen mit sich gefallen mit sich umarmen mit sich kennen mit sich aus dem Weg gehen mit sich meiden mit sich misstrauen mit sich bewundern mit average grade for informant

1

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 average grade for example

informants examples graded

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 Frans Plank

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Auxiliation of ‘give’ verbs in Russian Discourse evidence for grammaticalization Vera I. Podlesskaya Russian State University for the Humanities

The article explores the syntax, semantics and pragmatics of Russian ‘give’ verbs in hortative and permissive constructions tracing a conceptual shift from the most literal interpretation of giving as ‘transfer of possession’ through various metaphoric extensions of this meaning to more abstract meanings manifested by ‘give’ verbs used in grammaticalized constructions. On the basis of evidence from the ability to be used in different types of speech acts, from mapping configurations, from reactions to morphosyntactic tests (passivization, the placement of negation, animacy of arguments), it is demonstrated that different uses of ‘give’ verbs in present-day Russian coexist occupying different positions on the grammaticalization path.

.

Introduction

In this paper,1 I will look in detail at the grammaticalization of ‘give’ verbs in the two Russian constructions – hortative and permissive, illustrated below in (1) and (2), respectively. Hortative constructions make use of the imperfective verb of giving davat’ while permissives use primarily (though not exclusively) the perfective verb of giving dat’. Both in hortative and in permissive constructions, the lexical verb can be either in the infinitive form, as in (1a) and (2a) or in the finite (indicative future) form, as in (1b), (1c) and (2b). In hortative constructions, the auxiliated ‘give’ verb is always in the imperative form, irrespective of the finiteness of the lexical verb, as shown in (1a), (1b) and (1c). In permissive constructions with the infinitive of the lexical verb, all TAM forms of the auxiliated ‘give’ verb are possible, cf. (2a) with the indicative past tense form of the ‘give’ verb. In permissive constructions with the indicative future form of the lexical verb, only the imperative of the auxiliated ‘give’ verb is possible, cf. (2b):

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 Vera I. Podlesskaya

(1) Hortative a. Davaj xodi-t’ bosikom! give.imperf.imp.2sg walk.imperf-inf barefoot ‘Let’s walk barefoot’. (Lit. ‘[Please] give to walk. . .’) b. Davaj poxodi-m bosikom! give.imperf.imp.2sg take.a.walk.perf-fut.1pl barefoot ‘Let’s take a walk barefoot’. (Lit. ‘[Please] give [we] will take a walk. . .’) c. Davaj det-i poxodj-at bosikom give.imperf.imp.2sg child-pl.nom take.a.walk.perf-fut.3pl barefoot ‘Let children take a walk barefoot’. (Lit. ‘[Please] give children will take a walk. . .’) (2) Permissive a. My da-l-i detj-am poxodi-t’ we.nom give.perf-past-pl child-pl.dat take.a.walk.perf-inf bosikom barefoot ‘We let children take a walk barefoot’. (Lit. ‘We gave children to take a walk. . .’) b. Daj det-i poxodj-at bosikom give.perf.imp.2sg child-pl.nom take.a.walk.perf-fut.3pl barefoot ‘Let (=please, allow) children take a walk barefoot’. (Lit. ‘[Please] give children will take a walk. . .’)

Grammaticalization of ‘give’ and ‘give’-type verbs has been observed in different languages. Target uses of ‘give’ verbs are usually described as benefactive, causative, permissive or applicative markers (cf. Heine et al. 1993: 97–103 and Heine & Kuteva 2002: 149–155 as primary sources). To trace a conceptual shift from the most literal interpretation of giving as ‘transfer of possession’ through various metaphoric extensions of this meaning to more abstract meanings manifested by ‘give’ verbs used in grammaticalized constructions, much cross-linguistic research has been done, especially within the Cognitive Grammar framework (cf. Newman 1993, 1996, 1997; Shibatani 1994; Langacker 1987/1995). The fact that Russian permissives, imperatives and hortatives make use of auxiliated ‘give’ verbs did not remain unnoticed in the literature on syntactic typology (Xrakovskij & Volodin 1986: 129–131) and on syntax of complex predicates (Toops 1988, 1991), as well as in conventional grammars of Russian (Grammatika 1970: 364, 416, 582, 613; Grammatika 1980, I: §1485). However, ‘give’ verbs in Russian have received surprisingly little attention from the perspective of grammaticalization. My goal here is to partially bridge the gap – to pinpoint symptoms of grammaticalization of ‘give’ verbs in Russian hortative and permissive constructions and to test the Russian data against typological generalizations about grammaticalization of lexical verbs into auxiliaries.

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Auxiliation of ‘give’ verbs in Russian 

In this paper, I describe the syntax and semantics of ‘give’ verbs in fully or partially grammaticalized constructions with hortative and permissive meaning, based on the data from present-day Russian.2 The constructions in question will be investigated from a synchronic perspective that sees grammaticalization as “primarily a syntactic, discourse pragmatic phenomenon, to be studied from the point of view of fluid patterns of language use” (Hopper & Traugott 1993: 2). Adopting this approach, I will try to show that different uses of ‘give’ verbs in present-day Russian coexist occupying different positions on the grammaticalization path. The organization of the paper is as follows. In Section 2, I provide a very schematic overview of Russian verbs having a full lexical meaning of giving and of their figurative uses. In the main sections (3, 4 and 5), I will present the analysis of hortative constructions, permissive constructions with the infinitive of the lexical verb and permissive constructions with the future indicative form of the lexical verb. In concluding remarks, I will address the role of subjectification in the extension of the literal transference sense of Russian ‘give’ verbs to their auxiliated use in hortatives and permissives.

. Verbs of giving: Literal and figurative uses Russian is a language that doesn’t have dative shift alternation of the English type. The basic ‘give’ construction in Russian is couched in the subject – direct object – indirect object configuration. The human Agent (the Giver) is coded as a subject (marked with the nominative), the Patient (the Thing transferred) is coded as a direct object (marked with the accusative) and the human Recipient is coded as an indirect object (marked with the dative). There are no restrictions on referencing to the speaker either by the Agent or by the Recipient as shown in (3a) and (3b): (3) a.

Ja da-l-a Vas-e knig-u I.nom give.perf-past-sg.fem Vasja-sg.masc.dat book-acc ‘I gave a book to Vasja.’ b. Vasj-a da-l mne knig-u Vasja-sg.masc.nom give.perf-past.sg.masc I.dat book-acc ‘Vasja gave a book to me.’

An abundance of metaphorical extensions is found with ‘give’ verbs in Russian. The main areas of extension fall into categories typical for ‘give’ verbs crosslinguistically (see the Preface and individual papers in Newman (Ed.) 1997) and include causation, enablement, movement, manifestation and some others. Some less trivial cases are illustrated below:

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 Vera I. Podlesskaya

(4) Ja da-l by ej let tridcat’ ne I.nom give.perf-past.sg.masc subj she.dat year-pl.gen thirty.acc not bol’še more ‘I would say that she [looks] not older than 30.’ Lit. ‘I would give her 30. . . ’ (5) Emu da-l-i polkovnik-a he.dat give.perf-past-pl colonel-acc ‘[They] gave him [the rank of] colonel.’ (Note that the noun group polkovnik-a ‘colonel-ACC’ keeps the accusative marker -a which misleadingly signals the animacy of the direct object although the noun is used metaphorically to refer to a inanimate notion of ‘rank’ – the inanimate masculine noun should have zero marking in the accusative) (6) Zdes’ operator-y da-l-i lic-o krupnym plan-om here cameraman-pl.nom give.perf-past-pl face-acc close.up-instr ‘Here cameramen took a close-up of the face.’

As I briefly mentioned above, Russian has two nuclear verbs of giving – the perfective dat’ and the imperfective davat’. I will treat them as separate lexical units rather than inflected forms, since the automatic change in aspect is possible only in restricted grammatical contexts, otherwise being either absolutely forbidden or accompanied by a shift in the lexical meaning. Metaphoric extensions of the basic lexical meaning are different for the perfective dat’ and for the imperfective davat’. For example, only the imperfective davat’ in the spoken language is the equivalent of prodavat’ ‘to sell’ in the soviet cultural paradigm meaning ‘to sell something which is in short supply’ (only with implied generalized Agent and Recipient), cf. (7): (7) Na ugl-u seljodk-u daj-ut at corner-loc herring-acc give.imperf-pres.3pl ‘[They] are selling herring at the [nearest] corner.’

For our discussion, it is significant that the range of possible metaphoric extensions of the basic transference meaning is pragmatically conditioned. It may particularly depend on the type of discourse, or “discourse register”. Relevant for our discussion is differentiating between the deictic register and the narrative register (the distinction going back to Benveniste’s work (1966), further developed, inter alia, by Paduˇceva (1996); about the relevance of this distinction to the analysis of Russian, Polish and German discourse see also Wiemer 1997). The deictic, or “interactive”, register is associated with Lyons’s (1977) “canonical situation of utterance” in which a speaker and a hearer interact directly and the content of utterance is presented as being linked to the moment and place of speech. The nar-

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Auxiliation of ‘give’ verbs in Russian 

rative register is associated with situationally remote monologic types of speech in which there is no direct interaction of interlocutors. The range of figurative meanings of Russian ‘give’ verbs is not the same in the interactive and in the narrative register. A good example is a figurative meaning ‘to do something extraordinary or unexpected in a given situation’, cf. (8), which appears only in the interactive register: (8) Nu, Vasj-a daj-ot! part Vasja-sg.masc.nom give.imperf-pres.3sg ‘Wow, [just look what] Vasja is doing!’ Lit. ‘Vasja is giving’

This utterance cannot be exploited in the narrative register, i.e. it cannot be accommodated by remote types of speech. For instance, it cannot be placed into the scope of perception, cognition or utterance verbs, e.g. (9a) is unacceptable, while the same syntactic configuration with the same verb of giving is perfect when the verb is used in its literal meaning, cf. (9b): (9) a. *Ja viž-u kak Vasj-a daj-ot I.nom see-pres.1sg how Vasja-sg.masc.nom give.imperf-pres.3sg *‘I see how Vasja is doing [amazing things].’ Lit. ‘I see how Vasja is giving’ b. Ja viž-u kak Vasj-a daj-ot I.nom see-pres.1sg how Vasja-sg.masc.nom give.imperf-pres.3sg [Pet-e knig-u] Petja-sg.masc.dat book-acc ‘I see how Vasja is giving [Petja a book].’

The perfective dat’ and the imperfective davat’ may have different figurative meanings in particular grammatical contexts. For our discussion, it is significant that imperative constructions, being, by definition, characteristic for the interactive register, are among such contexts influencing the range of possible metaphoric extensions. The perfective dat’ and the imperfective davat’ not only have different figurative meanings when used in the imperative form, but also their imperatives have some figurative meanings that are not represented by the rest of their grammatical forms. Grammatically, both the perfective dat’ and the imperfective davat’ are possible in the imperative construction, cf. (10). Both the perfective and the imperfective second person imperative are inflected for number, with the plural marker showing either the actual plurality of hearers or the polite reference to a single hearer, cf. (11): (10) Daj / davaj mne knižk-u give.perf.imp.2sg / give.imperf.imp.2sg me.dat book-acc ‘Give me the book!’

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(11) Daj-te / davaj-te mne knižk-u give.perf.imp-2pl / give.imperf.imp-2pl me.dat book-acc ‘Give me the book!’ (addressed either to more than one person, or politely addressed to a single person)

The difference between the perfective and the imperfective imperative is pragmatic and is attributed to the general aspect opposition known for Russian imperatives: the imperfective imperative is more “situationally bound”, in that the speaker’s reasons and motivations are shared by the hearer, while the perfective imperative sounds as “out of the blue” for the hearer. This difference opens the possibility for divergences of possible metaphoric extensions. For example, only the imperfective imperative davaj, and not the perfective imperative daj, can be used to mean quick directional movement (note that other forms of the imperfective davat’, except the imperative, do not have this meaning): (12) Davaj(te) otsjuda bystro! give.imperf.imp.2sg (2pl) from.here quickly ‘Get away from here quickly!’ (Lit. ‘Give away quickly’)

Having undergone further idiomatization, this use acquires a specialized discourse function and is used in present-day spoken Russian as a standard expression for saying good-bye as in Nu, davaj. Poka ‘[OK] then, take (lit. ‘give’) [care]. Bye.’ The divergences of figurative uses between the imperfective and the perfective verb of giving in Russian are followed up with the divergences of their uses in grammaticalized constructions. For example, the imperfective imperative undergoes further delexicalisation acquiring (a) the function of an intensifier in serial double imperative constructions, as in (13), and (b) the function of an inceptive marker in constructions with the infinitive of a lexical verb describing a third person’s intensive action motivated in the given context, as in (14): (13) Prygaj davaj jump.imperf.imp.2sg give.imperf.imp.2sg ‘Go jump!’ (Lit. ‘Jump give!’) (14) Masha ispuga-l-a-s’ i Masha-nom get.frightened.perf-past-sg.fem-refl and davaj mam-u zva-t’ give.imperf.imp.2sg mom-acc call-inf ‘Masha got frightened and started to call her mom.’

Interestingly, not only the imperative construction (13), but the declarative utterance (14) as well cannot be exploited in the narrative register. This, again, can be tested by placing the utterance into the scope of perception, cognition or utterance verbs. As shown in (15), this results in ungrammaticality:

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(15) *Petj-a rasskaza-l ˇcto Maš-a Petja-nom tell.perf-past.sg.masc that Masha-nom ispuga-l-a-s’ i davaj get.frightened.perf-past-sg.fem-refl and give.imperf.imp.2sg mam-u zva-t’ mom-acc call-inf ‘Petja told that Masha got frightened and started to call her mom.’

The ungrammaticality of (15) contrasts with the absolute correctness of (16) where davaj is changed for the finite inceptive verb naˇcala ‘began’: (16) Petj-a rasskaza-l ˇcto Maš-a Petja-nom tell.perf-past.sg.masc that Masha-nom ispuga-l-a-s’ i naˇca-l-a get.frightened.perf-past-sg.fem-refl and begin.perf-past-sg.fem mam-u zva-t’ mom-acc call-inf ‘Petja told that Masha got frightened and started to call her mom.’

It means that even the auxiliated use of the imperative form of the ‘give’ verb keeps its main discourse characteristics, namely, its belonging to the interactive register. The two constructions I focus on in this paper are also sensitive to the aspect of the ‘give’ verb – hortatives being associated exclusively with the imperfective davat’ and permissives being associated primarily with the perfective dat’. But, as I will show in the rest of the paper, irrespective of the aspect, ‘give’ verbs in grammaticalized constructions keep characteristics that can be traced back to their use in the interactive register.

. Hortative constructions in Russian In this section, I will demonstrate that the use of Russian ‘give’ verbs in hortative constructions can be viewed as emerging from their use as lexical verbs in a pragmatically restricted local context, that of the interactive register, specifically, from their use in imperative constructions, and yet more specifically, in imperative constructions where the speaker is associated with the Recipient. To restate this informally, the use of Russian ‘give’ verbs in hortatives is based on the GIVE ME pattern. There are three basic morhosyntactic possibilities to express the hortative meaning in Russian. All of them make use of the grammaticalized form of the imperfective imperative of the ‘give’ verb davaj (2sg) / davajte (2pl). These three options are listed below as patterns (A), (B) and (C).

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Pattern (A) is a null-subject construction with davaj(te) plus the infinitive of a lexical verb. The subject is always understood inclusively – as the speaker (or, speakers) plus the hearer (or, hearers). The number marked on the ‘give’ verb refers to the number of hearers – “you.sg” vs. “you.pl” (“you.pl” – as always in Russian – can be understood also as “you.sg.polite”). The number of speakers remains unmarked. Examples (17a) and (17b) differ in the number marked on the ‘give’ verb: (17) a.

Davaj igra-t’ v futbol po subbotam give.imperf.imp.2sg play.imperf-inf in football on.every Saturdays ‘Let us (me/us and you.sg) play football on Saturdays.’ b. Davaj-te igra-t’ v futbol po subbotam give.imperf.imp-2pl play.imperf-inf in football on.every Saturdays ‘Let us (me/us and you.pl/you.sg.polite) play football on Saturdays.’

Pattern (B) is a null-subject construction with davaj(te) plus the indicative (future tense 1st person plural) form of a perfective or an imperfective lexical verb (in Russian, the future tense is expressed synthetically for perfective verbs, cf. (1b, c), (18), and phrasally for imperfective verbs, cf. (19)). The subject is always understood inclusively – as the speaker(s) plus the hearer(s). The number marked on the lexical verb is always plural supporting the interpretation of the subject as including at least one speaker and at least one hearer with the actual number of speakers remaining unmarked. The number marked on the ‘give’ verb refers to the number of hearers – “you.sg” vs. “you.pl”(=“you.sg.polite”). Examples (18a) and (18b), as well as examples (19a) and (19b) differ in the number marked on the ‘give’ verb: (18) a.

Davaj sygra-em v futbol v etu subbotu give.imperf.imp.2sg play.perf-fut.1pl in football on this Saturday ‘Let us (me/us and you.sg) play football this Saturday.’ b. Davaj-te sygra-em v futbol v etu subbotu give.imperf.imp-2pl play.perf-fut.1pl in football on this Saturday ‘Let us (me/us and you.pl/you.sg.polite) play football this Saturday.’

(19) a.

Davaj bud-em igra-t’ v futbol give.imperf.imp.2sg be.aux-fut.1pl play.imperf-inf in football po subbotam on.every Saturdays ‘Let us (me/us and you.sg) play football on Saturdays.’ b. Davaj-te bud-em igra-t’ v futbol give.imperf.imp-2pl be.aux-fut.1pl play.imperf.inf in football po subbotam on.every Saturdays ‘Let us (me/us and you.pl/you.sg.polite) play football on Saturdays.’

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Auxiliation of ‘give’ verbs in Russian 

The future tense 1st person plural form with a null-subject can alone express the hortative meaning – not being accompanied by the imperative of the ‘give’ verb davaj(te). The number of hearers then must remain unmarked. Except that the subject is not overtly expressed in the hortative use, this construction materially does not differ from the indicative use of the future tense 1st person plural form (there is however a suprasegmental difference – the hortative use favors non-final intonation): (20) Sygra-em v futbol v etu subbotu? play.perf-fut.1.pl in football on this Saturday ‘Let us play football this Saturday’. Lit. ‘Shall we (me/us and you.sg or you.pl/you.sg.polite) play football this Saturday?’

Until very recently (in some varieties of Russian, until midfifties of the 20th century), the hortative use without davaj(te) was morphologically differentiated from the indicative use of the future tense 1st person plural form: the hortative marked both the number of the subject (1pl, fixed) and the number of hearers (1pl vs. 2pl). Example (21) is a line from a song popular during the Second World War: (21) Spoj-om-te, druz’ja sing.perf-fut.1pl-2pl friend.nom.pl (voc) ‘Let’s sing, friends!’

In present-day Russian, these synthetic hortative forms showing the number of hearers are no more used, with their functions having been overtaken by constructions with ‘give’ verbs and thus, marking the number of the subject (1st person plural inclusive) remains with the lexical verb, while marking the number of hearers (2nd person singular vs. 2nd person plural) goes to the imperative of the ‘give’ verb. The only synthetic hortative forms of this type which remained in presentday spoken Russian are those of the verb idti ‘to go’ and of some of its prefixal derivates, like pojti ‘to go (to/from)’ or zajti ‘to come in’: (22) pojdj-om-te go.perf-fut.1pl-2pl ‘Let’s go!’

Patterns (A) and (B) are sensitve to the aspect of the lexical verb in that perfective verbs can be used only in constructions of the type (B), while imperfective verbs can be used both in (A) and in (B). For imperfective verbs, (A) and (B) are interchangeable in most contexts, having, however, some subtle semantic and syntactic differences. At least two of them are worth mentioning. First, constructions of the type (B), with the indicative, are favored when the lexical verb is negative and the speaker’s exhortation refers to the action anchored in the moment of speech. This is shown in (23), where the situational context is

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that the speaker and the hearer are impatiently waiting for a person who is late for the appointment. In this context, (23a) – a construction with the indicative form – fits well, while (23b) – a construction with the infinitive – is inappropriate: (23) a.

Davaj ne bud-em ego bol’še give.imperf.imp.2sg neg be.aux-fut.1pl he.acc more žda-t’ wait.imperf-inf ‘Let us not wait for him any more.’ [Context: “Since we don’t have time to”] b. ?Davaj ego bol’še ne žda-t’ give.imperf.imp.2sg he.acc more neg wait.imperf-inf ?‘Let us not wait for him any more.’ [Context: “Since we don’t have time to”]

Note that (23b) is grammatically well formed, but is appropriate rather in generic contexts meaning ‘Let us never wait for him’. Second, if the hortative is addressed to a single hearer, constructions of the type (B), with the indicative, are favored when used with floating determiners (Testelec 2001: 295), e.g. emphatic reflexives, like sami ‘ourselves’, or quantifiers, like odni ‘alone (pl)’. Constructions of the type (A), with the infinitive, in this case, are avoided (though marginally accepted by some speakers): (24) a.

Davaj bud-em sam-i give.imperf.imp.2sg be.aux-fut.1pl oneself-pl.nom resha-t’ nash-i problem-y solve.imperf-inf our-pl.acc problem-pl.acc ‘Let’s solve our problems ourselves.’ ? sam-i resha-t’ nash-i b. Davaj give.imperf.imp.2sg oneself-pl.nom solve.imperf-inf our-pl.acc problemy problem-pl.acc ‘Let’s solve our problems ourselves.’

In (24a), the reference of the floating reflexive, as well as its case and number, are harmoniously controlled exclusively by the plural indicative form of the lexical verb. This is not the case in (24b) where the understood subject is again plural (the speaker plus the hearer), but the only overt signal of the number is the singular marker on the ‘give’ verb. Hence, to avoid the reference conflict, indicatives are used in preference to infinitives. Pattern (C) is an overt-subject construction with davaj(te) plus the future tense form of a perfective or an imperfective lexical verb. This construction, unlike (A) and (B), is extended beyond first person plural subject. The lexical verb agrees

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with the overt subject in person and number. The number marked on the ‘give’ verb keeps referring to the number of hearers – “you.sg” vs. “you.pl”: (25) a.

Davaj ja xleb porež-u give.imperf.imp.2sg I.nom bread.acc cut.perf- fut.1sg ‘Let me cut the bread.’ Lit. ‘Let I will cut. . .’ (addressing to a singular hearer) b. Davaj-te on xleb porež-et give.imperf.imp.2pl he.nom bread.acc cut.perf- fut.3sg ‘Let him cut the bread.’ Lit. ‘Let he will cut. . .’ (addressing to plural hearers) c. Davaj ty xleb bud-eš give.imperf.imp.2sg you.sg.nom bread.acc be.aux-fut.2sg reza-t’, a on-i bud-ut cut.imperf-inf while they-pl.nom be.aux-fut.3.pl my-t posud-u wash.imperf-inf dishes-acc ‘Let you cut the bread and them do the dishes.’ Lit. ‘Let you will cut. . .and they will do. . .’ (addressing to a singular hearer)

The main difference between constructions of the type (C), on the one hand, and constructions of the types (A) and (B), on the other hand, is that the overt 1st person plural subject in (C) can be understood exclusively (“we = plural speakers”), while the understood subject in (A) and (B) is always inclusive (“we = speaker(s) plus hearer(s)”). Note that the inclusive vs. exclusive understanding of the subject is not influenced by the number marked on the ‘give’ verb: the latter keeps referring only to the number of hearers. Compare examples (26) and (27) where (26) illustrates the type (C), i.e. the exclusive overt subject, and (27) illustrates the type (B), i.e. the inclusive covert subject. Interestingly, the contrast between the inclusive reading of the first person plural in hortatives of the type (B) and the exclusive reading in hortatives of the type (C) appears to be the only opposition of the inclusive and the exclusive meaning in the grammatical system of Russian: (26) Davaj my xleb porež-em [a give.imperf.imp.2sg we.pl.nom bread.acc cut.perf-fut.1pl while ty posud-u pomoj-eš] you.sg.nom dishes-acc wash.perf- fut.2sg ‘Lets we cut the bread [and lets you do the dishes].’ Lit. ‘Let we (=plural speakers) will cut. . .and you (singular hearer) will do. . .’ (addressing a singular hearer) (27) Davaj xleb porež-em give.imperf.imp.2sg bread.acc cut.perf-fut.1pl

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‘Let us cut the bread.’ Lit. ‘Let we (=singular speaker) together with you (=singular hearer) cut. . .’ (addressing a singular hearer)

The inclusive understanding of the subjects in (A) and (B) explains why they, and not constructions of the type (C), are favored when interlocutors are subjects of a reciprocal predicate. Compare (28a), pattern (B) and (28b), pattern (C): (28) a.

Davaj potselu-em-sja give.imperf.imp.2sg kiss.perf-fut.1pl-recipr ‘Let us kiss each other.’ b. ?Davaj my potselu-em-sja give.imperf.imp.2sg we.pl.nom kiss.perf-fut.1pl-recipr ‘Let us kiss each other.’

Whatever morphosyntactic pattern of the hortative construction, (A), (B) or (C), is used, the general meaning of exhortation is covered by the imperative form of the imperfective verb of giving davaj(te). This form can represent the hortative construction with the lexical verb being omitted and its meaning being inferred from linguistic or situational context, cf. the dialog in (29): (29) A. Pora uxodi-t’ time leave-inf ‘[It’s] time to leave.’ B. Davaj ˇcerez polˇcasa give.imperf.imp.2sg in half.an.hour ‘Let’s [better leave] in half an hour.’ Lit. ‘[Please] give (imperfective imperative) in half an hour’

The meaning of the imperative of the imperfective ‘give’ verb in the absence of a lexical verb can undergo further generalization and then, it functions as a discourse marker of approval or of accepting a proposal: (30) A. Ja luˇcše zavtra k tebe zajd-u I.nom better tomorrow to you drop.in-fut.1sg ‘I’d better drop in on you tomorrow.’ B. Davaj give.imperf.imp.2sg ‘OK.’ Lit. ‘[Please] give (imperfective imperative).’

The three patterns of Russian hortative constructions presented in (A), (B) and (C) are semantically and pragmatically very close. All of them are used in the interactive register as the speaker’s request for the hearer’s approval. In constructions of the types (A) and (B), with a covert inclusive subject, the speaker asks the hearer to perform an action together or, at least, to consider the possibility of performing an action together. In constructions of the type (C), with an overt exclusive subject,

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the speaker suggests that an action is performed and asks if the hearer has any objections. The action in this case can be performed by the speaker, or by the hearer, or by a third party with the hearer only being asked for the approval (meaning ‘do you mind if I do that’, or ‘do you mind if you do that’, or ‘do you mind if she does that’ etc.). But, whatever morphosyntactic type of the hortative construction is used, the general scenario is based on metaphorization of the basic transference sense: the speaker is associated with the Recipient, the hearer is associated with the Giver and the Thing transferred is associated with the hearer’s reaction requested by the speaker. In line with general principles of grammaticalization, the meaning of the auxiliated ‘give’ verb – in comparison with its literal meaning – is more centered in the speaker’s attitude.

. Permissive constructions with the infinitive of the lexical verb Now let us look more closely at permissive constructions. The prototypical permissive construction with a ‘give’ verb in Russian adapts the basic GIVE-scheme and is couched in the subject – indirect object – infinitive configuration, compare (31a) and (31b). The human Agent (the Giver, the one who issues the permission) is coded as a subject (marked with the nominative), the Recipient (the one who gets the permission) is coded as an indirect object (marked with the dative), and the action permitted is construed as a metaphoric extension of the Thing transferred and is coded as an infinitive – which replaces the direct object (marked with the accusative) of the basic ‘give’ construction. The infinitive group is, syntactically, a sentential complement of the ‘give’ verb with an implicit subject of the infinitive being normally controlled by the Recepient:3 (31) a.

Vasj-a da-l mne knig-u Vasja-sg.masc.nom give.perf-past.sg.masc I.sg.dat book-acc ‘Vasja gave me a book.’ b. Vasj-a da-l mne Vasja-sg.masc.nom give.perf-past.sg.masc I.sg.dat otdoxnu-t’ take.a.rest.perf-inf ‘Vasja let (=allowed) me take a rest.’ Lit. ‘Vasja gave me to rest.’

Both the perfective verb of giving dat’ and the imperfective verb of giving davat’ are possible in this type of constructions. The imperfective davat’ appears in contexts that automatically require imperfective forms in Russian, like those where habitual or iterative situations are referred to:

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(32) Po voskresen’jam roditel-i dava-l-i nam on.every Sundays parent-pl.nom give.imperf-past-pl we.dat pospa-t’ podol’še sleep.perf-inf later ‘On Sundays, our parents let (=allowed) us sleep later [than usual].’

Verbs of giving are used in Russian permissive constructions along with basic permissive verbs, like razrešit’ ‘to permit’ and pozvolit’ ‘to allow’, and are interchangeable in many contexts: (33) Vasj-a da-l (razreši-l/pozvoli-l) mne Vasja-sg.masc.nom give(permit/allow).perf-past.sg.masc I.dat otdoxnu-t’ take.a.rest-inf Lit. ‘Vasja gave (permitted/allowed) me to take a rest.’

Russian permissive constructions cover two possible readings of the permissive meaning which I will label as locutive and favoritive, respectively. In locutive permissive constructions, the Agent declares that (s)he has no objections against the Recipient’s action: (34) Pap-a razreši-l Vasj-e ne dad-sg.masc.nom permit.perf-past.sg.masc Vasja-sg.masc.dat not dela-t’ urok-i do.imperf-inf homework-acc ‘Dad permitted Vasja not to do [his] homework.’ (“told Vasja that he didn’t need to do [his] homework”)

In favoritive permissive constructions, the Agent either volitionally does something to facilitate the Recipient’s action or volitionally refrains from doing what could hamper the Recipient’s efforts: (35) Ljud-i rasstupi-l-i-s’ i pozvoli-l-i people-pl.nom step.aside.perf-past-pl-refl and allow.perf-past-pl emu proj-ti he.dat come.through-inf ‘People stepped aside and let him come through.’

Russian permissive constructions with ‘give’ verbs may have only favoritive reading, while the verb razrešit’ ‘to permit’ has only locutive reading and the verb pozvolit’ ‘to allow’ may have both favoritive and locutive readings (the latter use is more formal and slightly dated). Thus, dal mne projti ‘gave me to come through’ means only ‘enabled me to come through (having the possibility of preventing me from coming through, he elected not to do that)’, while razrešil mne projti ‘per-

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mitted me to come through’ means only ‘told me that I may come through’ and pozvolil mne projti ‘allowed me to come through’ may have both interpretations. Permission as a semantic type of causation is traditionally viewed as indirect causation, opposed to direct causation (a distinction going back to the works of the Leningrad/St.Petersburg typologists, cf. Nedjalkov & Sil’nickij 1969; Nedjalkov 1971), or as directive causation being opposed to manipulative causation (a distinction going back to Shibatani 1973, 1976; recently refined and developed in Shibatani 2001a, b; Shibatani & Pardeshi 2001). However, if we view semantic types of causation as located on a semantic continuum (following, inter alia, Shibatani 2001a, b; Shibatani & Pardeshi 2001), we may say that, within permissive constructions, a favoritive reading involves a more direct (manipulative) causation than a locutive reading. In favoritive permissive constructions, the Agent is more directly involved in the situation than in the case of locutive permissives, since in favoritives, the Agent of the permissive verb performs a physical rather than a verbal action and this action is often not separated in time and space from the action referred to by the infinitival complement. Iconically, favoritives show more integration of the permissive verb and its infinitival complement, which is manifested by clear symptoms of auxiliation of permissive verbs in favoritive permissive constructions. Since permissive constructions with ‘give’ verbs in Russian have favoritive rather than locutive reading, ‘give’ verbs in these constructions show clear symptoms of auxiliation. Some of these symptoms I will briefly discuss below. . Negation In permissive constructions with ‘give’ verbs, the scope of negation cannot be restricted to the infinitive alone. Thus, as a negative counterpart of (36), we can get only (37a) with a negative marker on the ‘give’ verb, and not (37b) with a negative marker on the infinitive: (36) Det-i da-l-i roditelj-am otdoxnu-t’ kid-pl.nom give.perf-past-pl parent-pl.dat rest.perf-inf ‘Children let [their] parents rest.’ (37) a.

Det-i ne da-l-i roditelj-am kid-pl.nom neg give.perf-past-pl parent-pl.dat ‘Children didn’t let [their] parents rest.’ b. *Det-i da-l-i roditelj-am ne kid-pl.nom give.perf-past-pl parent-pl.dat neg ‘Children let [their] parents not rest.’

otdoxnu-t’ rest.perf-inf otdoxnu-t’ rest.perf-inf

The fact that, in grammaticalized periphrastic causatives, the lexical verb cannot be separated from the causative auxiliary by elements with clausal scope (e.g. by a negative marker) was noticed already in Nedjalkov and Nikitina (1965) and was

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later discussed with respect to Russian ‘give’ verbs in Toops (1988, 1991). Interestingly, in Russian, infinitives of lexical verbs cannot be negated not only in permissive constructions with ‘give’ verbs: the same phenomenon is observed in other permissive constructions when they obtain favoritive reading. As a result, if a particular permissive verb allows both a locutive and a favoritive reading and its infinitival complement carries a negation, a favoritive reading is ruled out and only a locutive reading remains. For example, as was mentioned above, infinitive constructions with pozvolit’ ‘to allow’ can be interpreted both as locutive and as favoritive: (38a) can mean both ‘he told me that I may come through’ and ‘he made me able to come through by removing possible hindrances’. However, its negative counterpart (38b), with a negative marker on the infinitive, can be interpreted only as having a locutive meaning “he told me that I may not come through” (in such cases, the lexical verb under negation is usually imperfective following aspect regulations which I will not discuss here): (38) a.

On pozvoli-l mne proj-ti he.nom allow.perf-past.sg.masc I.dat come.through.perf-inf ‘He let (=allowed) me come through.’ (locutive or favoritive) b. On pozvoli-l mne ne he.nom allow.perf-past.sg.masc I.dat neg proxodi-t’ come.through.imperf-inf ‘He allowed me not to come through.’ (only locutive)

We may conclude then that restrictions on negation as symptoms of auxiliation in permissive constructions are not idiosyncrasies of Russian ‘give’ verbs, but should be viewed rather as a natural consequence of their favoritive meaning. . Impersonal passives Unlike other permissive verbs, ‘give’ verbs block passivisation of permissive constructions. Impersonal passives, like (39a), and impersonal reflexive passives, like (40a), are correct with pozvolit’ ‘to allow’ and with razrešit’ ‘to permit’, but are ungrammatical with the ‘give’ verb, as shown in (39b) and (40b): (39) a.

Po pravilam bezopasnosti im ne according.to regulations safety they.dat neg by-l-o rasreš-en-o be.aux-past-sg.neut permit.perf-pass-sg.neut (pozvol-en-o) vyxodi-t’ (allow.perf-pass-sg.neut) get.out-inf ‘According to safety regulations, they were not permitted (allowed) to get out.’ Lit. ‘them [it] was not allowed to get out’

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b. *Po pravilam bezopasnosti im ne according.to regulations safety they.dat neg by-l-o da-n-o vyxodi-t’ be.aux-past-sg.neut give.perf-pass-sg.neut get.out-inf ‘According to safety regulations, they were not given to get out.’ Lit. ‘them [it] was not given to get out’ (40) a.

Po pravilam bezopasnosti im ne according.to regulations safety they.dat neg rasreša-et-sja (pozvolja-et-sja) permit.imperf-pres.3sg-refl (allow.imperf-pres.3sg-refl) vyxodi-t’ get.out-inf ‘According to safety regulations, they are not permitted (allowed) to get out.’ Lit. ‘them [it is] not allowed to get out’ b. *Po pravilam bezopasnosti im ne according.to regulations safety they.dat neg daj-ot-sja vyxodi-t’ give.imperf-pres.3sg-refl get.out-inf ‘According to safety regulations, they [are] not given to get out.’ Lit. ‘them [it is] not given to get out’

The only exception is the case where the implied Agent is understood as something seeming beyond the powers of a human or as forces that are not able to be reasonably explained. In this case, the impersonal passive of permissive constructions with the perfective ‘give’ verb dat’ appears to be possible: (41) Emu ne by-l-o da-n-o he.dat neg be.aux-past-sg.neut give.perf-pass-sg.neut ˇcuvstvov-at’ muzyk-u sense.imperf-inf music-acc ‘He didn’t have a gift for sensing music’. Lit. ‘Him was not given to sense music’

Permissive constructions in the impersonal passive form may have only locutive readings. Unlike other permissives with ‘give’ verbs which have exclusively favoritive readings, examples, like (41), appear to be the exceptional case where permissives with ‘give’ verbs pattern with locutive permissives. The implied Agent in impersonal passives of this type seems to be understood as a force that has a power to perform a verbal action of licensing human abilities. With this exception, restrictions on forming impersonal passives show a borderline between locutive and favoritive readings with the latter being more grammaticalized, i.e. being more limited in grammatical variation.

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. Animacy of the Agent Another grammatical limitation shown by ‘give’ verbs in permissive constructions is related to the animacy of the Agent. If, in favoritive permissive constructions, the Agent is inanimate, the construction may acquire additional possibilitive reading implying that the existence or functioning of the Agent enables the Recipient’s action: (42) Gordost’ ne pozvoli-l-a em-u prinja-t’ pride.sg.fem.nom neg allow.perf-past-sg.fem he-dat accept.perf-inf moj-u pomošˇc my-sg.fem.acc help-sg.fem.acc ‘He had too much pride to accept my help.’ Lit. ‘pride didn’t allow him to accept’

The use of ‘give’ verbs in permissives with the inanimate Agent normally results in ungrammaticality. Compare the correct use of pozvolit’ ‘to allow’ in the favoritive (possibilitive) construction (43a) and the incorrect use of the ‘give’ verb in the same construction (43b): (43) a.

On mnogo zanima-l-sja i he.nom a.lot study.imperf-past.sg.masc-refl and et-o pozvoli-l-o emu poluˇci-t’ it-sg.neut.nom allow.perf-past-sg.neut he.dat get.perf-inf diplom degree.acc ‘He studied a lot and this allowed him to get his degree.’ b. *On mnogo zanima-˜lsja i he.nom a.lot study.imperf-past.sg.masc-refl and et-o da-l-o emu poluˇci-t’ it-sg.neut.nom give.perf-past-sg.neut he.dat get.perf-inf diplom degree.acc ‘He studied a lot and this allowed him to get his degree.’ Lit. ‘gave him to get’.

However, this limitation is again not absolute – under negation, ‘give’ verbs are compatible with inanimate Agents in constructions that have possibilitive reading, compare (44a) and (44b) of which (44a) is ungrammatical, while its negative counterpart, (44b), is correct:

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(44) a. *Et-a muzyk-a dava-l-a mne this-sg.fem.nom music-sg.fem.nom give.imperf-past-sg.fem I.dat zasnu-t’ fall.asleep-inf ‘This music let me fall asleep.’ b. Et-a muzyk-a ne dava-l-a this-sg.fem.nom music-sg.fem.nom neg give.imperf-past-sg.fem mne zasnu-t’ I.dat fall.asleep-inf ‘This music did not let me fall asleep.’ Lit. ‘music didn’t give me to sleep’

This difference in using negative and positive forms of da(va)t’ with the inanimate Agent can be viewed as a consequence of the following functional distinction: the positive ‘give’ verb in the favoritive permissive construction refers to a deliberate action, while its negative form introduces the absence of a deliberate action, which can therefore be attributed also to an inanimate Agent. . Animacy of the Recipient There is yet another grammatical restriction that can be viewed as a symptom of auxiliation of ‘give’ verbs in favoritive permissive constructions: unlike other permissive verbs, including those used with favoritive reading, ‘give’ verbs allow inanimate Recipients. Compare (45a) and (45b), of which (45a), with a ‘give’ verb, is correct, while its counterpart (44b), with pozvolit’ ‘to allow’, is ungrammatical. This shows that favoritive constructions with ‘give’ verbs encode an even more direct (factitive) type of causation than other favoritive constructions, since inanimate Recipients get no control over the performed action: (45) a.

On da-l sup-u zakipe-t’ i tol’ko he.nom give.perf-past.sg.masc soup-dat boil.perf-inf and only togda posoli-l then add.salt.perf-past.sg.masc ‘He let the soup boil and only then added salt [to it].’ Lit. ‘gave to soup to boil’ b. *On pozvol-l sup-u zakipe-t’ i tol’ko he.nom allow.perf-past.sg.masc soup-dat boil.perf-inf and only togda posoli-l then add.salt.perf-past.sg.masc ‘He allowed the soup to boil and only then added salt [to it].’

In constructions with inanimate Recipients, the situation encoded by the infinitive is normally a self-developing, often natural, process. The Agent has a partial control over the internal temporal structure of this process, e.g. over switching from

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one its phase to another. The Agent can initiate the process, can interfere with it, and, upon the accomplishment of the process, the Agent can avail oneself of its results. The Agent’s control over phases of the encoded process is evident in (46a) in comparison with the incorrectness of (46b): (46) a.

On da-l bel’j-u vysoxnu-t’ i he.nom give.perf-past.sg.masc washing-dat dry.up.perf-inf and tol’ko togda sta-l gladi-t’ only then begin.perf-past.sg.masc iron.imperf-inf ‘He let [his] washing dry up and only then began to iron [it].’ Lit. ‘gave to washing to dry up’ b. *On da-l luž-am vysoxnu-t’ i he.nom give.perf-past.sg.masc puddle-pl.dat dry.up.perf-inf and tol’ko togda pošo-l gulja-t’ only then go.perf-past.sg.masc walk.imperf-inf ‘He let puddles dry up and only then went for a walk.’ Lit. ‘gave to puddles to dry up’

The reason why (46b) is incorrect, is that drying up of puddles, unlike drying up of washing, is a process whose phases cannot be controlled by the Agent of the permissive construction. Hence only in cases like (45a) and (46a) is the difference in control over the situation between the impotent Recipient and the potent Agent adequate for using the favoritive permissive construction with the ‘give’ verb. . Idiomatization of permissive constructions with ‘give’ verbs In Russian, two most frequently occurring idioms based on permissive constructions with ‘give’ verbs are: (47) da-t’ zna-t’ give.perf-inf know.imperf-inf ‘to contact somebody and report briefly about one’s condition, location etc.’ (48) da-t’ ponja-t’ give.perf-inf understand.perf-inf ‘to let someone know something in an indirect way, e.g. by hinting’ (compare Eng. give to understand, Germ. zuverstehen geben)

Idioms of this kind, however sporadic they could be, can also be viewed as symptoms of grammaticalization of constructions in question, showing that they are open for further routinization. So far, we have seen that Russian ‘give’ verbs in permissive constructions with infinitives show a number of characteristics of grammaticalization. In comparison with other permissive constructions, based on “nuclear” permissive verbs, con-

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structions with ‘give’ verbs are more integrated: they are subject to restrictions in the scope of negation, in the animacy of the Agent and the Recipient, and in passivisation. In addition, constructions with ‘give’ verbs were shown to be open for further idiomatization. In the next section, I will show that permissive constructions with ‘give’ verbs are subject also to pragmatic restrictions and will look more closely at constructions with the indicative future form of the lexical verb.

. Permissive constructions in different types of speech acts: Constructions with the future indicative form of the lexical verb Permissive expressions in Russian, including permissive constructions with auxiliated ‘give’ verbs, show a clear tendency to be favored in speech acts of requesting a permission rather than in those of issuing a permission. This seems to be a universal tendency directly related to the fact that permissions are discourse bound, i.e. issuing a permission is a reactive speech act that must be initiated by a request (for a detailed discussion of this problem, see Šmeljova 1990). When used in speech acts of issuing a permission, permissive constructions are subject to restrictions sensible to the opposition of locutive vs. favoritive reading. Only permissive expressions with locutive reading can be used in performative speech acts of issuing a permission/prohibition, cf. (49a) and even those are better when they are at least partially discourse bound, e.g. when they are prohibitions rather than permissions, or when they specify the scope of permission (prohibition), cf. (49b): (49) a.

Ja razrešaj-u teb-e voj-ti I.nom permit.imperf-pres.1sg you-dat come.in.perf-inf ‘I allow you to come in!’ b. Ja ne razrešaj-u teb-e sjuda I.nom neg permit.imperf-pres.1sg you-dat here vxodi-t’! come.in.imperf-inf ‘I do not allow you to come in here!’

Since permissives with ‘give’ verbs, as was shown in Section 4, may have only favoritive and not locutive readings, they are never used in performative speech acts of issuing a permission/prohibition, e.g. both positive (50a) and negative (50b) are unacceptable: (50) a. *Ja daj-u teb-e voj-ti I.nom give.imperf-pres.1sg you-dat come.in.perf-inf ‘I let (=allow) you come in!’

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b. *Ja ne daj-u teb-e sjuda vxodi-t’! I.nom neg give.imperf-pres.1sg you-dat here come.in.imperf-inf ‘I do not let (=allow) you come in here!’

On the contrary, in speech acts of requesting a permission, both locutive and favoritive readings are readily accepted, and hence, constructions with ‘give’ verbs are as appropriate as those with basic permissive verbs: (51) a.

Razreš-i emu/mne proj-ti! permit.perf-imp.2sg he.dat/I.dat come.through.perf-inf ‘[Please,] permit him/me to come through.’ (locutive: “tell me if I can come through”) b. Daj emu/mne proj-ti! give.perf.imp.2sg he.dat/I.dat come.through.perf-inf ‘[Please,] let me come through.’ (favoritive: “make me able to come through”) c. Pozvol’ emu/mne proj-ti! allow.perf.imp.2sg he.dat/I.dat come.through.perf-inf ‘[Please,] allow me to come through.’ (locutive or favoritive)

In speech acts of requesting permission, imperatives of ‘give’ verbs, as well as imperatives of basic permissive verbs, allow lexical verbs not only in the form of infinitive, but also in the future indicative form. These two options imply different syntactic configurations: in constructions with the infinitive, like those in (51), the Recipient of permission is coded as a dative complement of the permissive auxiliary coreferenced with the implied subject of the lexical verb; on the other hand, in constructions with the future tense form, like those in (52), (53), the overt nominative subject of the lexical verb agrees with lexical verb in person and number and coreferences with the implied Recipient of permission: (52) a.

Daj ja projd-u! give.perf.imp.2sg I.nom come.through.perf-fut.1sg ‘[Please,] let me come through.’ (Lit.: ‘give I will come through’) b. Daj on projdj-ot! give.perf.imp.2sg he.nom come.through.perf-fut.3sg ‘[Please,] let him come through.’ (Lit.: ‘give he will come through’)

(53) a.

Pozvol’ ja projd-u! allow.perf-imp.2sg I.nom come.through.perf-fut.1sg ‘[Please,] allow me to come through.’ (Lit.: ‘allow I will come through’) b. Pozvol’ on projdj-ot! allow.perf-imp.2sg he.nom come.through.perf-fut.3sg ‘[Please,] allow him to come through.’ (Lit.: ‘allow he will come through’)

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Interestingly, when in constructions with the imperative of the ‘give’ verb and the finite future tense form of the lexical verb, like (52a), the Recipient of the permission is associated with the speaker, the construction may acquire an additional interpretation of self-permission or self-exhortation, cf. (54). Namely, the speaker and the hearer are instantiated as two alter egos of a person, which allows to present one’s making a decision as an inner dialog about the appropriateness of doing something. In such cases, the imperative of the ‘give’ verb is usually followed by discourse particles ka/kos’, typical for directive speech acts. The ‘give’ verb can be only perfective and strictly second person singular: (54) I togda ja poduma-l and then I.nom think.perf-past.sg.masc “Daj-ka ja zdes’ posiž-u” give.perf.imp.2sg-part I.nom here sit.for.a.while.perf-fut.1sg ‘And then I thought: “Why don’t I sit here for a while?”’ (“I asked [myself], [please] give I sit here”)

Cases like this are typical of grammaticalization processes, since they single out a combination from what was once a more extensive paradigm of equivalent forms (perfective imperative from other TAM forms of ‘give’ verbs, 2nd person singular from other person/number options) and specializes it in a newly emerging function centered in the speaker’s attitude to the situation (cf. Hopper & Traugott 1993: 12–13). The case is also good evidence for functional proximity between permissive and hortative constructions, since the difference between exhortation and permission is neutralized when the Giver and the Recipient are the same person. Here attention should be directed to the fact that permissive constructions illustrated in (52a, b) – namely, those with the imperative of the ‘give’ verb and the finite future tense form of the lexical verb – form a minimal pair with hortative constructions of the type (C) discussed above, in Section 3, which also make use of the finite future tense form of the lexical verb. Formally, these two constructions differ only in the aspect of the ‘give’ verb. Compare the imperfective ‘give’ verb of the hortative in (55) and the perfective ‘give’ verb of the permissive in (56): (55) Davaj det-i poxodj-at bosikom give.imperf.imp.2sg child-pl.nom take.a.walk.perf-fut.3pl barefoot ‘Lets children take a walk barefoot’. (Lit. ‘Give (imperfective imperative) children will take a walk. . .’) (56) Daj det-i poxodj-at bosikom give.perf.imp.2sg child-pl.nom take.a.walk.perf-fut.3pl barefoot

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‘Let/allow children to take a walk barefoot’. (Lit. ‘Give (perfective imperative) children will take a walk. . .’)

In (55) and (56), the same future indicative form of the lexical verb is used which agrees with its nominative subject in person and number. Both constructions use the auxiliated imperative form of the ‘give’ verb which carries the number marker referring to the number of hearers – both in (55) and in (56) it is singular. Functionally, both constructions constitute directive speech acts and hence can be used only in the interactive discourse register. In both cases the speaker is applying for the hearer’s reaction. The two constructions differ in the character of reaction the speaker is applying for: in hortatives, the speaker suggests that an action is performed and asks if the hearer has any objections, while in permissives with finite lexical verbs, the hearer is asked to allow or simply not to prevent the action. The obvious semantic proximity between the hortative and the permissive use of imperatives underlies the well-known fact that these meanings often appear as neighbor links in grammaticalization chains. One of the best known examples is the English verb let which has the hortative meaning which emerged from the permissive meaning in the course of grammaticalization (see Hopper & Traugott 1993: 10–14 for a detailed explanation). There is, however, an interesting peculiarity in the case of the Russian constructions in question, namely, it is the aspect of the grammaticalized verb of giving that is responsible for alternating between the hortative and the permissive interpretation. The two constructions coexist in present-day Russian and neither of them can be viewed as having emerged from the other one. The divergence of grammaticalization paths between the imperative of the imperfective ‘give’ verb and its perfective counterpart is supported by differences in their acquisition. My own pilot investigation shows that the second person singular imperative of the imperfective ‘give’ verb davaj is originally acquired in its hortative function – earlier than its literal use in the ‘transfer of possession’ meaning. The acquisition of the imperative of the perfective ‘give’ verb daj takes place in the reverse order: the literal meaning is acquired first and its permissive use is acquired much later. According to my observation of subjects between 12 and 20 months (my Russian speaking granddaughter and her two age matched companions), the earliest predicative expression used as a request for objects that others currently possess appears around the 13th month of age and is the perfective imperative daj, or, in other subjects, the infinitive of the perfective ‘give’ verb dat’ ‘to give’ (it may also be the conversely used imperative form na ‘take’). The permissive construction involving the perfective imperative daj is not acquired within the age interval I focussed on (12–20 months). The imperative of the imperfective ‘give’ verb davaj

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appears as early as around 17th–18th month and is consistently used to express the hortative meaning without lexical verbs (with the exhorted action being pointed to nonverbally). The original acquisition of this form in its hortative function is facilitated by the above mentioned possibility of using this form in the absence of a lexical verb in the adult speech, as was illustrated in (29) and (30) of Section 3. The literal use of the imperfective imperative davaj as a request for objects is acquired considerably later than the 20th month of age.

. Conclusions Recent explorations in the linguistics of giving have drawn attention to the following two points important for our discussion of ‘give’ verbs in Russian. First, a construal of the three-participant event of giving in a language may follow one of two archetypal patterns – the Manipulation archetype and the Interaction archetype (cf. Tuggy 1997; Taylor 1997). On the Manipulation archetype, the prominence is given to the relation between the Agent and the Patient (the thing given). On the Interaction archetype, the prominence is given to the relation between two human participants – the Agent and the Recipient. The linear order of arguments, the argument marking and the different syntactic behavior of verbal arguments are the usual morphosyntactic devices employed in differentiating between patterns. Some languages allow only one of the two patterns, while others, like those having the so-called “dative shift alternation” of the English type, allow both patterns. Second, ‘give’ verbs may require the direction of motion of the thing from the giver to the recipient to be anchored in the speaker’s viewpoint. Languages may have grammatical and lexical devices for this kind of pragmatic anchoring. Languages like Japanese, for example, differentiate between two types of ‘give’ verbs: one type (like yaru) requires that the Agent (the giver) is the speaker or the speaker’s in-group, and another type (like kureru) requires that the Recipient is the speaker or the speaker’s in-group (on Japanese ‘give’ verbs and their grammaticalization see seminal works by M. Shibatani, e.g. Shibatani 1994). Our study of ‘give’ verbs in Russian has shown that grammaticalization of ‘give’ verbs is sensitive to both these points, namely to choosing between the Manipulation and the Interaction archetype, and to choosing between different types of pragmatic anchoring. In core uses of Russian hortatives and permissives, the speaker is associated with the Recipient and the Agent is asked to license the action referred to by the lexical verb. The license can take a form of permission, a form of approval or a more sociative form of participating in the action. We can conclude then, that grammaticalization of Russian ‘give’ verbs in hortative and permissive constructions is apparently based on the Interaction

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archetype and involves metaphorization of the basic transference sense with the Thing given being associated with the hearer’s reaction (sanction) requested by the speaker.

Abbreviations ACC – accusative; AUX – auxiliary; DAT – dative; GEN – genitive; FEM – feminine; FUT – future; IMP – imperative; IMPERF – imperfective; INF – infinitive; INSTR – instrumental; LOC – locative; MASC – masculine; NEG – negative; NEUT – neutral; NOM – nominative; PART – particle; PASS – passive; PERF – perfective; PL – plural; PRES – present; RECIPR – reciprocal; REFL – reflexive; SG – singular; SUBJ – subjunctive; TAM – tense-aspect mood; VOC – vocative; 1, 2, 3 – person in verbal inflections (free pronouns are glossed as ‘I’, ‘you’, ‘he’ etc.).

Notes . The present work was supported by grant #05-04-04240a from the Russian Foundation for Research in Humanities (the project “Discourse basis of lexical, grammatical and non-verbal phenomena”). . My data comes from the corpus of Night Dream Stories (112 audiotaped oral narratives, cf. Kibrik, Podlesskaya et al. 2002) and electronic corpora of modern Russian prose and poetry. The author, as a native speaker of Russian, also allowed herself introspection as a supportive method. . I discuss the intriguing problem of the infinitive control in Russian permissive constructions in Podlesskaya (2005a, b) and will not focus on it here.

References Benveniste, Emile (1966). Problèmes de linguistique générale. Paris: Gallimard. Grammatika (1970). Grammatika sovremennogo literaturnogo jazyka [Grammar of Modern Russian]. Moscow: Nauka. Grammatika (1980). Russkaja grammatika [Russian Grammar]. Moscow: Nauka. Heine, Bernd; Güldeman, Tom; Kilian-Hatz, Christa; Lessau, Donald A.; Roberg, Heinz; Schladt, Mathias, & Stolz, Thomas (1993). Conceptual Shift: A Lexicon of Grammaticalization Processes in African Languages [Africanische Arbeitspapiere]. Institut für Africanistik, Universität zu Köln. Heine, Bernd & Kuteva, Tania (2002). World Lexicon of Grammaticalization. Cambrige: Cambridge University Press. Hopper, Paul J. & Traugott, Elizabeth C. (1993). Grammaticalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Kibrik, A. A., Podlesskaya, V. I., Kalkova, T. M., & Litvinenko, A. O. (2002). “Cognitive structure of narrative discourse: Analysis of children’s night dream stories”. In Trudy mezhdunarodnogo seminara “Dialog-2002: kompjuternaja lingvistika i intellektual’nye texnologii” (pp. 635–647). Moscow: Nauka. Langacker, Ronald W. (1987/1995). Foundations of Cognitive Grammar. 2 vols. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Lyons, J. (1977). Semantics. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nedjalkov, V. P. (1971). Kauzativnye konstrukcii v nemeckom jazyke. Analitiˇceskij kauzativ [Causative constructions in German. Analytical causative]. Leningrad: Nauka. Nedjalkov, V. P. & Nikitina, T. N. (1965). “O priznakax analitiˇcnosti i služebnosti (na materiale kauzativnyx konstrukcij)” [What is ‘analytic’ and ‘auxiliary’? (with reference to causative constructions)]. In V. M. Žirmundskij & O. P. Sunik (Eds.), Analitiˇceskie konstrukcii v jazykax razliˇcnyx tipov (pp. 170–193). Moscow and Leningrad: Nauka. Nedjalkov, V. P. & Sil’nickij, G. G. (1969). “Tipologija morfologiˇceskogo i leksiˇceskogo kauzativov” [Typology of morphological and lexical causatives]. In A. A. Xolodoviˇc (Ed.), Tipologija kauzativnyx konstrukcij: Morfologiˇceskij kauzativ (pp. 20–50). Leningrad: Nauka. Newman, John (1993). “The semantics of giving in Mandarin”. In Richard A. Geiger & Brygida Rudzka-Ostyn (Eds.), Conceptualizations and Mental Processing in Language (pp. 433–486). Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Newman, John (1996). Give: A Cognitive Linguistic Study. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Newman, John (Ed.). (1997). The Linguistics of Giving. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Paduˇceva, E. V. (1996). Semantiˇceskie issledovanija. (Semantika vremeni i vida v russkom jazyke. Semantika narrativa) [Issues in semantics: semantics of tense and aspect in Russian. Narrative semantics]. Moskva: Škola “Jazyki russkoj kul’tury”. Podlesskaya, V. I. (2005a). “Russkie glagoly DAT’-DAVAT’: ot prjamyx upoterblenij k grammatikalizovannym [Russian verbs DAT’-DAVAT’: from direct to grammaticalized uses]”. Voprosy Jazykoznanija, 2, 101–115. Podlesskaya, V. I. (2005b). “‘Give’-verbs as permissive auxiliaries in Russian”. Sprachtypol. Univ.Forsch. (STUF), 58, 124–138. Shibatani, Masayoshi (1973). A Linguistic Study of Causative Constructions. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Berkeley. Circulated by Indiana University Linguistics Club in 1975. Shibatani, Masayoshi (Ed.). (1976). The Grammar of Causative Constructions. New York: Academic Press. Shibatani, Masayoshi (1994). “Benefactive constructions. A Japanese-Korean comparative perspective”. In N. Akatsuka (Ed.), Japanese/Korean Linguistics, 4 (pp. 39–74). Stanford: CSLI. Shibatani, Masayoshi (2001a). “Introduction: Some basic issues in the grammar of causation”. In Shibatani (Ed., 2001b), 1–22. Shibatani, Masayoshi (Ed.). (2001b). The Grammar of Causation and Interpersonal Manipulation. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Shibatani, Masayoshi & Prashant, Pardeshi (2001). “The causative continuum”. In Shibatani (Ed., 2001b), 85–126. Šmeljova, Elena (1990). “Razrešenie i zaprešˇcenie kak pobuditel’nye reˇcevye akty” [Permission and prohibition as directive speech acts]. In L. A. Birjulin & V. S. Xrakovskij (Eds.), Funkcional’no- tipologiˇceskie aspekty analiza imperativa (pp. 66–71). Leningrad: AN SSSR.

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Taylor, John R. (1997). “Double object constructions in Zulu”. In Newman (Ed.), 67–96. Testelec, J. (2001). Vvedenie v obšˇcij sintaksis [Introduction to general syntax]. Moscow: RGGU. Toops, Gary H. (1988). “The Russian verb DA(VA)T’: Its status as a causative auxiliary”. University of Chicago Working Papers in Linguistics, 4, 232–256. Toops, Gary H. (1991). “Russian “da(va)t”’+ infinitive: ‘to give’, ‘to let’, or ‘to have’?” Russian Linguistics, XLV, N 151–152, 39–53. Tuggy, David (1997). “Giving in Nawatl”. In Newman (Ed.), 35–65. Xrakovskij, Viktor S. & Volodin, Aleksandr P. (1986). Semantika i tipologija imperativa: Russkij imperativ [Semantics and typology of the imperative: Russian imperative]. Leningrad: Nauka. Wiemer, Björn (1997). Displaced speech – systematic account and acquisitional background (illustrated by Polish and German). [Fachgruppe Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Konstanz. Arteitspapier 83]. Universität Konstanz.

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Reflexive and middle constructions of Warrungu (Australia) Tasaku Tsunoda University of Tokyo

This paper presents data on the reflexive and middle constructions of the Warrungu language, which used to be spoken in the upper Herbert River region of north Queensland, Australia. Examining the Warrungu data in the light of Suzanne Kemmer’s cross-linguistic study of middle constructions, it proposes to set up two additional categories for these constructions: “bodily sensation” and “communication”. Warrungu reflexive/middle constructions appear to be uncommon in that there are two reflexive/middle markers both of which are verbal. Possibly due to this, Warrungu reflexive/middle constructions deviate from the two cross-linguistic tendencies observed in middle and reflexive constructions by Suzanne Kemmer and by John Haiman.

.

Introductory notes

The Warrungu language used to be spoken in the upper Herbert River area of North Queensland, Australia. Two fluent speakers survived well into the latter half of the 20th century: Mr. Alf Palmer (Warrungu name: Jinbilnggay) and Mr. Alec Collins (Warrungu name: Wulngarra; this information is from Peter Sutton’s unpublished data).1 I worked with Alf Palmer three times, from 1971 to 1974, and recorded most of the data on Warrungu, including six hours of running texts. In addition, in the 1960s R.M.W. Dixon collected some information from Alf Palmer and from Alec Collins, and in 1970 Peter Sutton obtained some data from Alec Collins. The present work is based on a finite corpus, and it contains many points that can no longer be answered. These points are shown with a question mark. The last fluent speaker, Alf Palmer, passed away in 1981, and the Warrungu language became extinct. However, towards the end of the 20th century a movement to revive the language started and the first Warrungu lessons were conducted in March 2002 (Tsunoda 2004).

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. Outline of the language The Warrungu phoneme inventory, written in a practical orthography, is as follows: /b, d, j, g, m, n, ny, ng, rr, r, l, w, y, a, i, u, aa/.

Warrungu has the following cases: ergative (for “transitive subject” (A) and instruments), nominative (for “intransitive subject” (S)), accusative (for “transitive object” (O)), dative, genitive, locative, ablative, and comitative. The case system exhibits a kind of split ergativity, roughly as follows. With pronouns, the ergative and the nominative are identical, in distinction from the accusative, while with nouns the nominative and the accusative show the same form, as opposed to the ergative. See Table 1. Table 1. Case system

ergative nominative accusative

pronouns ‘1SG’

nouns ‘man’

ngaya ngaya nganya

bama-nggu bama-Ø bama-Ø

Word order is not rigid (Tsunoda 1990). There are three conjugational classes: L-class, Y-class, and ZERO-class. The differences among them can be seen, for instance, in one of the two series of nonfuture forms. Part of the verbal inflection system is shown in Table 2. The purposive indicates (i) intention, future, etc. in simple sentences and in main clauses, e.g. (11), (26), and (ii) purpose or consequence in subordinate clauses, e.g. (50), (51). The class membership of verb roots, verb stems and derivational suffixes is indicated where information is available. An uncertain class membership is indicated by a question mark. L-class contains all of transitive verbs, and some intransitive verbs as well. Y-class and ZERO-class each contain intransitive verbs only. This, too, is shown in Table 2. Table 2. Conjugational classes L-class Vt ‘hit’

Y-class Vi ‘sit’

ZERO-class Vi ‘whistle’

nonfuture nonfuture

balga-n balga-l

nyina-n nyina-y

gubili-n gubili-Ø

transitive intransitive

+ +

– +

– +

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Reflexive and middle constructions of Warrungu (Australia) 

There are a number of voice-related and aspect-related verbal suffixes. The following have already been described in the papers shown below. For each suffix, the conjugational class membership and the transitivity value of the resultant stem are indicated. a. Vt-gali-ZERO (Vi) ‘antipassive’ (Tsunoda 1988), e.g. (17c); b. Vt-ri-L (Vt), Vi-ri-L (Vt) ‘applicative’ (Tsunoda 1998); c. Vt-wa-Y (Vi), Vi-wa-Y (Vi) ‘reciprocal’ (Tsunoda forthcoming), e.g. (59a), and; d. Vi-garra-Y (Vi), Vt-garra-Y (Vt, Vi) ‘iterative’ (Tsunoda 1999), e.g. (23). In addition to (a), -gali-ZERO has the following functions: e. Vt-gali-ZERO (Vi) ‘reflexive, middle’ (‘R/M’), and; f. Vi-gali-ZERO (Vi) ‘middle’ (‘MID’). Furthermore, there are: g. Vt-li-ZERO (Vi) ‘R/M’, and h. Vi-li-ZERO (Vi) ‘MID’. All of these suffixes are attested with verb roots. In addition, Vt-gali-ZERO ‘antipassive’ and Vt-garra-Y ‘iterative’ are attested following a transitive-stemforming suffix (-nga-L, -mba-L). However, Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ and Vi-gali-ZERO ‘MID’ are not attested with such a suffix. The same applies to Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ and Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’. Before the aim of the present paper is stated (Section 4), it is necessary to present Kemmer’s (1993, 1994) study of reflexive and middle voice.

. Kemmer’s study of reflexive and middle voice On the basis of cross-linguistic evidence, Kemmer (1993, 1994) distinguishes the middle voice from the reflexive voice. She proposes the parameter of relative elaboration of events (Kemmer 1993: 3, 1994: 181), “along which the reflexive and the middle can be situated as semantic categories intermediate in transitivity between one-participant and two-participant events, and which in addition differentiates reflexive and middle from one another”. One aspect of this parameter concerns “distinguishability of participants” (Kemmer 1993: 73, 1994: 209), as shown in (1). (1) two-participant event +<

reflexive

middle

one-participant event >–

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According to Kemmer’s (1993: 52, 1994: 193) view, in the prototypical reflexive, “the event involves only one participant, which stands in an Initiator/Endpoint relation to itself ”. The middle has the following properties (Kemmer 1993: 238, 1994: 209): Initiator as affected entity (Endpoint), and low degree of elaboration of events. Kemmer classifies the middle into a large number of semantic types, including: a. b. c. d. e. f. g. h. i.

grooming or body care, e.g. wash, bathe, shave, get dressed; nontranslational motion, e.g. bow, turn (around); translational motion, e.g. fly, run, flee, go, climb up; self-benefactive middle, e.g. acquire, ask, request; naturally reciprocal events, e.g. meet, converse, kiss, make love; emotion middle, e.g. be angry, be frightened, lament, boast, pity; cognition middle, e.g. think, believe; spontaneous events, e.g. grow, come to a stop, change into, burst; antipassive. (That is, Kemmer considers antipassives as a type of the middle.)

. Aim and outline of this paper The main aim of the present paper is to provide data in as much detail as possible on the reflexive/middle constructions of Warrungu: Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’, Vi-galiZERO ‘MID’, Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ and Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’. Warrungu has two suffixes that can have a reflexive meaning: Vt-gali-ZERO and Vt-li-ZERO. In terms of Kemmer’s (1993: 25–26, 1994: 188–189) framework, Warrungu is a “two-form language”, and Vt-gali-ZERO is the heavy form, while Vt-li-ZERO is the light form. (The light form “has less phonological ‘body’ than the” heavy form.) These two suffixes are clearly cognates, and Warrungu has a “two-form cognate system”. Haiman (1983, 1985) and Kemmer (1993, 1994) have put forward a few claims and generalizations concerning the two reflexive markers that a given language has. Examining these claims and generalizations in the light of the Warrungu data is the second aim of the present paper. The present paper is almost entirely based on Alf Palmer’s data, except for brief mentions to Alec Collins’ data; see (36b) and (48). This is because (i) Alec Collins’ data is extremely limited, and (ii) he uses -li-ZERO, but does not use -gali-ZERO, and consequently his data is irrelevant for a comparison of the heavy and the light forms. We shall now provide Warrungu data: Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ in Section 5, Vigali-ZERO ‘MID’ in Section 6, Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ in Section 7, and Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’ in Section 8. This will be followed by discussion of the morphosyntactic sta-

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tus of these constructions in Section 9, and examination of the above-mentioned claims and generalizations in Section 10. Section 11 furnishes the conclusion. As indicated above and as exemplified below, each of Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ and Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ can have either a reflexive reading or a middle reading. Which reading a given instance is taken to have, is decided on the basis of Kemmer’s classification.

. Vt-gali-ZERO ‘reflexive, middle’ . Semantics (1) The suffix Vt-gali-ZERO is attached to roots (i.e. without a derivational suffix) that are transitive. The following forms have been attested. They comprise (i) those which occur in the six hours of running texts, (ii) those uttered spontaneously by Alf Palmer, during elicitation or our conversations, and (iii) those given by Alf Palmer in Warrungu translations of English sentences I presented to him. For each form, the number of its occurrences in the texts is indicated in a parenthesis. The attested forms are listed according to Kemmer’s classification of the middle. (a) grooming or body care: giba-L ‘scrape, shave’, giba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] shave oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (2b). baba-L ‘stab, spear, poke, wash’, baba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] wash oneself ’ (3 examples), e.g. (10b), (20). baga-L ‘dig, wash’, baga-gali-ZERO ‘[person] wash oneself ’ (no example). (Alf Palmer used baga-L, but later said that it was not a Warrungu word. Therefore, baga-L and baga-gali-ZERO may not be Warrungu words. Indeed, baga-L Vt ‘pierce, dig, spear’ occurs in Dyirbal, immediately northeast of Warrungu; see Dixon 1972: 398.) jurra-L ‘rub, wash’, jurra-gali-ZERO ‘[person] wash oneself ’ (no example). bangga-L ‘paint’, bangga-gali-ZERO ‘[person] paint oneself ’ (in the sense of ‘apply paint to one’s body’, and not ‘draw a picture of oneself ’) (no example), e.g. (15), (17a, b, d). nyamba-L ‘paint, wet’, nyamba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] paint oneself ’ (no example). (d) self-benefactive: banju-L ‘ask (enquire, request)’, banju-gali-ZERO ‘[person] ask oneself ’ (?) (no example). (g) cognition: ngawa-L ‘hear, listen to’, ‘understand [language]’, ngawa-gali-ZERO ‘[person] think about [DAT]’ (no example), e.g. (8b), and the reduplicated form

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ngawa-ngawa-gali-ZERO ‘[person] think about [DAT]’ (1 example), e.g. (8c). (ngawa-ngawa-L by itself, without the suffix Vt-gali-ZERO, is not attested.)2 (h) spontaneous events: waju-L ‘burn, cook’, waju-gali-ZERO ‘[food, kangaroo] get cooked’ (4 examples), e.g. (5b, c).

Furthermore, in order to describe the semantics of these verbs under discussion (i.e. Vt-gali-ZERO ‘reflexive/middle’), it is necessary to add another group: (l) reflexive. (In Kemmer’s framework, the reflexive is considered distinct from the middle; see (1) in Section 3). (I also will propose two additional types of the middle that are not included in Kemmer’s list of the middle: (j) bodily sensation (see 7.1 and 8.1), and (k) communication (see 8.1).) (l)

reflexive: gamba-L ‘cover’, gamba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] cover oneself ’ (2 examples), e.g. (11). garba-L ‘put down, cover, hide’, garba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] cover oneself ’ (1 example). garbi-L ‘cover, hide’, garbi-gali-ZERO ‘[person] hide oneself (?)’ or ‘antipassive’ (?) (no example).3 bari-L ‘twist, turn’, bari-gali-ZERO ‘[person] twist [one’s upper arm]’ (no example), e.g. (12b). binba-? ‘scratch’, binba-gali-ZERO ‘[dog, not person] scratch oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (22). buybu-L ‘spit on [someone]’, buybu-gali-ZERO ‘[person] spit on oneself ’ or ‘antipassive’ (?) (no example).4 muja-L ‘eat’, muja-gali-ZERO ‘[person] eat (i.e. bite or chew) oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (14). jingga-L ‘punch’, jingga-gali-ZERO ‘[person] punch oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (4b), (19). jilwa-L ‘kick’, jilwa-gali-ZERO ‘[person] kick oneself ’ or ‘antipassive’ (?) (no example).5 gunba-L ‘cut’, gunba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] cut oneself ’ (no example). baba-L ‘stab, spear, wash’, baba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] spear oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (21). bambu-L ‘shoot’, bambu-gali-ZERO ‘[person] shoot oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (3b). nyaga-L ‘see, look at’, nyaga-gali-ZERO ‘[person] look at oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (18).

In addition, the following reflexive/middle verbs were approved by Alf Palmer:

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baja-L ‘bite’, baja-gali-ZERO ‘[dog] bite oneself ’ (no example). gunma-L ‘cut’, gunma-gali-ZERO ‘[person] cut oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (37).

In the above classification, baga-gali-ZERO ‘[person] wash oneself ’ is assigned to “grooming or body care” of the middle, while baba-gali-ZERO ‘[person] spear oneself ’ is considered as an instance of the reflexive. Also, some of those assigned to reflexive are semantically very close to “grooming or body care”, e.g. gamba-galiZERO ‘cover oneself (e.g. with a blanket)’. Twenty-two Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs are listed above (baba-gali-ZERO is counted twice, while baja-gali-ZERO ‘bite oneself ’ and gunma-gali-ZERO ‘cut oneself ’ are excluded; the latter two were not given spontaneously). Nine (41%) of them have a middle meaning, while the rest (13 verbs, 59%) are reflexive. That is, these Vt-gali-ZERO verbs are more frequently reflexive than middle. . Syntax It is possible to say – although it is not certain if this analysis is adequate (see [2] below) – that reflexive and middle clauses correspond to transitive clauses. We shall look at putative “corresponding” clauses and the verbs employed. [1] Two-place and three-place verbs. Almost all of the Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs correspond to two-place verbs, rather than three-place verbs. Thus: gaya-nggu bama-Ø giba-n. [TT, AP]6 father-erg(a) man-acc(o) shave-nonfut7 ‘Father shaved a man.’ b. gaya-Ø giba-gali-Ø. [AP] father-nom(s) shave-r/m-nonfut ‘Father shaved [himself].’ (body care)

(2) a.

(3) a.

bama-nggu yuri-Ø bambu-n. [TT] man-erg(a) kangaroo-acc(o) shoot-nonfut ‘The man shot a kangaroo.’ b. (Alf Palmer described someone’s suicide as follows.) [bama-Ø TT] bambu-gali-n. [AP] man-nom(s) shoot-r/m-nonfut ‘[A man] shot himself.’ (reflexive)

(As it was given by Alf Palmer, (3b) contained a noun that has specific reference to a particular person, but I replaced it with a noun that has generic reference. Accordingly, I have inserted “[TT]” to reflect this.) There is only one example that contains a three-place verb: banju-gali-n ‘askR/M-NONFUT’. However, this example is highly elliptical, and its meaning and syntax are not clear.

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[2] A, O and S. In most instances, irrespective of whether they are reflexive or middle, the A and the O of the “corresponding” transitive clause are coreferential, and they jointly correspond to the S of the reflexive or middle. See (2), (3), and: (4) a.

bama-nggu jana-nya jingga-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) 3pl-acc(o) punch-nonut ‘The man punched them.’ b. bama-Ø nguni jingga-gali-n. [AP] man-nom(s) there punch-r/m-nonfut ‘The man is punching himself there.’ (reflexive)

However, in the case of spontaneous events and cognition middle, it is difficult to consider the A and the O of the transitive clause to be coreferential. As examples of spontaneous events, see (5b) and (5c). (5) a.

bama-nggu yuri-Ø waju-n. [TT] man-erg(a) kangaroo-acc(o) cook-nonfut ‘The man cooked a kangaroo.’ b. yuri-Ø waju-gali-n. [AP] kangaroo-nom(s) cook-r/m-nonfut ‘The kangaroo was cooked.’ (spontaneous) c. manyja-Ø nguna-Ø waju-gali-n? [AP] food-nom(s) that-nom(s) cook-r/m-nonfut ‘Is that food cooked (yet)?’ (spontaneous)

(Alf Palmer’s translation for (5b) is “kangaroo cook imself ”.) In the situation described by (5b), the kangaroo does not do the cooking, that is, it cannot be the A. Therefore – if a corresponding transitive clause can be set up at all – there is no way that the kangaroo could be both the A and the O. Only the O, and not the A, corresponds to the S of the middle. Similarly for (5c). The difference between (4) and (5) can be shown as follows: (6) A=O=S regarding (4) (7) A=O=S regarding (5)8

Cognition middle verbs are ngawa-gali-ZERO and ngawa-ngawa-gali-ZERO, both of which mean ‘think about [DAT]’. An example of the (corresponding?) transitive ngawa-L ‘hear, listen to’, and ‘understand [language]’ is (8a). (8) a.

ngaya gugu-Ø ngawa-n. [AP] 1sg.erg(a) language-acc(o) hear-nonfut ‘I understand [their] language.’ b. ngani-wu yinda ngawa-gali-Ø? [AP] what-dat 2sg.nom(s) hear-r/m-nonfut ‘What are you thinking about?’ (cognition)

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c.

wuwu, ngaya . . . wanja-wu ngawa-ngawa-gali-n. [AP] Oh 1sg.nom(s) hole-dat hear-hear-r/m-nonfut ‘Oh, I . . . am thinking about a hole (i.e. a vagina).’ (cognition)

Again it is difficult to show that the A and the O of the “corresponding” transitive clause are coreferential. In fact, it is difficult to set up any corresponding transitive clause at all. This reveals one of the problems inherent with an approach that “derives” reflexive, middle and other voice-related constructions from “corresponding” clauses. Kemmer (1993: 28–39) provides a detailed critique of such an approach. She (1993: 33) notes in particular that there are “cases of lack of one-toone correspondence between transitive roots and the MM [i.e. middle marker – TT] verbs”. [3] Nouns in the ergative case referring to instruments (hereafter, “instrumental nouns”). Their referents are inanimate, including body parts. They can occur in transitive clauses, e.g. (10a). However, apparently they cannot occur in intransitive clauses. Thus, (9) is almost certainly unacceptable. (9) *bama-Ø yani-Ø jula-nggu. [TT] man-nom(s) walk-nonfut stick-erg Intended meaning: ‘The man is walking with [the help of] a stick.’

Instrumental nouns can occur in reflexives/middles, e.g. (10b), (17a, b, d), (21). (10) a.

bama-nggu gamu-nggu gandu-Ø baba-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) water-erg dog-acc(o) wash-nonfut ‘The man washed a dog with water.’ b. gamu-nggu bama-Ø baba-gali-n. [AP] water-erg man-nom(s) wash-r/m-nonfut ‘The man washed himself with water.’ (body care)

Another example: (11) yarru-n-du ngali-Ø gamba-gali-yal gidu-ngga yamba-ngga. this-link-erg 1du-nom(s) cover-r/m-purp cold-loc camp-loc ‘We will cover ourselves with this [blanket] in [this] cold camp.’ (reflexive)

[4] Body part nouns. Compare (12a) and (12b). (12) a.

bama-nggu warrngu-Ø jurru-Ø bari-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) woman-acc(o) upper.arm-acc(o) twist-nonfut ‘The man twisted a woman’s upper arm.’ b. bama-Ø jurru-Ø [TT, AP] bari-gali-n. [AP] man-nom(s) upper.arm-acc(o) or -nom(s) twist-r/m-nonfut ‘The man twisted his [own] upper arm.’ (reflexive)

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(In (12b), I started the sentence, saying bama-Ø jurru-Ø , and Alf Palmer approved it, added bari-gali-n and completed the sentence. It is not clear what situation these sentences describe.) In Warrungu, as in many other Australian languages, expressions of a whole-part relationship (typically involving body parts) generally employ juxtaposition of the noun (or pronoun) for the whole and the noun for a part, as shown in (12a): ‘woman’ and ‘upper arm’ (the O, in the accusative). Other examples of juxtaposition of the whole and a part include (13) (in which the whole and the part are the S, in the nominative) and (42) (in which the whole and the part are in the locative). (13) (Person A says, “My erection has gone”, to which person B replies:) jumbi-Ø yinda wula-n? [AP] penis-nom(s) 2sg.nom(s) die-nonfut ‘Your penis has died?’

In the reflexives/middles, the part noun can occur, as seen in (12b). The part noun jurru-Ø ‘upper arm’ in (12b) may be considered to be ACC(O), since it corresponds to the same in (12a). It may also be regarded as NOM(S), since it and bama-Ø ‘man-NOM(S)’ may be regarded as manifesting juxtaposition of the whole and a part. Another example: (14) nyula=guli mara-Ø muja-gali-n. [AP] 3sg.nom(s)=alone hand-acc(o) or -nom(s) eat-r/m-nonfut ‘He is eating (i.e. biting) [his] hand (i.e. a finger) by himself.’ (reflexive)

In the following, by “a body part noun”, I mean: a. a body part noun of the O NP (in the accusative case) of a transitive clause, e.g. jurru-Ø ‘upper.arm-acc(O)) in (12a), or; b. a body part noun (ACC(O) or NOM(S)) – of a reflexive or middle clause – that may be taken to correspond to a body part noun of the O NP (in the accusative case) of a transitive clause, e.g. jurru-Ø ‘upper.arm-ACC(O) or -NOM(S)’ of (12b), and mara-Ø ‘hand-ACC(O) or -NOM(S)’ of (14), or; c. a body part noun of the S NP (in the nominative case) of an intransitive clause, e.g. jumbi-Ø ‘penis-NOM(S)’ of (13). That is, nouns such as the following are not referred to as “body part nouns”: mara-nggu ‘hand-ERG’ of (34), and jina-ngga ‘foot-LOC’ of (42). An interesting example is (15), which describes a situation in which the men are preparing themselves for a corroboree (i.e. a type of ceremony) and painting themselves to look like crows. (15) wajagan-Ø jana-Ø bangga-gali-n. [AP] crow-acc(o) or -nom(s) 3pl-nom(s) paint-r/m-nonfut Tentative translation: ‘They, crows, are painting themselves.’ (body care)

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It is not certain if wajagan-Ø should be considered ACC(O) or NOM(S). [5] The clitic =guli ‘alone, by oneself, for no reason’ can occur in “ordinary” intransitive and transitive sentences, e.g.: (16) jana-Ø=guli gulmi yani-n. [AP] 3pl-nom(s)=alone back go-nonfut ‘They went back by themselves.’

Furthermore, in the examples of Vt-gali-ZERO spontaneously given by Alf Palmer, in texts, or during elicitation or our conversations, the clitic =guli is sometimes attached to the S NP, e.g. (14). It seems that generally =guli is not obligatory for the reflexive/middle, cf. (2b), (3b), (4b), (5b, c), (8b, c), (10b), (11), (12b), (15). However, compare (15) and (17). (17) a.

jurba-nggu ngaya bangga-gali-n [AP] white.ochre-erg 1sg.nom(s) paint-r/m-nonfut ‘I am painting myself with white ochre [for dance].’ (body care) b. bama-Ø bangga-gali-n jurba-nggu. [TT, AP] man-nom(s) paint-gali-nonfut white.ochre-erg ‘The man is painting himself with white ochre.’ (body care) jurba-nggu bangga-gali-n. [TT, AP] c. bama-Ø man-nom(s) white.ochre-erg paint-anti-nonfut ‘The man is painting [someone else] with white paint.’ (antipassive) d. nyula=guli jurba-nggu bangga-gali-n. [AP] 3sg.nom(s)=alone white.ochre-erg paint-r/m-nonfut ‘He is painting himself with white ochre’. (body care)

On the basis of spontaneously given examples such as (15) and (17a), I suggested (17b) to Alf Palmer, which he seems to have accepted with a reflexive meaning. However, on the following day, when confronted with (17c), Alf Palmer stated that it means that the man is painting someone else, that is, (17c) is an antipassive. He then produced (17d) and stated that it means that the man is painting himself. This suggests that in certain instances =guli is necessary for a reflexive(/middle?) (rather than antipassive) reading. However, conditioning factors are not known. One possible factor is the type of the verb involved, and another is the use of a pronoun, rather than a noun, for the S. We shall look at these two factors. First, regarding verbs, there are 10 examples of nyaga-gali-ZERO ‘see, look at’ with a reflexive (rather than antipassive) meaning, and in all of them the S is attached with =guli ‘alone, by oneself ’. (18) yurra-Ø=guli nyaga-gali-n. [AP] 2pl-nom(s)=alone look.at-r/m-nonfut ‘You-all are looking at yourselves.’ (reflexive)

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Second, pronouns. For the S in reflexives/middles, only pronouns are attached with =guli, e.g. (14), (17d), (18), (20), and there is no example of a noun attached with =guli. (However, a pronoun is not always attached with =guli, e.g. (8b, c), (19).) It is interesting to note that in all of the 10 examples of nyaga-gali-ZERO ‘look at oneself ’ the S is a pronoun and is attached with =guli, e.g. (18). It seems then that, given that Vt-gali-ZERO can have either the antipassive function or the reflexive/middle function, at least in certain instances, the presence of =guli facilitates the selection of a reflexive/middle reading, as against an antipassive reading. The word order differs among the four sentences of (17). However, since word order in Warrungu is not rigid (Section 2), the word order differences do not seem to be responsible for different readings of these sentences. [6] warayi ‘one’s own’. This word occurs in two examples of Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’: (19) warayi-Ø yinda jingga-gali-n. [AP] one’s.own-acc(o) or -nom(s) 2sg.nom(s) punch-r/m-nonfut ‘You are punching yourself.’ (reflexive) (20) nyula=guli warayi-Ø baba-gali-n. [AP] 3sg.nom(s)=alone one’s.own-acc(o) or -nom(s) wash-r/m-nonfut ‘He is washing himself.’ (body care)

Alf Palmer’s translation for (20) is ‘wash just himself ’. It is clear that (19) and (20) are reflexive/middle, rather than antipassive. Two analyses of the word warayi ‘one’s own’ have presented themselves. First, warayi-Ø ‘one’s own’ modifies a body part noun that is understood; cf. jurru ‘upper arm’ in (12b), and mara ‘hand’ in (14). In this case, a more literal translation, for example, for (19) is ‘You are punching your own’. As was the case with jurru ‘upper arm’ in (12b) and mara ‘hand’ in (14), warayi-Ø may be considered either ACC or NOM. Second, in (19) and (20) the word warayi-Ø may be considered to be something like an adverb with the meaning ‘alone, by oneself ’. Warayi ‘one’s own’ can be turned into an intransitive verb by means of the intransitive-stem-forming suffix -bi-L, i.e. warayi-bi-L Vi ‘be one’s own, do to one’s own’. It is attested in two examples involving Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’, e.g.: (21) bama-Ø [TT] warayi-bi-n baba-gali-n man-nom(s) one’s.own-intr-nonfut stab-r/m-nonfut banggany-ju. [AP] spear-erg ‘The man stabbed himself with a spear.’ (reflexive)

(In (21), I said the first word, bama-Ø , and Alf Palmer said the rest of the sentence.) Literally, (21) means ‘The man was his own or did to his own, stabbed

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himself with a spear’. That is, one verb (warayi-bi-n) modifies the other verb (baba-gali-n). The inclusion of warayi ‘one’s own’ or warayi-bi-L ‘one’s.own-INTR’ seems to facilitate the selection of a reflexive/middle reading, as against an antipassive reading, as was the case with the clitic =guli ‘alone, by oneself ’. But its use is not obligatory for a reflexive/middle reading. For example, compare (21) with (10b). . Semantics (2) [1] Person and number of the S. There is no restriction on the person of the S, e.g. first person: (8c); second person: (8b); and third person: (20). Similarly, there is no restriction on the number of the S. [2] Animacy and volitionality. The S of waju-gali-ZERO ‘get cooked’ (spontaneous events) is inanimate (including a dead animal), e.g. (5b) (a dead kangaroo) and (5c) (food). The event described is non-volitional. In all the other instances, the S is almost always human, but there are two examples of a non-human and living animate: dog: (22) gandu-Ø binba-gali-n. dog-nom(s) scratch-r/m-nonfut ‘The dog is scratching itself.’ (reflexive or body care?)

When the S is human or (living) non-human animate, the event described is almost always volitional. However, there are two possible exceptions: ngawa-galiZERO and ngawa-ngawa-gali-ZERO ‘[person] think about [DAT]’ (cognition), e.g. (8b, c). It is not clear if thinking is volitional.

. Vi-gali-ZERO ‘middle’ There are three verbs of this type. wada-gali-ZERO ‘play’ and gawa-gali-ZERO ‘vomit’ are each related to an intransitive verb root, while, in wuga-gali-ZERO ‘sleep’, -gali-ZERO is attached to an adjective or noun. All of these middle verbs are intransitive. None of them yielded any example in the texts.

(a) wada-gali-ZERO ‘play’ is related to the intransitive verb wada-? ‘[person] play’ (and possibly ‘[river] overflow’), e.g. (23), which describes people who are decorated as emus and are dancing. (23) gundulu-Ø nyamba-garra-n wada-n. [AP] emu-nom(s) dance-itera-nonfut play-nonfut ‘[The people who are decorated as] emus are dancing and playing around.’

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Wada-gali-ZERO ‘play’ means ‘[child] play, [person] play (e.g. tennis), [person] have fun (e.g. man with woman at night)’, e.g.: (24) nguni galbiri-Ø wada-gali-n. [AP] there children-nom(s) play-mid-nonfut ‘There the children are playing.’ (25) yubala-Ø=guli wada-gali-ya. [AP] 2du-nom(s)=alone play-mid-impera ‘You-two play [tennis] by yourselves.’ (26) gunda-ngga yinda nyila gunda-ngga wada-gali-yal night-loc 2sg.nom(s) today night-loc play-mid-purp rayili-yi. [AP] young.girl-com ‘Tonight you will have fun with a young girl.’

According to Kemmer’s classification (see Section 3), wada-gali-ZERO ‘play’ probably belongs to ‘translational motion’. As there are only a dozen examples of wada-gali-ZERO ‘play’, it is difficult to comment on them. At least, the S is always human, and volitional. There is an example involving the clitic =guli ‘alone, by oneself ’: (25). There is also the intransitive verb wadali-ZERO ‘run, flee’, e.g. (49), (53).

(b) gawa-gali-ZERO ‘vomit’. It is related to gawa-? (Y-class?) Vi ‘vomit’, e.g. (27), and gawa noun ‘stuff that is vomited’. (The locative form of the noun is attested: gawa-ngga ‘vomit-LOC’. That is, it is clear that gawa is used as a noun as well.) (27) bama-Ø gawa-yal. [AP] man-nom(s) vomit-purp ‘The man is going to vomit.’

There is only one example of gawa-gali-ZERO ‘vomit’: (28) nguni=wa nyula gawa-gali-n. [AP] there=cli 3sg.nom(s) vomit-mid-nonfut ‘He is vomiting over there.’

(The meaning of the clitic =wa is not understood well.) This verb may be considered a middle, but it is not clear to which of Kemmer’s middle types it should belong. There is another group of words that may be related to gawa-gali-ZERO ‘vomit’. They are gawa-? (L-class?) Vi ‘call out’, gawal noun ‘voice’, gawali-ZERO Vi ‘call out’, and gawal-gawali-ZERO Vi ‘call out’. See 8.1.

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(c) wuga-gali-ZERO ‘sleep’. This verb seems to be based on the word wuga ‘asleep’ (adjective) or ‘sleep’ (noun).9 The only example is: (29) yarru-Ø gandu-Ø wuga-gali-n. [AP] this-nom(s) dog-nom(s) asleep-mid-nonfut ‘This dog is sleeping.’

Thus far we have looked at the suffix -gali-ZERO. We now turn our attention to -li-ZERO.

. Vt-li-ZERO ‘reflexive, middle’ . Semantics (1) The suffix Vt-li-ZERO is attached to transitive verb roots. The following forms are attested. For each form, the number of its occurrences in the texts is indicated in the parenthesis. (a) grooming or body care: bangga-L ‘paint’, bangga-li-ZERO ‘[person] paint oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (38). (b) nontranslational motion: bari-L ‘turn, twist’, bari-li-ZERO ‘[person] turn around, turn back’ (8 examples), e.g. (41). (c) translational motion: balba-L ‘roll’, balba-li-ZERO ‘[person] roll (e.g. down a hill)’ (no example), e.g. (30b). (h) spontaneous events: balba-L ‘roll’, balba-li-ZERO ‘[round object, e.g. stone] roll’ (no example), e.g. (30c). bari-L ‘turn, twist’, bari-li-ZERO ‘[tape of a tape recorder] rotate, [rope] get stuck (around someone’s foot), [stone] turn over (?)’ (no example), e.g. (42). waju-L ‘burn, cook’, waju-li-ZERO ‘[fire, tree] burn, [food, kangaroo] get cooked’ (no example), e.g. (32b, c). (For waju-gali-ZERO ‘[kangaroo, turtle, food] get cooked’ (cf. 5.1), the meaning of ‘burn’ is not attested. This may be due to the incompleteness of the data.)

In order to describe the semantics of these verbs under discussion (i.e. Vt-liZERO), it is necessary to set up two additional groups: (j) bodily sensation (this is not included in Kemmer’s list of the middle; see Section 3), and (l) reflexive (in Kemmer’s framework, the reflexive is considered distinct from the middle;

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see Section 3). (In 8.1, I propose to set up an additional type of the middle: (k) communication.) (j)

bodily sensation: bari-L ‘turn, twist’, bari-li-ZERO ‘[person] feel no good, be mad’ (10 examples), e.g. (45B, A, B), (46), (47).

(l)

reflexive: baja-L ‘bite’, baja-li-ZERO ‘[dog] bite oneself ’ (no example). jilwa-L ‘kick’, jilwa-li-ZERO ‘[person] kick oneself ’ (no example). balga-L ‘hit’, balga-li-ZERO ‘[person] hit oneself ’ (no example), cf. (48). bibi noun ‘clitoris’, baba-L ‘stab, poke’, bibi-baba-li-ZERO ‘[man, but not woman] masturbate’ (2 examples), e.g. (34). garba-L ‘cover’, garba-li-ZERO ‘[person] cover oneself ’ (no example). garbi-L ‘hide’, garbi-li-ZERO ‘[person, dog, kangaroo] hide oneself ’ (5 examples), e.g. (31b), (33b), (40). buybu-L ‘spit on’, buybu-li-ZERO ‘[person] spit on oneself ’ (no example). baba-L ‘stab, spear’, baba-li-ZERO ‘[person] stab or spear oneself ’ (no example), e.g. (39).

In addition, the following reflexive/middle verbs occur in Alec Collins’ data: gunma-L ‘cut’, gunma-li-ZERO ‘[person] cut oneself ’, e.g. (36b). ngawa-L ‘hear, listen to’, ngawa-li-ZERO ‘[person] think’.

As mentioned in Section 4, Alec Collins does not use -gali-ZERO. He appears to use -li-ZERO for all of antipassives, reflexives, and middles. Therefore, it is not known whether his Vt-li-ZERO verbs correspond to the Vt-gali-ZERO or Vt-liZERO of Alf Palmer’s idiolect. Fifteen verbs are listed above (balba-li-ZERO and bari-li-ZERO are each counted twice; gunma-li-ZERO ‘cut oneself ’ and ngawa-li-ZERO ‘think’, which are not attested in Alf Palmer’s data, are excluded). Seven of them have a middle meaning, and eight a reflexive meaning. That is, these verbs are neither predominantly reflexive nor predominantly middle, in contrast with Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs, which are more frequently reflexive than middle (cf. 5.1). . Syntax [1] Two-place and three-place verbs. All of the Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs are related to two-place verbs, and not to any three-place verb. Two sets of a two-place transitive verb and a Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ verb: (30) a.

bama-nggu barri-Ø balba-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) stone-acc(o) roll-nonfut ‘The man rolled a stone.’

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b. (This sentence is addressed to a man who has been lying on top of a woman.) yinda ngarra-ngumay balba-li-n. [AP] 2sg.nom(s) on.top-abl roll-r/m-nonfut Alf Palmer’s translation: ‘From top you roll off.’ (translational motion) c. barri-Ø mirgan-da balba-li-Ø. [AP] stone-nom(s) slope-loc roll-r/m-nonfut ‘The stone rolled down a slope.’ (spontaneous) (31) a.

bama-nggu manyja-Ø garbi-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) food-acc(o) hide-nonfut ‘The man hid food.’ b. nguni bama-Ø garbi-li-n yamba-ngga. [AP] there man-nom(s) hide-r/m-nonfut camp-loc ‘The man is hiding himself in the camp.’ (reflexive)

[2] A, O and S. What was stated regarding Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs in [2] of 5.2 applies here as well. In most instances the A and the O of the “corresponding” transitive clause are coreferential and they jointly correspond to the S of the Vt-liZERO ‘R/M’ clause, i.e. A=O=S, cf. (30b), (31b). But verbs of spontaneous events and the cognition ngawa-li-ZERO ‘think’ (attested in Alec Collins’ data only) are exceptions. In the case of spontaneous events, only the O, and not the A, corresponds to the S, i.e. A=O=S (and they may be labeled “anticausatives”), cf. (30c), (32b, c), (42). (32) a.

bama-nggu buri-Ø gagal-Ø waju-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) fire-acc(o) big-acc(o) burn, cook-nonfut ‘The man made a big fire.’ b. buri-Ø gagal-Ø waju-li-Ø. [AP] fire-nom(s) big-nom burn-r/m-nonfut ‘A big fire is burning.’ (spontaneous) c. [manyja-Ø TT] garbu nyawa waju-li-Ø. [AP] [food-nom(s)] still neg cook-r/m-nonfut ‘[The food] is not cooked yet.’ (spontaneous)

((32b) is a description of a big bush fire. The first word in (32c) was supplied by me for the purpose of this paper.) Regarding the cognition middle, it is difficult to set up any “corresponding” clause for ngawa-li-ZERO ‘think’, as was the case with ngawa-gali-ZERO and ngawa-ngawa-gali-ZERO ‘think’. [3] Instrumental nouns. They can co-occur with Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs, as was the case with Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R.M’, e.g. (10b). Compare:

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(33) a.

yangana-nggu galbin-Ø garbi-n mother-erg(a) child-acc(o) cover, hide-nonfut gambila-nggu. [TT, AP] bark.blanket-erg ‘The mother hid/covered [her] child with a bark blanket.’ b. galbin-Ø garbi-li-n gambila-nggu. [TT, AP] child-nom(s) cover,hide-r/m-nonfut bark.blanket-erg ‘The child hid/covered himself/herself with a bark blanket.’ (reflexive)

The instrument may be a body part. (34) yuwu, ngana-Ø bibi-baba-li-ya mara-nggu. [AP] yes 1pl-nom(s) clitoris-poke-r/m-impera hand-erg Literally ‘Yes, let’s masturbate with hand.’ (reflexive)

Alf Palmer’s translation is ‘man pull imself ’. The etymology of this verb appears to be as follows. There is a compound verb bibi-baba-L ‘clitoris-poke’; Alf Palmer’s translation is “poke a woman”, e.g. (35b). In turn, (35b) is probably related to a version that does not contain a compound verb, i.e. (35a). (35) a.

bama-nggu warrngu-Ø bibi-Ø baba-n. [TT] man-erg(a) woman-acc(o) clitoris-acc(o) poke-nonfut Intended meaning: ‘The man poked a woman’s clitoris’. b. bama-nggu warrngu-Ø mara-nggu bibi-baba-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) woman-acc(o) hand-erg clitoris-poke-nonfut Literally: ‘The man clitoris-poked a woman with [his] hand.’

Therefore, bibi-baba-li-ZERO would literally mean ‘[man] clitoris-poke oneself ’. [4] Body part nouns. There is no example in Alf Palmer’s data, but there are just a few examples in Alec Collins’ data, e.g. (36b). (36) a.

bama-nggu nganya mara-Ø gunma-n. [TT, AP] man-erg(a) 1sg.acc(o) hand-acc(o) cut-nonfut ‘The man cut my hand.’ b. ngaya gunma-li-n mara-Ø. [AC] 1sg.nom(s) cut-r/m-nonfut hand-acc(o) or -nom(s) ‘I cut my hand.’ (reflexive)

There are two points to note regarding (36b). First, as noted in 7.1, it is not known whether Vt-li-ZERO verbs in Alec Collins’ data correspond to the Vt-gali-ZERO or Vt-li-ZERO verbs in Alf Palmer’s data. Second, Alf Palmer initially rejected (36b), although he later approved it and also a couple of analogous examples I composed. Therefore, it is not clear if a body part noun can occur in Alf Palmer’s Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ constructions. However, Alf Palmer’s data contains idiomatic expressions that contain a body part noun. See 7.4.

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Reflexive and middle constructions of Warrungu (Australia) 

On the basis of (36b), I composed (37), which contains Vt-gali-ZERO, rather than Vt-li-ZERO. (37) bama-Ø gunma-gali-n mara-Ø. [TT, AP] man-nom(s) cut-r/m-nonfut hand-acc(o) or -nom(s) ‘The man cut [his own] hand.’ (reflexive)

Alf Palmer approved (37), and provided the gloss ‘cut his hand’. [5] =guli ‘alone, by oneself ’. As was the case with Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ ([5] of 5.2), =guli is attached to pronouns, and not nouns. There are two examples; the first B of (45) and: (38) nyula=guli bangga-li-n. [AP] 3SG.nom(s)=alone paint-r/m-nonfut ‘He is painting himself.’ (body care)

[6] warayi-bi-L ‘one’s own-INTR’. There is just one example: (39) [bama-Ø TT] warayi-bi-n baba-li-n [man-nom(s)] one’s.own-intr-nonfut stab-r/m-nonfut banggany-ju. [AP] spear-erg ‘[The man] stabbed himself with a spear.’ (reflexive)

Since Vt-li-ZERO does not have the antipassive function (in Alf Palmer’s idiolect), neither =guli ‘alone, by oneself ’ nor warayi-bi-L ‘one’s own-INTR’ will facilitate the selection of a reflexive/middle reading, as opposed to an antipassive reading. Presumably it reinforces the reflexive/middle meaning. . Semantics (2) [1] Person and number of the S. There is no restriction regarding the person or the number of the S. Examples regarding person: first person: (34), (41), (45B); second person: (45A), (47); and third person: (38), (39). [2] Animacy and volitionality. The S of spontaneous events is inanimate and non-volitional, e.g. (30c), (32b, c), (42). In all the other examples, the S is almost always human, but there are just three examples of non-human animates: ‘[kangaroo, dog] hide oneself ’, and ‘[dog] bite itself ’. (40) gandu-Ø garbi-li-n. [AP] dog-nom(s) hide-r/m-nonfut ‘The dog hid itself.’ (reflexive)

In the following pair, involving the same verb bari-li-ZERO, the S is human in (41), and inanimate in (42).

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 Tasaku Tsunoda

(41) (‘I went, and’:) ngaya bari-li-n. [AP] 1sg.nom(s) turn-r/m-nonfut ‘I turned around.’ (42) murrurr-Ø ngaygu-n-da jina-ngga bari-li-n. [AP] rope-nom(s) 1sg-link-loc foot-loc twist-r/m-nonfut ‘The rope got entangled around my foot.’ (spontaneous)

(As mentioned in connection with (12a) and (13), the whole noun and the part noun occur in juxtaposition. In (42), each of them occurs in the locative.) Most of the events described that are carried out by humans or non-human animates are volitional. However, as was the case with ngawa-gali-ZERO and ngawa-ngawa-gali-ZERO ‘think about [DAT]’ (cognition), it is not clear if ngawali-ZERO ‘think’ (provided by Alec Collins) is volitional. The ex. (36b) (by Alec Collins) is interesting. The act of cutting was clearly volitional; obviously “I” initiated the act of cutting of “my” own accord. However, no doubt the act of cutting the hand was not intended, that is, it was not purposeful. That is, probably the event described in (36b) is volitional, but not purposeful. (This shows the need to distinguish between volitionality and purposefulness, although not much attention seems to have been paid to this distinction.) [3] Spontaneous reading. A spontaneous reading is not always available. Thus, compare (36b) (furnished by Alec Collins), with (43), which I suggested but which Alf Palmer rejected. (43) *julay-Ø gunma-li-n. tree-nom(s) break-r/m-nonfut Intended meaning: ‘A tree broke’.

Similarly, compare (33b), (40) with (44), which I suggested but which Alf Palmer rejected, saying ‘i [i.e. food] can’t hide imself ’. (44) *manyja-Ø garbi-li-n. food-nom(s) hide-r/m-nonfut Intended meaning: ‘The food was hidden.’

Examples such as (30c), (32b, c), and (42) have an inanimate S and they have a spontaneous reading. However, (43) and (44) indicate that a spontaneous reading is not always acceptable – even when the S is inanimate. It is not known under what conditions a spontaneous reading is acceptable. The same applies to Vt-gali-ZERO verbs (examined in Section 5).

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. Idioms There are three expressions involving Vt-li-ZERO that might be considered idioms. Two of them are provided by Alf Palmer and one by Alec Collins. The ones provided by Alf Palmer involve the verb bari-li-ZERO ‘twist, turn-R/M-ZERO’ and a body part noun: jili ‘eye’ or gaja ‘head’. The expression jili bari-li-ZERO means ‘feel no good, feel dizzy’. The following exchange between Speaker A and Speaker B is cited from the texts. (45) (A: What has made you feel no good?) B. jamu ngaya=guli jili-Ø for.no.reason 1sg.nom(s)=alone eye-acc(o) or -nom(s) bari-li-n. [AP] twist-r/m-nonfut Literally, ‘For no reason, I twist/twisted [my] eyes’, i.e. ‘I feel no good for no reason.’ A. wuwu jili-Ø yinda bari-li-n. [AP] oh eye-acc(o) or -nom(s) 2sg.nom(s) twist-r/m-nonfut ‘Oh, you feel no good?’ B. yuwu ngaya bari-li-n. [AP] yes 1sg.nom(s) twist-r/m-nonfut ‘Yes, I feel no good.’

(Note that the word for ‘eye’ is elliptical in the last sentence.) The other expression gaja bari-li-ZERO means ‘have a headache’, or ‘be mad, insane’. (46) ngaya gaja-Ø bari-li-n. [AP] 1sg.nom(s) head-acc(o) or -nom(s) twist-r/m-nonfut ‘I have a headache.’ (47) gaja-Ø yinda bari-li-n head-acc(o) or -nom(s) 2sg.nom(s) twist-r/m-nonfut warrngu-ngga. [AP] woman-loc ‘You are mad/insane over women.’

(Here, the locative case indicates a cause.) The idiom-like expression provided by Alec Collins is the following. (48) ngaya gidu-Ø balga-li-n. [AC] 1sg.nom(s) cold-nom hit-r/m-nonfut Literally, ‘I, cold, am hitting myself ’, that is, ‘I feel cold.’

Recall that it is not known whether this Vt-li-ZERO of Alec Collins’ idiolect corresponds to Vt-li-ZERO or Vt-gali-ZERO of Alf Palmer’s idiolect.

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. Vi-li-ZERO ‘middle’ . Semantics (1) There are a large number of intransitive verbs that contain the suffix -li-ZERO. All the attested forms are listed below, each accompanied by words that are, or may be, related to it. Their formation is discussed in 8.2. They are classified below, according to Kemmer’s typology (as cited in Section 3). For each of them, the number of its occurrence(s) in the texts is indicated. (c) translational motion: bandali-ZERO ‘[person] emerge’ (no example), e.g. (57). Cf. banda-L Vi ‘[person] emerge, [something] crack, chap’, bandali-ZERO Vi ‘[something] crack, burst, explode’. wadali-ZERO ‘[person, dog, cattle] run, [kangaroo] hop, [person, animal] flee’ (19 examples), e.g. (53). There is a pair of words that may be related to wadaliZERO Vi ‘run’: wada-? Vi ‘play’, wada-gali-ZERO Vi ‘play’ (see Section 6). wanjali-ZERO (or wanyjali-ZERO?) ‘run’. Alf Palmer stated that this word is used in Jalnguy (the avoidance style). However, he himself admitted that his knowledge of Jalnguy was limited. Therefore, it is not certain if wanjali-ZERO is a Jalnguy word. Etymologically, wanjali-ZERO may be related to wadaliZERO ‘run’. (f)

emotion: jaguli-ZERO ‘be sorry or quiet’ (2 examples), jagul-jaguli-ZERO ‘be sorry’ (4 examples). Cf. jagu-L Vi ‘be sorry’, jagul-jagul adjective ‘sorry’, jagul-nga-L Vt ‘be sorry for [someone]’. (-nga-L ‘transitive-stem-forming suffix’) ngurgali-ZERO ‘be shy, ashamed or afraid’ (2 examples). Cf. ngurga-L Vi ‘be shy or ashamed’, ngurgal-ngurgal adjective ‘embarrassed, afraid’. wanbali-ZERO ‘fear, be frightened’ (25 examples), wanbal-wanbali-ZERO Vi ‘fear, be frightened’ (1 example). Cf. wanba-L Vi ‘fear’, wanbal-barri adjective ‘frightened’, wanbal-bi-L Vi ‘fear’, wanbal-birri adjective ‘frightened’, wanbalnga-L Vt ‘frighten’.

(g) cognition: bujil-bujili-ZERO ‘do not care’ (1 example). Cf. bujil-bujil adjective ‘taking no notice’, bujil-mba-L Vt ‘take no notice of [someone]’. (-mba-L ‘transitive-stemforming suffix’) (h) spontaneous events: bandali-ZERO ‘[something] crack, burst, explode’ (no example), e.g. (52), (54). Cf. banda-L Vi ‘[person] emerge, [something] crack, chap’, bandali-ZERO Vi ‘[person] emerge’. jugali-ZERO ‘grow up’ (no example). Cf. juga-L Vi ‘grow up’, jugal adjective ‘straight (e.g. road)’, jugal-bi-L Vi ‘grow up’, juga-mba-L Vt ‘grow’, jugal-bi-L Vi

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‘grow up’. gadali-ZERO ‘crack’ (no example). Cf. gada-bi-L Vi ‘[tree] crack’, gadala adjective ‘dry’, gadala-bi-L Vi ‘become dry’, gadal-gadal adjective ‘dry’, gadal-gadalbi-L Vi ‘[tree] crack’, gadala-nga-L Vt ‘dry’. gagali-ZERO ‘become strong, be hard’ (no example), e.g. (50). Cf. gagal adjective ‘big, strong, hard’, gagal-bi-L Vi ‘grow up, be hard’. wadali-ZERO ‘[water] flow’ (no example), e.g. (49). Cf. wadali-ZERO Vi ‘[person, dog] run, [kangaroo] hop, [person, animal]‘flee’.

As mentioned in 5.1 and 7.1, I propose to set up the following types of the middle, which are not included in Kemmer’s list: (j) bodily sensation and (k) communication. (“Communication” is different from Kemmer’s (1993: 18) “speech actions of an emotive type” or Kemmer’s (1994: 183) “emotive speech actions”, e.g. complain, lament.) (j)

bodily sensation: binyjili-ZERO ‘feel fine, well or good’ (6 examples), binyjil-binyjili-ZERO Vi ‘feel well’ (1 example). Cf. binyji-L Vi ‘feel fine, well or good’, binyji-l-bi-L Vi ‘feel much better, feel really good’, binyji-l-guman-bi-L Vi ‘feel funny’. (-bi-L ‘intransitive-stem-forming suffix, guman ‘other, different’) bunil-bunili-ZERO ‘feel fairly dizzy’ (3 examples). Cf. buni-? (L-class?) Vi ‘be dizzy or groggy’. giduli-ZERO ‘[person?] get cold’ (1 example). Cf. gidu adjective ‘cold’.

(k) communication: gawali-ZERO ‘call out’ (71 examples), gawal-gawali-ZERO Vi ‘call out’ (7 examples), e.g. (58A, A). Cf. gawal noun ‘voice’. There is a group of words that may be related to these verbs: gawa-? (Y-class?) Vi ‘vomit’, gawa noun ‘stuff that is vomited’, gawa-gali-ZERO Vi ‘vomit’. See Section 6. gubili-ZERO ‘whistle’ (1 example), gubil-gubili-ZERO ‘whistle’ (no example). Cf. gubi-L Vi ‘whistle’, gubil noun ‘whistle’, gubil-bi-L Vi ‘whistle’, gubil-gubilbi-L Vi ‘whistle’. gan.gali-ZERO ‘call out, shout’ (no example).10 Alf Palmer stated that this word is used in Jalnguy (the avoidance style). However, it is not certain if this is a Jalnguy word. See the comments on wanjali-ZERO (or wanyjali-ZERO?) ‘run’.

It is difficult to classify the following three verbs: maguli-ZERO ‘work’ (nontransational motion?) (12 examples), e.g. (51). Cf. magul noun ‘work’. nyinyjili-ZERO ‘be or sit quiet’ (emotion?) (1 example). Cf. nyinyjil adjective ‘quiet’. bunali-ZERO ‘sleep’ (1 example). The reduplicated form bunal-bunali-n ‘sleepsleep-NONFUT’ was approved by Alf Palmer.

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 Tasaku Tsunoda

In terms of Kemmer’s framework, all the verbs listed above will be considered middle. First, morphologically, they all involve the element -li-ZERO, and consequently they are different from what may be considered “ordinary” intransitive verbs (e.g. banda-L Vi ‘emerge’ (L-class) and nyina-y Vi ‘sit’ (Y-class)), which lack this element. (As shown above, some of them have a corresponding “ordinary” intransitive verb. Thus, compare bandali-ZERO ‘emerge’ and banda-L Vi ‘emerge’.) Second, semantically, almost all of them may be assigned to one of the middle types set up by Kemmer, and even those that may not (e.g. bodily sensation and communication) are semantically very similar to them. An example of Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’: (49) ‘The river overflowed’ was translated as follows: gamu-Ø wadali-Ø ngarramali rimbi-ngga. [AP] water-nom(s) run-nonfut above,high bank-loc Literally: ‘The water ran on top above the bank.’ (translational motion or spontaneous?)

. Formation As noted above, all of these verbs contain the element -li-ZERO. That is, they all belong to ZERO-class. (ZERO-class also contains words that do not involve -li-ZERO.) They are all intransitive; they take the S (nominative), and not the A (ergative). In some instances, there are a reduplicated form as well as a non-reduplicated form, e.g. wanbali-ZERO ‘fear’, wanbal-wanbali-ZERO ‘fear’. Only the reduplicated form is attested in the case of bujil-bujili-ZERO ‘do not care’ and bunilbunili-ZERO ‘feel fairly dizzy’. The reduplicated forms and also related forms (e.g. wanbal-wanbali-ZERO ‘fear’, wanba-L Vi ‘fear’, wanbal-barri adjective ‘frightened’, wanbal-bi-L Vi ‘fear’, wanbal-nga-L Vt ‘frighten’) suggest that etymologically the suffix -li- was a combination of l-plus-i. This probably applies to the -li-ZERO of other uses examined above, and also to -gali-ZERO. (This l is no doubt related to the l that characterizes the L-class of verbs; see Table 2. The element i may have been a verb-stemforming suffix.) Before discussing the word class membership of the roots to which -li-ZERO is added, it is necessary to offer the following notes. First, as mentioned in Note 9, it is difficult in Warrungu to distinguish nouns and adjectives, and my use of the term “adjective” in this paper is tentative. Second, take jagul-jagul adjective ‘sorry’, for instance. It may be considered a verb with the nonfuture suffix -l, but, unlike most other verbs, it does not seem to take any other inflectional suffix (such as -n ‘nonfuture’.) It may also be con-

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sidered an adjective (or a noun), but, unlike most other adjectives (and nouns), it does not seem to take any non-zero case suffix (such as the ergative). The same applies to most of the words listed above that are labeled ‘adjective’. Their word class membership is not known for certain. Now, in many of the instances listed in 8.1, -li-ZERO is added to verb roots. These verb roots are all intransitive. Two instances involve an adjective: (i) gagaliZERO ‘become strong, be hard’, e.g. (50) (cf. gagal adjective ‘big, strong, hard’), and (ii) giduli-ZERO ‘[person?] get cold’, (cf. gidu adjective ‘cold’). One instance involves a noun: maguli-ZERO Vi ‘work’, e.g. (51) (cf. magul noun ‘work’, but there may have been a verb root *magu-L ‘work’. Consider gubili-ZERO Vi ‘whistle’, gubi-L Vi ‘whistle’, and gubil noun ‘whistle’.) In the case of gagali-ZERO and maguli-ZERO it is perhaps more appropriate to say that i is added to l, rather than that -li is added. That is, as noted in the third paragraph of this subsection (i.e. 8.2) etymologically the suffix -li- may have been a combination of l-plus-i. Examples follow. (50) ‘I drank this medicine to make me strong’ was translated as follows. ngaya yarru-Ø gamu-Ø bija-n ngaya 1sg.erg(a) this-acc(o) water-acc(o) drink-nonfut 1sg.nom(s) gagali-yal. [AP] become.strong-purp ‘I drank this water so that I would become strong.’ (spontaneous) (51) guwa-ngumay ngaya yani-Ø maguli-yal. [AP] west-abl 1sg.nom(s) go/come-nonfut work-purp ‘From the west I went/came in order to work.’

As shown above, etymologically (most of?) the verbs under consideration appear to contain the suffix -li-ZERO. However, their etymologies are much less transparent than those of the verbs discussed in Sections 5 (Vt-gali-ZERO ‘reflexive, middle’), 6 (Vi-gali-ZERO ‘middle’), and 7 (Vt-li-ZERO ‘reflexive, middle’). It is in view of this that, in the presentation of the verbs discussed here (Vi-liZERO ‘middle’), li is not preceded by a hyphen, that is, maguli-ZERO rather than magu-li-ZERO, for instance. . Syntax [1] Instrumental nouns. As is the case with most other intransitive verbs, the verbs listed above do not occur with an instrumental noun, in contrast with Vtgali-ZERO ‘R/M’ (see [3] of 5.2) and Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ (see [3] of 7.2). [2] Body part nouns. There is no example, although inclusion of a body part noun would be perfectly acceptable, cf. (13).

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[3] =guli ‘alone, by oneself ’, warayi ‘one’s own’, and warayi-bi-L Vi ‘do to one’s own’. There is no example, although use of these elements would be possible. . Semantics (2) [1] Person and number of the S. There seems to be no restriction on the person or the number of the S. [2] Animacy and volitionality. When a Vi-li-ZERO ‘middle’ describes a spontaneous event, the S is generally inanimate, and nonvolitional, e.g. (49), (52). (52) ‘The water reflexes the light’ was translated as follows. gamu-Ø bandali-n nyara-Ø. [AP] water-nom explode-nonfut light-nom(s) (spontaneous)11

(The verb seems to mean ‘shine’ in this context.) However, there is at least one example of a spontaneous reading in which the S is human, viz. (50). That is, although the act of drinking medicine is volitional, becoming strong is nonvolitional. The S of other groups than spontaneous events is generally human, but it may also be non-human animate, e.g. (53). In both cases, the S is volitional. (53) yuri-Ø wadali-n. [AP] kangaroo-nom(s) run-nonfut ‘The kangaroo hopped [away].’

The following example is rather problematic. (54) (Alf Palmer described a torpedo as follows.) nguna-Ø nyula bandali-yal. [AP] that-nom(s) 3sg.nom(s) explode-purp ‘That/he will explode.’ (spontaneous?)

If I recall correctly, Alf Palmer was describing a Japanese suicide torpedo used during World War II; each torpedo contained a soldier inside. If that is the case, the pronoun nyula ‘3SG.NOM’ refers to the soldier, and not the torpedo. (In Warrungu, generally nyula ‘3SG.NOM’ does not seem to have inanimate referents.) Then, the event described by (54) is volitional (and certainly purposeful), although the verb will have to be classified as “spontaneous”. However, an event that is spontaneous and at the same time volitional may be self-contradictory in terms of Kemmer’s classification. We will need to set up a separate group for (54). [3] Difference from a related intransitive verb. In some instances, the -li-ZERO intransitive verb appears to have much the same meaning as that of the related intransitive verb. (Kemmer 1993: 21 notes that this situation is common with middle verbs and related verbs.) Thus, compare:

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(55) (When a kangaroo was cooked:) banda-n jami-Ø bamba-ngumay [AP] emerge-nonfut fat-nom(s) guts-abl ‘The fat came out (i.e. dripped) from the guts.’ (spontaneous) (56) julgi-ngumay ngali banda-n. [AP] scrub-abl 1du.nom(s) emerge-nonfut ‘We came/went out of the scrub.’ (translational motion) (57) ngaya yamba-ngumay bandali-n. [AP] 1sg.nom(s) camp-abl emerge-nonfut ‘I came/went out from the camp.’ (translational motion)

(With banda-L ‘emerge’, the S may be human, e.g. (56), or inanimate, e.g. (55). No doubt, a non-human animate S, too, would be acceptable. In contrast, bandaliZERO ‘[something] emerge’ yielded no example of an inanimate S, but this may be due to the incompleteness of the data.) [4] Difference between the non-reduplicated and reduplicated forms. Where two forms are available, the difference between them is not known, although the reduplicated form would be expected to have the meaning of ‘repeatedly’ or ‘intensely’. The following example, cited from the texts, shows an exchange between Speaker A and Speaker B. (58) A. yinu-n-gu jilbay-Ø nyula gawali-n. [AP] 2sg-link-dat knowing-nom 3sg.nom(s) call.out-nonfut ‘He knows you [and he] is calling out [to you].’ (B. Where is he from?’) A. gunggarri-ngumay nyula gawal-gawali-n north-abl 3sg.nom(s) call.out-call.out-nonfut yinu-n-gu. [AP] 2sg-link-dat ‘He [is] from the north [and he] is calling out to you.’

. Morphosyntactic status of reflexives/middles We shall now examine the morphosyntactic status of the clauses that contain -gali-ZERO or -li-ZERO, often comparing them with “ordinary” transitive and/or intransitive clauses. [1] Case-marking of the A and the S. All of the verbs with -gali-ZERO or -li-ZERO (hereafter, -gali-/-li-ZERO verbs) take the S (NOM), rather than the A (ERG), and in this respect they are intransitive. That is, it is possible to say that the suffixation of Vt-gali-ZERO or Vt-li-ZERO to transitive roots turns them intransitive.

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[2] Conjugational class membership. As shown by Table 2, all the transitive verbs belong to L-class, while Y-class and ZERO-class contain intransitive verbs only. All of the -gali-/-li-ZERO verbs belong to ZERO-class, and, and in this respect, too, they are intransitive. [3] Instrumental nouns (in the ergative case). Their acceptability is as follows: a. b. c. d.

“ordinary” transitive clauses: acceptable, e.g. (10a), (33a), (35b); antipassive: acceptable, e.g. (17c); Vt-gali-ZERO with a reflexive reading (Section 5): acceptable, e.g. (11), (21); Vt-li-ZERO with a reflexive reading (Section 7): acceptable, e.g. (33b), (34), (39); e. Vt-gali-ZERO with a middle reading (Section 5): acceptable, e.g. (10b), (17a, b, d); f. Vt-li-ZERO with a middle reading (Section 7): not known; g. Vi-gali-ZERO ‘middle’ (Section 6): almost certainly unacceptable; h. Vi-li-ZERO ‘middle’ (Section 8): almost certainly unacceptable, and; i. “ordinary” intransitive clauses: almost certainly unacceptable, cf. (9). In examining the acceptability of instrumental nouns, it is useful to distinguish between sentences with a reflexive reading and those with a middle reading (although this distinction was not made when the acceptability of instrumental nouns was discussed in Sections 5 and 7). Note that there is no example of (f) Vt-li-ZERO with a middle reading that co-occurs with an instrumental noun. In the main, those with a reflexive reading (i.e. (c) and (d)) can co-occur with an instrumental noun, while on the other hand this is not always the case with those which have a middle reading (i.e. (e) through (h)). That is, in terms of the acceptability of instrumental nouns, those which have a middle reading are closer to “ordinary” intransitive clauses than are those with a reflexive reading. (This observation is essentially due to Zofia Stankiewicz, p.c.) For comparison, antipassives are included in the list above. They can co-occur with an instrumental noun. [4] Body part nouns (of the O NP or the S NP; see 5.2) can probably occur in all of the types of clauses: “ordinary” transitive clauses, e.g. (12a), (36a), Vtgali-ZERO ‘R/M’ clauses, e.g. (14), (37), and Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ clauses, e.g. (45B, A), (46), (47), and “ordinary” intransitive clauses, e.g. (13). This would be acceptable with Vi-gali-ZERO and Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’ clauses, too, although there is no example. [5] Valency. Formation of reflexive constructions by means of a verbal affix (rather than a pronominal element) is said to bring about valency reduction (Shibatani 1985: 837, 838, 842). (But see Haiman 1983: 799, 1985: 147.) I myself used to entertain this view (Tsunoda 1988: 639). However, it may not be tenable. Edmondson (1978: 646–647) points out a general tendency observed among erga-

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tive languages: reflexives formed by means of a verbal suffix are intransitive, while those which involve a reflexive pronoun or a noun are transitive. (See also Haiman 1983: 796, 1985: 143, 147.) An example of the latter type is Jaru of Western Australia (Tsunoda 1981a: 152–159), and one of the former type is Warrungu. Indeed, reflexives/middles of Warrungu may be considered intransitive, as seen in [1] and [2] above. However, it is not certain if valency reduction takes place. Since a body part noun can remain, e.g. (14), (37), (45B, A), (46), (47), it can be considered the O, rather than the S. If this analysis is adopted, these clauses contain the O as well as the S, i.e. they are two-place, and valency reduction does not take place. There seems to be no change in valency in the case of Vi-gali-ZERO and Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’ – if they are considered as derived from intransitives at all. What has been considered above is summarized in Table 3. The table shows that these reflexive and middle constructions are intermediate in terms of overall transitivity between “ordinary” transitive and intransitive clauses, and that middles are closer to intransitive clauses than are reflexives, as argued by Kemmer (1993: 3, 73, 1994: 181, 209). See (1) in Section 1 above. Table 3. Morphosyntactic status of reflexives/middles “ordinary” transitives

Vt-gali-ZERO Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’

Vi-gali-ZERO Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’

“ordinary” intransitives

A (ERG) or S (NOM) verb class

A L-class

S ZERO-class

S ZERO-class

Instrumental noun body part noun valency reduction

OK OK ...

OK OK NO?

NO? OK? NO

S ZERO-class, Y-class, L-class NO OK ...

Middles for spontaneous events may well be exceptions regarding instrumental nouns. Due to their semantic nature, they seem unlikely to co-occur with such a noun. [6] It is useful first to introduce Haiman’s (1983: 803, 1985: 170) classification of verbs: (i) introverted verbs, which describe situations that are naturally or typically reflexive or reciprocal, e.g. shave, wash, dress, kiss, fight, meet, and (ii) extroverted verbs, which denote situations that are not naturally or typically reflexive or reciprocal, e.g. see, kick, love. Haiman (1983: 801–808, 1985: 168–174) proposes the principle of economic motivation and points out the crosslinguistic tendency whereby no explicit reflexive or reciprocal marker is required when the verb is introverted.

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In Warrungu, the reciprocal suffix -wa-Y seems required for describing reciprocal situations (Tsunoda forthcoming), even “naturally reciprocal” events, such as kissing and copulation (Kemmer 1993: 102, 268, 1994: 211). Thus, compare: (59) a.

ngali-Ø junda-wa-n. [AP] 1du-nom(s) kiss-rec-nonfut ‘We kissed each other.’ b. ngali-Ø junda-n. [TT] 1du-nom(s) kiss-nonfut

It seems certain that (59b) means ‘We kissed [someone else]’, rather than ‘We kissed each other’, that is, almost certainly (59b) cannot have a reciprocal reading. The reciprocal marker -wa- appears to be required even when the event described is naturally reciprocal. Therefore, this data contradicts Haiman’s theory of economic motivation. In contrast, the use of Vt-gali-ZERO or Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ does not seem obligatory for describing reflexive situations. Reflexive situations are often expressed by means of “ordinary” transitive clauses, rather than a clause with Vtgali-ZERO or Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’, e.g.: (60) (A man is working out a plot with another man’s wife. He says to her, ‘Scratch your head if your husband is angry’.) yinda gaja-Ø giba-Ø [AP] 2sg.erg(a) head-acc(o) scratch-impera ‘Scratch [your] head’. (61) ‘I crossed my legs’ was translated as follows. jarra-Ø ngaya binda-n nguni=rru upper.leg-acc(o) 1sg.erg(a) put.down-nonfut there=again nguni=rru. [AP] there=again Literally, ‘I put down [my] upper legs here and there.’ (nguni=rru nguni=rru means ‘here and there’.) (62) jarga-lgu yinda yinu jumbi-Ø. [AP] insert-purp 2sg.erg(a) 2sg.gen penis-acc(o) ‘You will insert your penis.’ (63) ‘He cut his own finger off ’ was translated as follows. nyungu warayi-Ø mara-Ø gunba-n. [AP] 3sg.gen one’s.own-acc(o) hand-acc(o) cut-nonfut

Exx. (60) through (63) do not involve either of the suffixes -gali and -li (and they are transitive). This is despite the fact that the relevant R/M verb exists, for example, for (60), e.g. (2b) (giba-gali-ZERO ‘shave-R/M-’). Similarly, a corresponding R/M verb would be possible for (61) through (63).

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Reflexive and middle constructions of Warrungu (Australia) 

Descriptions of reflexive situations involve a transitive verb much more frequently than an R/M verb. The conditioning factors are not known, but the following points are worth mentioning. First, some (or most?) transitive clauses with a reflexive reading describe situations that are naturally reflexive. Thus, regarding (61) it is unlikely to cross someone else’s legs. Concerning (62), it is unlikely to insert someone else’s penis. That is, naturally reflexive situations can be described without using Vt-gali-ZERO or Vt-li-ZERO. (Recall that the reciprocal suffix -wa-Y seems necessary for describing naturally reciprocal situations. That is, the reflexives and the reciprocals of Warrungu are not parallel in this respect.) Note that some of the R/M verbs listed in 5.1 and 7.1 describe naturally reflexive situations, e.g. giba-gali-ZERO ‘shaveR/M’ and baba-gali-ZERO ‘wash-R/M’. That is, according to Haiman’s theory the presence of -gali- will be redundant, and here again the Warrungu data contradicts Haiman’s theory of economic motivation. Second, transitive clauses denoting a reflexive situation always (?) contain a body part noun in the accusative (the O NP); see (60) through (63). (Reflexive/middle clauses, too, can contain such a noun, e.g. (14) and (37), but such examples are very few.) Third, (62) contains the pronoun yinu ‘2SG.GEN’ and this reinforces the reflexive reading. Fourth, in (63) the reflexive reading is further reinforced by the inclusion of warayi ‘one’s own’. Fifth, in most instances, the reflexive meaning is clear. This is no doubt largely due to the factors listed above. Furthermore, the context may point to a reflexive reading, e.g. (60). Sixth, Vt-gali-ZERO ‘antipassive’ (Tsunoda 1988), e.g. (17c), is highly productive. For instance, the corresponding antipassive involving the same verb is attested for each of (60) through (63). In contrast, Vt-gali-ZERO and Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ are much less productive. As a contrasting pair of examples, balga-gali-ZERO ‘hitR/M’ was rejected by Alf Palmer for the meaning ‘hit oneself ’, despite the fact that balga-gali-ZERO ‘hit-ANTI’ was frequently used by him.

. Claims and generalizations about reflexives and middles We shall now examine the claims and generalizations about reflexives that concern two reflexive(/middle) markers that exist in a given language. a. According to Haiman’s principle of economic motivation, extroverted verbs will be expected to employ a full form or longer form (i.e. -gali- in the case of Warrungu reflexives), while introverted verbs will be expected to involve

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 Tasaku Tsunoda

a reduced form (i.e. -li-), or a zero form (i.e. an “ordinary” transitive clause with a reflexive reading). However, no such tendency can be discerned. As mentioned in [6] of Section 9, all of the three methods are found in the expressions of naturally reflexive situations. That is, the Warrungu data does not seem to support Haiman’s claim, although it does not contradict it either. b. Kemmer (1993: 27) states: “The heavy form is typically quite productive”, while “the light form shows relatively restricted distribution”. It is not certain if this applies to Warrungu. Relevant statistics is given in Table 4. It is difficult to say, between -gali-ZERO and -li-ZERO, which is the more productive. For example, Vi-gali-ZERO verbs are by far the most frequent in the texts, but, as mentioned in 8.2, their etymologies are much less transparent than those of other verbs under consideration. Again, the Warrungu data does not seem to support Kemmer’s generalization, although it does not contradict it either. Table 4. Comparison of -gali-ZERO and -li-ZERO

attested verbs examples in the texts

Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’

Vi-gali-ZERO ‘MID’

Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’

Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’

22 10

3 no example

11 13

17 157

c. Kemmer (1993: 25, 1994: 188) states that, in a two-form language, the heavy form is a reflexive marker and the light form a middle marker. This applies to Warrungu, but only to a limited degree. Vt-gali-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs are more frequently reflexive than middle (5.1), while Vi-gali-ZERO verbs are entirely middle (Section 6). Jointly, about half of -gali-ZERO verbs are reflexive. Vt-li-ZERO ‘R/M’ verbs are neither predominantly reflexive or middle (7.1), while Vi-li-ZERO ‘MID’ verbs are entirely middle. That is, jointly, -li-ZERO verbs are predominantly middle. That is, it is only relatively speaking that -gali-ZERO is reflexive and that -li-ZERO is middle.12 Two of the claims/generalizations examined above are not supported by the Warrungu data, while the third is supported, but only to a limited extent. It is possible that this has to do with the fact that both markers are verbal affixes. Warrungu seems to be rather uncommon in that both of its reflexive markers are verbal affixes (see Kemmer 1993: 25, 1994: 188). In almost all of the languages examined by Haiman and by Kemmer, one of the reflexive markers is a verbal suffix, while the other is pronominal.

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. Conclusion This paper presented data on the reflexive and middle constructions of Warrungu, examining the Warrungu data in the light of Kemmer’s study of the middle, and it proposed to set up two additional categories for the middle: “bodily sensation” and “communication”. The Warrungu data does not support two of the claims or generalizations about reflexive and middle constructions put forward by Haiman and by Kemmer. It is possible that this has to do with the fact that both markers are verbal affixes.

Notes . I dedicate this paper to Masayoshi Shibatani, in my deepest appreciation of his guidance and friendship, which have continued for a quarter century. His influence is evident in many of my writings, particularly, in the areas of voice and grammatical relations, the very theme of this volume. I wish to express my gratitude to the following people: (i) Mrs. Rachel Cummins, who is Alf Palmer’s granddaughter, for supporting and approving the publication of this paper; (ii) Peter Sutton for allowing me to use his unpublished Warrungu data (recorded from Alec Collins) and to cite two examples from his data: (36b) and (48); (iii) Koji Irie, Yasuhiro Kojima, Hiroki Nomoto, Ayako Sakamoto, Masayoshi Shibatani (to whom the present paper and volume are dedicated), Zofia Stankiewicz, Mie Tsunoda, and Douglas Whalen for commenting on an earlier version of this paper; and (iv) Mark Rosa for correcting my English. . In Tsunoda (1988: 606), I tentatively regarded ngawa-gali-ZERO ‘think about [DAT]’ as antipassive. However, for the reason stated on p. 607 of that paper, I now believe that it is reflexive, rather than antipassive. . The example obtained does not make it clear which meaning is intended. . Same as Note 3. . Same as Note 3. . “[TT, AP]” indicates that the sentence was suggested by me – on the basis of spontaneously given example(s) – and was approved by Alf Palmer. “[AP]” means that the sentence was uttered spontaneously by Alf Palmer, in the texts, during elicitation, or during our conversations, or given by him as a Warrungu translation of an English sentence I presented. “[TT]” in the main marks those sentences which were composed by me but were not checked with Alf Palmer. Any deviation from this convention will be stated to that effect. “[AC]” shows that the data was provided by Alec Collins. . The abbreviations and symbols employed are the following. A – transitive subject; ABL – ablative; ACC – accusative; ANTI – antipassive; CLI – clitic; COM – comitative; DAT – dative; DU – dual; ERG – ergative; GEN – genitive; IMPERA – imperative; INTR – intransitive-stemforming suffix; ITERA – iterative; LINK – linking suffix; LOC – locative; MID – middle; NOM – nominative; NONFUT – nonfuture; O – transitive object; PL – plural; PURP – purposive; REC – reciprocal; R/M – reflexive/middle; S – intransitive subject; SG – singular; Vi – intransitive; Vt –



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 Tasaku Tsunoda

transitive; 1 – first person; 2 – second person; 3 – third person. The equation symbol (“=”) precedes a clitic, while a hyphen (“–”) precedes affixes. . Since the O, and not the A, corresponds to the S, this type of spontaneous events may be labeled “anticausative” (Comrie 1985: 323, 325). All the transitive verbs involved belong to Type 1A of my verb classification (Tsunoda 1981b); they describe actions that impinge on the patient and furthermore cause a change in it. See also Kemmer (1993: 21). . In Warrungu it is difficult to distinguish nouns and adjectives either morphologically or syntactically. They have the same cases, and they generally have the same syntactic functions. Thus, yangabara ‘long, tall’ can modify a noun, but it can stand alone, indicating ‘long [object], tall [person]’. Therefore, the use of the term “adjective” in this paper is tentative. . A dot in, e.g. gan.gali, is used to distinguish a sequence of /n/ and /g/ from a velar nasal /ng/. . The structure of this sentence is difficult to analyze. The two nouns may be considered as constituting one single NP (a discontinuous NP), or they may be just two separate NPs. . It is possible that the suffix -li- is the older form and that the suffix -gali- is an innovation. (This observation was triggered by Mie Tsunoda’s (p.c.) remark.) The suffix -li- or its variant occurs in a larger number of Australian languages in a wide geographical area, and its most common function is the reflexive (Capell 1956: 75). These languages include Gugu-Badhun (Sutton 1973: 145), immediately south of Warrungu. Recall also that Warrungu has the iterative suffix -garra-Y (see Section 2). It is therefore likely that -gali-ZERO was created on the analogy of -garra-Y. This hypothesis – that the suffix -li- is the older form and that the suffix -gali- is an innovation – leads to a few interesting suggestions. For example, since Alec Collins used the suffix -li-ZERO only, the creation of the suffix -gali-ZERO must have taken place after the split of Warrungu into Alec Collins’ and Alf Palmer’s dialects. As another example, since (in Alf Palmer’s dialect) only -gali-ZERO has the antipassive function, while both -gali-ZERO and -li-ZERO can have the reflexive function, it seems likely that antipassive constructions are a relatively recent phenomenon.

References Capell, A. (1956). A new Approach to Australian Linguistics [Oceania Linguistic Monographs No. 1]. Sydney: University of Sydney. Comrie, Bernard (1985). “Causative verb formation and other verb-deriving morphology”. In Timothy Shopen (Ed.), Language Typology and Syntactic Description, Vol. 3 (pp. 309–348). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dixon, R. M. W. (1972). The Dyirbal Language of North Queensland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Edmondson, Jerold A. (1978). “Ergative languages, accessibility hierarchies governing reflexives and questions of formal analysis”. In Werner Abraham (Ed.), Valence, Semantic Case, and Grammatical Relations (pp. 633–660). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Haiman, John (1983). “Iconic and economic motivation”. Language, 59, 781–819. Haiman, John (1985). Natural Syntax[:] Iconicity and Erosion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kemmer, Suzanne (1993). The Middle Voice. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins.

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Kemmer, Suzanne (1994). “Middle voice, transitivity, and the elaboration of events”. In Barbara Fox & Paul J. Hopper (Eds.), Voice[:] Form and Function (pp. 179–230). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Shibatani, Masayoshi (1985). “Passives and related constructions: A prototype analysis”. Language, 61, 821–848. Sutton, Peter John (1973). Gugu-Badhun and its Neighbours[:] A Linguistic Salvage Study. M.A. thesis. Sydney: Macquarie University. Tsunoda, Tasaku (1981a). The Djaru Language of Kimberley, Western Australia. Canberra: Pacific Linguistics, Australian National University. Tsunoda, Tasaku (1981b). “Split case-marking patterns in verb-types and tense/aspect/ mood”. Linguistics, 19, 389–438. Tsunoda, Tasaku (1988). “Antipassives in Warrungu and other Australian languages”. In Masayoshi Shibatani (Ed.), Passive and Voice (pp. 595–649). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Tsunoda, Tasaku (1990). “Typological study of word order in languages of the Pacific region (5): Warrungu”. The Journal of the Faculty of Letters Nagoya University, 106, 13–47. Tsunoda, Tasaku (1998). “Applicative constructions in Warrungu of Australia”. In Anna Siewierska & Jae Jung Song (Eds.), Case, Typology and Grammar (pp. 343–373). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Tsunoda, Tasaku (1999). “Aspect and transitivity of iterative constructions in Warrungu”. In Werner Abraham & Leonid Kulikov (Eds.), Tense-aspect, Transitivity and Causativity[:] Essays in Honour of Vladimir Nedjalkov (pp. 3–19). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Tsunoda, Tasaku (2004). “Attempt at the revival of Warrungu (Australia): Its cultural and scientific significance”. In Piet van Sterkenburg (Ed.), Linguistics Today – Facing a Greater Challenge (pp. 267–303). Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Tsunoda, Tasaku (forthcoming). “Reciprocal constructions in Warrungu”. In Vladimir P. Nedjalkov (Ed.), Typology of reciprocal constructions.

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Language index

A Ainu  Alyutor , ,  Australian languages , ,  B Bantu languages ,  Biblical Hebrew  C ChiChewa  Chinese , ,  Chukchi – Chukotko-Kamchatkan family  Classical Arabic  Classical Nahuatl ,  D Dogon –, –,  Dyirbal , , ,  E English –, –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  F French ,  G German , , , , , –, , , –, , ,  Greek , 

Greenlandic Eskimo  Gugu-Badhun  Gujarati , –, – H Hawaiian – Hindi-Urdu , –, , –, –, – Hopi ,  I Iroquoian , ,  Italian  Itelmen , – J Jacaltec  Japanese , –, , , , , , , , , ,  Jaru  K Kalasha  Kaonde  Kashmiri – Kerek  Khowar  Kimbundu  Korean  Koryak , , – Koyra Chiini  L Latin  Lithuanian  Lovale  Lunda – M Malagasy ,  Maori , , 

Marathi , , , , – Marquesan  Marwari  Mayan family  Mohawk –

N Ndembu  Nivkh 

P Polish  Polynesian ,  Portuguese  Proto-Polynesian , 

R Rarotongan  Rawang , ,  Russian , , , , –

S Samoan , ,  Sanskrit , ,  Setswana  Shina ,  Shoshoni ,  Slavonic ,  Southern Paiute , ,  Spanish , , , , , , , ,  Standard Average European ,  Swedish , 

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 Language index

T Tagalog ,  Tahitian  Tolowa-Athabaskan ,  Tundra Yukaghir – Turkish , ,  Tuvan 

U Ute ,  Uto-Aztecan 

W Warrungu –

Y Yakut  Yidiny , ,  Yucatec Maya , , –, 

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Name index

A Achard, M.  Aissen, J. , ,  Anthony, A. 

Dixon, R. M. W. , , , , , , , ,  Dryer, M. , ,  Du Bois, J. 

B Benveniste, E.  Blutner, R. ,  Bolinger, D. , ,  Bommelyn, N.  Bresnan, J. , , 

E Edmondson, J. A.  Elbert, S. –, , , , , 

C Campbell, L.  Capell, A.  Carnap, L.  Chafe, W. L. , , ,  Chomsky, N.  Chung, S.  Churchward, S. ,  Clark, R. ,  Cleeland, H. –, ,  Collins, A. (Warrungu name: Wulngarra) , , –, , , ,  Comrie, B. , , , –, , , ,  Cook, K. , ,  Cook, W. A.  Coseriu, E.  Craig, C. G. ,  Croft, W.  Culy, Ch.  Cummins, R.  D Dahlstrom, A.  Datz, M.  Davidse, K.  Davidson, A  Davidson, D. ,  Dimitriadis, A. 

F Foley, W. ,  Fortescue, M.  G Georg, St.  Geniušien˙e, E. , ,  Givón, T. , , , , , –, , ,  Goldberg, A.  Grice, H. P.  Gruber, J. S.  Gundel, J. K.  H Haiman, J. , , , , – Hale, K.  Harris, A.  Haspelmath, M. , , , , , ,  Hawkins, E. , ,  Hawkins, J.  Heath, J.  Heine, B. ,  Hidalgo, R.  Hohepa, P.  Hopkins, A. , ,  Hopper, P. J. , , , ,  I Inenlikej, P. I. 

Irie, K.  K Kämpfe, H.-R.  König, E.  Kaburaki, E.  Kageyama, T. , , , , ,  Kahananui, D.  Kaman¯a, K.  Kanerva, J.  Kapu, W. H.  K¯arena-Holmes, D. ,  Kawasha, B. ,  Keenan, E. L. , , , , , , , ,  Kelekona, K. ,  Kemmer, S. , , , , , , , –, , , , –, , , , – Kibrik, A. A.  Kirsner, R. S.  Klaiman, M. H.  Kojima, Y.  Krejnoviˇc, E. A. ,  Kuno, S. ,  Kuteva, T.  Kuular, K.  L Lambrecht, K. , , ,  Langacker, R. W. , , –, , , , , , , , , , ,  LaPolla, R. J. , , , , , , , ,  Larsen, T.  Legendre, G.  Lehmann, Ch. , , , , 

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 Name index Lyons, J. ,  M Masica, C. P. , , – Maslova, E. , , –, ,  McCarthy, J. ,  Mithun, M. , , ,  N Nedjalkov, V. P. ,  Newman, J. ,  Nikitina, T. N. ,  Nikolaeva, I.  Nishina, Y.  Nomoto, H.  Norman, W.  O Ota, H.  P Paduˇceva, E. V. ,  Palmer, A. (Warrungu name: Jinbilnggay) , –, –, –, , , ,  Panini , ,  Pardeshi, P. , , , ,  Payne, Th.  Plungian, V. , ,  Podlesskaya, V. I. ,  Prince, A. , , 

Prince, E. F.  Pukui, M. K. –, , , , ,  R Raxtilin, V. G.  Reddy, M. J.  Reinhart, T. ,  Rice, S.  Rosa, M.  S Sakamoto, A.  Sasse, H.-J. ,  Schachter, P. ,  Seidl, A.  Seiler, H.  Shibatani, M. , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  Sil’nickij, G. G.  Siloni, T.  Silverstein, M. ,  Sinclair, M. B. W.  Skorik, P. Ja. ,  Smith, M.  Šmeljova, E.  Song, J. J.  Sperber, D.  Stankiewicz, Z. ,  Strawson, P. F.  Sumbatova, N.  Sutton, P. , , 

T Talmy, L. , ,  Taylor, J. R.  Testelec, J.  Thompson, C.  Thompson, S. A.  Tishkov, V. A. ,  Toops, G. H. ,  Traugott, E. C. , ,  Tsunoda, M.  Tsunoda, T. –, –,  Tuggy, D.  V Van Valin, R. D., Jr. , –, , , , ,  Vennemann, T.  Verhoeven, E.  Volodin, A. P. , –,  W Whalen, D.  Wiemer, Bj.  Wilson, D.  Wilson, W. , – X Xrakovskij, V. S.  Z Zhukova, A. N. , 

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Subject index

A ablative , , , , ,  absolutive , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  accusative , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  active voice , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  affected locative  agent –, , , , , , , , , , , –, –, , , –, , , –, –, , , , , , , –, –, –, , –, –, , , , , , , , , , –, , –, –, , , , , , , –, –,  agent defocusing , , , , ,  agent omission ,  agent- vs. theme-oriented  agreement-change  analogy , , , , ,  animacy , , , , , , , , , ,  anticausative , ,  antipassive , , , , , , , –, –, , , , , , , , –, , , , ,  applicative , , , , , , , –, , ,  argument structure , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 

aspect , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , ,  autobenefactive ,  auxiliation , , ,  B behavior-and-control properties , ,  benefactive –, –, , , –, , , , , , –, ,  benefactive applicative , – beneficiary , , , –, –, , , , ,  binding , , , , ,  bivalent , , , , –, , , , , , , ,  body part –, , , , , , , , ,  C canonical alignment , , ,  case , , , , , , , , –, , , –, , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , –, , , , , –, –, , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , –, –,  case distinction  causation , , , , , , , , 

causative , , , , , , , , –, –, , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  causee , , , , , , , , –, –, ,  coding property , , ,  Cognitive Grammar , , , ,  comitative , –, , , , , , –, ,  competitive , ,  compound verb , , ,  conceptual archetype  control , , , , , , –, , , , , , ,  conventionalization , , ,  coordination , , –,  co-participant –, –,  coreference , –, , , ,  coreferential , , , , , , , , ,  D deadjectival derivative  defocusing , , , , , , , , ,  delexicalization  denominal verb , ,  derived transitive  direct object , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 

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 Subject index discontinuous reciprocal ,  discourse , , , , , , , , –, , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , ,  discourse register ,  E emergence of the unmarked , ,  empathy hierarchy – entrenchment  ergative , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  ergative(-absolutive) construction , , ,  event argument , , , ,  experiencer , , , , , , , , , , –, ,  external argument , , , , , ,  extroverted verb ,  F faithfulness – favoritive – focal prominence , , , –, , , ,  focus , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , –, , ,  focus set – force , , , , , ,  frequency , , ,  G generic , , –, , , , , ,  goal , , , , –, , ,  grammatical relation , , , , , –, , , , , , , , 

grammaticalization , , , , , , –, , , – H harmony constraint , – hortative –, , –, – I imperative –, –, , , , , –, , , –,  imperfective , –, , , , – impersonal –, –, –, , –, – impersonal passive , , , , , , ,  incorporation , , –,  indirect object , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  indirectus macrorole  individual-level predication , –, , , –, –, ,  inference , , , , , , ,  information structure , , , , –, –, – instrument , , , , , , –, , , , , , ,  instrumental , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  instrumental applicative , ,  intensive , ,  interactive register , , ,  intermediate agent  intransitive , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , –, , , –, , , , , , , , , –, , –, 

intransitive verb , , , , –, ,  introverted verb ,  inverse , –, ,  iterative –, , , , , , , ,  L labile verb , ,  L-dislocation –,  lexical conceptual structure  lexical reciprocal ,  lexical structure , ,  lexicalization ,  locative , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  locutive –, ,  M macrorole , , , ,  markedness , , –, , , , ,  middle , –, , , –, , , , , –, , , , , –, , –, , , – middle construction , ,  monovalent –, , , , , ,  morphological causative , , , ,  N narrative register – nature of communication  nominative , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  non-delimitation  non-promotional passive ,  noun incorporation ,  O object , , –, –, –, , –, –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , –, , , , , , , , , , –, ,

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Subject index  , , , , , , , –, –, , , , , , , ,  oblique , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  omission of arguments ,  Optimality Theory , ,  ostension 

P participant role , –, , , , ,  passive –, –, –, –, –, , , , , –, –, , –, –, –, –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  passive particle  patient , –, , –, –, , , , –, , , , –, , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , –, , –, , , , , , , , , , , ,  patient subject ,  peculiar passive , –, –, , ,  perfect passive participle  perfective , , , , , –, , , , , – permissive , –, – person hierarchy , , , ,  pivot , , – place , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  pleonastic use of the reciprocal suffix and adverb  possession , , , , , , ,  possessor , , , , –, –, 

predicate –, , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  principle of relevance  promotional passive , , , ,  pronominal adverb  pronominal suffix , ,  property –, , , , , –, , , ,  R recipient , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , –,  reciprocal , , , , , –, –, , , , –, , , , , , –,  reciprocal adverb , , , , ,  reciprocal suffix , –, , , ,  reflexive , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , –, , , , , , , –, –, , , , , , , , –, –, , – reflexive pronoun , , , , , ,  reflexivization , , , , , ,  relativization , –, , –,  resultative ,  S semantic role , , , , ,  setting , , , ,  source , ,  source meaning – specificity , , , , – split ergativity ,  split intransitivity , , , 

spontaneous , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, ,  stage-level predication –, , , , , , ,  starting point  stative , , , –, , , , , , , , –,  stative verb , –, , ,  subject –, –, , , –, , , , , , , , , , –, –, –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , –, –, , , , , , –, –, , –, , , , ,  suffix , –, , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, –, –, , , , , , –, – suppression , , , , –, ,  symmetric predicate , , , ,  sympatheticus , , , ,  T target meaning , ,  tense , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, ,  tense marking  thetic , , ,  thetic/categorical ,  topic , , –, –, , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,  trajector – transitive , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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 Subject index , , , , , , , , –, –, , , , –, –, – transitive verb , , , , , , , , , , ,  transitivity , , , , , ,  trivalent , , , , –, , , , 

typological strategy ,  V valency/valence , , , , , , , –, , –, –, , , , , , –, , , ,  voice , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , ,

, , –, , , , , , , , , , , , , –, , , , , ,  volitionality , , ,  vowel harmony  W whole-part relationship , 

In the series Typological Studies in Language the following titles have been published thus far or are scheduled for publication: 66 HICKMANN, Maya and Stéphane ROBERT (eds.): Space in Languages. Linguistic Systems and Cognitive Categories. xii, 317 pp. + index. Expected September 2006 65 TSUNODA, Tasaku and Taro KAGEYAMA (eds.): Voice and Grammatical Relations. In Honor of Masayoshi Shibatani. 2006. xviii, 342 pp. 64 VOELTZ, F. K. Erhard (ed.): Studies in African Linguistic Typology. xiv, 417 pp. + index. Expected March 2006 63 FILIMONOVA, Elena (ed.): Clusivity. Typology and case studies of the inclusive–exclusive distinction. 2005. xii, 436 pp. 62 COUPER-KUHLEN, Elizabeth and Cecilia E. FORD (eds.): Sound Patterns in Interaction. Cross-linguistic studies from conversation. 2004. viii, 406 pp. 61 BHASKARARAO, Peri and Karumuri Venkata SUBBARAO (eds.): Non-nominative Subjects. Volume 2. 2004. xii, 319 pp. 60 BHASKARARAO, Peri and Karumuri Venkata SUBBARAO (eds.): Non-nominative Subjects. Volume 1. 2004. xii, 325 pp. 59 FISCHER, Olga, Muriel NORDE and Harry PERRIDON (eds.): Up and down the Cline – The Nature of Grammaticalization. 2004. viii, 406 pp. 58 HASPELMATH, Martin (ed.): Coordinating Constructions. 2004. xcv, 578 pp. 57 MATTISSEN, Johanna: Dependent-Head Synthesis in Nivkh. A contribution to a typology of polysynthesis. 2003. x, 350 pp. 56 SHAY, Erin and Uwe SEIBERT (eds.): Motion, Direction and Location in Languages. In honor of Zygmunt Frajzyngier. 2003. xvi, 305 pp. 55 FRAJZYNGIER, Zygmunt and Erin SHAY: Explaining Language Structure through Systems Interaction. 2003. xviii, 309 pp. 54 AIKHENVALD, Alexandra Y. and R.M.W. DIXON (eds.): Studies in Evidentiality. 2003. xiv, 349 pp. 53 GIVÓN, T. and Bertram F. MALLE (eds.): The Evolution of Language out of Pre-language. 2002. x, 394 pp. 52 GÜLDEMANN, Tom and Manfred von RONCADOR (eds.): Reported Discourse. A meeting ground for diﬀerent linguistic domains. 2002. xii, 425 pp. 51 NEWMAN, John (ed.): The Linguistics of Sitting, Standing and Lying. 2002. xii, 409 pp. 50 FEIGENBAUM, Susanne and Dennis KURZON (eds.): Prepositions in their Syntactic, Semantic and Pragmatic Context. 2002. vi, 304 pp. 49 WISCHER, Ilse and Gabriele DIEWALD (eds.): New Reﬂections on Grammaticalization. 2002. xiv, 437 pp. 48 SHIBATANI, Masayoshi (ed.): The Grammar of Causation and Interpersonal Manipulation. 2002. xviii, 551 pp. 47 BARON, Irène, Michael HERSLUND and Finn SØRENSEN (eds.): Dimensions of Possession. 2001. vi, 337 pp. 46 AIKHENVALD, Alexandra Y., R.M.W. DIXON and Masayuki ONISHI (eds.): Non-canonical Marking of Subjects and Objects. 2001. xii, 364 pp. 45 BYBEE, Joan and Paul J. HOPPER (eds.): Frequency and the Emergence of Linguistic Structure. 2001. vii, 492 pp. 44 VOELTZ, F. K. Erhard and Christa KILIAN-HATZ (eds.): Ideophones. 2001. x, 436 pp. 43 GILDEA, Spike (ed.): Reconstructing Grammar. Comparative Linguistics and Grammaticalization. 2000. xiv, 269 pp. 42 DIESSEL, Holger: Demonstratives. Form, function and grammaticalization. 1999. xii, 205 pp. 41 FRAJZYNGIER, Zygmunt and Traci S. CURL (eds.): Reciprocals. Forms and functions. Volume 2. 2000. xii, 201 pp. 40 FRAJZYNGIER, Zygmunt and Traci S. CURL (eds.): Reﬂexives. Forms and functions. Volume 1. 2000. xiv, 286 pp. 39 PAYNE, Doris L. and Immanuel BARSHI (eds.): External Possession. 1999. ix, 573 pp. 38 SIEWIERSKA, Anna and Jae Jung SONG (eds.): Case, Typology and Grammar. In honor of Barry J. Blake. 1998. 395 pp. 37 GIACALONE-RAMAT, Anna and Paul J. HOPPER (eds.): The Limits of Grammaticalization. 1998. vi, 307 pp. 36 NEWMAN, John (ed.): The Linguistics of Giving. 1998. xv, 373 pp. 35 GIVÓN, T. (ed.): Grammatical Relations. A functionalist perspective. 1997. viii, 350 pp. 34 GIVÓN, T. (ed.): Conversation. Cognitive, communicative and social perspectives. 1997. viii, 302 pp. 33 FOX, Barbara A. (ed.): Studies in Anaphora. 1996. xii, 518 pp. 32 BYBEE, Joan and Suzanne FLEISCHMAN (eds.): Modality in Grammar and Discourse. 1995. viii, 575 pp.

31 30 29 28 27 26 25 24 23 22 21

GERNSBACHER, Morton Ann and T. GIVÓN (eds.): Coherence in Spontaneous Text. 1995. x, 267 pp. DOWNING, Pamela A. and Michael NOONAN (eds.): Word Order in Discourse. 1995. x, 595 pp. KAHREL, Peter and René van den BERG (eds.): Typological Studies in Negation. 1994. x, 385 pp. GIVÓN, T. (ed.): Voice and Inversion. 1994. viii, 402 pp. FOX, Barbara A. and Paul J. HOPPER (eds.): Voice: Form and Function. 1994. xiii, 377 pp. LORD, Carol: Historical Change in Serial Verb Constructions. 1993. x, 273 pp. SVOROU, Soteria: The Grammar of Space. 1994. xiv, 290 pp. PERKINS, Revere D.: Deixis, Grammar, and Culture. 1992. x, 245 pp. KEMMER, Suzanne: The Middle Voice. 1993. xii, 300 pp. PAYNE, Doris L. (ed.): Pragmatics of Word Order Flexibility. 1992. viii, 320 pp. DOWNING, Pamela A., Susan D. LIMA and Michael NOONAN (eds.): The Linguistics of Literacy. 1992. xx, 334 pp. 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. xxxiv, 243 pp. 19:2 TRAUGOTT, Elizabeth Closs and Bernd HEINE (eds.): Approaches to Grammaticalization. Volume 2: Types of grammatical markers. 1991. xii, 558 pp. 19:1 TRAUGOTT, Elizabeth Closs and Bernd HEINE (eds.): Approaches to Grammaticalization. Volume 1: Theoretical and methodological issues. 1991. xii, 360 pp. 18 HAIMAN, John and Sandra A. THOMPSON (eds.): Clause Combining in Grammar and Discourse. 1988. xiii, 428 pp. 17 HAMMOND, Michael, Edith A. MORAVCSIK and Jessica WIRTH (eds.): Studies in Syntactic Typology. 1988. xiv, 380 pp. 16 SHIBATANI, Masayoshi (ed.): Passive and Voice. 1988. x, 706 pp. 15 AUSTIN, Peter (ed.): Complex Sentence Constructions in Australian Languages. 1988. vii, 289 pp. 14 HINDS, John, Shoichi IWASAKI and Senko K. MAYNARD (eds.): Perspectives on Topicalization. The case of Japanese WA. 1987. xi, 307 pp. 13 Never published. 12 NEDJALKOV, Vladimir P. (ed.): Typology of Resultative Constructions. Translated from the original Russian edition (1983). Translation edited by Bernard Comrie. 1988. xx, 573 pp. 11 TOMLIN, Russell S.: Coherence and Grounding in Discourse. Outcome of a Symposium, Eugene, Oregon, June 1984. 1987. viii, 512 pp. 10 RANSOM, Evelyn N.: Complementation: its Meaning and Forms. 1986. xii, 226 pp. 9 BYBEE, Joan: Morphology. A Study of the Relation between Meaning and Form. 1985. xii, 235 pp. 8 SLOBIN, Dan I. and Karl ZIMMER (eds.): Studies in Turkish Linguistics. 1986. vi, 294 pp. 7 CRAIG, Colette G. (ed.): Noun Classes and Categorization. Proceedings of a symposium on categorization and noun classiﬁcation, Eugene, Oregon, October 1983. 1986. vii, 481 pp. 6 HAIMAN, John (ed.): Iconicity in Syntax. Proceedings of a symposium on iconicity in syntax, Stanford, June 24–26, 1983. 1985. vi, 402 pp. 5 RUTHERFORD, William E. (ed.): Language Universals and Second Language Acquisition. 1984. ix, 264 pp. 4 CHISHOLM, William, Louis T. MILIC and John A.C. GREPPIN (eds.): Interrogativity. A colloquium on the grammar, typology and pragmatics of questions in seven diverse languages, Cleveland, Ohio, October 5th 1981May 3rd 1982. 1984. v, 302 pp. 3 GIVÓN, T.: Topic Continuity in Discourse. A quantitative cross-language study. 1983. vi, 492 pp. 2 HAIMAN, John and Pamela MUNRO (eds.): Switch Reference and Universal Grammar. Proceedings of a symposium on switch reference and universal grammar, Winnipeg, May 1981. 1983. xv, 337 pp. 1 HOPPER, Paul J. (ed.): Tense-Aspect. Between semantics & pragmatics. 1982. x, 350 pp.

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