And now to prove that I
am crazy, sort of. All the research that went into this version of Hebrew
grammar got me thinking about Greek. If the grammar foisted on BH during the
Renaissance had Latin labels on it, and turned out to be monumentally wrong, what
about Classical Greek which is also painted with Latin labels?
Well, I’ve done it. I
picked Thucydides’ Peloponnesian War to work with because it is so long
it ought to have examples of most Greek grammar. It’s also prose, so I don’t
have to worry about the complications of poetry. And it’s not rhetoric, either.
And it works.
The “tenses” of Greek
translate perfectly into a table of three aspects, each of which has two
flavors with differing nuances. Those nuances do not incorporate timing the way
tenses do. The first thing the redefinition does is gets rid of exculpatory statements in the old grammars about finding "present tense" in past situation. Thucydides uses “present tense” in historical situations, because he’s talking about situations or habitual action.
Participles
aren’t. They are gerundives that function mostly as adjectives or nouns. Their
use instead of conjugated verbs allows Thucydides to be rather descriptive of
actions occurring than positively stating that they occurred. Due to the
agreement in number case and gender with an antecedent, I have labeled these “personal
gerundives”.
This
is in contrast with the “infinitive” with its invariable endings that depend on
voice. I call them “impersonal gerundives”; they represent actions as specific
classes of substantives according to the aspect. This is a third and lower
level of definiteness compared to personal gerundives, not even relating to an
antecedent. When
you convert Greek to an aspectual description, you
lose the cognitive dissonance of “aorist infinitive” because it’s actually an
imperfective eventive impersonal gerundive.
Charles
Conrad once wrote that the voices have no objective definition. Passive voice,
I decided, is for intransitive use bordering on the descriptive. On the contrary, “active” voice is for the actions of individual
agents, performed deliberately to get results, which I call executive.
Since all the grammars admit that “future perfect” is actually used as a passive, it does not belong in the table for perfective executive voice. It belongs in the imperfective conceptual column for passive voice.
There is a whole class of verbs in Greek that has passive voice with no
executive, the -mai verbs (except erkhomai which is a suppletive). And
yet they have an alternative conjugation, usually labeled middle or middle passive.
The
middle (in imperfective only according to Conrad) is usually labeled reflexive but Thucydides never
uses it that way. Reflexivity is carried by pronouns, not verbs.
The -mai verbs
in progressive or perfective are labeled “middle-passive”. Their conjugations are 80% identical to the imperfective "middle".
Since
the conjugation endings in middle and middle-passive are so much alike, I have combined them as “base voice”. This voice shows up in transitive contexts for action that is not deliberate. In other words, it's for everything else. The impersonal gerundives
ending in -sthai are all in base voice.
After classifying verbs as -mai or non-mai, I realized that a -mai verb can have a non-mai
verb with nearly the same meaning. Why? It turns out that the -mai verb occurs
with evaluations of an action such as bad or good, while non-mai verbs show up
in other cases.
Next
I attacked the issue of mood, which 21st century linguistics calls modality, once again helped out by my Hebrew studies. The
deontic modality is represented in Greek by “imperative mood”, but this isn’t the
only way to issue commands. One alternative is explicitly with the verb keleuo.
The other is to use an impersonal gerundive, which carries the nuance of the
action being due and owing. The last uses the impersonal gerundive, cognate to the use in Biblical Hebrew
of an aspectless verb (“infinitive’) with a finite version of the imperfect
aspect, such as mot yumat, the phrase for capital punishment resulting
from due process in court.
BH
has two epistemic modalities, certainty and uncertainty, reflecting the speaker’s investment
in the truth of a statement. Greek does not have a separate certainty epistemic;
an indicative verb is about as certain as it gets. It turns out that the “optative”
is an expression of uncertainty about facts; sometimes it provides a spoiler
that a persuasive speech is going to be unsuccessful. I have renamed it the epistemic;
the speaker is not invested in the truth of what he is saying.
By
contrast, a speech that eventually proves successful uses the “subjunctive” but
never the “optative”. I renamed subjunctive as oblique, despite its difference
from the BH oblique modality. The latter is used in a subordinate clause which
relies for acceptance on the specific or general truth of a main clause – which
is a connection to the use of subjunctive in conditionals. The oblique in Greek
is an action for which there is no evidence that it will happen or did happen,
but which is highly likely; the epistemic is for something the speaker is less
certain happened. This replaces the confusing concept of “future more/less
vivid” and applies outside of conditionals.
When
you realize that the oblique is an action that hasn’t necessarily happened (yet),
you notice that the conjugational endings for the “aorist subjunctive” (imperfective eventive) are
identical to endings for imperfective conceptual (formerly known as “future
tense”). Moving that conjugation to the conceptual flavor makes conjugations more regular.
I
did not relabel passive voice because I discovered anti-passive structures in
Thucydides. Passive structures use a nominative noun as the logical object of
an intransitive verb. Anti-passive structures use the grammatical object of one
verb as the logical subject of another, which is an impersonal gerundive. The
grammatical object that is in the accusative case is the basis of the claim in
old grammars that “the subject of an infinitive is in the accusative case.”
Anti-passives simplify expression by avoiding a change in case.
Then
I came across a structure that used a nominative noun, a second aorist verb
conjugated in executive voice, and an animate agent in the phrase hupo X.
The second aorist verb is intransitive. This turns out to be an ergative
structure. It was required in Hurrian, which has no passive morphology, for intransitivity. It is different
from a passive structure because it does name an agent. The ergative is a middle ground in
transitivity between a full passive (available only in -mai verbs and in the
imperfective of non-mai verbs) and an executive voice (available only in
non-mai verbs) in a transitive structure with an agent in nominative and an
object in an oblique case. It turns out that there are five or six such
structures in Book I of Peloponnesian War. I should probably rename “second
aorist” as “intransitive imperfective eventive”.
These
conclusions were all the more satisfying because they consist of sets of threes:
Aspect
– imperfective, progressive, perfective
Definiteness
– conjugation, personal gerundive, impersonal gerundive
Certainty
– indicative, oblique, epistemic
Voice
– passive, base, executive
Transitivity
structures – passive, ergative, transitive
Overall
verb classes – non-mai, -mai, and suppletive
The
anti-passive as well as the ergative structure are found in the Hurrian language.
Another analogy to Hurrian is what old grammars call the cognate accusative. The
old grammars disagree with each other on a definition; they also disagree with
the definition for Latin by Allen and Greenough. Lack of a consistent
definition suggests there is no such thing.
Instead
I would substitute something else in Hurrian, the Adverbial Equative case or
more properly structure. This would be two occurrences of the same verb in
different forms, one having adverbial effect. Biblical Hebrew has an adverbial
equative structure although it is rare; Burton’s translation of Arabian Nights
makes it seem as if this structure is endemic in Arabic. A similar structure
occurs on Greek poetry and rhetoric; I found it in plays and in Demosthenes.
Greek
scholars in the 21st century are not strangers to aspect. It has
been taught in Europe for decades, according to a correspondent of mine. Some American scholars are inching toward it but don’t quite realize that, being more
successful at explaining prose usage, it ought to be substituted for tense in
grammars; that is an example of the Test of Occam’s Razor. At any rate, the
simplification of grammar, the coordination with the 21st century
description of all languages, and the debunking of some old grammatical claims,
are certainly worth a look, even if you have been reading Greek for
decades.
And if you haven't, you have until Tuesday to learn the Greek alphabet.