I plan on resuming blogging after Labor Day, so stay tuned.

As I continue to read your work and Levinsohn’s, I get the impression that this approach to the language rarely makes use of the traditional categories. As you’ve claimed in your grammar and elsewhere, the insights that grammarians have gleaned from the text owe more to the context than they do the forms. This explains the majority of my frustration in trying to append the right label to a certain genitive, for instance. In one sense, this is freeing. My exegesis can focus more on the text as a whole rather than wasting time hunting down the right category (and God knows I have spent countless hours doing that!). But it leaves me wondering how exactly these two approaches are complementary. Second year Greek students are taught to think in categories and even if a broader approach is taken, the residual effect is largely the same: parse the word and find the right category. At the end of the day, I feel less than confident about my exegesis due to the subjective nature of the task. And brother, that won’t preach. (snip) But when it comes down to marking up my Greek text, making an observation worksheet, etc., (and this is really the big question here) what do I need to discard from the traditional approach? In what way should these syntactical categories be used, if at all? What exactly is obsolete here? How does your exegetical method employ the traditional approach and which areas are eclipsed by DA?

Ah, grasshopper, you ask good question!! Grammar and exegesis, at least in my view, are fundamentally descriptive in nature. Metaphorically, they are something like a picture, a representation of what I see in the text. Ideally this picture should be as exact a representation as possible, not impressionistic (i.e., eisegetical). Preservation of the original is of the utmost importance, contrary to what Claude Monet may have argued.

Grammatical categories, whether derived from traditional or discourse approaches, both serve the same purpose: communicating what you see. There is a statement that “Second year Greek students are taught to think in categories…parse the word and find the right category.” I think it might be more accurate to say that the categories are the terminology you use to describe what you see. The goal is not to assign a category, believe it or not, even if this is what you are graded on. The goal is to understand what is going on in the text, and then to be able to interact with others (including commentaries) about that. The labels are to facilitate communication of what you see. The categories are a descriptive tool for communication, nothing more. I think Wallace would agree with me on this point.

First and foremost, the exegete needs to personally understand the text, or metaphorically see what is going on; otherwise there is nothing to communicate, you have no idea what label to assign. I personally found that Brooks and Winberry’s categories were only of value after I knew what was going on. Otherwise their lists were little more than a multiple choice menu of exegetical options. This was my main motivation to pursue discourse studies in the first place. I felt  that I had been trained to do little more than assign a category. If I did this successfully, then I must understand what is going on, right?

There is a rather stark difference in what each of the approaches uses as their basis of description. The traditional divisions of the genitive into source, means, partitive, etc., have a lot to do with the variety of options available in English to uniquely specify one relation versus another. In Greek, there are not such sub-distinctions in many cases. The semantics of the context narrow things down. In any case, note that the goal is to narrow down the semantic range of meaning from something general to something more specific. You can do this without assigning a label, but you have a pretty hard time communicating what you see or think to someone else. How about translation? The same kinds of problems arise, as there may not be an acceptable literal equivalent in English, and the dynamic translation may obscure the exegetical detail you are interested in.

Has discourse grammar eclipsed traditional approaches? I don’t think so. But there are some features that the former is better suited to describe than the latter. Discourse grammar is most helpful when the focus is on function, on what something is doing. Most of these features are operating above the clause level. This might be clause-clause relationships like connectives, interclausal relationships like forward-pointing references or information structure. These tasks are nearly impossible to nail down in terms of what they mean, even having a nice label for the function. And let’s be sure not to make discourse approaches a straw Superman that rights all wrongs and rids the world of evil. One could just as easily assign discourse labels and not understand the text as assigning traditional ones. It cuts both ways, so let’s not lose sight of that.

Each approach to grammar has its strengths and weaknesses. If you have read my work, you have not seen me try to change many of the traditional categories, like the case roles. I think there is much that can be learned from linguistics about how cases operate that would help streamline the descriptive process, but the basic traditional categories work well for communication purposes.

The main thing to remember is that exegetical categories serve primarily as metalanguage to describe what you see in the passage. Assigning them will not necessarily help you understand the passage better.

At times, atomizing into sub-categories can be more of a hindrance than a help, because it obscures a larger pattern. My biggest complaint about use of these categories is the failure to help students synthesize the specifics into a unified whole. The more specific and numerous the categories, the more difficult (or impossible) the synthesis process. I think we could get by with far fewer categories 80-90% of the time. Save the more obscure ones for reference purposes in the rare instances they are needed.

For my part, I am not as big a fan of detail as those who love the categories. Therefore, I will never be able (nor do I want) to offer them some turn-key equivalent, couched in the language of discourse. I spent two days last week crashing an SIL linguistics workshop on syntax and semantics. What did I find? Tons of little semantic categories that I found difficult to synthesize. They serve an important purpose, but are only of use after you understand what is going on in the passage. They serve only as a means of communication, nothing more. So lest you think I am anti-traditional, know that I am just as anti-linguistics when it comes to bifurcation and atomization.

Our predilection for atomization (combined with the lack of attention to synthesis) is a leading cause in the slow death of biblical languages. However, the importance of the attention to detail for doctrinal and theological reasons will always make detailed categories needed. But if they are not needed for your present purposes of writing a sermon, I do not see the value in using them just for the sake of labeling. If you understand what is going on and can communicate what you see, then move along. If you have a question about the exact sense or what to call it, commentaries or databases like the Lexham Syntactic Greek New Testament offer help.

I would be interested in hearing your thoughts on these matters. What would you say are the strengths and weaknesses of the various approaches? I stand by my claim that they are complementary in nature. The overlap is less extensive than one might think.

He asked me what I had been reading for the last year or so and what I thought of the works. I began rattling off the books and articles that Stephen Levinsohn had encouraged me to read, as well as other works I had found in bibliographies. He seemed pleased, said that he thought I was ready to register, but one thing was missing. I needed to develop a knowledge of cognitive linguistics and language processing in order to have a sound theoretical framework. I almost laughed. Why in the world would I want to read theoretical literature about how we think about language? What could that possibly offer? Such a waste of time, thought I. About a month later, I heard the same thing from Levinsohn, making me think that he and Christo were in cahoots. Grudgingly, I trusted my mentors and began reading some of the most esoterically-oriented literature I have ever encountered. It was model after theoretical model of how humans appear to process and store information. What could this possibly add to my research? First, a story.

Back in the day, I was big into Boy Scouts, earning my eagle award just before my 16th birthday. I was doing my best to be an avid outdoorsman, and orienteering skills played a big part of that. Orienteering is the use of map and compass for navigation. It began with learning the basic workings of a compass, then moved on to understand things like keys to map symbols, scale, topography and much more. Synthesizing this knowledge allowed me to get to know a place–what it looked like, where major landmarks were, the lay of the terrain–all without ever having been to the place.

Plotting out my first hike on a map at a troop meeting was simple, I just drew some lines and connected some dots. Easy, right? Trying to follow that course in reality was a chore. My theoretical path cut across contours, which meant going up and down hill a lot. Most trails follow the contour to avoid this as much a possible. I paid little attention to water features, like crossing streams. In practice we had to move up and down stream to find a suitable place to cross. The more trips I planned, the more I learned about “what not to do.” Each experience helped be to better understand and synthesize the information on the map. It helped me to picture what I would find, even though I had never been there.

The theoretical aspects of orienteering–representing information abstractly with symbols, lines and squiggles–were invaluable, but only as I used them. To really make it work for mr, it took applying the theoretical to real life practice. This application ended up deepening my theoretical understanding, believe it or not. All of this culminated in organizing a prospecting trip with my dad up near Mt. Baker. I was responsible for navigating us from one point to another, and for recording where each assay sample was taken. This was no easy task, fighting our way through 6′ high salal and devil’s club, across steep ravines. It was some of the roughest terrain I have ever seen. But thanks to (mostly) accurate topo maps and years of applying the theory, we successfully made it through. Why no GPS? The tree canopy was too heavy to pick up more than one satellite. We had to go old school.

So what does orienteering have to do with theoretical frameworks? A lot! Theory–for theory’s sake–can indeed be a colossal waste of time, the very ivory tower thing that comes to mind. But sound theory that works in practice is invaluable. Having an accurate map of how things work can tell me what to expect in a place that I have never been before. When navigating new territory–either geographical or linguistic–knowing what to expect and how things ought to look is invaluable. If I am looking into something new to me like word order, conjunctions, or (heaven forbid) verbal aspect, knowing how these operations tend to work in the world’s languages is something like a map. It will not tell me exactly what Greek will look like, but it should give me a good idea of significant landmarks to be on the lookout for. This theoretical background acts as a safeguard to keep me from getting lost, from claiming something that runs counter to how things are expected to work based on a broader linguistic understanding.

Recall that I described our Mt. Baker topo maps as (mostly) accurate. They appear to have been made from aerial photos without field verification. There was a huge boulder field that I was using as a reference point. Just one problem: the location of the boulders on the map varied fairly significantly from where my calculations said it was in the field. “Houston, we have a problem.” As a result of this mismatch, we ended up devoting what should have been a second day prospecting to retracing the track of Day 1 to see who was correct, me or the map. Happily, the eagle scout’s knowledge proved superior! Had we trusted the flawed map as a bearing point, all of our data would have been thrown off by several hundred yards.

I have devoted a lot of time of late to critiquing Stan Porter’s model of verbal aspect. Figuratively speaking, the claims made in his Verbal Aspect volume have functioned as a map of the Greek verb for NT studies for more than 20 years. From the very beginning scholars like Moises Silva have suggested that parts of the map appear inaccurate, based on some field-testing in exegesis.¹ A rigorous application of the model to the gospel of Luke has also raised some questions, since it lead to counter-intuitive conclusions much of the time.² Porter’s own application of his model to Mark 11 has drawn similar criticism. ³ You’d think that a hand-selected example would fare better, but the counter-intuitive conclusions the model suggests in application remain problematic.

These recurring problems in the field application are why I decided to go back and look at the theory that underlies it. How does it mesh with the maps one finds of other languages? In reading the sources that undergird Porter’s model, his diverges from their principles and claims suggest that the problem lies in the model itself. If the implementation of a model reveals flaws, one should go back to “what we know to be true” from the typological studies of these phenomena. In other words, if the boulder field and other significant landmarks continue to appear out of place in ongoing field trials, it may call for something other than blaming the guys in the field. It may be an issue with the map itself.

Theory is incredibly useful, but only if it works in the field. I still have no real love for theory, but I have an even stronger aversion for “getting lost.” There are some great linguistic maps available that can safeguard one’s description, even if  breaking new ground. Developing a sound theoretical framework, one that is consistent with the broader field is an invaluable safeguard to keep you on the proper path. I no longer balk at Van der Merwe or Levinsohn for the priority they place on theory. On the contrary, I thank them in nearly every communication with them for impressing its importance on me. Bad theory will get you lost, good theory will get you home safely. Invest in good theory.

1. Moises Silva, “A Response to Fanning and Porter on Verbal Aspect.” In Biblical Greek Language and Linguistics: Open Questions in Current Research, edited by Stanley E. Porter and D. A. Carson, 74-82. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993.
2. Jody Bernard, “Is Verbal Aspect a Prominence Indicator? An Evaluation of Stanley Porter’s Proposal with Special Reference to the Gospel of Luke.” Filología Neotestamentaria 19 (2006): 3-29.
3. He claims that the participles δεδεμένον and ἑστηκότων in v. 4  and εὐλογημέν- in vv. 9-10 are the most salient actions on the basis of their stative aspect. “Some have found it implausible that the perfect tense-form is used to frontground the colt and the calls of those welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem, especially since these tense-forms are supposedly relatively common for these verbs in the Greek of the New Testament” (Stanley E. Porter, “Prominence: An Overview.” In The Linguist as Pedagogue, edited by Stanley E Porter and Matthew Brook O’Donnell, 45-74 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press Ltd, 2009), 61).

There is no apparent evidence that in Greek any of the verbal aspects is semantically unmarked (contra Haberland, “Note,” 182). In fact, this work argues that even within the binary oppositions all members contribute semantic weight to the verbal component of the clause… On the basis of the concept of markedness in Greek verbal aspect (see chapts. 4 and 5 for treatment of the specific aspects involved), the binary pairs can be arranged in two oppositions. The perfect tense (stative aspect) is the most heavily marked formally, distributionally and semantically, and forms an opposition (see Ruiperez, Estructura, 45ff.). Within the Present/Aorist, the imperfective aspect on the basis of formal markedness, a slight distributional advantage, and semantic markedness is the more clearly marked member of the equipollent opposition with the perfective aspect (see e.g. McKay, 138; idem, “Syntax,” 46ff.; Lyons, Introduction, 314-15; cf. Comrie, Aspect, 127; contra e.g. Ruiperez, Estructura, 67-89; “Neutralization”).¹

This claim comes one page after he introduces the concept of markedness, yet there is little discussion of exactly what he understands markedness to be. On p. 89 he states “the best exposition of markedness is Zwicky, “Markedness,” but without more discussion. He also cites Bernard Comrie and John Lyons to substantiate his quantificational conceptualization of markedness. Each of these linguists is studying the typology of language, looking for universal characteristics (qualities) that would facilitate the logical classification and description of linguistic features. They in no way attempt to create a ranked hierarchy. Markedness to them is a qualitative organizational strategy for identifying distinctive features. These features are then used to meaningfully differentiate members of a set. Markedness, as they use the term, is asymmetrical and qualitative. It is never conceived of as a quantity, though there are a few places where that might appear to be the case. I now present examples from each of the cited texts to substantiate my assertion.

I begin here with Zwicky’s introduction to “material markedness,” which  refers to the morphological markers that distinguish one form in a paradigm from another. He states, “one set of forms contains a morpheme or sequence of morphemes expressing some category or combination of categories. If there is a parallel set of forms lacking this material, then it may be said to lack the mark.”² He thus views the “morphological material” as a signal that some feature is present, whereas something lacking that mark does not signal the presence of something.

If you look at the paradigm of the third person pronoun, you’ll note that most every form has some minor difference from the other forms. The net result is to uniquely “mark” a certain set of features, e.g. case, number and gender. Everything goes swimmingly until one reaches e.g., the genitive plural forms. Note that the same form is used for all three genders. One could rightly say that this form is “unmarked” for gender, there is no signal present to specify which it is. The same kind of result is found in genitive and dative singular and plural, where there is no marker to distinguish masculine from neuter. These forms lack the distinguishing marker found on most other forms. When Zwicky talks about “material” markedness, he is referring to the phonological markers that distinguish one form from another.

He goes on to state that “forms may be materially marked to various degrees,” which sounds an awful lot like he means quantity of markers, the “semantic weight” to which Porter refers. Not so much. He uses the English word lionesses as an example, claiming that it has “two material marks, one indicating sex and one indicating number.”³ He is merely pointing out that more than one marker at a time may be present. His example has the -ess gender marker on lion as well as the plural marker -s. We could make the same kind of observations about αὐτός, where there are three markers present on some forms: one for case, one for gender and one for number. Although these marks can be counted, they cannot be weighed. Zwicky and the others want to find some means of identifying the most basic forms across languages, and counting markers seems like a legitimate method at the time.⁴

Now let’s take a look at his treatment of implicational markedness, by which he refers to the forms that have the “less normal or expected state” as being marked. “Implicationally marked forms will tend to show fewer irregularities than the implicationally unmarked forms … It is important to stress that implicational markedness concerns categories in general (or categories in certain sorts of contexts), rather than particular instances of categories.”⁵

A paragraph later, Zwicky makes clear that he is referring to categorical distinctions that are binary in nature, i.e. qualitative markers. Here there is another statement that could appear at first to offer Porter support for his notion of “semantic weight, i.e. some quantifiable amount. A careful reading eliminates this possibility. Zwicky illustrates implicational markedness using the singular/dual/plural distinction in German. The first binary distinction he makes is between -Plural (singular) and +Plural (Dual and Plural). He considers the -Plural to be the unmarked member because it manifests few markers, whereas the +Plural is more marked. One then can divide the +Plural into +Dual (marked) versus -Dual (unmarked), with markedness again determined by the complexity of markers used to distinguish one member from another. I will come back to whether Zwicky’s approach is useful (or even valid) in a later post. My goal here is simply to outline what he means by material and implicational markedness. In both instances, he is referring to the presence or absence of qualitative markers. The apparently quantitative statements refer only to complexity of the markers, not their semantic weight.

Recall that Zwicky’s goal is typological classification. He wants to figure out whether linguistic markers can be used to identify the most simple member of a given set within a given language. The hope is that such a finding could lead to some universal means of identifying such forms that would work across a host of languages. His goal is to bootstrap the classification of language features, not to quantify their semantic value. He concludes his introduction with one final point.

An important feature of this framework is that it concerns itself almost entirely with tendencies rather than strict regularities, so that there are apparent counterexamples to the principles I discuss, these resulting from the effects of the other tendencies that conflict with the tendencies relating to markedness. In pursuing my rather modest ends I disregard such complexities for the sake of exposition, though while doing so I admit that each case calls for further analysis and that the weight of these cases taken together needs careful assessment.⁶

This caveat makes it sound as though even Zwicky is unsure of how sound his method is, as though it is just a trial balloon. The caveats in his conclusion confirm this notion.⁷

Porter apparently understands Zwicky claims about markedness  to be quantitative rather than qualitative. He conflates these two divergent models as though there was no meaningful distinction between them,⁸ Porter considers a number of factors the he feels contribute to the “semantic weight” of a form, which lead to its quantitative ranking from least marked (perfective aspect) to most marked (stative aspect). Here is what I mean. After weighing evidence regarding tense-form stem formation, tense infixes and other factors, he concludes, “In general it can be seen that the Present is morphologically bulkier than the Aorist, often evidencing double consonants or lengthened vowels.”⁹ The point here is that the same kinds of qualitative markers discussed above  with αὐτός are essentially being added up to establish a quantifiable semantic value. His goal is to determine which member of the set is more/most heavily weighted, based on the number/complexity of “material markers.” Zwicky never makes such a claim, nor does he hold out the possibility that it could be done.

Regarding implicational markedness, Porter again weighs the various factors as though they were quantitative. “The Present/Imperfect as the more heavily marked form evidences fewer irregularites as a verbal category: e.g. ω forms overwhelmingly predominate over μι forms, unlike the diversity of weak and strong Aorists; the Aorist, regardless of its formation of the Active and Middle Voice, has an irregular formation of the Passive with (θ)ην … and the Aorist of course does not have the augment outside of the Indicative.”¹⁰

So what do these factors lead Porter to conclude? Is he looking for the simplest form for typological purposes like Zwicky? No, he is postulating a “semantic weight” based on the amount of markedness a given tense-form manifests: “The Aorist and Present/Imperfect instead comprise a bipolar opposition, with the Aorist as the less heavily marked and the Present as the more heavily marked on the basis of material, implicational, distributive and semantic criteria.”¹¹ Twenty years later in an article on prominence, Porter affirms these earlier conclusions, relying upon the same sources used in his dissertation.¹²

As was the case with grounding, Porter’s misunderstanding of the literature regarding material and implicational markedness undermines two of the four pillars supporting his claims about the prominence values of the tense-forms. I will take up the other two kinds of markedness in future posts.

Return to On Porter, Prominence and Aspect

1. Stanley E. Porter, Verbal Aspect in the Greek of the New Testament: With Reference to Tense and Mood (Studies in Biblical Greek  1; New York: Peter Lang, 1989), 90. Italics mine.
2. Arnold M. Zwicky, “On Markedness in Morphology,” Die Sprache: Zeitschrift für Sprachwissenschaft Wien 24, no. 2 (1978): 130.
3. Ibid.
4. Zwicky, Lyons and Comrie attempted to count markers as a metric for judging complexity, but do not translate this to a claim about semantic weighting. They simply focus on complexity. Several recent papers by Martin Haspelmath shatter any notion that such counting is a credible approach. Edna Andrews does the same with frequency/statistics in her chapter “Myths about Markedness.”See  Martin Haspelmath,  “Against Markedness (and What to Replace It With),” Journal of Linguistics 42, no. 01 (2006): 25–70; Haspelmath, “Frequency Vs. Iconicity in Explaining Grammatical Asymmetries,” Cognitive Linguistics 19, no. 1 (February 2008): 1-33;  Edna Andrews, Markedness Theory: the Union of Asymmetry and Semiosis in Language (Durham: Duke University Press, 1990). Porter curiously cites two of these works in his most recent paper on prominence, neither acknowledging nor engaging their arguments against his claims. His citation of Andrews in note 37 makes it seem as though it lent favorable support toward his methodology. (Porter, “Prominence: An Overview,” pp. 45-74 in The Linguist as Pedagogue (ed. S E Porter and M B O’Donnell, Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press Ltd, 2009), 55 n. 36, 56 n. 37. )
5. Ibid., 131-32.
6. Ibid., italics mine.
7. In his conclusion Zwicky observes that “I have chosen to treat as different senses of markedness what many have seen from the outset as manifestations of a single phenomenon. Indeed this is the spirit in which Greenberg, Sehane, and Comrie approach the subject, as do the writers they build their discussions on.” (“On Markedness, 142.) Zwicky’s different senses of markedness were thus not independent means of corroborating a claim, but were simply different factors by which the most basic and simple form—an asymmetrical, qualitative default—could be identified for typological purposes. See Haspelmath, “Against Markedness,” for arguments against viewing such subdivisions of markedness as legitimate. He argues the are all derivatives of frequency or other contextual factors.
8. I spoke with Porter in person about this issue of conflation on the last day of 2009 SBL Annual Meeting in New Orleans. I wanted to make sure I was not misunderstanding his view. He stated that he did not see a meaningful distinction between these two approaches of markedness. His recent article on prominence does much to confirm this view. He appears to have read the qualitative claims from the linguistic literature as quantitative. This means that some of the most crucial claims of his thesis are based upon a flawed understanding markedness.
9. Stanley E. Porter, Verbal Aspect in the Greek of the New Testament: With Reference to Tense and Mood (Studies in Biblical Greek 1;  New York: Peter Lang, 1989) 180.
10. Ibid.
11. Ibid., 181.
12. Stanley E. Porter, “Prominence: An Overview,” in The Linguist as Pedagogue (ed. Stanley E Porter and Matthew Brook O’Donnell; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press Ltd, 2009), 56.

Within NT studies, Stan Porter has developed an approach that is symmetrical in nature. Instead of looking for the distinctive markers that make the set asymmetrical, the symmetrical approach distinguishes the set members by means of some quantitative scale or “cline.” It is not focused on quality, but quantity.

Certain words all share the same basic quality, such as the adjectives “good,” better,” and “best.” They differ in the quantity which is expressed, making them a symmetrical set. Thus the meaningful distinction among them is not the quality they possess, but the quantity of it. We could use a hierarchical cline to express this quantitative difference: Good < Better < Best. All the words focus on the same quality, but they differ in the quantity expressed. More specific examples will be provided as I move through some of Porter’s sources.

This symmetrical approach to markedness is rarely used in linguistic circles, as there are not many factors that are best described in this way. I am hard pressed to provide more complex examples from the literature because I have not seen them there. What’s my point? Very few linguistic features are quantitative in nature, the vast majority are qualitative. Later in this series, I’ll note places where Porter cites qualitative discussions of markedness as support for his quantitative approach to markedness. He appears to have missed the meaningful distinction to be made.

In his article “Prominence: an overview,” Porter states, “I wish to posit here a cline of prominence that attempts to recognize linguistic features with their levels of formal marking along with a semantic scale of grounding. The markedness refers to the formal characteristics…”¹ Later in his discussion the relation between markedness and prominence, Porter outlines the factors he believes contribute quantitatively to the prominence of a linguistic element:

Markedness has undergone much evaluation. What started as an attempt to mark specific phonological features, has broadened to include a variety of features that go toward indicating markedness. The result is that markedness is a concept that includes a complex of factors, depending upon the items being considered. Markedness in this scheme is not a matter of privative opposition regarding a single feature, but a cline of markedness values, from the least to the most heavily marked, but all formally based. Markedness can be divided into five categories: material, implicational, distributional, positional and cognitive.²

What Porter is claiming here is that his model of markedness is not asymmetrical or qualitative (i.e. “not a matter of privative opposition regarding a single feature,”) but quantitative and symmetrical. He is acknowledging that his methodology departs from the norm of distinguishing members of a set by means of privative relationships (i.e. +/-  statements about the presence or absence of a particular quality, see part 1 of this series).

In the posts that follow, I’ll take a look at each of the factors Porter claims contribute quantitatively to the markedness value of a given form. His markedness framework outlined here is indispensable to his theory of aspectual prominence, i.e. that the stative aspect represents the frontground of discourse, and thus conveys the highest level of prominence in the discourse. His latest article extends what was originally a claim limited to verbal aspect more broadly to other grammatical features of Greek. The veracity of these models is completely dependent upon two pillars:

1. Porter’s model of grounding in discourse, discussed in a series of posts beginning here;
2. Porter’s model of quantitative markedness, which will be discussed in the balance of this series.

I have already demonstrated regarding grounding that Porter’s model lacks any credible support from the literature. He applies claims that are genre-specific globally without maintaining the limitations, fundamentally misunderstanding how it is that grounding brings about prominence. In the case of markedness, he appears to read qualitative claims made by typological linguists like Comrie and Lyons as though they were quantitative in nature, invalidating the conclusions he draws.

In my next post, I’ll tackle his discussion of material markedness.

Return to On Porter, Prominence and Aspect

1. Porter, Stanley E. “Prominence: An Overview.” In The Linguist as Pedagogue, edited by Stanley E Porter and Matthew Brook O’Donnell, 45-74 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press Ltd, 2009), 52.
2. Ibid., 55-56.

The first time around, I differentiated the two approaches to markedness as symmetrical and asymmetrical. This is accurate, but I remember the difficult time I had in the late 90′s keeping them straight. I used to carry a lot of 3×5 cards with new terms and brief definitions. Fundamentally, the distinction I was trying to make was qualitative versus quantitative.

A quantitative approach to markedness seeks to differentiate a set of similar items from one another. They are similar, but not the same, so there must be something that sets each apart from the other. Asymmetrical markedness provides this differentiation qualitatively, describing the set of characteristics that make each member of the set unique. Let’s consider the personal pronouns as an example. We could divide them up by number, obtaining one group of singular ones, and another of plural. Alternatively, we could divide them up by person, arriving at three groups: first, second and third person. By combining these two qualities, we could uniquely differentiate each pronoun using a plus/minus system. For instance, “I” would be singular and first person. “They” would be plural and third person. “You” provides something of a challenge, since it can be used in both singular and plural contexts.

Markedness is really the study of “markers,” that which signals the presence of something. In the case of “you” the person is clearly signaled (second person), but the number is not. It could be singular or plural. We could say that “you” is unmarked for number. There is no marker present to tell us which it is, we would have to rely on context. Believe it or not, this kind of ambiguity happens quite a bit in language, with one form wearing multiple hats. It may seem strange to an outsider, but to the native speaker it is “normal.” In English, we have no concern for ensuring that the listener knows which “you” we mean, except in Texas. There they have added the form “y’all” to disambiguate second person plural from singular, though I have heard this form used for a singular person–me!

So qualitative markedness (asymmetrical) seeks to differentiate members of some set from one another. Most typically, there will be one member that occurs most frequently, and it often ends up being the least marked form. In the case of personal pronouns, the most common form would probably be “you.” Back in the day, English used to have distinct forms to differentiate singular from plural, ye versus thou. Pressure for efficiency and other factors in the historical development of the language lead to a streamlining of the forms until the two finally shared a single form.

We would do the same kind of qualitative analysis of Greek tense forms to determine what each form marks. We could divide them up by aspect:

• Perfective: aorist
• Imperfective: imperfect and present
• Stative: pluperfect and perfect

This gets us part way to uniquely differentiating what each form signals, so we need to find another meaningful constraint. Depending on your background, you would either add tense as time, or tense as “remoteness” for the indicative mood.

• Past/remote: imperfect, pluperfect
• Non-past/non-remote: present, perfect

Note that it is only in the imperfective and stative that we need to find an additional distinctive, the perfective only has one option. So what? This means that the aorist, at least theoretically, needs to play double-duty. However, since perfective actions is viewed/portrayed as an undifferentiated whole, the vast majority of the usage will refer to past actions. It is kind of hard to conceive of an ongoing activity that is viewed as a whole, but it can happen. Therefore, I will not attempt to assign a past/non-past value to the perfective since there is no need for one. If there is choice available, there is nothing to be gained by assigning it.

In fact, there is much to be lost in doing so, since then one would then need to defend oneself against the counter-examples, where the aorist is used for non-past reference in the indicative. It would be like trying to claim that “you” is plural, except when it is not. You (sing) would need to defend your (sing) claim against all of the counter-examples that essentially disprove your (sing) claim. It is much easier and more accurate to simply claim it is unmarked for the feature. “You” may be singular, it may be plural, there is no marker. Aorist may be past, it may be non-past, it is unmarked. There is nothing to be gained by being too precise, at some point you just become wrong.

Returning to the tense-forms, if we combine the two constraints of time and aspect, we can uniquely differentiate each major tense-from from the other. Now you may say, “Hey Steve, this doesn’t work outside the indicative! What are you going to do about that?” Ah, dear friend, I’m glad you asked. When one moves outside of the indicative, the options in the non-perfective aspects drop out, leaving only one option like what we find in the perfective. Here are your non-indicative options:

• Perfective: aorist
• Imperfective: present
• Stative: perfect

Since we don’t find things like pluperfect participles and such, since there are no competing options for the imperfective or stative aspect, there is no need to add the time/remoteness layer of differentiation. It would make no sense, but would require you to defend against the many counter-examples. If there is no need to add another layer of differentiation, then don’t do it. Herein lies the problem with past claims made about Greek tense and time. On the one hand, you have those who have claimed that time is encoded in the tenses, but they have neglected the clear caveats from the dead grammarians that this only holds for the indicative. Then there are those who would claim that there is no temporal information conveyed by the tenses. I would argue (and have done so) that this too misunderstands the system. It is here that Gentry’s notes add further support, since he looks at the function of the augment on the verb, something only found in the indicative mood.

I seem to have gotten off on a bunny trail. I’ll post this and come back to the quantitative approach to markedness in a future post.

Ain’t grammar grand, y’all?

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NA27: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίζηται [ὑμῖν] παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.

Now it is time to consider the structuring of the conditional clause itself, here we finally begin considering the significance of the disputed pronoun. Recall from Part 1 the claim that it was not semantically required, though it could function semantically to restrict the audience to whom a competing gospel might be preached. Let’s break down the conditional, bearing in mind its framing function within the larger clause. Here are the variant readings, repeated for convenience sake:

1. NA27: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίζηται [ὑμῖν] παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.

Based on the placement (and presence) of the pronoun following the verb, the complex subject that precedes the verb εὐαγγελίζηται is best understood as a topical frame of reference. Mike Aubrey has been working on describing the propensity in Greek to place “clitic pronouns” (essentially independent personal pronouns) immediately after the most salient element in the clause. This means that if something has been fronted to place it in marked focus for emphasis sake, the writer typically fronts clitic pronouns that might be present. Since a writer may front something either to create a frame of reference or to place it in marked focus, observing the placement of clitic pronouns can help disambiguate what the writer intended. In considering the various options, the IS of the clause plays a critical role in evaluating the textual variants. In my view, the subject is the most salient portion of the conditional clause, due to both the information established from the preceding context, and the use of thematic addition to add prominence. This variant reading unlikely, in my view. What about the NA25 reading?

2. NA25: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίσηται ὑμῖν παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.

For these same reasons, I support the view of the committee to question the NA25 reading of the post-verbal pronoun. It virtually forces one to read the subject as a topical frame rather than focal. ((Note that clitic movement is not required, but typical. Thus, one could still read the subject as focal with the pronoun following the verb, but it would certainly be the harder reading. This is where we approach the “hall of mirrors,” where speculation of hypotheses can lead to a hopelessly tangled web. One could argue that the NA25 reading was original, and that either the elimination or fronting of the pronoun were scribal efforts to improve or disambiguate the reading. Having said that, the NA25 is the least-preferred reading in light of broader discourse considerations. It need not imply the reading could not have been original. Let’s move on.

3. NA 27 reading with preverbal pronoun: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ ὑμῖν εὐαγγελίζηται παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.

The reading with the preverbal pronoun would unambiguously be read as placing the subject in marked focus for emphasis. The only other (highly unlikely but theoretically possible) reading is taking the subject as a topical frame and the fronted pronoun as focal. Such a reading would only be possible if the preceding context concerned Paul or others preaching the gospel to others besides the Galatians. This would set up a “But if we or someone else did the same kind of thing to you, then..” Theoretical, but impossible in our context. On the view that the NA25 reading were original, this reading would be construes as a correction/improvement. Of the options this is the most unambiguous reading, which may mean it is not original. Now for the final options without the clitic pronoun.

4. NA 25 reading, without any pronoun: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίσηται παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.
5. NA27 reading without any pronoun: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίζηται παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.

As I said from the outset, I will only consider the IS and not the issue of the verb tense. The reading without the presence of the pronoun, either before or after the verb, is not unlike that of the Options 1 and 2. Theoretically the subject could either be a topical frame or in marked focus. In the absence of a disambiguating marker like the clitic, one would make the evaluation based on the information status from the preceding context. As above, the favorable reading of the IS is to view the fronted subject as focal. Recall that the thematic addition was not adding the subjects to some previous element, but to themselves as the least likely possibility. One might expect a false prophet or even a wayward teacher to preach a different gospel. But for Paul or an angel? It’s very unlikely to happen.

In conclusion, I think the best reading of the IS in the context is to view the subject as in marked focus within the subordinate clause. In the bigger picture, the fronting of ἀνάθεμα for marked focus is the most salient portion of the sentence. The focal domain of the subordinate clause subject is the conditional clause, not the main clause.

In terms of accounting for the variants, probably beginning with the NA25 as original provides the best account of the variants. To add the clitic pronoun following the verb would represent a counter-reading of what is preferred, constraining most readers to read the fronted subject as a topical frame of reference. More study would be needed to see how many times within the Pauline corpus one finds clitic pronouns persisting in their default position after the verb, even when there is a fronted focal constituent. Perhaps Professor Aubrey has some insight for us on this matter. My guess would be this occurs less than 25%, probably in “no brainer” cases of reading the IS.

In terms of information structure, the presence or absence of an “optional” pronoun, as well as its placement, plays a huge role in disambiguating the author’s intentions about what is most important in the clause. I would refer you to my glossary or paper for information about the distinction between a frame of reference and emphasis/marked focus. On the one hand, there is the information structure (IS) of the main clause, then there is the IS of the subordinate clause, then there is the reading of the complex clause as a whole. Let’s take it a piece at a time, building up to the whole.

Regarding the main clause ἀνάθεμα ἔστω, the placement of ἀνάθεμα is undoubtedly places it in marked focus for emphasis sake, marking it as the most salient member of the clause. This means what was already the most important part of the clause was placed in a marked/non-normal position to attract extra prominence to it, i.e. emphasis. This will be indicated hereafter using bold.

Part one down, now for the fronted subordinate clause:

καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίζηται [ὑμῖν] παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν

Note first that the καί is functioning adverbially, made clear by the presence of another coordinating conjunction ἁλλά. This adverbial element constrains the reader to search for some thematically-related element in the context, creating what I refer to in my grammar as “thematic addition.” Most often the thematic connection is back to a specific element in the preceding context; e.g. in “I ate breakfast. I also ate lunch,” the subject “I” and the verbal action “ate” remain constant, only one element changes. Had I omitted the “also,” the thematic relation between “breakfast” and “lunch” would have still been present, but without anything explicit to highlight it. Adding an adverb like “also” or “even” constrains the reader to look for such a connection.

In Greek, καί plays double duty for our English “also” and “even.” There is another kind of thematic addition that can be accomplished, captured by the English “even.” Instead of adding something to a preceding, related element, the thematic addition is to some “least likely possibility.” I believe this is the function of the adverbial καί here in Galatians 1:8. Paul has been generally referring to the problems associated with those preaching a different gospel. In 1:8, he takes the least likely proponents of a “different gospel,” and specifically tells them to reject it, even if these highly regarded entities were to do so. Remember, this is not a different “sense” of καί, it always has the same function of adding two similar elements. In this case, the similar elements are not clauses/phrases (i.e. coordinating conjunction), or a preceding element (i.e. adverbial, thematic addition “also”), but the least likely possibility (still adverbial, thematic addition, but one distinguished by a separate word in English).

I will take up the information structure of the subordinate clause in Part 3.

1. NA27: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίζηται [ὑμῖν] παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.
   The following witnesses support an unbracketed reading: D(*) L 6. 33. 945. 2464 pm vg
2. NA25: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίσηται ὑμῖν παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.
   Attested by א‎2 A 81. (104). 326. (1241s) d; Tertpt Ambst.
3. NA 27 reading with preverbal pronoun: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ ὑμῖν εὐαγγελίζηται παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.
   Attested by  P51vid B H 630. 1175. 1739(*)vid pc.
4. NA 25 reading, without any pronoun: ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίσηται παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.
   Attested by  א* b g; McionT Tertpt Lcf.
5. ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν ἡμεῖς ἢ ἄγγελος ἐξ οὐρανοῦ εὐαγγελίζηται παρʼ ὃ εὐηγγελισάμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀνάθεμα ἔστω.
   NA27 reading without any pronoun: F G Ψ ar; Cyp.

The committee assign the NA27/UBS reading with the bracketed pronoun a {C}, adding these comments:

Since ὑμῖν is absent from several important witnesses (א* Ggr Ψ itg Tertullian Cyprian Eusebius Ambrosiaster Marius Victorinus Lucifer Cyril), and since it occurs before the verb in some witnesses and after it in others, a strong case can be made for the originality of the shorter text. On the other hand, however, since the presence of the pronoun may seem to limit unnecessarily the range of the statement, copyists may have deleted it in order make Paul’s asseveration applicable wherever he or an angel might preach. Because of these conflicting considerations, a majority of the Committee preferred to print the pronoun after the verb (on the strength of preponderant external evidence), but to enclose it within square brackets to indicate a certain doubt about its originality. The reading εὐαγγελίζηται has stronger and more diversified support than either εὐαγγελίζεται or εὐαγγελίσηται.¹

Omanson has this to say about the pronoun:

The second problem concerns the second person plural pronoun ὑμῖν. Several important manuscripts, as well as several Church Fathers, omit the pronoun. REB follows this shorter text: “But should anyone … preach a gospel other than the gospel …” If the pronoun is original, copyists may have omitted it in order to make Paul’s comment apply to other readers and not just to the Galatian Christians. On the other hand, the fact that the pronoun occurs before the verb in some manuscripts and after the verb in other manuscripts may suggest that the original text had no pronoun. The pronoun has been put in the text in brackets to indicate uncertainty about the original text.²

So what can we learn about these matters from discourse? First, it should be noted that the semantics of the context do not require the presence of a pronoun. This is essentially what Metzger and Omanson are referring to regarding Paul’s statement being specific versus universal. In my view, this semantic function should be regarded as a secondary matter, as it does little to affect the overall statement. Even were it to have been specific, it would not be against the spirit of the statement for others outside the Galatian church to apply the same principle.

Part 2 continues here.

1. Bruce Manning Metzger and United Bible Societies, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament, Second Edition a Companion Volume to the United Bible Societies’ Greek New Testament (4th Rev. Ed.) (London; New York: United Bible Societies, 1994), 521.
2. Roger L. Omanson and Bruce Manning Metzger, A Textual Guide to the Greek New Testament : An Adaptation of Bruce M. Metzger’s Textual Commentary for the Needs of Translators (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2006), 375.