The Grammar of Perspective: The Sumerian Conjugation Prefixes As a System of Voice (Cuneiform Monographs)

The Grammar of Perspective

Cuneiform Monographs Editors

t. abusch – m. j. geller – s. m. maul f. a. m. wiggerman

VOLUME 32

The Grammar of Perspective The Sumerian Conjugation Prefixes as a System of Voice

by

Christopher Woods

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2008

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Woods, Christopher. The grammar of perspective : the Sumerian conjugation prefixes as a system of voice / by Christopher Woods. p. cm. — (Cuneiform monographs ; v. 31) Partly based on the author’s dissertation (doctoral—Harvard University). ISBN 978-90-04-14804-8 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Sumerian language—Affixes. 2. Sumerian language—Morphology. 3. Sumerian language—Voices. I. Title. PJ4019.W66 2008 499’.955—dc22 2008005722

ISSN 0929-0052 ISBN 978 90 04 14804 8 Copyright 2008 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

For Jennie

CONTENTS Preface ......................................................................................... ix List of Figures ............................................................................. xiii List of Tables .............................................................................. xv Abbreviations—Linguistic Terms ............................................... xvii Abbreviations—Texts Cited ........................................................ xviii Chapter One Introduction ...................................................... 1.1 Prospectus—Voice and Sumerian ................................. 1.2 Preliminaries—Method and Structure .......................... 1.3 Previous Theories .......................................................... Chapter Two Linguistic Background—Voice and Related Notions .................................................................................... 2.1 Grammatical Case ......................................................... 2.2 The Nominal Hierarchy ................................................ 2.3 Typological Prototypes ................................................... 2.4 Scalar Transitivity .......................................................... 2.5 Viewpoint as a Deictic Notion ...................................... 2.6 The Billiard-Ball Model and Macroroles ...................... 2.7 The Prototypical Transitive Event Conceptualized as a Vector ..................................................................... 2.8 The Stage Model ........................................................... 2.9 Grammatical Voice as Alternative Perspectives on the Event ................................................................... 2.9.1 The Active and Passive Voices .......................... 2.9.2 The Antipassive Voice ....................................... 2.9.3 The Inverse Voice .............................................. 2.9.4 Focus Systems as a Pragmatic Voice Phenomenon ...................................................... 2.9.5 The Middle Voice .............................................. 2.9.6 Granularity and the Relative Elaboration of Events ............................................................ Chapter Three mu- .................................................................. 3.1 The Prototypical Transitive Event ................................ 3.2 Assimilations to the Transitivity Prototype ...................

1 3 16 22 45 45 50 52 55 62 64 66 69 70 73 77 80 86 87 97 111 113 117

viii

contents

3.2.1 Other High Transitivity Events ......................... 3.2.2 Low Transitivity Events ..................................... 3.3 Contexts in Which i- May Replace mu- ........................ 3.4 Animacy, Empathy, and the Dative Case (I) ................. 3.5 Verbs of Motion and the Relationship between muand im- ...........................................................................

118 121 134 143

Chapter Four imma- ................................................................. 4.1 Typical Middle-Marked Situations ................................ 4.1.1 Body-Action Events ............................................ 4.1.2 Motion Events .................................................... 4.1.3 Mental Events .................................................... 4.1.4 Self-Benefactive Events ...................................... 4.2 Spontaneous Events, the Passive, and Related Low Transitivity Situations ....................................................

161 163 164 176 185 200

Chapter Five ba- ....................................................................... 5.1 Typical Middle-Marked Situations ................................ 5.1.1 Body-Action Events ............................................ 5.1.2 Motion Events .................................................... 5.1.3 Emotion Events .................................................. 5.1.4 Self-Benefactive Events ...................................... 5.1.5 Spontaneous Events ........................................... 5.2 The Passive and Related Agent Defocusing Functions ........................................................................ 5.2.1 Backgrounding Functions .................................. 5.3 Animacy, Empathy, and the Dative Case (II) ................ 5.4 Time and the Endpoint of the Event ...........................

221 225 226 231 237 241 247 257 268 274 285

Conclusion .................................................................................. Bibliography ................................................................................ Text Index ................................................................................... Verb Index ..................................................................................

303 313 331 341

153

212

PREFACE This book has its origins in my doctoral dissertation from Harvard University, The Deictic Foundations of the Sumerian Language, specifically, chapter four, which is concerned with the prefix ba-. As the title suggests, my primary concern there was with the spatial and directional associations of the prefix, although I did discuss what I understood to be its middle and passive voice functions. Grammatical voice, an abstract notion, was described in spatial terms and given structure as a function of location. This was the seed of the current work. Here I incorporate the other basic conjugation prefixes—mu-, imma-, and i-—into this conceptual framework, understanding their functions as constituting a grammatical system. Having considered these other prefixes and the system as a whole, I developed these ideas further, and yet, at the same time, came to rethink and restructure many elements of the theory that was put forth in my dissertation. Not limiting myself to the one prefix, but taking into account the other three, I now understand grammatical voice, rather than deixis narrowly, to be the foundation upon which the system is built, although voice itself, as I maintained then, can be conceptualized on a spatial model. The translations in this book are designed to bring out certain nuances of meaning that reflect my understanding of the prefixes. In so doing, I have naturally drawn upon the insights provided in the primary publications and secondary scholarship. Textual variants are included when relevant to the argument; in particular, they are indicated when they involve the prefixes. Although it runs counter to the tendency in much recent scholarship, I have elected to transliterate Sumerian broadly, using traditional (long) values that reflect the conventional nature of the transliteration system. The abbreviations used in this book are those of the Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago and the Sumerian Dictionary of the University Museum of the University of Pennsylvania. *

*

*

This book has benefited greatly from the advice, suggestions, encouragement, and, moreover, corrections of many friends and colleagues. Much of this was in connection with an early draft that was completed

x

preface

in April of 2007. I would like to express my deep gratitude to Nicole Brisch, Jerry Cooper, Bram Jagersma, Fumi Karahashi, Piotr Michalowski, Gonzalo Rubio, Walter Sallaberger, Niek Veldhuis, Konrad Volk, and Claus Wilcke for their insightful comments and astute suggestions for improvement. These have ranged from pointing out typos and inconsistencies of transliteration, to providing further evidence and attestations, to commenting on the broader issues of methodology, translation, and linguistic theory. I have incorporated as many of these points as the manuscript would allow. Naturally—as one must expect when writing on Sumerian grammar—there were points of disagreement. But even here, the discussion forced me to rethink some arguments and to reinforce and reframe others. In short, this is a much better book for all of their efforts. I owe a special debt of gratitude to several of my colleagues at the Oriental Institute. In particular, I would like to thank Gertrud Farber and Walter Farber for their painstakingly close reading of the April 2007 draft, which resulted in many improvements both large and small. Miguel Civil, Dennis Pardee, Rebecca Hasselbach, Theo van den Hout, and Matt Stolper read various portions of the manuscript and provided valuable comments and answered an endless barrage of questions on topics of all sorts over the years. On a more personal note, the unflagging support and encouragement of my colleagues have meant a great deal to me and the writing of this book would have been an immeasurably more difficult task without it. For their support, enthusiasm, and—importantly—patience, I am grateful to Mark Geller and Michiel Swormink and the editorial board of the Cuneiform Monographs series at Brill. I am indebted to Doug Frayne for sending me a pre-publication version of his Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia 1: Presargonic Period and to Gábor Zólyomi for providing me with a copy of his unpublished dissertation. Likewise, Bram Jagersma graciously gave me an early draft version of his Sumerian grammar. Maria Yakubovich and, particularly, Monica Crews did much of the tedious checking of references and compiling of indices, and I thank them for all of their hard work. I would also like to express my gratitude to those colleagues who have devoted so much of their time and energy to making the textual evidence from early Mesopotamia accessible to others. This book has benefited greatly from the ability to search the databases compiled and maintained by the Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative (http://cdli.ucla. edu/index.html), the Electronic Corpus of Sumerian Literature (http://

preface

xi

etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/), and the Electronic Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary (http://psd.museum.upenn.edu/epsd/). In this connection, I would also like again to thank Miguel Civil for giving me access to his Hypertext Corpus of Sumerian Literature, which has been particularly useful for locating textual variants of unpublished texts. As I have noted, many of the ideas that form the foundation of this book stem from my 2001 dissertation. I have waited many years for the opportunity to acknowledge, in print, my teachers at Harvard who both directly and indirectly shaped much of the thinking contained herein. I extend my warmest thanks to my advisor, mentor, and friend Piotr Steinkeller. I have been the lucky recipient of his vast knowledge and unstinting support and friendship for over a decade now. It is with great pride that I call myself his student. I would also like to express my sincere thanks to John Huehnergard, who first sparked my interest in grammar and with whom I worked closely as a student in the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations. And much gratitude is also owed to Paul-Alain Beaulieu, Peter Machinist, and Irene Winter, who continue to be sources of stimulating ideas and encouragement. I must here also give long overdue thanks to Marc Van De Mieroop, who, with Paul-Alain Beaulieu, first taught me Akkadian—without their support and enthusiasm at the beginning I would never have taken this road. To all of these teachers I give my heartfelt thanks. As a scribe is credited with exhorting long ago, sag-ki gal-gal-la um-ma-te inim-zu badugud-de3-en ‘Once you have come into contact with such great minds, you will make you own words more weighty’ (Edubba C 20). I owe my most profound debt of gratitude to my wife, Jennie Myers. It is no exaggeration to state that this book would have been impossible without her. From consulting on everything from subtleties of Sumerian grammar to the nuances of English usage, to editing the manuscript and proofreading a seemingly infinite parade of drafts, she has had a hand in all that is contained in these pages. This she has done while managing her own demanding career and raising our two young sons Tristan and Sebastian, and all with a grace and selflessness that are continually a source of amazement for me. With great love and affection this book is dedicated to her.

LIST OF FIGURES Figure 1. Basic Case-Marking Strategies ................................... Figure 2. Nominal Hierarchy ..................................................... Figure 3. Action-Chain ............................................................... Figure 4. Action-Chain of the Prototypical Transitive Event ... Figure 5. Coincident Structures Relating to the Prototypical Transitive Event ...................................................................... Figure 6-A. Unmarked View of the Event: Agent primary focus, Object secondary focus ................................................ Figure 6-B. Marked View of the Event: Object primary focus, Agent secondary focus ............................................................ Figure 7-A. Active/Direct Perspective ....................................... Figure 7-B. Antipassive Perspective ............................................ Figure 7-C. Inverse Perspective .................................................. Figure 7-D. Passive Perspective .................................................. Figure 8. Relative Distinguishability of Participants for the Basic Event Types ................................................................... Figure 9. Middle Perspective ...................................................... Figure 10-A. Two-Participant Mental Event ............................. Figure 10-B. One-Participant Mental Event ............................. Figure 11. Organization of the Primary Prefixes According to Prototypical Usage .............................................................

49 50 65 67 68 70 70 85 85 85 85 101 109 186 186 308

LIST OF TABLES Table 1. Parameters of Scalar Transitivity ................................... 55 Table 2. Relative Topicality of Agent and Object in the Active/Direct, Antipassive, Inverse, and Passive Voice Constructions ............................................................................. 84 Table 3. Typical Middle-Marked Situation Types ........................ 95

ABBREVIATIONS Linguistic Terms + . * ~ Ø / / < > 1 1sg 1pl 3 3sg 3pl A abs acc Akk. ap cl comm. DN Eg. Eng. erg Fr. fut Gr. loc imperf ind

a morpheme boundary in which there may or may not be intervening elements, e.g., mu+du3 = mu.du3, mu.n.du3, etc. morpheme boundary an indication of an unattested or grammatically unacceptable form an indication of an alternation of forms in variant exemplars zero morpheme, or an indication of the absence of a graph or morpheme phonemic representation graphic representation first person first person, singular first person, plural third person third person, singular third person, plural Agent absolutive case accusative case Akkadian antipassive classifier commentary divine name Egyptian English ergative case French future German locative imperfective indicative

xviii inf instr inv irr l. Lat. l.e. ll. m. mm O or obj obv o.s. nom NP past perf pl or pl. PN prox ptcpl rev. rm RN S SAP s.o. Sp. s.th. Sans. Sum. th unm var(s).

abbreviations infinitive instrumental inverse irrealis line Latin lower edge lines masculine middle marker direct object obviate oneself nominative case nominal phrase past tense perfective plural personal name proximate participle reverse reflexive marker royal name subject Speech Act Participant someone Spanish something Sanskrit Sumerian thematic prefix unmarked variant(s) Texts Cited

Citations, unless stated otherwise, follow the sources given in the right column. The catalogue numbers accompanying literary texts are those of the Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (Black, J.,

abbreviations

xix

et al. 1998–2006); the designation Hypertext Corpus refers to the Oriental Institute’s hypertext corpus of Sumerian literary, historical, and lexical texts compiled by Miguel Civil. A complete list of the passages cited is provided in the Text Index following the bibliography. Aanepada Amar-Sin BdFh CAk CnWd CpSv Dial 2 Dial 3 Dial 5 DzD DzGš DzIn B DzIn C DzIn D1 DzIn G DzIn O Eanatum Edub A Edub C Elegy 1 EmkEsg EmkLA Enanatum I EnkJN EnkNh EnkNm EnkWO Enlil A Enlil-bani Enlbni A EnlNl EnlSu Enmetena

(royal inscriptions) (royal inscriptions) Bird & Fish Curse of Akade Counsels of Wisdom Copper & Silver Dialogue between Enkihegal & Enkitalu Dialogue between Enkimansum & Girni-isag Dialogue between Two Women B Dumuzi’s Dream Dumuzi & Geštinana Dumuzi-Inana B Dumuzi-Inana C Dumuzi-Inana D1 Dumuzi-Inana G Dumuzi-Inana O (royal inscriptions) Edubba A Edubba C Elegy on the Death of Nannaya Enmerkar & Ensuhgirana Enmerkar & the Lord of Aratta (royal inscriptions) Enki’s Journey to Nippur Enki & Ninhursag Enki & Ninmah Enki & the World Order Enlil in the Ekur (royal inscriptions) Enlil-bani A Enlil & Ninlil Enlil & Sud (royal inscriptions)

RIME 1 RIME 3/2 5.3.5 2.1.5 Alster 2005 5.3.6 Hypertext Corpus Hypertext Corpus Hypertext Corpus 1.4.3 1.4.1.1 4.08.02 4.08.03 4.08.30 4.08.07 4.08.15 RIME 1 Kramer 1949 5.1.3 5.5.2 1.8.2.4 1.8.2.3 RIME 1 1.1.4 1.1.1 1.1.2 1.1.3 4.05.1 RIME 4 2.5.8.1 1.2.1 1.2.2 RIME 1

xx Enšakušana Flood FmInst GgAk GgBH GgDth GgEN GgHw-A GgHw-B Gudea Gudea A Gudea Cyl. Gudea Cylfrgm. Gudea St. Hammurapi Hnds A HoFh HoPl IdDgn A InAn Inana B Inana C InBl InD InEb InEnk InGud InŠk InŠur InUrN IšDgn Q IšDgn W LEM LEr Let B1 Let B7

abbreviations (royal inscriptions) Flood Story Farmer’s Instructions Gilgameš & Aka Gilgameš & the Bull of Heaven Death of Gilgameš Gilgameš, Enkidu & Netherworld Gilgameš & Huwawa A Gilgameš & Huwawa B (royal inscriptions) Gudea A (praise poem) Gudea Cylinder Gudea Cylinder fragments

RIME 1 1.7.4 5.6.3 1.8.1.1 1.8.1.2 1.8.1.3 1.8.1.4 1.8.1.5 1.8.1.5.1 RIME 3/1 2.3.2 RIME 3/1 RIME 3/1

Gudea Statue (royal inscriptions) Hendursag A Home of the Fish Hoe & Plow Iddin-Dagan A Inana & An Exaltation of Inana Inana C Inana & Bilulu Inana’s Descent Inana & Ebih Inana & Enki Inana & Gudam Inana & Šukaletuda Instructions of Šuruppak (Abu alābikh/Early Dynastic) Instructions of Ur-Ninurta Išme-Dagan Q Išme-Dagan W Letters from Early Mesopotamia Lament for Eridu Letter from Abaindasa to Šulgi Letter from Lugalnesage to a king radiant as the moon

RIME 3/1 RIME 4 4.06.1 5.9.1 5.3.1 2.5.3.1 1.3.5 4.07.2 4.07.3 1.4.4 1.4.1 1.3.2 1.3.1 1.3.4 1.3.3 5.6.1 Alster 2005 Alster 2005 2.5.4.17 2.5.4.23 Michalowski 1993 2.2.6 3.1.21 3.3.02

abbreviations Let B12

Public Announcement of the Loss of a Seal Let B16 Letter from Lugalnesage to Enlilmassu Let B19 Letter from Inim-Inana to Enlilmassu Let IS-PŠ Letter from Ibbi-Sin to Puzur-Šulgi Let SI-Utu Letter from Sin-Iddinam to Utu LgB 1 Lugalbanda in the Mountain Cave LgB 2 Lugalbanda & the Anzu Bird LOx Laws about Rented Oxen LNip Lament for Nippur LpIš C Lipit-Ištar C LpIš D Lipit-Ištar D LSU Lament for Sumer & Ur Lugal-Anda (royal inscriptions) Lugal-e Ninurta myth Lugal-e Lugalzagesi (royal inscriptions) LUk Lament for Uruk LUr Lament for Ur LwLpIš Laws of Lipit-Ištar LwUrN Laws of Ur-Namma ManGod A Man & His God MarMartu Marriage of Martu Nammahani (royal inscriptions) Nanna H Nanna H Nanna Hymn An Excerpt from a Hymn to Nanna Nanna O Nanna O Nanše C Nanše C NG Die neusumerischen Gerichtsurkunden Ngzd A Ningišzida A Ninisina A Ninisina A NinRN Ninurta’s Return to Nippur NinTrtl Ninurta & the Turtle Nisaba B Nisaba B

xxi 5.7.a 3.3.09 3.3.11 3.1.20 3.2.05 1.8.2.1 1.8.2.2 Roth 1997 2.2.4 2.5.5.3 2.5.5.4 2.2.3 RIME 1 1.6.2 RIME 1 2.2.5 2.2.2 Roth 1997 Roth 1997 5.2.4 1.7.1 RIME 3/1 4.13.08 4.13.c 4.13.15 4.14.3 Falkenstein 1956– 1957 4.19.1 4.22.1 1.6.1 1.6.3 4.16.2

xxii NSJN Nungal A OmYg RCU 1 RCU 2 RCU 10 RCU 17 RCU 19 Rim-Sin Rimuš Samsuiluna Sargon ShGr Sin-Iddinam SKL SLEx SLHF SP SrgUrZ ŠA ŠB ŠC ŠD ŠN ŠR ŠS A ŠS B ŠU Šu-ilišu Šulgi ŠumGr Šu-Sin ŠV ŠX TmpHym Tummal Uruinimgina Ur-Bau Ur-Nanše

abbreviations Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nippur Nungal A The Old Man & the Young Girl Royal Correspondence of Ur 1 Royal Correspondence of Ur 2 Royal Correspondence of Ur 10 Royal Correspondence of Ur 17 Royal Correspondence of Ur 19 (royal inscriptions) (royal inscriptions) (royal inscriptions) (royal inscriptions) Sheep & Grain (royal inscriptions) Sumerian King List Sumerian Laws Exercise Tablet Sumerian Laws Handbook of Forms Sumerian Proverbs Sargon & Ur-Zababa Šulgi A Šulgi B Šulgi C Šulgi D Šulgi N Šulgi R Šu-Sin A Šu-Sin B Šulgi U (royal inscriptions) (royal inscriptions) The Šumunda Grass (royal inscriptions) Šulgi V Šulgi X Temple Hymns Tummal Inscription (royal inscriptions) (royal inscriptions) (royal inscriptions)

1.5.1 4.28.1 Alster 2005 3.1.01 3.1.02 3.1.08 3.1.15 3.1.17 RIME 4 RIME 2 RIME 4 RIME 2 5.3.2 RIME 4 2.1.1 Roth 1997 Roth 1997 Alster 1997 2.1.4 2.4.2.01 2.4.2.02 2.4.2.03 2.4.2.04 2.4.2.14 2.4.2.18 2.4.4.1 2.4.4.2 2.4.2.21 RIME 4 RIME 3/2 1.7.7 RIME 3/2 2.4.2.22 2.4.2.24 4.80.1 2.1.3 RIME 1 RIME 3/1 RIME 1

abbreviations Ur-Namma (royal inscriptions) UrNin A Ur-Ninurta A UrNin C Ur-Ninurta C Ur-Ningirsu II (royal inscriptions) UrNm A Ur-Namma A UrNm B Ur-Namma B Utu-hegal (royal inscriptions) Warad-Sin (royal inscriptions) WnSm Winter & Summer YN year name

xxiii RIME 3/2 2.5.6.1 2.5.6.3 RIME 3/1 2.4.1.1 2.4.1.2 RIME 3/2 RIME 4 5.3.3 Horsnell 1999, Sigrist and Gomi 1991

CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION It must be obvious to any one who has thought about the question [of the general form of a language] at all or who has felt something of the spirit of a foreign language that there is such a thing as a basic plan, a certain cut, to each language. This type of plan or structural ‘genius’ of the language is something much more fundamental, much more pervasive, than any single feature of it that we can mention, nor can we gain an adequate idea of its nature by a mere recital of the sundry facts that make up the grammar of the language. —Edward Sapir (1921: 127)

When Edmond Sollberger reflected upon how the challenges and compromises that belong to any translation effort are magnified in the attempt to render Sumerian—imperfectly understood and long dead as it is—into a modern vernacular, he came to the conclusion that some things simply lie beyond translation. Of the various obstacles that confront the translator, from the lexical to the contextual, for Sollberger none was greater than the grammatical. And of these, none for him was more perplexing than the Sumerian conjugation prefixes. But believing that the meanings conveyed by these inscrutable elements of Sumerian were so far removed from the familiar ken of Indo-European languages, Sollberger was of the opinion—quaint perhaps to our eyes—that any attempt at translation was pointless: “Even when their true function is well established, we can usually dispense with accounting for them in the translation.” Specifically, with respect to the debate that had already raged for decades concerning the functional distinction between mu- and i-, Sollberger claimed that “their true rôle is so distinctively Sumerian, they express ideas so alien to our languages, that not only is there no consensus on the nature of their function, but we simply ignore them without impairing, or so it seems to us, our understanding of the text” (1973: 160; cf. Sollberger 1952: 121–122; Steiner 1994: 32). In this he echoed in different words a sentiment that Gadd had expressed fifty years earlier: “Except in a very few cases . . . it has not

2

chapter one

been possible to discover what principle, if any, governs the use of the various forms, or in what respect, e.g. mu-du, ‘he built’, differs from inag, ‘he reigned’. For merely practical purposes it may be assumed that no material divergence of meaning is indicated by the use of one form in preference to another” (1924: 32–33). In the early seventies, Sollberger was not alone in his resignation. That same year, M. Lambert would write in stark terms, “On explique bien les infixes, assez bien les suffixes; on n’explique pas les préfixes” (1972–1973: 13; see also Gragg 1968: 107 n. 8). And the sense of helplessness before the problem would be stated more stridently the following year by Postgate, who, again with regard to the prefixes muand i-, observed, “our failure to define the difference in a satisfactory way has epitomized our helplessness before Sumerian grammar as a whole” (1974: 24). Such was the progress that could be boasted on the fiftieth anniversary of Poebel’s groundbreaking Grundzüge der sumerischen Grammatik. But more discouraging still is the little headway that has been made since the seventies. So little, in fact, that Michalowski, writing just three years ago, described the conjugation prefixes as constituting “the most controversial part of Sumerian grammar. No two Sumerologists appear to agree fully on their form, meaning, etymology, and identity; the number of ranks that they occupy is equally disputed” (2004: 44). Although scholarly efforts have not resulted in the type of consensus that suggests true understanding, it is not for lack of trying. In the study of Sumerian grammar there is no topic over which more ink has been spilt than the conjugation prefixes. Certainly, the language keeps its secrets in other areas, but in none has it been less forthcoming than in the domain of the conjugation prefixes. The problem owes its pride of place among the mysteries of the language to the simple fact that, at least for the non-modal forms of the verb, the conjugation prefixes constitute an obligatory part of Sumerian verbal morphology. Closely associated with what a finite verb is in Sumerian, these morphemes, alongside the verbal root itself, are the one obligatory element of the verbal chain when others are more or less optional. Indeed, it was this near identity with the finite verb that gave rise to the term “conjugation prefix.” First proposed by Landsberger and put in print by Scholtz (1934: 2), the label was adopted by Falkenstein (1978a: 179–187) whereupon it acquired broad acceptance. Variations in prefix were viewed as variations in conjugation: “Die durch verschiedene ‘Konjugationspräfixe’ gekennzeichneten Verbalformen

introduction

3

sind danach als verschiedene ‘Konjugationen’ zu bezeichnen” (Scholtz 1934: 2). Although the term originates with Landsberger, the idea has its roots in the very beginnings of the field, as these morphemes were always tightly bound up with notions of what constitutes a finite verb in Sumerian. Poebel, for instance, considered i- the one primary and indivisible prefix that made verbs finite, suggesting that even the prefixes mu- and ba- historically contained i- (1923: 213–214, 226–227, 250). Fifty years earlier still, the pioneers of the field viewed these elements as pronouns that lent person and number to the verbal root, and which taken together formed an inflectional paradigm. So Sayce could write in 1870 “Thus khir-mu would be ‘my writing’, mu-khir ‘I wrote’ ” (1871: 32), and two years later Lenormant could describe these pronouns as constituting two paradigms, speaking of “le conjugaison verbale” of “le premier indicatif ” and of “le second indicatif ” (1873: 106f.). The irony can hardly escape us that our inability adequately to explain these morphemes is epitomized by the very name we continue to give them. In current usage, the term conjugation prefix is often rendered in quotation marks, a tacit acknowledgement of the unsuitability of the label; for these morphemes—we know this much at least—have nothing to do with verbal conjugation. We retain the traditional label not so much for lack of a better term as for lack of an accurate description of their functions that would suggest one. 1.1

Prospectus—Voice and Sumerian

In this book I will not attempt to solve all the problems that surround the Sumerian conjugation prefixes. My goal is to provide a description of the basic functions of the primary prefixes within a coherent theory. In developing this theoretical framework, I take a functional-typological approach, one that is driven by meaning and that views language as a cognitive phenomenon (see further §1.2). As a semantically driven grammatical study, this book differs substantially from traditional treatments of the Sumerian language. One of the tenets of this approach is the centrality of semantics to language and that language, as a symbolic system, serves to give phonological shape to experience and thought. Further, meaning itself is not considered to be fixed and unchanging, but dependent upon the speaker’s point of view. In other words, semantics cannot be approached independently of context. As Croft explains, “The essence of a cognitive approach to semantics is that

4

chapter one

linguistic meaning is not based on ‘objective’ properties of the denoted object, but on a subjective perspective that represents the interaction of the speaker’s mind with the world around her or him” (1994: 89). Language, in this view, “experiential linguistics” as it is sometimes called (see Lakoff 1977), is rooted in human experience and one’s subjective perceptions of the world. Coupled with the recognition that linguistic forms symbolize meaning is the understanding that language is burdened with the duty of expressing a multiplicity of meanings with only a limited inventory of forms and structures. The result of this asymmetry is the presence of a great deal of polysemy, a single morphosyntactic form expressing various meanings. Moreover, the relationship between the various meanings attributed to a form is not random or arbitrary. Rather, these meanings share a common semantic or pragmatic basis, one founded upon a similarity of meaning, perhaps only partial, perhaps metaphorical or iconic, but nevertheless salient—“phenomena that are perceived, experienced by people as somehow similar may be talked about in similar or even identical ways” (Lichtenberk 1985: 30). So too with the Sumerian conjugation prefixes. The various functions attributed to the prefixes, I shall argue, share a deep cognitive basis, which is ultimately grounded in how a speaker conceptualizes an event. Following other functional treatments of voice, the term event is used throughout this book to refer to the activity, state, or process that is denoted by a verb. In essence, the term is taken as the “conceptual correlate of a verb” (Kemmer 1993a: 8; see also Allan 2003: 6). The conjugation prefixes are a morphological means of expressing alternative perspectives on events in Sumerian. Thus, this book is as much concerned with the cognitive organization of certain categories in Sumerian, as it is with specific issues of grammar. From the perspective of grammatical voice, I consider the primary conjugation prefixes to be mu-, imma-, ba-, and i-.1 Karahashi (2000a: 62; 2000b: 117), Michalowski (2004: 44), and Rubio (2007: 1346) share this assessment, although for reasons that differ somewhat from my own. And the primacy of these four was anticipated, in part, earlier by Gragg (1973b: 93, 1973c: 71; see also Vanstiphout 1985: 4), who The prefix mu- is written <mu>; imma-: , , <e-ma> (PreSargonic); ba-: (rarely ), also (Fara, Abu Salābikh, and Ebla); and i-: , also in Old Babylonian and <e> in the third millennium. Regardless of period or place, I will refer to these prefixes as mu-, imma-, ba-, and i-. 1

introduction

5

identified mu-, ba-, and i- as the conjugation prefixes. However, the weight of scholarly opinion—early scholarship in particular, but many recent studies as well—favors a very different understanding of what constitutes a conjugation prefix, or at least a primary element of this class (see §1.3). Traditionally, mu- and i- are considered primary, although there is some debate as to whether the two belong to the same rank; ba- has historically been excluded from this group, and some scholars today still regard this prefix as belonging to a morphological class distinct from mu- and i-. imma-, considered by most to be a compound of i-, is similarly regarded to be derivative not only in form, but in function as well. The problem of the conjugation prefixes, as even these brief comments suggest, has revolved in the main around their posited morphological structures and the rank or slot that each occupies within a given view of the morphosyntax of the Sumerian verb. This preoccupation with form—I would suggest often to the detriment of understanding function and meaning—speaks to a deeper issue in the study of the Sumerian language. Partly because of the substantial number of monosyllabic morphemes in the language and partly because the morphological basis of the writing system tends to highlight this characteristic, it has always been tempting to atomize the language, to further break syllabic morphemes down into meaningful elements of phonemic length. So originates, for instance, Falkenstein’s supposition (1978a: 190), widely accepted today, that the prefix ba- derives from an inanimate pronominal element, -b-, plus a hypothetical locative infix, -a-, as does Jacobsen’s derivation (1965: 77–78) of mu- from a “mark of propinquity,” m- (a pronominal-adverbial element), plus a supposed “tangentive” -u- (case marker), not to mention the various interpretations of imma- as i+m+ba-, i+ba-, im+a-, m+ba, etc. (see Attinger 1993: 280; Jo 1991: 2–22, with references). In this way, function is made subservient to form, since the postulated morphological reconstruction has largely predetermined the meaning. Of course, some of these adventures through historical linguistics may prove to be well conceived, particularly for those etymologies which find justification in synchronic morphological analyses that take function and meaning into account. It is reasonable to suppose, for instance, that imma- is a compound as suggested by Gragg and others. There is a place for such speculation in the study of the Sumerian language, particularly when form and function complement one another within a given theory, but it is of secondary importance from the point of

6

chapter one

view of uncovering meaning. The point is that, methodologically, when attempting to describe a morpheme, or a class of morphemes in our case, function and meaning must first be established, and established independently of the constraints imposed by historical reconstructions that find little synchronic support and are necessarily hypothetical in the case of a linguistic isolate. Only in this way can an investigation into the meaning of a morpheme proceed unburdened by assumptions that speculations as to historical origins would inevitably bring. The basic premise of this book is that Sumerian grammar can be fruitfully (with respect to some phenomena, most fruitfully) approached from the perspective of function and meaning. This approach is not undertaken with the goal of contradicting or refuting the more formal morphosyntactic analyses that have traditionally dominated the study of Sumerian grammar. Indeed, as is true of any semantically oriented investigation of language, this study is based on certain morphological assumptions, morphology itself, of course, being the union of both form and meaning. Rather than being at odds with the traditional approach, this study should be seen as complementing, and on certain points corroborating, those more formal analyses. Naturally, if similar conclusions could be achieved by different means, this would go some way to validating the end result, lending it an authority greater than any one method could impart. It is from the perspective of function and meaning that I see the prefixes mu-, imma-, ba-, and i- as constituting an integrated system of grammatical voice, the clearest evidence for which is their distribution across various event-types and semantic-pragmatic contexts. Voice may be expressed by other prefixes (bi-, immi-, mini-, a(l )-) but, in my view, they do not play a primary and distinctive role in voice oppositions. Further, in the opinion of many, the locative prefixes, bi -, immi-, and mini-, are morphologically derivative, consisting of a conjugation prefix (ba-, imma-, and mu- respectively) and a locative-terminative element. The function and meaning of these prefixes with respect to voice tend to support this understanding (see §1.2). The prefix a(l)- is commonly counted among the conjugation prefixes, although it is of more limited productivity and often, particularly in later texts, overlaps functionally with i-. When it can be distinguished from the latter, the focus is more often on an atelic state than on a state that results from a previous action or process. That is, it appears that the prefix’s basic function belongs more to the realm of aspect, as an expression of the stative, than it does to the domain of voice, as a representation of the passive, although

introduction

7

the prefix may have acquired the latter meaning secondarily in some dialects (Attinger 1993: 268–269; Edzard 2003: 111–112; Westenholz 1975: 8; in particular, see Jagersma 2007). Thus, I regard the conjugation prefixes mu-, imma-, ba-, and i- as constituting a distinct morphological class. They may belong to a broader focus system that encompasses all of the conjugation prefixes and that expresses, additionally, various types of locative focus (i.e., bi-, immi-, mini-) and aspectual distinctions (i.e., i- vs. a(l)-), but these four are the primary grammatical means of expressing voice in Sumerian. As such, voice in Sumerian should take its place alongside other verbal categories recognized in the language, such as aspect (i.e., the am u-marû distinction) and mood. That Sumerian would exhibit a voice system is by no means surprising, since the majority of the world’s languages possess a means of expressing voice (Payne 1997: 172; Shibatani 1988: 3). In this book voice is understood to be, essentially, a semantic-pragmatic phenomenon. Broadly described, grammatical voice systems provide speakers with a series of linguistic options for expressing distinct conceptualizations of experience and reality. This is precisely the role played by the Sumerian conjugation prefixes: providing the Sumerian speaker with the linguistic means to express alternative perspectives on events. The theory presented in these pages is based upon the simple, but nonetheless essential—and, oddly, rarely made—observation that each prefix tends to occur with certain semantic classes of verbs and in certain pragmatic contexts more than in others. It is apparent even to a first-year student of the language, for instance, that mu+du3 is more commonplace, by a wide margin, than ba+du3 with the meaning ‘build s.th.’, mu+uš2 more so than ba+uš2 meaning ‘kill’, but ba+uš2 more so than mu+uš2 meaning ‘die’, and šu—ba+ti more so than šu—mu+ti meaning ‘receive’, and so on. In other words, there is a certain ambiguity, or ambidextrous quality, to the semantics of many Sumerian verbs, and it is the prefix that specifies the meaning required in a given context. The theory put forth here is built on prototypical prefix+verb combinations of this type and extrapolated to others. Indeed, as will be made particularly clear in the discussion of the middle voice (§2.9.5), certain semantic classes of verbs regularly occur, typologically, with certain voice forms. That is, voice forms, cross-linguistically, serve the same uses (Croft, Shyldkrot, and Kemmer 1987: 181). Implicit to this notion is the understanding that basic events have similar semantics across languages—whether it be, for example, Sumerian šu—ti, German empfangen,

8

chapter one

or English receive—and that valid cross-linguistic generalizations can be drawn about these events on the basis of comparison. As a corollary, it follows that in a semantic analysis of this type verbs are taken in their primary idiomatic meanings regardless of historical origins or literal readings. šu—ti, for instance, represents the receive event in Sumerian, the analytical meaning in terms of the component parts, to approach with the hand or the like, is irrelevant for our purposes. Prototypical combinations of the type exemplified above notwithstanding, the correlations between prefix and verb remain tendencies that only rarely occur with anything approaching the predictability, of say, the union ba+uš2 ‘die’. The ultimate choice of a prefix is at the discretion of the speaker and is based upon his particular discourse requirements. The system may be semantically based, but there are strong, often overriding, pragmatic factors that play havoc with any theory that attempts to account for the occurrence of a prefix with predictive power. Central to the task of describing any grammatical form or structure is the determination of the semantic-pragmatic relations among its uses. In this book considerable space is given to elucidating this common basis, describing how the various functions attributed to each prefix are related; for surely, as my comments above have stressed, there is a common denominator of meaning that underlies the various functions of each prefix and the system as a whole. For most, unfamiliar with more exotic voice phenomena, grammatical voice refers to alternations between active and passive sentences, a type of transformation in which the direct object of the active sentence becomes the subject of its passive counterpart. This is voice in its most basic and recognizable sense. Fundamental to the nature of voice, in this or in any other sense, is that these alternations do not change the basic meaning, or truth conditions, of the proposition (Crystal 2003: 495). The difference between the active sentence The dog bit the man, and its passive counterpart, The man was bitten (by the dog) is not one of factual content or meaning; rather, the difference lies in perspective. The active sentence, it may be said, views the event from the vantage point of the actor or Agent, while the passive views the same event from the point of view of the acted upon Object (the grammatical roles of Agent and Object, among others, are discussed in §2.1). The change of subject that the active-passive alternation entails has led to the often-quoted characterization of voice as “a strategy to move NP’s in and out of subject position” (Barber 1975: 16). In this portrayal, voice phenomena are understood to revolve around active sentences

introduction

9

and their derived passive counterparts, with the Object of the basic active clause being “remapped” to the subject position of the nonbasic passive clause. Hence, the label “derived voice” (Klaiman 1991) sometimes applied to this manifestation of voice. But this is not the only sense in which grammatical voice is understood. There is a tradition of descriptive grammar—an old tradition, one that goes back to the treatises of the Greek grammarians, and beyond that to Pā ini’s grammar of Sanskrit—that understands voice more broadly or abstractly, specifically, in terms of whether or not the event is perceived as affecting the subject or his interests (Klaiman 1991: 89–97; Lyons 1968: 371–374). Voice, in this conception, does not involve the remapping of arguments to the subject position, or at least not directly so. Rather, voice is viewed as an opposition between the active voice, in which the subject is perceived to be unaffected by the action, and what is commonly referred to as the middle voice, in which the subject or his interests are regarded to be affected by the event described by the verb. Such an opposition is well known from Classical Greek, where an active form such as loúō ‘I am washing (s.th.)’, contrasts with the form with the middle marker -mai: loúo-mai can mean ‘I am washing (myself )’, while loúo-mai khitºna implies ‘I am washing (my) shirt (for my benefit)’ (Lyons 1968: 373). The active voice indicates that some entity distinct from the subject, namely the Object, is affected by the event. In contrast, the middle voice verbs suggest that it is the subject, or his interests in the last case, who is ultimately affected by the event. Because systems of this type do not involve derivational processes in which one voice is primary and the other derivative, they are sometimes referred to as basic voice systems as a means of contrasting them with the derived voice type. Moreover, the primacy of the active-middle opposition is again suggested by the fact that the middle voice often extends to, or subsumes, the passive voice, as middle voice markers are often used to express the passive, a phenomenon that engenders the medio-passive category found in many languages. As these characterizations suggest, grammatical voice can take a variety of forms. A recent typology of voice systems (Klaiman 1991) acknowledges four types: inverse and information-salience voice types in addition to the more common derived and basic voice types. Information-salience systems are essentially focus systems, like that well documented for Philippine languages. Voice in this case is motivated by pragmatic factors. Similar to the way an English speaker might use

10

chapter one

tone to emphasize an argument that is of particular importance, voice or focus markers signal alternations in the salience or importance that speakers wish to attribute to an argument (§2.9.4). Inverse systems may be similarly pragmatically based, with alternations in verbal shape encoding the relative topicality of arguments according to what is canonically expected (active or direct voice) or unexpected (inverse voice) in discourse. Or they may be semantically based, in which case changes in verbal shape signal animacy distinctions (§2.9.3). Of these assorted voice categories, Sumerian best fits the basic, activemiddle, voice mold, although it clearly shares features with the derived voice and, particularly, with the pragmatic voice types. A cross- or bleeding-over comes as no surprise, since these categories merely represent prototypes, proposed with the goal of providing a convenient classification, rather than suggesting distinct and exclusive groups. Rarely can syntax, semantics, and pragmatics be neatly teased apart; even in the case of derived voice, for instance, there are semantic and pragmatic motivations prompting the choice of the active or passive voice. Indeed, the existence of a medio-passive category, in which the middle and passive voices are not formally distinguished, again shows how elusive the classification of voice phenomena can be. Functional studies of voice phenomena across a wide swath of languages (e.g., Givón 1994, 2001a, 2001b; Haspelmath 1994; Kemmer 1993a; Fox and Hopper 1994; Shibatani 1988) have shown the porous quality of these types, revealing these labels to be more like tick marks along a continuum than representative of rigid boundaries. It is in this spirit that the label basic voice should be understood when applied to Sumerian. Voice in Sumerian is most clearly elucidated by beginning with the prototypical case of a transitive verb with two arguments: a volitional Agent who exerts complete control over the action and a distinct Object completely affected by it. The verb prefixed with mu- views the event from the perspective of the Agent. The same verb construed with ba- sees the event from the point of view of the affected Object. In other words, mu- represents a focus or emphasis on the Agent and the verbal action that the Agent initiates, while ba- is used to focus upon the Object and the result of the action. At its most extreme, the Object may be pragmatically emphasized to such a degree, and at the expense of the Agent, that a verb with ba- may appear as the derived passive counterpart of a mu-prefixed verb, that is, the controversial but misunderstood “passive ba-,” which is ubiquitous in year names, e.g., mu dAmar-dSuen-ke4 Ur-bi2-lumki mu-hul ‘The year: Amar-Sin

introduction

11

destroyed Urbilum’ ~ mu Ur-bi2-lumki ba-hul ‘The year: Urbilum was destroyed’ (Amar-Sin YN 2). As this description suggests, an event may be described in terms of its terminal points: a starting point, represented by an initiator or actor, who brings about and controls the action, and an end point, an entity that is affected by the action. These notions can be extended to the temporal dimension of the event as well, marking the onset and completion of an event respectively. In this book events are commonly described in terms of their constituent parts, particularly their beginnings and their ends. The semantic role pairs of Initiator-Endpoint and Actor-Undergoer are introduced to facilitate this description (§2.6). In the case of the canonical transitive event described above, the prefix mu- views the event from the perspective of the Initiator or Actor of the event, i.e., the Agent, while ba-, as well as imma-, take the point of view of the Endpoint or Undergoer, i.e., the Object. But the prototypical transitive event is just that, a prototype. Most events do not rise to the level of the prototype; most do not satisfy all of its criteria. Here we include intransitive events and transitive events that are low in semantic transitivity (§2.4). Belonging to the latter group are those events, either by virtue of the arguments or the lexical semantics of the verb, in which the Agent exerts something less than complete control over the event, or the Object is something less than completely affected by it. Also to be included among these are inherently middlevoice events in which the subject is typically affected by the event that he initiates. In Sumerian, the choice of prefix in all of these cases represents a subjective decision on the part of the speaker, one based on similarities and whether the speaker considers it appropriate to extend the marking of the prototypical Agent, mu-, or the prototypical Object, ba-, to the particular event in question. It is a judgment on the part of the speaker as to whether the subject is more aptly described as controlling the event, like the canonical Agent, and in so judging the speaker desires pragmatically to emphasize this quality, or, contrastingly, whether the subject is more fittingly described as being controlled by the event, as a non-volitional or affected participant, like the prototypical Object, with the speaker wishing to focus upon this characteristic. In brief, mu- correlates with increased transitivity, animacy, and control over the event, while imma- and ba-—but particularly ba-—correlate with decreased transitivity and animacy, and affectedness by the event. These correlations explain why individual prefixes tend to occur with certain verbs, on the basis of their lexical-semantics and the types of

12

chapter one

arguments they generally take, and in certain pragmatic contexts more than others. The extension from these more prototypical usages to the less typical or peripheral, owing to a perceived similarity, represents a basic organizing principle in language, one commonly discussed under the designation of prototype theory (§2.3). As my comments above imply, at the center of the semantic range of the prefix mu-—its prototypical usage—is the canonical or highly transitive event. More broadly, the prefix mu- focuses upon what may be regarded as the first half of the event, the Initiator of the event—often the Agent of a transitive clause or a controlling subject of an intransitive clause—and the action or state denoted by the verb itself. The prefixes imma- and ba-, on the other hand, focus upon the second half of the event, its Endpoint—an affected Object or affected subject—and the resultant state that is a consequence of the verbal action. For imma- and ba- the prototypical usages are middle-voice situation types. Situation types can be conceived as “sets of situational or semantic/pragmatic contexts that are systematically associated with a particular form of expression” (Kemmer 1993a: 7). In the functionaltypological studies of voice phenomena, the domain of the middle voice is often analyzed in terms of situation types (§2.9.5) that share the common characteristic of “subject affectedness”—situations in which the subject experiences some recoil from the event that he initiates. The subject is both the Initiator and Endpoint of the event, but the speaker, in choosing ba- or imma-, makes a conscious choice to focus on the latter role. Typical middle-voice situation types include grooming and body-action events (‘wash o.s.’, ‘raise one’s hand’), cognitive and perceptive events (‘think’, ‘see’), self-benefactive events (‘acquire’), events of emotion (‘become angry’), spontaneous events (‘die’), among others. There is a difference between imma- and ba- in terms of the types of middle situations with which each tends to correlate, but more often the distinction lies in how a given event is perceived. The prefix imma- is the least discussed, and consequently, the least understood of the prefixes. Functionally, imma- lies between mu- and ba-, but allies itself much more closely with the latter than with the former. Indeed, there are apparently no functions that are fulfilled by ba- that imma- cannot, at least in theory, also fulfill. The difference in the semantic centers of gravity of each lies in the degree of volition or control exerted by the subject and the degree to which the subject is affected by the event. imma- tends to revolve around those situation types in which the subject exercises some measure of volition and control,

introduction

13

but by which the subject is not completely affected (e.g., grooming and body-action events, cognitive and perceptive events). ba-, on the other hand, gravitates, prototypically, to those middle situation types in which these very same qualities are reversed: the subject exercises little to no control or volition, but is completely affected by the event. These are situations that semantically verge on the passive, situations in which the subject is very much patient- or object-like (e.g., spontaneous events, such as the ubiquitous ba+uš2 ‘die’). Both imma- and ba- represent an Endpoint perspective on events, but ba- is more acute in this respect. Consistent with this characterization is the fact that, in contrast to ba-, imma- is more rarely called upon to express the passive counterpart of an active clause construed with mu-, the passive being an extreme expression of Object or Endpoint emphasis. With respect to range, however, there is a great deal of overlap between imma- and ba-, with the two occurring with the same verbs with similar, but, significantly, not identical, meanings. There is a certain simplicity to the construal of events with ba-. With this choice of prefix, the speaker signals that he is less concerned with the initiation and complexity of the event than he is with its completion. Events construed with ba- are often viewed as atomic units, undifferentiated wholes with salient Endpoints. In this way we can account for the prefix’s frequent correspondence with telic events, that is, events that have an end, as well as its equation with the Akkadian perfect in bilingual texts. Conversely, events construed with imma- are generally seen as more elaborate than those construed with ba-. In particular, events with imma- frequently correspond to a step-up in semantic transitivity (§2.4) vis-à-vis those with ba-. In accord with the tendency of imma- to correspond with more active, that is, volitional and controlling subjects, the prefix often conveys the notion that the subject of the verb performs an action to some further end or purpose that affects—and often benefits—the subject. Intertwined with this notion, the use of imma- over ba- may imply an intensity of action that is not suggested with the latter. In this sense, imma- may be regarded as the stressed or emphatic counterpart of ba-, a meaning particularly evident with verbs that occur relatively frequently with imma-, but with which ba- is otherwise typically expected (cf. šu—ba+ti ‘accept, receive’ vs. šu—imma+ti ‘seize, grab’ [§§4.1.4, 5.1.4]). The prefix may also convey the idea that some plurality of action is involved, that the event described by the verb consists of repetitive or identical subevents. More broadly, there is a level of complexity and internal structure to events expressed with

14

chapter one

imma- that is absent when these same events are expressed with ba-. This notion is critical to the description of the middle voice and will be discussed under the rubrics of “granularity” and the “elaboration of events” (Kemmer 1993a; §2.9.6). In terms of the traditional labels given to voice markers, mu-, as an Initiator or Actor focusing device, is an active voice marker, while imma- and ba-, as Endpoint- or Undergoer-oriented notions, are middle voice markers. The two can be distinguished on the basis of their phonological shapes. Reflecting its greater phonological substance, its greater phonological bulk, imma- may be described as a heavy middle marker and ba- as a light middle marker. Alternatively, to acknowledge the difference in the situations with which each tends to occur, imma- may be said to represent the middle voice and ba- the medio-passive. The prefix i- is neutral to these voice distinctions. However, this definition in terms of a negative does not imply that i- is merely a finite-verb marker, devoid of any meaningful function. Rather, by neutralizing the voice opposition, i- functions as a defocusing device. As such, it often stands pragmatically in opposition to the voice prefixes, de-emphasizing the functional thrust of each. Most commonly, however, the neutral prefix replaces mu-, an unsurprising fact given that the active voice is the unmarked member of any voice system. In this sense, mu-, with its particular emphasis on the Initiator of the event and its close association with prototypical transitivity, may be regarded as signaling the marked active voice vis-à-vis i-, which may be said to represent the unmarked or basic active voice when used in these same contexts. The conjugation prefixes are not limited to the expression of grammatical voice, but express a number of grammatical categories that are either directly related to voice or are iconically associated with voice by virtue of sharing a similar structure. Among these are included the broader detransitivizing functions of ba- and imma-, an association between mu-, as a marker of high transitivity, and discourse foregrounding, and conversely, between ba-, as a maker of low transitivity, and discourse backgrounding. The temporal correlations pointed out above, between mu- and the onset of an event, and ba-/imma- and the termination of an event, are to be included here as well. Also to be mentioned in this connection are the conspicuous correlations between mu- and infixes with animate referents, and ba- and those with inanimate referents. These correlations—which are consistent with the association between high transitivity, agency, and animacy, on the one hand, and with low transitivity, low agency, and inanimacy, on the

introduction

15

other hand—can be explained in terms of the Nominal Hierarchy, particularly when it is understood as a graded scale of empathy, the likelihood with which a speaker identifies with various persons and entities in the context of discourse (§2.2). But these correlations also speak to an iconicity between meaning and form. As a general but by no means absolute rule, the grammatical voice force of the prefixes is at its most potent the closer the prefix is to the verbal root; when a dimensional infix intervenes, it is often the quality of the referent of the infix that determines the choice of prefix. Proximity in terms of meaning, the ability of the prefix to modify the semantics of the verb—voice, of course, as a verbal category, is one means of altering the verbal meaning—is iconic with linguistic proximity as reflected in the linear ordering of morphemes (Bybee 1985; Haiman 1983). It is an iconicity between form and meaning that underscores the primacy of the voice functions, for, in the minimal unmarked circumstance of prefix and root, with a minimal separation between the two, the prefix is a marker of grammatical voice. There is one final aspect of the primary prefixes that needs to be addressed. It is limited to a relatively small subset of verbs, but it speaks most clearly to the iconicity that motivates the network of voice and non-voice uses of the prefix system. This is the deictic or directional force of the prefixes, which in my view can only be firmly demonstrated for verbs of motion. The prefix mu- (along with im-, §3.5), as has long been claimed, if not always accepted, is a ventive element (following Landsberger 1923), indicating motion in the direction toward the speech event. In contrast, ba-, sometimes referred to as a separative element, indicates motion in the direction away from the speech event. This separative meaning derives directly from the prefix’s middle marking function. Middle events are intrinsically dynamic and ingressive and it is this aspect of the motion event, the initial change-of-state from beingat-rest to being-in-motion, the inceptive set-in-motion phase of the action, that ba- highlights. This focus on the initiation of the motion is tantamount to a separative meaning, particularly when the reference point of the motion is the location of discourse. The prefix imma- is, again, semantically more complex than its lighter counterpart. As a middle marker, it is, like ba-, separative. But there is considerable evidence that it possesses a ventive meaning as well. These two ostensibly contradictory notions are reconciled by the speaker or writer projecting his perspective onto some point in space other than that of the speech event. This deictic projection results in the notion of from-there-to-here. Together

16

chapter one

the prefixes constitute a come (mu-, im-): go-to-here (imma-): go (ba-) deictic paradigm with verbs of motion. As expected, the prefix i- is neutral to this directional contrast. The relationship between these deictic functions and voice is, as in the other instances of the non-voice functions of the prefixes, essentially symbolic. There is an iconicity at work in the language that correlates here with agency and the prototypical Agents, I and you, who are, naturally, the participants in the speech act. Conversely, patiency and the prototypical Objects, things that are non-volitional and inanimate, are metaphorically there. The active voice can be conceptualized as viewing the event from the perspective of the Agent—the perspective from here. The passive voice, in polar opposition, views the event from the vantage point of the affected Object—the perspective from there. And, like the passive, the middle voice is most concerned with the Endpoint of the event, how the action affects the subject, that is, how the effects of the event boomerang and return here. 1.2

Preliminaries—Method and Structure

My approach to voice and the prefixes, as I have remarked, is a functional-typological one. Functional typology is functional in the sense that it stresses that linguistic structure, or form, “should be explained primarily in terms of linguistic function” (Croft 2003: 2). Cognitive in its outlook, the approach is predicated on the notion that “the central function of language is to communicate experience and thought,” and so, consequently, “‘functional linguistics’ seeks to determine how this central function is achieved in individual languages and in human language in general” (Shibatani and Bynon 1995: 17). As such, proponents of functionalism regard language as a “problem-solving system,” the primary task of which is to “conceptualize a given cognitive domain and express the concepts by linguistic means” (Shibatani and Bynon 1995: 17). Functional typology is typological in the sense that it seeks to draw generalizations about language types and, more to the point for our purposes, about specific grammatical phenomena, by discovering patterns across languages—that is, by cross-linguistic comparison. In this, functional typology seeks to discover what is and what is not possible in human language by revealing the range of variation in language and with it, the limits on that variation (Croft 2003: 5).

introduction

17

The purpose of cross-linguistic comparison is not to assert or prove the existence of a grammatical category or phenomenon for a language on the basis of its presence in another—let alone to suggest a genetic relationship between the two languages. Such misconceptions have, unfortunately, occasionally made their way into Assyriological literature. Rather, the approach is rooted in the observation that despite the bewildering diversity and the obvious presence of arbitrariness in human language, cross-linguistic variation nevertheless often manifests itself in established and recurrent patterns. This is due to the simple fact that language is governed by human cognition, and human beings, as members of a single species, undergo similar cognitive processes, make similar associations, and view the world in similar ways. As Croft observes, typology “is the study of linguistic patterns that are found cross-linguistically, in particular, patterns that can be discovered solely by crosslinguistic comparison” (1990: 1 [emphasis mine]), elsewhere adding that “awareness of cross-linguistic variation allows the linguist describing a particular language to provide a more fine-grained description of the phenomenon in question” (2003: 9). The primary premise of typology, which is based on empirical evidence, is that although unrelated languages certainly vary for a given parameter, these variations are to a certain extent limited and predictable. Functional typology can be a powerful tool when investigating linguistic isolates, particularly long-dead isolates, and so one that can offer a great deal to the study of Sumerian grammar. When investigating the grammar of a language, it is critical “to know what to look for, to have informed expectations, a working hypothesis about the likely correlations” that may exist (Shopen 1985: 1). For the investigator working with a language of a known genetic relationship, this information is, of course, provided by other members of the linguistic family to which the language under question belongs. With isolates, there is no such recourse. However, the situation is not completely hopeless, for it is possible to approach a language from the outside in, so to speak. Linguistic patterns, associations, or developments widely attested in other languages may, at the very least, be used as sign posts, directing the investigator to where he should look, and suggesting possible correlations or developments, none of which would have been apparent without a broader understanding of linguistic phenomena. While they do not necessarily provide the answers, typological comparisons often do provide the questions. Further, as Shopen observes, one will have a

18

chapter one

better appreciation and grasp of those characteristics which are, in fact, distinctive to the language under study, the better one’s understanding of language in general (1985: 1). Exceptions to cross-linguistic tendencies do, of course, exist—even occurring frequently—but we may nevertheless speak of the likelihood of a language attesting a given grammatical feature. Considering the isolation of Sumerian, such probabilities and likelihoods are, frankly, as good as it gets, and we would be wise to take advantage of them to their fullest. It is only when we study the language apart from all others, turning a blind eye to similar phenomena in other languages, that we allow ourselves to wander aimlessly into the wilderness of the wholly unlikely and completely improbable. There is one further benefit that functional typology can claim, particularly when contrasted with more formal investigations. Because of its concern for function and semantic considerations more generally, the functional typological approach speaks more directly to the interests of the general Sumerologist or Assyriologist, whose principal interests lie not so much in the formal analysis of language structure as in the function of grammatical elements to the extent that they bear upon meaning and, ultimately, translation. The power of a functional-typological approach with a category as indistinct and complex as voice—a category that Givón describes as “probably the most complex grammar-coded functional domain in language” (1994: 3)—lies in its ability to determine the range of functions that voice can fulfill in language and, from this observation, to discover the underlying semantic-pragmatic motivations that connect them. A comprehensive understanding of voice, the full range of voice phenomena, its limitations, and the grammatical categories with which it correlates, can be achieved only within the context of cross-linguistic comparison. The last two decades have witnessed a growing interest in voice systems as a topic of intensive research among typologists and cognitive linguists; middle voice systems, inherently interesting because of their complexity, have received much of this attention. I am very much indebted to this research and it would not be an overstatement to claim that this book would not have been possible twenty years ago. Contributions that have had a major impact upon the theory put forth here include: Barber 1975; Croft 2003; Fox and Hopper 1994; Givón 1984, 1990, 1994, 2001a, 2001b; Hopper and Thompson 1980; Langacker 1987, 1991; Kemmer 1993a; Klaiman 1991; and Shibatani 1985, 1988. Many others are referred to in the pages that follow.

introduction

19

My goal in this book is to describe the basic functions of the conjugation prefixes, mu-, imma-, ba-, and i-, within the framework of grammatical voice. Voice phenomena may interact with other facets of the language, such as case marking, syntax, and, particularly in the case of Sumerian, pronominal indexation within the verb, but I will limit myself, primarily, to voice phenomena as manifested by the prefixes.2 Function and meaning are my concern in this book. Little discussion is given to the morphology of the prefixes or the issue of slots in the verbal chain, and when it is, it is only insofar as they bear upon function and meaning. I also do not discuss the writing of the prefixes and putative allographs. Consequently, I have endeavored to provide unambiguous and indisputable attestations of each prefix. Although, remarkably, the prefixes do not display the high degree of variation that some other elements of the prefix chain do, differences in prefixes across textual witnesses are noted in the examples. The prefix im- is considered (§3.5), but only to the extent that it is functionally related to mu-. Largely beyond the scope of this work are those functions that are unique to the class of locative prefixes, i.e., bi-, immi-, to which we may possibly add mini-. For a number of scholars, as noted above (§1.1), these prefixes, on morphological grounds, are secondary, consisting of a primary prefix and a locative element (Civil apud Postgate 1974: 20 n. 11; Karahashi 2000a: 62, 2000b: 117; Michalowski 2004: 44). This may very well be the case, as there are functional reasons supporting such a derivation. Particularly in the case of immi-, the prefix appears to combine the voice-related functions of its counterpart, imma-, with a locative meaning. However, immi- and bi-, but particularly the latter, also attest a host of functions that appear to derive solely from their locative character, functions that do not bear directly upon grammatical voice (see Johnson 2004). These functions of the locative prefixes lie

Thus, the pre-radical pronouns -n- and -b-, which index or cross-reference Agent and Object NPs, are not considered in detail. In my view, these elements mark for transitivity and therefore may reflect voice distinctions, but they do not, themselves, mark for perspective, nor do they indicate which participant is considered to be affected by the action—the broader senses with which voice is understood in this book (cf. Jagersma 2006 with Attinger 1993: 195–197). Moreover, it should be made clear at the outset that voice oppositions are not merely a reflection of syntactic transitivity (see further §2.9)—note, for instance, that the active voice may, and often does, appear with intransitive verbs; similarly, the middle voice often occurs with transitive verbs cross-linguistically. Indeed, even the passive is not entirely inconsistent with an expressed clausal Agent as shown by the existence of impersonal passive constructions in many languages. 2

20

chapter one

beyond the scope of the present work. Also beyond consideration is the stative prefix a(l)- (see §1.1). Finally, the prefixes amma- and ammi- are treated—with respect to voice phenomena—as functionally equivalent to imma- and immi- respectively. Although the distinction was largely abandoned by the Old Babylonian period, amma- and ammi- apparently represented, in origin at least, the stative counterparts to imma- and immi- (e.g., see [493]–[494]). However, in terms of voice, there is no perceptible difference in function or meaning between the two sets of prefixes in earlier or later connected texts. Similarly, the prefixes ammuand immu-, which are primarily late and have, perhaps, a reality only on the graphic level, are considered to be variants of imma-. The evidence upon which the theory of voice in Sumerian rests draws upon textual evidence from the third millennium through the Old Babylonian period. The earlier the evidence, the better, as far as Sumerian grammar is concerned, particularly when attempting to describe primary features of the language. And so in these pages there are many examples from third-millennium royal inscriptions, legal and administrative texts, and, in particular, from the Gudea corpus. But it would be impossible to develop a theory such as this one without recourse to Old Babylonian literary texts. Indeed, the majority of the evidence in this book comes from this corpus. Whatever the grammatical infelicities that may be exhibited by these texts—for certainly there are errors—the residue of an imperfect knowledge of Sumerian, they are vastly outweighed by the unparalleled range of forms, structures, contexts, and situations that this corpus exhibits. Such evidence is indispensable when attempting to reconstruct a voice system, one with not only semantic aspects, but pragmatic facets as well. The latter, obviously, are difficult to identify in a long-dead language and we must be satisfied with an approximation based on what is judged to be the broader context and, to a lesser degree, on what is corroborated by syntax, particularly word order. What I have done is to present the third-millennium evidence first and follow it with the Old Babylonian data, pointing out major differences in function and meaning where relevant. Because my goal is to describe in broad strokes the basic functions of the primary prefixes as a system, I have not endeavored to provide a diachronic analysis of the conjugation prefixes. I leave such an analysis, which will be more concerned with subtle differences in function, to future research. It is implicitly understood, if not always admitted, by all Sumerologists that virtually any proposition regarding the language may be proven,

introduction

21

or at least bolstered, if one chooses one’s evidence carefully. To avoid this pitfall I have perhaps erred on the side of providing too much, rather than too little, data, particularly for those functions that have not been described previously. I have placed particular stress on parallel contexts, which form minimal pairs of a type—passages that are identical, or nearly so, but differ with respect to prefix. Because there is no consensus on the precise meaning of many of the modals (see Civil 2000, which contrasts with the traditional theory as voiced, for instance, by Edzard 2003a and Thomsen 1984), let alone what meanings they assume, or what meanings are neutralized, when combined with various conjugation prefixes, I have tried to limit the citation of non-indicative verbal forms, not allowing the evidence for a given argument to hinge on modal forms alone. I have included a morphemic gloss, standard in linguistic works, only when citing languages other than Sumerian, Akkadian, and English, and only in these cases when a passage would otherwise be unclear without it. My decision not to render Sumerian in this way speaks to my reluctance at this time to commit to certain morphological analyses that a close glossing would entail, particularly since these fall beyond the concerns of this book. This is the case, for instance, with the difficult problem of the allomorphs of the locativeterminative infix and their realization in the writing system. A complete study of the morphology of these elements should, in my view, be undertaken only within the context of a coherent theory of Sumerian writing. There are also practical reasons for not doing so. Given the large number of examples, a morphemic rendering of Sumerian would greatly add to the text and yet be of little advantage to the primary audience of this book. The final section of this chapter contains a brief discussion of previous theories of the conjugation prefixes (§1.3). The second chapter is devoted to a description of the linguistic principles that are central to understanding grammatical voice phenomena. The length of the chapter reflects my desire to present the argument as a self-contained whole, fully elucidating all the linguistic notions upon which the thesis depends, notions with which many who read this book may not be intimately familiar. I have decided to lay out the discussion of the prefixes by dedicating a chapter to each: mu- (§3), imma- (§4), and ba- (§5); i- is discussed primarily with respect to mu- (§3.3; see also §5.2.1). The presentation may appear to be the most straightforward and logical, particularly from the point of view of using the book as a reference, but it comes with compromises. Many of the functions of the prefixes

22

chapter one

are best illustrated by way of direct comparison. Consequently, there is considerable degree of cross-referencing of examples and some bleeding over of the descriptions of one prefix into the chapters on others. I concluded, however, that the benefits of this structure outweighed the disadvantages, as it avoided some of the more deep-rooted problems that would arise if, say, the book were organized on the basis of verb type or verbal semantics. The ba- chapter (§5) is the longest of the prefix chapters, reflecting the fact that this prefix has the broadest functional range of the four. Also included here are the temporal associations of the medio-passive domain; much of what is discussed also pertains, to a degree, to imma-. In the final chapter (§6), the findings of §§2–5 are summarized and woven together, and grammatical voice as a system in Sumerian is discussed. 1.3

Previous Theories

An exhaustive survey of the many theories explaining the Sumerian conjugation prefixes since the discovery of the language—those shortlived, those long-lived, and those resurrected and restated—could alone fill an entire book.3 But it would be mainly of historical interest, more fitting a work on the intellectual history of the field. This is, of course, not to deny the merits of those ideas. Each has something worthy to add, each has something to contribute that is essentially correct about the nature of these morphemes. This is particularly true, in my opinion, of the theories put forth by those who laid the foundations for the contemporary understanding of the language, such as Thureau-Dangin and Poebel, whose ideas often reveal a clarity of thought and perception remarkable for their time and rarely matched by later scholarship. In developing this thesis I have, needless to say, drawn upon these insights. In this section I will sketch in broad outlines the major theories, focusing on function rather than on putative morphologies and on those proposals that bear directly upon this thesis. The notion that Sumerian exhibits grammatical voice is not new. It is as old as the field of Sumerology itself. Writing when Sumerian Overviews of previous theories can be found in Jestin 1935: 21–30; Jo 1991: 2–13; M. Lambert 1972–1973: 17–19; Pallis 1956: 253–65; Römer 1999: 105–116; Sollberger 1952: 107–176; Steiner 1994: 33–35; Thomsen 1984: 182–183; Vanstiphout 1985: 1–2; Zólyomi 1993: 99–107. 3

introduction

23

was still called Akkadian,4 Lenormant, in the first grammar of the language, wrote of “la voix passive” and “les différentes voix actives” (1873: 149). But he did not see this opposition as the functional domain of the conjugation prefixes. Rather, the prefixes were thought to represent pronominal elements, specifically, subject and object markers. This basic idea persevered in various forms through the early decades of the twentieth century, as is evidenced by the understandings of Bertin (1886), Langdon (1911), Delitzsch (1914), Aistleitner (1923), and Gadd (1924), to name but a few. That voice is the purview of the conjugation prefixes has been realized slowly, but never completely or consistently, and never with anything approaching unanimity, obscured as it has been by those functions that are considered to lie outside voice phenomena and by the long-standing debate over what constitutes a conjugation prefix. The meaning and function of the prefix mu-, as we shall see, have been historically discussed with respect to those of i-. Indexing infixes within the verb and arguments with animate referents in the clause has been considered a—if not the—primary function of the prefix since the time of Falkenstein’s Grammatik der Sprache Gudeas von Lagaš (1949–1950 [2nd ed. 1978a, 1978b]). The prefix has also been variously regarded as a directional marker and as a signal of certain social distinctions. imma-, commonly considered a variant or allomorph of ba-, has rarely been discussed independently of the latter in terms of function or meaning. ba- is the one prefix that has been historically linked to voice—in early scholarship to the medio-passive and later to the passive—based primarily on its equation with N-stem Akkadian verbs in bilinguals and the apparent active-passive alternations in year names. But there has been no consensus on this function or its primacy, with the inanimate correlations of the prefix being the focus of scholarly attention since Falkenstein’s grammar, correlations that have often been understood as inconsistent with, or at least independent of, a voice function (e.g., Thomsen 1984: 183). *

*

*

In his celebrated essay “Sur les préfixes du verbe sumérien” written in 1907, Thureau-Dangin approached the prefixes from a semantic 4 The designation “Akkadian” continued to be used by Delitzsch, Lenormant, Sayce, Schrader, and others despite Oppert’s 1869 proposal of “Sumerian” (see Pallis 1956: 177).

24

chapter one

perspective and argued, on the basis of third-millennium texts, that they are essentially semantic modifiers that impart a deictic force to the verb. The proposal laid the foundation of what for many years was referred to as the directional theory. In Thureau-Dangin’s view, mu- contrasts with ba-: “mu [s’emploie] lorsque le sujet est ‘au dehors’ et que l’action est dirigée du dehors vers le ‘centre’ . . .; ba s’emploie lorsque le sujet vient du ‘dehors’” (1907: 398). The prefix e- (i-) in this scheme is also understood to be essentially deictic: “e s’emploie lorsque le sujet est ‘au centre’ et que l’action est dirigée du center vers le ‘dehors’ ” (1907: 397–398);5 the prefixes imma- and immi- he regarded as emphatic counterparts of ma- and mi-, which in turn were variants of mu- (1907: 386). The proposal explained the familiar opposition with verbs of motion of the type mu+de6 ‘bring’ vs. ba+de6 ‘take’. But for ThureauDangin this directional function was not limited to verbs of motion. Rather it could be applied metaphorically to other verb types as well. Thus, the ubiquitous form šu—ba+ti he understood as an essentially deictic notion: “Noter que le reçu restant entre les mains du prêteur, c’est le prêteur qui est censé au ‘centre’ et l’emprunteur au ‘dehors’ ” (1907: 402). In the years that intervened before the appearance of Poebel’s Grundzüge der sumerischen Grammatik (1923), Thureau-Dangin’s theory was the dominant paradigm for understanding the conjugation prefixes, providing the basis for the constructs put forth by Langdon (1911), Witzel (1912), and, most notably, Deimel, a strict adherent of the directional or spatial theory: “Die Präfixe mu-, ni-, e-, ba-, haben bei den Verben der Bewegung lokale Bedeutung und zwar mu = latein. ad; ni (= i3) = in; e = ex; ba = ab, und bilden mit dem Verbalstamm verba composita” (1939: 148). Thureau-Dangin’s theory, however, was not entirely based on spatial orientation. It admitted another important function to the system, namely, voice. Thureau-Dangin was perhaps the first to connect in clear terms the conjugation prefix system to a grammatical voice function. And, as with the scholars who would follow his lead, this association was made between the prefix ba- and the passive. He claimed that ba+verb can have a passive sense when the subject is indefinite or

5 Thureau-Dangin distinguished this prefix from ni-, i.e., i3-, which he tentatively suggested, for symmetry reasons, was “employé lorsque le sujet vient du ‘centre’ et que l’action est dirigée du ‘dehors’ vers le ‘centre’” (1907: 398).

introduction

25

absent, as is well documented in variations of the Ur III year-names (1907: 398, 402). A particularly prescient aspect of Thureau-Dangin’s conception is the notion that the directional sense of ba- anticipates or implies a mediopassive meaning. And although he did not describe mu- specifically in terms of the active voice, this function is implicit in his meaning: “mutúm signifie ‘celui-là apporta ici (telle chose)’, ba-túm signifie ‘celui-là (vint ici prendre telle chose et l’)emporta (pour lui, avec lui)’. La fin de l’action exprimée par le verbe est avec mu ‘extérieure’ au sujet, avec ba au contraire elle est en quelque sorte ‘intérieure’ au sujet.” It was this characteristic of ba-, expressing an action that is in some way “interior” to the subject, that paved the way to its passive sense—“Ce sens en quelque manière réfléchi conduit au sens passif qui, nous l’avons vu, existe en puissance à côté du sens actif dans le verb sumérien: ainsi ba-túm peut, nous le verrons, si le contexte le demande, avoir le sens d’‘être porté’” (1907: 398).6 A year had not yet passed when in early 1908 Poebel broke ranks with Thureau-Dangin and his directional theory. Making a proposal that he would develop more fully in Grundzüge der sumerischen Grammatik (1923), Poebel saw the prefix i- to be in opposition to mu- and the basis of this opposition to be one of time: with i- the verbal event is temporally anchored to the present. Whether having taken place in the past or future, the i-prefixed verb sees the event from the perspective of the here and now. Essentially, Poebel regarded i- as marking the perfect aspect. mu-, on the other hand, he considered to be temporally neutral. With mu- the action is not stated with reference to a particular point in time—a timeless past or future, that is, Poebel considered it to represent a historical tense (“erzählendes Tempus” or “historisches Tempus” [Poebel 1908: 224]; see more broadly, Binnick 1991: 377–378). The theory never did gain momentum. But what is important from the point of view of subsequent scholarship is that Poebel, in effect, established mu- vs. i- as the primary opposition among the prefixes, while functionally isolating ba- from this pair. Poebel also brought speculative morphemic parsing, popular to this day, to the forefront of Sumerian grammar, analyzing, for instance, ba- < b-i-+’-a-, imma- < i+b i+’-a-, and even, curiously,

6 Langdon (1911: 134–135), writing shortly after Thureau-Dangin, arrived at a similar conclusion, suggesting that both ba- and imma- can express the passive and middle voices.

26

chapter one

mu- < mu-i- (see Poebel 1923: 226, 249, 253; cf. Falkenstein 1978a: 180 n. 3). Moreover, his rejection of the deictic theory had the consequence, if not the purpose, of creating a schism that still exists today between what may loosely be described as the directional school and virtually all other theories of the conjugation prefixes. The one aspect of Thureau-Dangin’s proposal that Poebel did accept was that the prefix ba-, although not inherently deictic in his view, does attest a voice function: “Es ist das Formationselement, welches dem in einer Verbalwurzel ausgedrückten Begriff eine medial-intransitiv-passive Bestimmung verleiht” (1908: 224). What Poebel was actually getting at, as the more fully developed formulation in Grundzüge der sumerischen Grammatik (GSG) reveals, is that the prefix ba- expresses the reflexive, an idea that Attinger (1998b) has recently revisited. imma- he considered to be derivative of ba- and so similarly expressed a reflexive notion (Poebel 1923: 251). Central to this view was the equation of ba- with Akkadian t-infixed verbs, which he understood to be Gt reflexives (naturally, there was some conflation with the yet-to-be discovered perfect). ba- expresses the sense of ‘für sich’ ‘zu sich’, ‘von sich aus’, ‘von selbst’, ‘aus eigenem Antrieb’, etc., depending on the semantics of the verb or its particular context (1923: 243–246). Thus, for Poebel with the verb de6 ‘bring’, ba- does not impart a deictic sense, as proposed by ThureauDangin, but a reflexive nuance: ba+de6 ‘er hat an sich gebracht’, ‘an sich, mit sich genommen’, ‘selbst genommen’, ‘mitgenommen’, which stands in opposition to mu+de6 and i+de6 ‘er hat gebracht’, ‘er brachte’. Similarly, šu—ba+ti (šu—ti ‘receive’) means ‘er hat empfangen’, literally, ‘er hat für sich genommen’; and ba+sum (sum ‘give’) expresses ‘für sich’ in the sense of ‘für seinen Nutzen’ (1923: 244–246). In this way, ba- is equivalent to a clause containing the prefix i- and the reflexive pronoun ni2-te-a-ni (1923: 246). For Poebel—and this is an important point for nearly all subsequent theories—this reflexive notion is conveyed morphologically by a putative morpheme -a-, which he considered to be identical with a dative or locative element expressing ‘für mich’ (1923: 249; note the etymology ba- < b-i-+’-a- cited above). In the course of time, the first-person reference was gradually bleached and the morpheme emerged as a general reflexive marker (1923: 249–250). Again making an adjustment to Thureau-Dangin’s notions of voice in Sumerian, Poebel held that ba- (and so also imma-), in origin, did not have an intransitive or passive function, but rather only conveyed a dimensional-reflexive nuance (1923: 246–248). Thus, in Poebel’s view, ba- with a passive meaning,

introduction

27

as is commonly encountered in year names beginning in the Sargonic period, is very much a secondary development: “Über die Gründe, aus denen in späterer Zeit das dimensional-reflexive Intransitivum vorzugsweise Träger der Passividee wurde, ist bis jetzt nichts Sicheres zu sagen . . .” (1923: 248). The use of the adjective “dimensional” reflects a further function that Poebel attributed to ba-, one that became of critical importance to Falkenstein’s conception, namely, that besides the reflexive notion, ba- and imma- in many cases also express the spatial notions of ‘darauf ’, ‘dazu’, ‘daran’, etc., in which function the prefix alternates with the non-reflexive bi- (1923: 248–249, 252). The ideas of Thureau-Dangin and Poebel influenced all subsequent theories on the conjugation prefixes in the pre-Falkenstein era, and often aspects of these ostensibly opposing theories were drawn together. The influence, in some cases, was subtle, but present nonetheless. Few scholars, for instance, agreed with Poebel’s understanding of mu- vs. i- as representing a temporal opposition, but most accepted that these two prefixes were in some type of opposition, constituting a class unto themselves. Jestin, the dominant figure in Sumerian grammar in the intervening period between Poebel and Falkenstein, agreed with the former that ba- conveyed a reflexive sense, and like Poebel doubted that the prefix had a primary passive meaning. Indeed, Jestin eschewed the notion of voice in Sumerian all together—“On a vu déjà que la notion de voix n’existait pas à proprement parler en sumérien” ( Jestin 1946: 87). But he had very different ideas from Poebel about the meaning of mu- and i-, although he regarded the two as a dichotomous pair. In his view, the distinction was one of social status, what today would fall under the rubric of social deixis: i- marked an action of a god toward a person (a movement from higher to lower social status), mu- the action of a person toward a god (from lower to higher social status) ( Jestin 1946: 77; see also Jestin 1976). Jestin’s novel approach combined Poebel’s classification of the prefixes with the essentially deictic understanding of Thureau-Dangin, remapping the horizontal organization of space in terms of a vertical hierarchy of social distinctions. The idea was embraced in broad outlines by Christian (1957: 45). And it was later restated by Yoshikawa (1979) within the context of his proposal that the mu- vs. i- opposition is one of topicality, the principal feature of which is the relative social standing of the agent vis-à-vis the beneficiary (§3.4); the idea also played a role in Yoshikawa’s understanding of /m/- and /b/- as respective ventive and ientive markers (Yoshikawa 1978). In a similar theoretical compromise,

28

chapter one

Scholtz followed Poebel’s pairing of mu- and i-—“e- und mu- ständen sich nahe” (1934: 2)—but placed the pair in a conceptual framework that was metaphorically based upon Thureau-Dangin’s directional model, stipulating that the verbal event is oriented around two focal points: a starting-point (place of the subject) and goal-point (place of the dimensional object); i- represents the event “mehr vom Ausgangspunkt” and mu-, “mehr dem Zielpunkt zu” (Scholtz 1934: V). Falkenstein’s Grammatik der Sprache Gudeas von Lagaš (GSGL) represents a watershed in the understanding of the prefixes, and most subsequent theories to this day ride in the wake of this authoritative work. The influence of Poebel is clear, although this is not to say that Falkenstein adopted Poebel’s ideas wholesale. Gone are the medio-passive functions that Poebel assigned to ba- as well as the latter’s understanding of mu- vs. i- as representing a temporal distinction (1978b: 161 n. 2). The prefixes mu- and i- are, however, regarded, after Poebel, as an oppositional pair—in fact, only mu- and i- (in addition to al-) are considered to be conjugation prefixes in Falkenstein’s conception; ba- and bi-, along with na-, are labeled simply as “Präfixe” (1978a: 180–193; see also 1959a: 45–47). Falkenstein’s basic approach can be described as syntactic to the extent that he stresses indexation, specifically, the co-occurrence of the conjugation prefixes with various infixes of the verbal chain, and, with respect to the secondary “Präfixe,” what he saw as their essential dimensional or case cross-referencing character. Without essential meanings of their own, these elements indexed nouns and their syntactic roles in the Sumerian sentence. For Falkenstein, the semantic properties of the prefixes were of considerably less interest, a fact reflected in his decision to relegate this discussion to the second volume entitled Syntax. The much-discussed distinction between mu- and i-, in Falkenstein’s view, rests upon the animacy of the noun represented by the following dimensional infix. Nouns of the class of persons gravitate toward mu-, things or non-persons toward i-. As Falkenstein explains, the distribution shows “dass die Setzung von i- und mu- in der Praxis der Gudeatexte wesentlich von dem auf das Konjugationspräfix folgenden richtungsanzeigenden Infix abhängt. Bezieht sich das Infix auf ein der Personenklasse angehörendes Glied des nominalen Satzteils, steht vorwiegend mu-, bezieht es sich auf ein Wort der Sachklasse, so steht vorwiegend i-” (1978b: 162–163). In other cases, including those in which there is no intervening dimensional infix, a similar result obtains with mumaintaining its close connection with persons. Furthermore, Falkenstein

introduction

29

made the important observation, which would be incorporated into most subsequent theories, that i-, additionally, can serve as a neutral prefix vis-à-vis mu-, “i- ist das Konjugationspräfix der neutralen Diktion. Der betonte Hinweis auf ein (ausschliesslich oder überwiegend) richtungsbestimmtes Wort der Personenklasse im nominalen Satzteil verbindet sich mit dem Konjugationspräfix mu-” (1978b: 163). In terms of meaning, however, there is scarcely a difference to be observed between the two, and he concludes that “der Bedeutungsunterschied der beiden Konjugationspräfixe nicht sehr gross ist, eine Tatsache, die auch durch das Nebeneinander von i- und mu- in gleichartigem Zusammenhang erwiesen wird” (1978b: 163). Falkenstein’s understanding of the function of ba- reflected his ideas about the structure of the morpheme. Structurally, he took the prefix to be a fusion of the pronominal element -b-, third singular non-persons, with a supposed dative-locative dimensional infix, -a- (1978a: 200); this same locative element combined with the third singular pronoun of the class of persons (i.e., -na-), while bi- derived from a compounding of pronominal -b- with a locative-terminative infix -e- > -i-. The prefixes imma- and immi- were regarded as secondary, as in virtually every theory, and were taken by Falkenstein to derive from *i-b-a- and *i-bi- respectively (1978a: 190, 192; 1978b: 168–169; 182), i.e., -b- > -m-, an idea that in basic outline goes back through Scholtz (1934: VI–VII) to Poebel (1923: 241, 253), and that has been subsequently followed by Postgate (1974: 19, 21) and Thomsen (1984: 176; cf., notably, Gragg 1973c: 71–72). In both concept and detail Falkenstein owed much to Poebel on this account. However, whereas Poebel focused on the dative aspect of this putative dative-locative element -a-, a focus that allowed him to accept and account for the medio-passive functions of ba- and imma-, Falkenstein stressed its locative aspect. The nuanced difference between the two conceptions—though rooted in the subtleties of a completely hypothetical reconstruction—reflects Falkenstein’s reluctance to assign a semantic function to this or any other (conjugation) prefix in contrast to his predecessor. For Falkenstein the prefix ba- is, in origin, a reconstructed locative infix -*b-a- ‘darin’, ‘dazu’ appearing at the beginning of the finite verb (Falkenstein 1978b: 182). Accordingly, the prefix has both locative and inanimate reference. Serving as the inanimate counterpart of third-singular dative -na-, ba- refers to inanimate nouns in the foregoing clause that are in the locative, locativeterminative, or, occasionally, terminative cases (1978b: 183–184). There is no room in this scheme for middle or passive functions. Thus, the

30

chapter one

common phrase šu ba-ši-ti—which Thureau-Dangin saw as essentially deictic, and Poebel as reflexive—Falkenstein saw as displaying “einen zweifachen Richtungsbezug [i.e., ba- and -ši-] . . . ‘er brachte die Hand zu ihm daran heran’ = ‘er nahm es von ihm an’ ” (1978b: 184). Of all of Falkenstein’s ideas concerning the prefixes, scholars have remained most faithful to his conception of ba-. This is certainly true in terms of form—most scholars to this day accept Falkenstein’s morphological analysis of ba- as comprising an inanimate pronominal element -b- and a locative case element -a-.7 And here assumptions about form reflect perceptions of function. Edzard, for instance, in his study of the behavior of the verb sum ‘give’, comes to the basic conclusion that the conventional theory, according to which ba-, above all else, expresses a dative-locative inanimate co-reference, is essentially confirmed by the verb (1976: 170). The prefix is used with the verb sum, he finds, when the recipient belongs to the class of non-persons, an abstract concept, or a group of persons, and is marked, most often, in the locative-terminative, locative, or terminative cases (see §5.3). Similarly, Römer, in his grammar, basically maintains Falkenstein’s view that “die Präfixe [i.e., ba- and bi-] beziehen sich auf Lokative, Lokativ-Terminative und Terminative der Sachklasse im nominalen Satzteil” (1999: 113). A nearly identical position, but more nuanced in admitting semantic functions, is taken by Attinger (1993: 204; also 281–284), who accepts Falkenstein’s morphology and observes that the prefix primarily serves as the non-persons equivalent to the dative -na-, referring to a noun in the locative-terminative, locative (rare), or the absolutive (i.e., an unmarked noun). And although Thomsen sees this dative function as a secondary development, her description of the prefix is, nevertheless, essentially a restatement of Falkenstein’s position: “It seems as if the choice of either /mu-/ or /ba-/ is primarily decided by the element immediately following,” and so mu- is associated with animates, ba- with inanimates; in cases without dimensional infixes, mu- tends to occur with transitive forms, and ba- with intransitive forms (1984: 178–179). It comes as no surprise that the directional theory, semantic in its outlook, is completely absent from Falkenstein’s assessment. Yet, in the

7 See, for instance, Attinger 1993: 204, 281; Edzard 2003a: 94; Thomsen 1984: 183; Yoshikawa 1978: 481, 1992a: 397; cf. Yoshikawa 1979: 206. In a similar vein, note also Jacobsen 1965: 75.

introduction

31

years following the publication of GSGL until the present, a number of scholars have pursued and modified the theory first put forth a century ago by Thureau-Dangin. Interest in the idea appears to have been reawakened with the publication of the collected Old Babylonian grammatical texts in MSL IV. Underscoring a correlation known from bilinguals, in these texts mu- and im- are frequently equated with the Akkadian verbs bearing the ventive morpheme, while ba- is often set against t-infixed Akkadian forms that are commonly regarded as Gt separatives. Jacobsen, in his introduction to the grammatical texts (1956), advanced a hypothesis—one that he would develop more fully in his contribution to the Landsberger Festschrift (1965)—in which the traditional directional theory was recast to include a temporal dimension. In Jacobsen’s view, the prefixes “would seem to denote various aspects of time and place under which the lexical meaning of the root is to be viewed, so that functionally they may be said to parallel adverbs of time and place. In form the prefixes seem to be composites of pronominal (explicit or merely understood), nominal, and relater elements joined in partitive parataxis” (1965: 75). To decipher the second part of this statement, Jacobsen understood the prefixes to consist of consonants that were pronominal elements, which were responsible for the spatial functions, and vowels that were case marking elements, which bore the temporal functions. Functionally, the theory may have been ultimately inspired by Thureau-Dangin, but in terms of form, Jacobsen had bested the efforts of his predecessors to reduce the language to indivisible atoms of meaning of phonemic length. Thus, for Jacobsen, mu- represented a “mark of location of the occurrence denoted by the verb on the inside border (.u) of the area of the speech situation (m.)” (1965: 79), ba-, a “mark of location of the occurrence denoted by the verb inside relevant area, not that of the speech situation” (1965: 82), and i-, consisting of merely a vowel and thus only possessing a temporal function, a “mark of transitory, non-conditioning aspect” (1965: 76). The prefix imma- is taken as deriving from ma-, the first-person dative, and so originally conveying the idea of “out here (before me)” (1965: 81). Fundamental to Jacobsen’s conception is that the prefixes revolve around a primary spatial opposition of here (m, the area of the speech situation) vs. there (b, an area other than that of the speech situation). Jacobsen’s theory in its full formulation did not find widespread acceptance; the temporal functions ascribed to the prefixes in particular

32

chapter one

have been largely discounted (one exception being Jo [1991]). However, the directional theory, now revamped with the inclusion of bilingual evidence bolstering the traditional argument, became influential once again with the publication of MSL IV, as recent descriptions of the prefixes and their functions attest. Foxvog (1974; brief summary in 1975: 400–401 n. 17), for instance, introduced the term ventive (following Landsberger 1923) as a descriptive label for the allative function of the Sumerian element -m-. Black (1991) similarly described Sumerian -m- as a ventive element and attributed to ba- a separative meaning on the basis of equations with Akkadian forms in the grammatical texts. Yoshikawa (1978), in meshing spatial deixis with social deixis, defined -m- (i.e., that contained in the prefixes im-, imma-, and immi-, but, notably, not mu-, which, in his view, is concerned with topicality) as a ventive morpheme, indicating “spatial and emotional movement to the speaker” and b- (ba- and bi-) as an ientive morpheme, denoting “spatial and emotional movement away from the speaker” (1978: 461). Similar ideas have been put forth by Krecher (1985), who sees -m- in all its combinations, including mu-, as expressing a constellation of meanings that center on a basic spatial one, the ventive. The result is that some aspect of the directional theory has been accepted by most scholars, even if deixis is not considered a primary function of mu- (and im-). Attinger acknowledges a ventive function for im- and mu- and a separative one for ba-, noting, however, that these functions are naturally rare with the verb dug4 ‘speak, do’ (1993: 279–280, 283–284). Thomsen (1984: 173) accepts a ventive function for -m-, following Yoshikawa, but is silent on this account regarding mu- and ba-, while Edzard (2003a: 92–109) goes much further, describing the conjugation prefixes and infixes together (except i- and al-) as either ventive or non-ventive, the separative function of ba- falling under the latter designation. Finally, in an attempt at a new solution to an old problem, Steiner (1994) has endeavored, essentially, to derive the directional theory from Falkenstein’s syntactic construct. Steiner maintains the traditional opposition of mu- vs. i-, but sees its basis as fundamentally deictic (following Falkenstein, ba- and bi- are considered locative and adessive prefixes, respectively). The prefix mu-, because of its relationship to the first person, specifically, the first-person dative, is associated with here; i-, on account of its relationship to non-persons in the Falkenstein conception, is associated with there, or, in the very least, not here, being defined negatively with respect to mu-. These qualities are

introduction

33

felicitously captured by the terms centripetal and centrifugal that Steiner employs to describe mu- and i- respectively. The recognition of a Sumerian ventive represents the most significant encroachment into the conceptual framework that Falkenstein established for the prefixes. The acknowledgement naturally changed the thinking about mu-, although for some scholars, amended might be the more accurate description. But just as importantly, it had the effect of quieting, if not silencing, the fifty-year debate regarding the relationship between mu- and i- (see also Edzard 2003a: 110)—Yoshikawa’s topicality theory (see below and §3.4) and Steiner’s centripetalcentrifugal theory being two notable exceptions. In the eyes of most scholars today, these two prefixes are no longer viewed as participating in an exclusive dichotomy: mu- may have a ventive meaning, but icertainly does not have separative one (cf. Steiner 1994). Rather, i- has been variously regarded as a neutral prefix, an idea that goes back to Falkenstein, although neutral to what has not always been made clear, as a prothetic vowel serving as a finite or inflectional marker (e.g., Foxvog 1975: 400–401 n. 17), or, in Krecher’s view (1985: 139), as largely non-existent, a ghost morpheme in part conjured up by the writing system and what he understands to be the syllabic character of Sumerian morphemes (i.e., (-)in-, (-)ib-, (-)im-; cf. Wilcke 1988; see also Attinger 1993: 265–267). This has led some to see the primary opposition as being between mu- (im-) and ba- (cf. Wilcke 1990: 479). This is certainly true of Postgate, who, on a different basis, argued, “iis neutral, since it belongs to a different rank from mu-/ba-, of which the first refers to an animate noun, and the second to an inanimate or to no noun; i- has no place in the opposition between mu- and ba-” (1974: 24–25 n. 19). However, even if the acceptance of a Sumerian ventive has had the indirect effect of raising ba- to a status equivalent to mu-, it has done little to elucidate the meaning of the prefix. Obviously, for many, symmetry suggests a separative function for ba- and there is ample bilingual and unilingual evidence to support this claim. But as was already realized in Poebel’s day, this morpheme attests multiple functions—apparently bearing a functional load greater than any other prefix—that historically have been difficult to define and, moreover, to reconcile with one another. As Edzard has commented, “ba- gehört mit zu den am schwierigsten zu definierenden Morphemen des sumerischen Verbums” (1976: 166). And the problem is not simply limited to ba- and its relationship to

34

chapter one

mu- but extends to imma- as well, for in the view of most scholars ba- is the morphological linchpin of imma-8 with only a shade of difference in function between the two—“Die nächstliegende Deutung ist die, dass durch das Präfix ba- ein stärkerer Verweis auf einen richtungsanzeigenden Kasus des nominalen Satzteils ausgedrückt wird, als durch die Folge *i-b-a- [i.e., imma-]” (Falkenstein 1978b: 184 n. 2). Of the many functions that have been ascribed to ba-, we can distinguish five that find some, if not universal, acceptance today: 1. Animacy—signaling inanimate reference, indexing an argument belonging to the class of non-persons; 2. Case—indexing a nominal argument in the locative, locative-terminative, or, occasionally, terminative cases; 3. Voice—the medio-passive voice function; 4. Aspect—imparting a perfective sense to the action or state described by the verb; and, 5. Deixis—conveying a separative sense of away. In this way we can roughly summarize seventy-five years of scholarly opinion concerning this prefix. Falkenstein, as I have noted, proposed the first two, which are often intertwined, and his conception of the prefixes as dimensional elements would only admit these two. For Falkenstein, the other uses, which can broadly be described as semantic in that they alter the basic lexical meaning of the accompanying verb, are very much secondary, not belonging to the original function of the morpheme. Thus, the equation of ba- with Akkadian t-infixed forms—Poebel’s reflexives, many of which were later reassigned to the perfect—is not, in Falkenstein’s view, a consideration for the Gudea corpus. Rather, Falkenstein claims that this usage is most probably an Akkadian-influenced construction of the Old Babylonian scribal schools, unknown in Gudea’s day: “Zum mindesten sehe ich in den Gudeabelegen keine Beispiele für ba-, die sich den Regeln für den Gebrach des akkadischen ‘t-Perfekts’ fügen” (Falkenstein 1978b: 185–186 n. 3), although he was forced to concede that there are uses of ba- in all periods that cannot be directly explained in terms of the prefix’s asserted locative character.9 The idea itself is naturally tied to the discovery of the Akkadian 8 The main proposals have been i+ba, following Falkenstein, and i+m+ba, which has found wide acceptance; Krecher, however, has proposed im+a—see Attinger 1993: 280–281, for discussion and previous scholarship. 9 “Aber in allen Sprachstufen vertretene Formen wie ba-túm ‘er hat (weg)geführt’, ba-tuku ‘er hat (als Ehefrau) genommen’ oder ba-ug6 ‘er ist gestorben’ lassen sich wenigstens nicht unmittelbar durch das lokativische ba- verstehen” (Falkenstein 1978b: 186 n. 3). Elsewhere, Falkenstein discusses ba+uš2 in connection with passive and intransitive verbal forms, remarking, “Schon in der altsumerischen Zeit ist es bei

introduction

35

perfect and can be traced back to Scholtz (1934), who believed that ba- functions to emphasize completion; secondarily, he assigned to the prefix a sentence-connecting function in which the focus is on the last action in a sequence of actions: ‘und dann’, ‘und da’, ‘und auch’. In so positing, Scholtz effectively attributed to ba- a function similar to the Akkadian perfect. Scholtz’s conception was taken further by Christian (1957), who saw these functions as two facets of a common meaning (1957: 82). Drawing a direct comparison to the Akkadian perfect, ba-, in all cases, serves to emphasize completion or anteriority of the action expressed by its host verb—“Insoweit durch das Präfix ba- der Begriff der ‘Vollendung’ ausgedrückt wird, verleiht es somit der Sachverhaltsaussage perfektive, ja vielleicht zuweilen im Sinne einer Vorzeitigkeit perfektische Bedeutung, vergleichbar den akkadischen Bildungen mit infigiertem t, die ja auch perfektivische Grundbedeutung haben, aber in gewissen Fällen schon temporal-perfektische Funktion zu erfüllen scheinen, in denen sie daher v. Soden, GAG 104, geradezu als Perfektum bezeichnet” (1957: 78–79). For Christian, therefore, common verbal forms such as ba+uš2, ba+tuku, šu—ba+ti, and ba+zah2/3—which were taken as reflexives by Poebel and Jestin, and all but the first as deictic by Thureau-Dangin—exemplify the perfect meaning imparted by ba-. Von Soden revisited the problem in his 1965 contribution to the Landsberger Festschrift, addressing it from the Akkadian side. Observing that in Old Babylonian bilingual texts Akkadian perfects are equated with Sumerian forms with the prefixes ba- and imma-, von Soden considered the possibility that the perfect in Akkadian arose by way of contact with Sumerian (1965: 109). In von Soden’s view, both the Sumerian ba- and imma- forms on one hand, and the Akkadian perfect on the other, serve to mark a new, culminating event, or to introduce a new episode in a series of events in literary texts. Consequently, von Soden rejected Falkenstein’s claim that any correlation between the Akkadian perfect and Sumerian ba-prefixed verbs was an Old Babylonian development, beyond the consideration of the Gudea corpus: “Ich meine, dass gerade einige Beispiele aus den Inschriften Gudeas die in den grossen Listen von Verbalformen in MSL IV zum Ausdruck kommende Auffassung der babylonischen Gelehrten und Schulmeister

intransitiven und passiven Verben zur Bildung von Formen wie ba-ug5 ‘ist verstorben’ verwandt worden” (1978a: 188 n. 2).

36

chapter one

bestätigen” (1965: 106–107). Although von Soden’s position is often cited, the basic notion that ba- and imma- convey a perfect meaning has not been subsequently pursued and most descriptions of the prefix are silent on this account.10 Thomsen speaks for many when she joins with Falkenstein and writes with some skepticism about the primacy of this function: “How such a function may harmonize with the other functions of ba- is not evident, and I follow Falkenstein in the opinion that this is a later development which cannot be observed in the Gudea texts” (1984: 183; see also Streck 1998: 190–191). As for the so-called passive uses of ba-, for Falkenstein this was “ein Sonderfall.” But the early attestations of this use compelled him to approach the problem with some hesitation. While Falkenstein admitted that the prefix is encountered in the Gudea texts, similar to the Ur III date formulae, with this function, he was nevertheless certain that this was a secondary development despite the date of the evidence. For him, the real issue was how this derivative meaning came about—whether it arose from the locative function, or belonged to what, in origin at least, was a second homophonous but distinct prefix. Entertaining both possibilities between the writing of volumes I and II of GSGL, true to his vision of the language, he leaned toward the former: “Von den zwei angedeuteten Möglichkeiten halte ich die erstere für die wahrscheinlichere, da eine ursprüngliche Kennzeichnung des Passivs, abgesehen von den Unterschieden, die sich aus der abweichenden Art der Tempusbezeichnung des transitiven aktiven und des passiven Verbums ergeben, nicht recht zum sonstigen Bild der sumerischen Sprache passt” (1978b: 186 n. 4; cf. 1978a: 188 n. 2). *

*

*

Falkenstein’s discomfort with the semantic functions of the prefixes, particularly with the “passive” ba-, became the backdrop for the ambivalence with which scholars, following his lead, have since addressed the question of grammatical voice in Sumerian; for historically this question has revolved around ba- and whether this prefix can truly be said to express the passive voice. Thureau-Dangin and Poebel, as we have seen, attributed to the prefix a passive or reflexive meaning of sorts,

One exception is Oberhuber (1982: 132) who believed that the prefix, because it contains a locative element, has an inherent inessive value that makes it ideally suited to express a terminative or resultative-punctual (i.e., perfective) nuance, as well as an ingressive sense. 10

introduction

37

and so, if only implicitly, understood a voice-like function to be inherent to its basic functional load. However, the reassignment of many of Poebel’s Akkadian t-forms from reciprocals to perfects dealt an early blow to the idea, while Falkenstein’s syntactic theory of inanimatelocative indexation could hardly accommodate voice phenomena. But the notion was abandoned by many for other reasons, the foremost being that ba- does not conform to a rigid system of active-passive alternations, and so, it has been reasoned, the prefix cannot be labeled a passive marker and, more generally, the prefixes cannot be said to signal voice in a strict sense. Already Jestin, seeking and not finding a rigorous dichotomy between an active sentence and a derived passive counterpart that contained a verb invariably prefixed with ba-, declared, “La voix n’existe pas dans le verbe sumérien. On n’y trouve aucune expression réelle du passif ou de l’actif, etc.” (1943: 81). Subsequent scholars would reach similar conclusions. Sollberger, writing his Le Système Verbal before the appearance of the second volume of Falkenstein’s GSGL (1952: 6 n. 2), understood ba- as essentially bearing a medio-passive value in the PreSargonic royal inscriptions, “Dans la grande majorité des cas attestés (58 sur 75), le préfixe ba- donne au complexe verbal la valeur d’un moyen, parfois aussi, mais plus rarement, celle d’un passif ” (1952: 158). But those instances in which the prefix apparently occurs in active constructions, and, inversely, those in which prefixes other than baare used in middle or passive contexts, were enough for Sollberger to conclude, “Bien qu’il existe un préfixe [i.e., ba-] à valeur moyenne ou médiopassive il ne semble pas que l’on puisse poser l’existence d’un véritable système de diathèses” (1952: 37), and elsewhere, he would defer to Falkenstein’s authority in these matters, “Selon A. Falkenstein . . . c’est cette valeur de ba- qui serait fondamentale, la valeur passive n’étant que secondaire” (1952: 162 n. 1). Christian (1957: 84–87), as we have seen, sought to explain ba-, in all instances, as imparting a perfective or anterior sense to the verb and was, therefore, adverse to accepting a passive function, apparently not perceiving a common semantic basis for these meanings. For Christian, distinctions such as active-passive and transitive-intransitive are inherently foreign to the language. Christian’s skepticism was echoed by Horsnell (1977; 1999 vol. 1: 133–136), who provided an extensive discussion of the prefix and the flagship example of its alleged passive function, the year name. Horsnell argued that the opposition between mu- with agent and ba- without agent in Old Babylonian year names

38

chapter one

does not represent an active-passive opposition since “it is now certain that the verbal prefixes do not of themselves denote active or passive voice, which are instead indicated by the tense formations” (1977: 283). Thus, Horsnell, arriving at the same conclusion as Christian but by different means, claimed that all year names should be translated actively. Oberhuber (1982), in discussing the passive in Sumerian, took a view of the prefix ba- that intermingled the ideas of Falkenstein with those of Poebel. He agreed with Falkenstein’s morphological understanding of the prefix, that ba- consists of the inanimate -b- element and an “inessive-infix” -a-, originally meaning ‘darin’ (1982: 132). And like Falkenstein, Oberhuber was convinced that the passive function of the prefix was secondary—although the passive may have first made its appearance in Pre-Sargonic Sumerian, it was fully developed only in the Ur III period (1982: 129, 132). In terms of meaning, however, Oberhuber sided more with Poebel, arguing that the prefix initially imparted a reflexive meaning. It was Oberhuber’s view that the notion of a genuine, that is, agentless, passive is foreign to Sumerian as an ergative language. With this claim, he echoed an opinion commonly held during the infancy of ergativity studies, namely, that the passive voice is incompatible with ergativity—it is an opinion that is not maintained by most linguists today. Oberhuber proposed that Sumerian, again in origin, could only express a passive with an agent, as indicated by mes An.e pad.a (lit.: ‘young man selected by An’) and PN a2 sum.a DN-ak (lit. ‘PN given strength by DN’) constructions. Thus, it was his contention that the agentless passive, as expressed by ba-, came about secondarily, in all likelihood through Akkadian influence given that agentless passives are a regular feature of that language (1982: 132–133). Black, while eschewing the term ergative, came to a similar conclusion concerning ba- and the passive voice, at least in terms of nomenclature. In addition to assigning a separative function to the prefix, Black also attributed to it a stative value, according to which the prefix served to describe a state or condition—a label he preferred over passive, which he claimed is not appropriate for Sumerian (1991: 37). Finally, in this connection, we may quote Thomsen, who once again summarized the scholarly opinion of the time when she wrote, “/ba-/ has been called a ‘passive prefix’ because of its frequent occurrence in one-participant forms . . . this use of /ba-/ depends on its inanimate/non-agentive reference, and it has nothing to do with the category ‘passive’ ” (1984: 183; see also Postgate 1974: 27).

introduction

39

The tension between syntactic theory and semantic function can still be discerned in recent scholarship. Those who work within the structure of Falkenstein’s theory have recognized, explicitly or implicitly, the difficulties of incorporating semantic functions into this conceptual framework, even if they are more apt to acknowledge these functions than Falkenstein himself. Jagersma, for instance, makes a clear distinction between the syntactic and semantic uses of ba-. Syntactically, he observes, “One of its main uses is to cross-reference an indirect object of the non-personal (inanimate) gender class. This syntactic function is marked by a locative-terminative postposition” (1993: 423). This function of the prefix is distinguished from the “poorly understood” semantic uses in which the prefix modifies the meaning of the verb, the best known being the “so-called ‘passive’ use: In an intransitive verbal form, ba can express the involvement of an agent in the action expressed by the verb” (1993: 424; see now 2006). Edzard similarly allowed for this passive use, but was skeptical as to its primacy, noting that the origin of “this special function of [ba], first attested in Ur III” is “not entirely clear” (2003a: 95). Finally, Zólyomi presses ba- into double duty, understanding it as “one of the allomorphs of the 3rd ps. sg. pronominal element [i.e., /b/]” (1999: 223 n. 20), on the one hand, and as a passive prefix, on the other. In an attempt to reconcile these functions, Zólyomi (1999: 223) regards the pronominal ba- and the passive ba- as deriving from a single morpheme, which is in the process of splitting into two distinct morphemes. This solution is essentially an inversion of the one entertained, but eventually abandoned, by Falkenstein, namely, that the passive functions actually belong in origin to a second, homophonous element. *

*

*

Not all conceptions of the prefixes are equally indebted to Falkenstein’s formulation. Some have stressed more semantically oriented functions, even if not specifically introducing, or resurrecting, the notion of voice in Sumerian. Christian, as we have seen, broke ranks with Falkenstein early on and rejected nearly every aspect of his theory concerning the functions of ba-; however, his ideas, unorthodox for their day as they were, can hardly be said to have had an enduring impact on our understanding of the language. In general, it is more recent scholarship that has looked with more favorable eyes upon semantic considerations. The most serious challenge to Falkenstein’s conception in recent times has come from Postgate (1974), who pointedly rejects the notion

40

chapter one

that ba- has a locative cross-referencing function, the very crux of Falkenstein’s theory—a position that Edzard would later describe as radical (1976: 177). Having refuted the theory on functional grounds, Postgate concludes, “In view of these objections, it seems preferable to avoid positing a dimensional (and specifically locative) sense for ba- in the prehistory of Sumerian, and to admit that ba- is not used to express in the verbal complex a relationship represented (outside it) by a noun with dimensional suffix” (1974: 18–19). Given this understanding of function, it comes as no surprise that Postgate likewise rejects Falkenstein’s morphemic analysis of the prefix. Rather, Postgate leans toward agreeing with Civil’s assessment that “the prefix ba- has no connection with a locative element /a/” (1974: 20 n. 11)—a proposal that, although embraced by some, remains very much a minority opinion to this day. In terms of the function, Postgate, as I have noted, sees the primary opposition among the conjugation prefixes to be between mu- and ba-: mu- requires a person (other than the verb’s subject) on whom the action has an effect, whereas ba- is used in cases where no such person is involved. Yoshikawa, it will be recalled, maintains the traditional opposition of mu- vs. i-. But breaking with Falkenstein’s syntactic theory, he understands this pair to be governed by topicality, which is, most prominently, a function of the relative social standing of the agent vis-à-vis the dative-beneficiary: mu- is a mark of topicality, signaling the higher social status (i.e., topicality) of the beneficiary (referent of the dative case); i- is a mark of non-topicality, signaling the lower social status (i.e., non-topicality) of the beneficiary. As this description suggests, Yoshikawa believes that the fundamental function of both mu- and i- “is to show that the action expressed with them is for the beneficiary, irrespective of whether it is explicitly mentioned or merely implied from the context” (1992a: 396). The two, in this sense, stand in opposition to ba- (as well as bi-, i.e., his /b/- class), which denotes “action not for another” (1992a: 398). In terms of both the structure and function of ba-, it is the ideas of Poebel rather than Falkenstein that are the starting point for Yoshikawa (1978; 1992a). Thus, Yoshikawa sees the /a/ vowel of ba- as a dative-reflexive, rather than a locative, element. Accordingly, the prefix, again following Poebel’s reasoning, is considered to have expressed the reflexive in origin. As such, ba- is inherently incompatible with the dative-benefactive, and so functions to mark the omission of an indirect object. In short, ba- is employed in cases in which the verb does not possess a dative argument. The

introduction

41

passive function of the prefix was therefore a secondary development: “We were naturally inclined to correlate the non-occurrence of the agentive suffix -e with the occurrence of the prefix ba- and this led to the conclusion that the prefix ba- denotes the (middle-) passive. Actually, however, the prefix ba- . . . indicates the reduction of the agentive -e, and, as a natural result, of the beneficiary/indirect object” (1992a: 398). In this, his latest contribution to the subject of the conjugation prefixes, Yoshikawa attempts to weave together the various, and not always easily compatible, hypotheses that he has produced on the topic since the fifties. *

*

*

Before concluding with the recent scholarship concerned with voice, I note the brief, but often insightful, descriptions of the conjugation prefixes that invoke the semantic notion of focus in terms of the verbal participants or their grammatical roles. Although Sumerologists generally understand focus as a phenomenon distinct from voice, many of these ideas can be readily accommodated within a grammatical voice framework. Gragg (1973b) was perhaps the first in modern scholarship to characterize the prefixes in terms of focus, integrating Jacobsen’s conception of the prefixes as relating spatially to the speech situation, but placing this notion within a more sophisticated linguistic framework that disregarded the literal spatial and temporal aspects of the construct. The prefixes signify “focusing processes”—“a class of underlying representations which indicate, in one way or another, that certain syntactic or semantic components of a basic proposition are to be foregrounded, and that there are [sic] a series of transformations which accomplish this” (Gragg 1973b: 93; see also Gragg 1968: 107 n. 8). Gragg views the conjugation prefixes as comprising a tripartite system: mu- is positively marked for focus on the speech situation and stands in opposition to ba-, which is negatively marked for focus on the speech situation; i- is neutral in this connection. ba-, Gragg argues, “is in no sense a ‘passive’ prefix” (1973b: 93), as it also occurs in explicit transitive sentences. As for the passive sense often attributed to the prefix, Gragg makes the observation that “the distant, ‘impersonal’, connotation implied by the absence of an explicit agent is optionally but frequently reinforced by the use of ba-, which focuses on the ‘over-there-ness’ of the situation” (1973b: 94; see also 1972b: 210–211). Vanstiphout (1985) similarly discusses the prefixes in terms of focus. Drawing upon the basic associations between animacy and the prefixes

42

chapter one

made by Falkenstein, he describes mu- as positively focused for person and negatively for locus; ba- and bi- are diametrically opposed to mu-, being positively focused for locus and negatively for person. The prefix i- is non-focused and neutral, and therefore stands in opposition to the prefixes mu- and ba-/bi-, which are marked for focus. As such, i- serves as a backgrounding device on the supra-sentential or discourse level, specializing “in supportive material against the focused main line of discourse” (Vanstiphout 1985: 15). Yoshikawa (1991) has also discussed focus in Sumerian, but in his view this is the domain of the pre-radical agent marker -n-, the appearance of which denotes an emphatic meaning, expressing “that an action is really actualized or effectuated, in addition to indicating that the agent is 3rd person(s), animate” (1991: 406). Yoshikawa does allow, however, for a possible diachronic development whereby the prefix mu-, the marker of topicality came, additionally, to signal focus in Ur III times. More recently, Bauer (2001) has proposed that ba- focuses the attention of the listener or reader upon an inanimate direct object. Bauer works firmly within Falkenstein’s framework, building upon the latter’s idea that the writings ba-da-, ba-ta- and ba-ši- stand for *b-da-, *b-taand *b-ši-, reflecting the inanimate referents of the comitative, ablative, and terminative cases respectively. On this basis, Bauer suggests reconstructing a third-singular am u form *b.n.verb, which is realized in the language and writing as ba.n.verb (or ba.verb [Ur III ]) with the insertion of an epenthetic /a/ vowel. The suggested morpheme would be identical in form and rank to Falkenstein’s locative prefix ba-. The function of the latter Bauer describes not simply as cross-referencing a locative noun, but as directing a listener or reader’s attention to an object in the locative case. However, only the second, proposed prefix can account for ba- in transitive constructions without a locative argument. Like the suggestion of Zólyomi and the possibility entertained by Falkenstein, the hypothesis seeks to account for a perceived incongruity or incompatibility in functions attributed to the prefix by proposing two homophonous morphemes. The notion of focus plays a more central role in Michalowski’s recent analysis (2004) of the prefixes. As discussed in §1.1, Michalowski allows for four basic conjugation prefixes: mu-, ba-, i- (or V-), and imma-. These four comprise a focus system that is a function of control: “The prefix mu- appears to mark focus on control over an action that is within the control and propinquity of the agent. When such control is loosened, absent—and this includes the absence of an agent in a

introduction

43

clause—the prefix ba- is used” (2004: 44; see also Rubio 2007: 1346 n. 30, 1347–1348). In what represents a rare description of the functional range of imma-, Michalowski argues that this prefix expresses, essentially, an intensification of mu-: “When the focus is intensified, as with verbs denoting movement towards the agent, or the agent manipulates an object, such as a tool, the prefix imma- is often used” (2004: 44). In accord with this perception of function, Michalowski would see this prefix not as a compound of i- and ba-, as it is commonly understood, but rather as representing “a form of reduplication of mu-, in which the initial consonant is copied and the cluster is reinforced by an initial vowel” (2004: 44; see also Rubio 2007: 1346, 1363). As in other recent descriptions of the conjugation prefixes, i- is considered to be a neutral prefix, used “when focus is not specified” (2004: 44). Lastly, there are those recent treatments of the prefixes that revisit the voice hypothesis, considering this to be a—if not the—basic function of these elements. The analyses of Jagersma (2007) and Zólyomi (1993) take what may be described as a formal, morphosyntactic approach to Sumerian grammar, but view voice and the conjugation prefixes, as this study does, primarily from a typological perspective, citing well-known typological investigations of voice phenomena (e.g., Kemmer 1993a, Klaiman 1991). As is true of so much previous work on voice and the conjugation prefixes, ba- takes center stage. Zólyomi (1993: 108; see also 2005: 31–32) accepts three basic functions for the prefix: (1) indexing an NP in the locative-terminative, or more rarely the locative case, following Falkenstein; (2) serving as a separative or thither directional element; and (3) marking the middle voice. The prefix in this last role may, by extension, mark the passive, since “the function of middle ba- is naturally compatible with the meaning of passivity” (1993: 113). Jagersma’s study (2007) remains a work in progress at the time of this writing. But as it stands at present, the author accepts a middle-voice function for ba- and it is anticipated that, on this account at least, his work will agree on many points with the present one. As does Zólyomi, Jagersma (2007, 2006) accepts ba- as a marker of the passive in Sumerian and sees this as an extension of its middle-voice function. This position differs from the one put forth by Attinger, who perceives a correlation between ba- and the passive (1993: 283), but understands the pre-radical pronoun -b- (along with suppression of the Agent) as the distinguishing feature of this voice in Sumerian, verbs expressing the passive having the basic structure prefix+b+verb- am u (1993: 196; see

44

chapter one

also Wilcke 1990: 488–498; Schulze and Sallaberger 2007; cf. Jagersma 2006). As noted above, more recently Attinger (1998b) has speculated that ba- expresses the reflexive, a category that, naturally, belongs to the middle domain. Finally, in my 2001 dissertation I described the middle and related passive functions of ba- and to a lesser extent imma-. Serving as the framework for the present study, voice was described as a series of alternative perspectives on an event. The event itself, it was argued, could be conceptualized in spatial terms, consisting of Initiator and Endpoint nodes. The analysis sought to reconcile and unite the deictic and voice functions of the prefix by demonstrating the inherent iconicity between the two categories.

CHAPTER TWO

LINGUISTIC BACKGROUND—VOICE AND RELATED NOTIONS In this chapter I describe the linguistic concepts that form the theoretical basis for the thesis put forth in §§3–6. My ultimate objective in this chapter, naturally, is to explain what grammatical voice is and to describe the various types of voice phenomena. But voice cannot be described without recourse to the linguistic notions upon which it depends. Foremost among these is semantic transitivity. In fact, voice systems may be seen as encoding departures, of various degrees, from the prototypical transitive event. Voice, therefore, is very much a function of transitivity. In this chapter I devote considerable space to discussing transitivity and with it, linguistic notions of categories and prototypes. Also discussed here are the cognitive models that facilitate the understanding of voice in terms of perspective. That is, grammatical voice, as a series of linguistic options for expressing alternative conceptualizations of events, constitutes a deictic category in which the choice of one voice form over another is dependent upon the speaker’s perspective. Finally, and more fundamentally, there is a need to elaborate upon what is meant by grammatical case since voice revolves around the relationships between nominal arguments, and case itself can assume different meanings at different levels of conception. As case, in its broadest sense, is basic to the other notions discussed in this chapter, this is where I begin. 2.1

Grammatical Case

In order to compare languages productively with the least degree of ambiguity, it is necessary to introduce categories and terminology that are not specific to any one language, but that can be applied equally to all. Describing case in terms of semantic roles, grammatical roles, and grammatical relations allows for cross-linguistic comparison and for a more profound understanding of the nature of case more generally. In essence, these three categories represent three levels of abstraction, ranging from the theoretical to the concrete, from the entirely semantic

46

chapter two

to the entirely syntactic. There is a great deal of ambiguity in the literature concerning these three terms, particularly with regard to the distinction between grammatical roles and grammatical relations. I will follow the lucid classification given by Palmer (1994: 4–16), although I use the standard term semantic roles in lieu of his notional roles. The idea that case-marking strategies are based ultimately on a series of abstract, deep-structure cases stems from the seminal work of Fillmore (1968 and later work [see 2003]). These underlying cases, or semantic roles (also referred to as thematic roles or theta-roles), are situation-type—or even verb—specific and are defined by intuitive semantic criteria. They are, in Langacker’s words, “pre-linguistic conceptions grounded in everyday experience” (1991: 285). Semantic roles are idealizations of case as intuitively perceived in experience and language—for instance, recipient, experiencer, location, etc.—ideals that no language actually grammaticalizes, but upon which, as many linguists believe, all languages structure grammatical case. Grammatical roles, on the other hand, represent the various types of participants that occur in language (e.g., Agent, Object, Subject) and are intermediate between semantic roles and grammatical relations. They are ideal to the extent that they may not display a one-to-one correspondence with overt case markers in a given language, but they are concrete to the extent that they are based on actual case marking strategies as attested cross-linguistically. Grammatical roles form a semantic category in that their content is meaningful, representing the semantic roles of the participants lexically assigned by the verb, but the roles themselves are defined morphosyntactically. Grammatical relations, finally, are the surface expression of grammatical roles. Grammatical relations represent the way in which grammatical roles are organized and syntactically coded in a language. These are the language internal designations that describe the overt case-marking strategy, e.g., nominative, accusative, ergative, etc. The following sentences exemplify some of the issues involved and the necessity of describing case as a tripartite structure. [1]

a. I am short. b. I like beer. c. I broke the window.

These are three very different events, yet English acknowledges no grammatical distinction between them with respect to their common participant, I. In terms of overt case, English treats the subject of the

linguistic background

47

transitive clause like the subject of the intransitive clause, hence, the grammatical relation, or case, of subject in English. However, many languages do make a distinction between these two types of subject, and from this observation we posit a grammatical role Agent for the transitive subject participant, and Subject for the intransitive subject participant. I in I am short is a Subject, while I in I like beer and I broke the window is an Agent, even though English does not grammaticalize the distinction. But further distinctions can be made still, as the Agents and Objects in [1]b and [1]c have different relationships with their respective verbs. In I broke the window, the Agent, I, is indeed agentive, bringing about a change-of-state in the Object, the window. In I like beer, the Agent, I, is more of an experiencer than an agent, and any change-of-state that may be implied is with regard to the subject, I, and not the grammatical Object, the beer. Indeed, the differences between these event types accounts for why in Spanish, among many other languages, a sentence like I like beer is not treated as a transitive event; rather, it is the Object, a stimulus, that agrees with the verb, while the experiencer takes the dative case, i.e., Me gusta la cerveza. As for [1]a, the Subject does not perform an activity or bring about a change-of-state—rather, the Subject is in a state. Like the Object of [1]c, the window, the Subject of [1]a is a patient. By invoking the notion of semantic roles and labeling the Agent of I like beer as an experiencer, the Agent of I broke the window an agent, and the Subject of I am short a patient, a distinction between these very different subjects is acknowledged, a distinction that is not overtly made in English, but one that is nonetheless crucial for identifying grammatical categories across languages. However, the notion of semantic roles is not unproblematic. As constructs that are based on every-day experience and so depend upon the perception of the investigator, they resist precise definitions. And because semantic roles relate to specific event types, their number is theoretically unbounded—it is always possible to make finer distinctions among any given set of semantic roles. In this book I will refer to a small inventory of basic semantic roles that are commonly cited in the literature and the definitions of which, while certainly intuitive, are widely accepted (the following definitions are taken primarily from Givón 2001a: 107 and, secondarily, from Allan 2003: 12; Andrews 1985: 69–70; Blake 1994: 68–71; Croft 1991: 176–177; and Langacker 1991: 285): [2]

agent: the instigating participant, typically animate, who usually acts volitionally to initiate the event, and so bears the responsibility for the event.

48

chapter two patient:

the participant, either animate or inanimate, that either is in a state or registers a change-of-state as a result of an event. beneficiary: a typically animate participant, for whose benefit the action is performed. recipient: a typically animate participant into whose possession an object is transferred. experiencer: a participant who engages in a mental activity, either intellectual, emotive, or perceptual. stimulus: an entity that stimulates a change-of-state in or reaction from an experiencer. source: the location from which an entity moves. goal: the location toward which an entity moves. I will also refer to the following basic grammatical roles: [3]

Agent Subject Object

(A), transitive subject: The king destroyed the city. (S), intransitive subject: The king departed. (O), transitive direct object: The king destroyed the city.

The use of agent, as a designation of a semantic role, and Agent (or A), as a designation of a grammatical relation, is an unfortunate, but deeply entrenched, terminological convention in the linguistic literature. Obviously, there is a close correlation between the two, although the notions are not always identical, as, for instance, in I saw the cat (experiencer as Agent) and The crowd applauded (agent as Subject); cf. the prototypically transitive John slaughtered the pig (agent as Agent). To avoid confusing the two, and semantic roles with grammatical relations in general, I will continue to write semantic roles in small capital letters, e.g., agent, and to write grammatical roles with initial capital letters, e.g., Agent, or refer to them simply by their initial letters, i.e., A, S, and O. Lower case letters are reserved for writing grammatical relations, e.g., nominative, ergative, and occasionally, when terms are used generically, with a non-specific sense, e.g., subject, agent. As the English examples given under [3] suggest, languages generally do not morphosyntactically distinguish the three grammatical roles described above. In fact, tripartite marking—distinctive case markings for A, S, and O—is rare in stable languages and is limited to certain sub-domains of the grammar when it is attested (Dixon 1994: 40).

linguistic background

A

S

O

Nominative-Accusative

49

A

S

O

Ergative-Absolutive

Figure 1. Basic Case-Marking Strategies.

Rather, there is always an overlap in which two are treated identically in the grammar and the nature of this overlap is what determines the case marking strategy for a particular language. In English, S is identical to A (S=A), but distinct from O. Respectively, these constitute the nominative and accusative cases in English. Conversely, in Sumerian, the case marking of A is distinct from S, which is identical to O (S=O) in some parts of the language, yielding ergative and absolutive cases respectively. The grammatical roles of A, S, and O are the core arguments of language; these are the building blocks of the basic case-marking strategies, arguments that Dixon refers to as the “universal syntactic-semantic primitives” (1994: 6). As we shall see, the polar opposition lies between A and O and one of the essential duties of grammar is to distinguish these two primary roles (Dixon 1994: 224). Fundamental to the nature of both are the notions of control and affectedness: an Agent typically controls the event described by the verb, but is not affected by the event; an Object, in contrast, is typically affected by the event, but does not itself exert any control over it. Whether a language exhibits accusativity (i.e., nominative-accusative agreement) or ergativity (i.e., ergative-absolutive agreement) depends on how S is regarded. If S is deemed to be more Agent-like and to control the verbal action, then it is coded like A (accusativity); if S is considered to be more Object-like, lacking control or being affected by the action, it is coded like O (ergativity). Case marking strategies lie largely beyond the scope of this book. But many of the same concepts, in terms of the relationships between A, S, and O, are equally relevant to grammatical voice. Indeed, the two phenomena are closely related. It will be useful, therefore, to continue to make reference to the more familiar concepts of ergativity and accusativity as a means of exemplifying the relationships between these primary roles before discussing them in terms of voice.

50

chapter two 2.2

The Nominal Hierarchy

The notion that Agents are prototypically associated with control and Objects with affectedness can be traced in modern scholarship back to Silverstein (1976). In a celebrated study, Silverstein demonstrated that some nouns, based on their inherent lexical semantics, are more Agent-like—are more likely to control an action—than others, and that a scale of all possible noun types could be established. This scale, known as the Animacy or Nominal Hierarchy, ranges from nouns having prototypically, or probabilistically, the greatest potential for serving as Agents to those having the greatest potential for serving as Objects. Silverstein’s primary interest lay in explaining mixed accusative-ergative case-marking systems, that is, split-ergativity, and in accounting for the rationale behind the identity of S with A and S with O. This led to the critical observation that “noun phrases at the top of the hierarchy manifest (nominative-)accusative case-marking, while those at the bottom manifest ergative(-absolutive) case-marking” (Silverstein 1976: 113). Common nouns

{ 1st person pronouns

2nd person pronouns

Demonstratives, 3rd person pronouns

Proper nouns

Human

Animate

Inanimate

More likely to be in A than in O function

Figure 2. Nominal Hierarchy (after Dixon 1994: 85).

The guiding principal behind the Nominal Hierarchy is that the higher a noun phrase (NP) in S function is on the scale, the more likely it is to be marked like A; conversely, the lower an NP in S function, the more likely it is to be marked like O. As a result, accusativity dominates the left end, or top, of the spectrum in Fig. 2 and ergativity, the right end, or bottom. For languages that mix ergative and accusative case-marking strategies, at a certain language-specific point along the hierarchy, everything to the left will exhibit accusative marking and everything to the right, ergative marking. For some languages this point might be second-person pronouns, in which case third-person pronouns and all nouns are ergative, and first- and second-person pronouns are accusative. Other languages might take human common nouns or even first-person pronouns as their critical point. However, by far the most commonly attested pattern, cross-linguistically, is the one in which the

linguistic background

51

first and second persons—the speech act participants (SAPs), the prototypical agents, the agents par excellence1—exhibit accusative marking, while the third-person pronoun and nouns demonstrate ergative marking (cf. the marking pattern in the Sumerian marû aspect; see Woods 2000: 318–319). The basic prediction of the Nominal Hierarchy is that in the typical transitive event, nouns that rank higher on the spectrum in Fig. 2 are more likely to act upon nouns of lower rank, rather than vice versa. Although in principle any NP can fulfill either the A or O roles, it is clear, cross-linguistically, that in actual discourse there is a tendency for NPs in the role of A to rank higher on the Nominal Hierarchy than those in O. When couched in these terms, the Nominal Hierarchy can be seen to have applicability beyond case marking strategies. Case marking is simply one aspect of language for which it is relevant. In its essentials, the Nominal Hierarchy, or perhaps better the natural ordering of nominals, describes the relationship between A and O as a function of the semantic quality of the nouns involved. As such, it has pervasive relevance for those facets of language that involve A, S, and O. More broadly, Fig. 2 can be seen as a hierarchy of control and affectedness, or, alternatively, as a hierarchy of salience or topicality—the likelihood of a nominal being what the sentence is about, to define topic loosely.2 The first and second persons are the most likely to control an event and the least likely to be affected by it. As they represent the interlocutors themselves, they are naturally the most salient and comprise the “natural topics” in discourse (Croft 1991: 151). At the other end of the spectrum are inanimates, objects, which are typically acted upon, affected entities with little proclivity toward control; as mere things, they are, generally, the least salient and topical in discourse.

Note the comments of Wierzbicka regarding the special status of the first and second persons, “1st and 2nd personal pronouns seem to favour, universally, situations where their central role, their topicality and prominence in terms of the speaker’s interest, are OVERTLY MARKED. They have privileged status, and they like to SHOW IT. They tend to command agreement, they tend to occupy the most topical leftmost position in the verbal complex, they like to collect as many subject-like properties as possible. It is only to be expected that they will also favour case marking which would reflect their privileged status” (1981: 70; see further Woods 2000). 2 A more precise definition of topic is given by Lambrecht: “A referent is interpreted as the topic of a proposition if in a given situation the proposition is construed as being about this referent, i.e. as expressing information which is relevant to and which increases the addressee’s knowledge of this referent” (1994: 131). 1

52

chapter two

For Kuno, the natural ordering of NPs is an Empathy Hierarchy, representing the degree to which speakers identify or share common concerns with the people and things under discussion (Kuno 1976, 1987; Kuno and Kaburaki 1977; see also DeLancey 1981; Langacker 1991: 306–307). A speaker naturally empathizes most with himself. He is concerned and identifies most with himself and, secondarily, with the addressee, his partner in discourse. The speaker displays progressively less empathy for uninvolved third persons, collectives, inanimates, etc. Empathy, to use Langacker’s felicitous description, “reflects an egocentric assessment of the various sorts of entities that populate the world” (1991: 306–307). Indeed, it is the egocentric nature of language that is at the root of Fig. 2 as a hierarchy of both agency and empathy. That the natural ordering of nominals can assume as many forms as it does, having such broad relevance for language, points to the fact that it is actually a composite quantity, the function of several discrete grammatical properties. The Nominal Hierarchy consists of four distinct but interrelated component hierarchies—person (first, second > third), referentiality (pronoun > proper noun > common noun), animacy proper (human > animate > inanimate), and definiteness (definite > specific > nonspecific) (Croft 2003: 130–132, 167; cf. Croft 1990: 127– 130; see also Comrie 1989: 185–200). The Nominal Hierarchy, then, is a cluster of properties, a scale that extends across four dimensions, correlating person, referentiality, animacy proper, and definiteness: the higher an NP is positioned on each of these constituent hierarchies, the more likely it is to serve as Agent; conversely, the lower an NP is the more likely it is to serve as Object. Central to the Nominal Hierarchy as an aggregate of four constituent hierarchies or parameters is that it represents a continuum. The designations on Fig. 2—e.g., proper nouns, animate common nouns, inanimate common nouns, etc.—do not mark discrete boundaries, but are tick marks along a spectrum “ranging from the most to the least animate” (Croft 2003: 130). 2.3

Typological Prototypes

In the foregoing discussion, certain categories were qualified by terms such as typical and prototypical, adjectives that suggest that the categories concerned are not homogenous, but consist of some members that are more central than others. Consider, for instance, the Agent category. The first- and second-person pronouns, lying at the far left of the

linguistic background

53

Nominal Hierarchy, are the prototypical Agents, possessing the most agent-like qualities of the various parameters that comprise the Nominal Hierarchy—they are by definition human, pronominal, and given, or, in other words, definite. Conversely, inanimate common nouns are the prototypical Objects, the nominals that constitute the right end of the Nominal Hierarchy. All other NPs fall somewhere in between, being gradually both less Agent-like than the first- or second-person pronouns, and less Object-like than the inanimate common nouns as one moves from either endpoint of the spectrum. Position along the Nominal Hierarchy, however, is not completely predictable since there are four parameters to be taken into account, i.e., person, referentiality, animacy, and definiteness, that, although related, are, essentially, distinct. The notion that a category, broadly conceived, may be based upon a cluster of parameters, having indistinct or fuzzy boundaries, and consists of both central and progressively more peripheral members evokes the notion of prototypes as a theory of categorization, the current formulation of which owes much to the work of Rosch (1973, 1975, 1977, 1978; see also Givón 2001a: 29–33; Shibatani and Bynon 1995: 6; more broadly see Lakoff 1987; MacLaury 1991). Rosch’s interests lay in categorization from the perspective of cognitive psychology, but the theory has been commonly and productively applied to describe linguistic categories, particularly by typologists who understand language to be a function of human cognition—“Since prototypes are a characteristic of human categorization, and human language involves categorization, prototypes have a potential explanatory value in linguistics” (Croft 2003: 163). Givón (2001a: 32) describes the following salient properties of prototype categories: [4]

a. Criterial properties. Membership is not based on one single property, but potentially on a large number of properties; some properties, however, may be more criterial than others and so will be possessed by more members than less criterial properties. b. Prototypes and graded membership. The most prototypical members of a category display the largest number of criterial features; more peripheral members may display fewer properties but they are nevertheless still members of the category. c. Correlation of properties. The criterial features of a category tend to correlate with one another, so that in the majority of cases, having one property implies having many others.

54

chapter two d. Clustering of members around the prototype. Because properties tend to correlate, most members of a category will cluster around the prototype; peripheral and ambiguous members tend to be a relatively small minority of the total population.

An often-cited example from Rosch’s research draws immediate parallels to our notions of prototypical Agents and Objects—the category suggested by the label bird (see Rosch 1973: 135–139, 1975: 199–206; see also 1977: 25, 1978: 39; discussed by Allan 2003: 31; Croft 2003: 162–163; and Lakoff 1987: 39–57). As Rosch’s experiments have shown, cognitively, the category is based on the co-occurrence of a number of properties or parameters: birds have feathers, birds have wings, and birds can fly. Central or stereotypical members of the category, such as robins and sparrows, have all of these properties. In fact, in Rosch’s experiments with North American students, robin was the most typical member of the bird category. But then there are more distant peripheral members, which, although classified as birds, are cognitively less bird-like since they do not satisfy all of these properties, and so diverge from the prototype. Ostriches have wings and feathers, but cannot fly; penguins, further removed still, cannot fly and can hardly be considered to have feathers in the sense that robins and sparrows do. Rosch (1975: 232) found that even bats did not average the lowest possible rating and so were not excluded from the bird category by some subjects, a finding that demonstrates the fuzziness of the category’s boundaries. No one parameter, no matter how seemingly central to the category as a whole, can itself define the category. This is the critical difference between prototype categories, which are inherently graded, and discrete Aristotelian categories. The ability to fly, for example, does not itself determine what a bird is—“[it] is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition for being a bird: some birds cannot fly, and some things that can fly are not birds” (Croft 2003: 163). The notion of prototype categories will play a critical role in our description of the voice functions of the Sumerian conjugation prefixes, specifically, with respect to the types of events represented by each prefix. In the following section I describe another grammatical category that lends itself to a prototype analysis, one that is fundamental to grammatical voice, namely, scalar transitivity.

linguistic background 2.4

55

Scalar Transitivity

The notion that transitivity is not a discrete, binary category—transitivity versus intransitivity—but represents a continuum is due to the efforts of Hopper and Thompson (1980), who, in a seminal article, demonstrated that transitivity is a function of a number of properties that relate to the effectiveness of an action and ultimately account for the degree to which clauses are more or less transitive. Transitivity is considered “a global property of the entire clause” and not simply a characteristic of the verb and dependent on the presence or absence of a direct object (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 251). Thus, there is a distinction to be made between transitivity as a universal, continuous semantic category and morphosyntactic transitivity—the surface expression of semantic transitivity in a given language—which may indeed be dichotomous and with which most treatments of Sumerian grammar are concerned. Invoking a metaphor that would be widely exploited in subsequent scholarship, Hopper and Thompson envisage transitivity as a carrying-over or transmittal of an activity from the Agent to the Object (1980: 251). The parameters or properties that comprise the transitivity (Table 1) focus on the various facets of this transmittal, relating to the characteristics of the Agent (agency, volition), the Object (affectedness, individuation), and the predicate itself (kinesis, aspect, punctuality, affirmation, mode). Each contributes to the overall effectiveness or intensity with which the transmittal is accomplished. Reminiscent of the case of the Nominal Hierarchy and its component hierarchies, these properties may themselves be represented as scales ranging from high to low. The more features from the high column a clause has, the more transitive it is, and the closer it is to reflecting canonical or prototypical transitivity: Table 1. Parameters of Scalar Transitivity (after Hopper and Thompson 1980: 252).

a. Participants b. c. d. e.

Agency Volitionality Affectedness of O Individuation of O

high

low

2 or more participants A and O Agent high in potency volitional O totally affected O highly individuated

1 participant Agent low in potency non-volitional O not affected O non-individuated (continued on next page)

56

chapter two

Table 1 (cont.)

f. g. h. i. j.

Kinesis Aspect Punctuality Affirmation Mode

high

low

action telic punctual affirmative realis

non-action atelic non-punctual negative irrealis

These properties are described by Hopper and Thomson (1980: 252– 253) as follows: a. Participants. In order for an activity to be transferred there must be at least two participants (A and O) involved. However, the property of participants, alone, does not define the category as a whole. Since transitivity is a prototype category with graded membership, it is possible to speak of degrees of intransitivity as well as transitivity. A clause may have an Agent and an Object, but still be marked syntactically as intransitive (e.g., instances of noun incorporation). Conversely, in some languages a clause may have only one participant, yet take transitive marking. The absence of an Object certainly lowers the transitivity of a clause, but it does not follow that such clauses are at the extreme intransitive-end of the spectrum (see Hopper and Thompson 1980: 266). b. Agency. This property concerns the Nominal Hierarchy. Highly animate NPs (e.g., persons) can transfer an action more effectively than NPs that are lower in potential agency; cf. George startled me (perceptible event with perceptible consequences) with The picture startled me (an issue of internal state). c. Volitionality. Purposeful actions on the part of an Agent are perceived to produce a more marked effect upon an Object than non-volitional actions, cf. I wrote your name (volitional) with I forgot your name (non-volitional). d. Affectedness. This property refers to the Object. It is the degree to which an action is transferred to an Object as measured by how completely affected the Object is by the activity; cf. I drank up the milk (O more affected) with I drank some of the milk (O less affected). e. Individuation. Similar to affectedness, this property also relates to the Object. Individuation refers to the degree to which the Object is distinct from the Agent and the degree to which the Object

linguistic background

57

represents an entity that is distinct from its own background. Individuation is actually a cluster of grammatical properties that are identical to those discussed in connection with the constituent parameters of the Nominal Hierarchy (§2.2) with the addition of the properties concrete, singular, and count (see also Croft 2003: 176): [5]

individuated proper noun human, animate concrete singular count referential, definite

non-individuated common noun inanimate abstract plural mass non-referential

An action can be more effectively transferred to an Object that is more highly individuated than to one that is less. For example, in the pair I dropped the baby and I dropped the fork, the baby is more likely to suffer the effects of the action. That is, the action is more effectively transferred to the baby than it is to the fork. The animate Object in the former is more highly individuated and so the sentence as a whole is more transitive. A similar result obtains with inanimate Objects that differ in terms of count. Compare I drank the bottle of water with I drank some water; the implication that the water is finished (O completely affected) pertains primarily to the former. f. Kinesis. Only actions can be transmitted from one participant to another, states cannot be transmitted, cf. I hugged Sally (action) with I like Sally (state). g. Aspect. Telic actions have clear terminal points (e.g., kick, fall, make [s.th.]), while atelic actions are unbounded (e.g., play, dance, run). The transmittal to the Object is considered to be more effectively accomplished if the event is viewed from its end point. Only with telic actions can the activity be regarded as carried out to its completion, cf. I ate it up with I am eating (action only partially carried out). h. Punctuality. Punctual actions, those which have no internal structure between inception and completion, that is, between terminal points, have a more marked effect upon their Objects than durative or non-punctual actions which are on-going, cf. kick (punctual) with carry (non-punctual).

58

chapter two i. Affirmation. The Object is naturally not affected when an action does not take place. j. Mode. Realis refers to propositions that are true, irrealis to unreal or untrue assertions. An action that is hypothetical, or is presented as occurring in a non-real world, is clearly less effective than one that actually takes place, whose occurrence is asserted with respect to a real event.

Scalar transitivity in the Hopper and Thompson conceptualization represents a classic prototype category. Transitivity is described by a number of properties and, although no one property alone defines the category, several may be deemed more criterial (e.g., agency and affectedness [see Tsunoda 1985]) than others. The evidence provided by Hopper and Thompson demonstrates that for each of the ten properties, there are languages for which a low ranking for that property results in surface or morphosyntactic intransitivity, even if the clause displays high transitivity characteristics for other properties. Furthermore, the various properties tend to correlate, together representing what DeLancey refers to as a “cognitively salient prototype”—“the various transitivity parameters cohere in the way that they do because they code aspects of a coherent semantic prototype” (DeLancey 1987: 55). For Hopper and Thompson, this covariance is pervasive, so much so that they make a universal prediction about the morphosyntactic marking of transitivity: “If two clauses (a) and (b) in a language differ in that (a) is higher in Transitivity according to any of the features [ Table 1 a–j], then, if a concomitant grammatical or semantic difference appears elsewhere in the clause, that difference will also show (a) to be higher in Transitivity” (1980: 255; see also Croft’s restatement in 2003: 177–178; Tsunoda 1985). Naturally, most events that are syntactically coded as transitives in a given language do not conform to the transitivity prototype, but represent some deviation from it. Rare are the events that display all ten of the properties that describe high transitivity. Yet, liminal events, events that fall short of the prototype, are often coded like the prototype. What is at work here, from a cognitive perspective, is a metaphorical extension from the well-defined archetype to the vague, indefinite case. It represents the common tendency in language to structure the more abstract upon the more concrete, or in Langacker’s words, it speaks to “our proclivity for interpreting the new and less familiar with reference to what is already well established” and to our reaction to “the pressure

linguistic background

59

of adapting a limited inventory of conventional units to the unending, ever-varying parade of situations requiring linguistic expression” (1991: 295). Cross-linguistically, the prototypical transitive event is taken as a model to structure other, less prototypical, event types. This result, of course, is predicted by prototype theory, which advocates that members of a category will tend to cluster around the prototype. In terms of morphosyntactic coding, this means that deviations from the norm will be coded like the norm, that there will be verbs that do not describe canonically transitive events—which verbs will vary from language to language—but will nonetheless take agents and direct objects. Langacker (1991: 327; see also Andrews 1985: 68–69) points to verbs in English in which an experiencer (§2.1) is coded as an Agent, as in I {see/know/understand/want/fear/love} it. Such events can hardly be described as highly transitive, nor can we easily portray these events in terms of a transmittal of action or of an affected Object that has undergone a change-of-state. But the mental path between the two participants—or better, the metaphorical contact by which the animate, conscious experiencer “reaches out and touches” the stimulus—is likened to the transmittal of action that proceeds from Agent to Object in the prototypical transitive event (Langacker 1991: 303–304, 310). *

*

*

Transitivity, in Hopper’s and Thompson’s view, has its ultimate basis in pragmatics, originating out of the necessities of discourse. In all speech situations, there are some portions of the message that the speaker deems to be more relevant than others, and, accordingly, speakers craft their utterances in order to communicate these distinctions (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 280). In the analysis of discourse, it is common to make a basic distinction between foregrounded and backgrounded information. Foregrounded information consists of “the more important events of a narrative, the more important steps of a procedure, the central points of an exposition, the main characters or entities involved in an episode” (Wallace 1982: 208), without which the message itself would lose meaning. This is information that “carries the narrative along” (Croft 2003: 182), that comprises “the backbone or skeleton of the text, forming its basic structure” (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 281). Backgrounded information, on the other hand, is less critical to the message as a whole. This includes “events of lesser importance, subsidiary procedures, secondary points, descriptions, elaborations, digressions, and minor characters or things” (Wallace 1982: 208)—“information

60

chapter two

that elaborates or modifies the basic narrative line without carrying it forward” (Croft 2003: 182). Cross-linguistically, there is a strong tendency for certain grammatical categories to occur in foregrounded portions of discourse, and, similarly, for other categories to be disproportionately represented in backgrounded portions (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 280–295). Hopper and Thompson observe that these grammatical categories are the very same that describe semantic transitivity: “The likelihood that a clause will receive a foregrounded interpretation is proportional to the height of that clause on the scale of Transitivity. From the performer’s viewpoint, the decision to foreground a clause will be reflected in the decision to encode more (rather than fewer) Transitivity features in the clause” (1980: 284). Specifically, those parameters associated with high transitivity (i.e., the high column of Table 1) have, statistically, a greater probability of occurring in foregrounded portions of discourse, and, conversely, low transitivity parameters in backgrounded portions. The central points of narrative tend to revolve around the affirmative, and often punctual and completed, actions of volitional Agents upon known and affected Objects; backgrounded information, on the other hand, tends to describe secondary details that are often expressed through verbal forms designating low-transitive situations (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 284). The claim that the discourse functions of foregrounding and backgrounding are “causally prior” to the semantic properties that comprise the transitivity continuum has encountered some skepticism (see Croft 2003: 182–183, citing DeLancey 1987). But the broader correlation between transitivity and the foreground-background distinction has found wide acceptance. Some linguists, preferring to see transitivity as a function of human cognition, have sought to explain both the semantic and pragmatic factors in terms of cognitive salience: high transitivity and foregrounding both represent information that is relevant, prominent, of particular importance or interest—in short, salient. Thus, DeLancey observes, “transitivity in morphosyntax is associated with foregrounding in discourse because events which approximate the transitive prototype are more likely to be of interest, and thus inherently more likely to constitute foregrounded information” (1987: 55). Wallace (1982) has taken this idea further and views transitivity as belonging to a larger hierarchy that measures cognitive salience, explaining transitivity and discourse grounding in terms of the Gestalt psychology notions of figure and ground. According to this tradition,

linguistic background

61

the organization of any differentiated visual field involves, in its most basic form, a dichotomous distinction between what stands out prominently or distinctively—the figure —and what represents the remainder of the field, the background, which serves as a reference point—the ground—as, for example, in a picture of a woman (figure) standing on a beach (ground) (Wallace 1982: 213–214). Talmy (2000a: 311–344) introduced the figure-ground distinction to cognitive linguistics as a means of describing “the pervasive system by which language establishes one concept as a reference point or anchor for another concept,” as in, for instance, The house [figure] sits on an empty field [ground], The king [figure] entered the palace [ground] (Talmy 2000a: 311). Extending this metaphor, Wallace sees a comparable distinction existing in narrative between high transitivity and foregrounding, which have greater cognitive salience and so correspond to the figure, and low transitivity and backgrounding, which have lower cognitive salience and may be regarded as the ground. Givón similarly integrates the cognitive notion of salience into his understanding of transitivity as a prototype category. Drawing upon the component properties of Hopper’s and Thompson’s scale (Table 1), Givón defines a prototypical transitive clause as involving three criterial dimensions that relate to the Agent, Object, and the verb respectively (after Givón 1990: 565–566 and 2001b: 93): [6]

a. a volitional, controlling, initiating, active Agent, one that is responsible for the event—the salient cause. b. a non-volitional, non-controlling, inactive Object, one that registers the changes-of-state associated with the event—the salient effect. c. a compact (telic, non-durative), bounded (perfective, non-lingering), realis (non-hypothetical) verb and tense-aspect-modality. The prototypical transitive verb is therefore fast moving, completed and real—a perceptually and cognitively salient event.

A departure from this prototype along these three dimensions will result in a reduction in transitivity—a conclusion that essentially falls out of Hopper’s and Thompson’s component hierarchies, in which a representative from the low column for any of the ten properties (Table 1 a–j) has the effect of lowering the transitivity of the entire clause. As examples of prototypical transitive clauses, Givón (1984: 20) gives: Mary cut the meat, John destroyed the house, They killed the goat, and She broke the

62

chapter two

chair. Where Givón’s account differs from Hopper’s and Thompson’s is in his focus upon the correlation between prototypical transitivity and cognitive salience. Transitivity, in his conception, is directly proportional to the degree of cognitive salience that surrounds the event, writing of an agent that can bring about a “salient cause,” an object that absorbs “its salient effect,” and of an event that is itself “perceptually and cognitively salient” (see also Kouwenberg 1997: 94). 2.5

Viewpoint as a Deictic Notion

The notion that a transitive event represents a causal sequence in which an Agent acts upon an Object lends itself to various spatially-oriented cognitive models. The two models discussed in this chapter are drawn, with some modification, from Langacker’s influential work in cognitive grammar (1987, 1991). As with all such models, they use metaphor as a means of providing a framework for the conception of events and their settings. The first explains the interaction between various clausal participants in terms of billiard-balls colliding into one another; the second evokes the theatrical stage to describe the setting of the event and the perspectives from which events are viewed. Obviously, these models involve a high degree of symbolism, but the concepts themselves, stripped of the terms in which they are couched, are considered to have far-reaching relevance for the structure of events. As Langacker explains, “Metaphorical terms are adopted to facilitate description of the cognitive models, but it is not claimed that the models themselves are metaphorical. The stage and billiard-ball models are presumably universal and cognitively more fundamental than the culture-specific notions of theater and billiards” (Langacker 1991: 284 n. 3). I introduce these models into the discussion in order to provide a conceptual framework for understanding transitivity and, ultimately, how transitivity interacts with perspective or viewpoint. This framework will form the basis of the discussion of grammatical voice (§2.9), which, essentially, will be portrayed as a series of alternative perspectives from which an event may be viewed. Since perspective is a matter of orientation, and orientation in language falls under the broad rubric of deixis, it is necessary to describe what precisely is meant by this term before continuing on to the billiard-ball model. As described by Lyons, deixis is a technical term of grammatical theory that refers to “the ‘orientational’ features of language” (Lyons

linguistic background

63

1968: 275). These are the elements of language which relate an utterance to its spatio-temporal context and whose meanings are relative to that context. As linguistic indicators of the coordinates of person, time, and space, coordinates that have an existence beyond the world of language, deictic expressions allow the speaker “to anchor utterances in the extra-linguistic reality” (Kryk 1987: 1). Here we include, for instance, demonstrative pronouns and adverbs (this, that, here, there), as well as personal pronouns (I, you), and temporal adverbs (today, yesterday). Given the sentence I will meet John here tomorrow, one cannot discern, in an absolute sense, who I is, nor when, nor where, the meeting will take place, without the understanding that I necessarily refers to the speaker of the sentence, while here and tomorrow make an essential reference to the place and time at which the sentence was uttered (see Lyons 1977: 645–646; Benveniste 1971: 217–222). Here, tomorrow, and I are all deictic, as their meanings are relative to—indeed, wholly dependent upon—the extra-linguistic context of the utterance. That deictic expressions are, in fact, relative to the coordinates of the situation of utterance, is, of course, the one crucial factor that distinguishes, for example, I from the non-deictic John. The latter, by nature, is independent of the speech act, whereas I, or for that matter, you, is a variable linguistic indicator which, as noted by Benveniste, is devoid of all value except in the speech act (Benveniste 1971: 218). Likewise, here and tomorrow are linguistic indicators that are only referential to an actual place and time when the spatio-temporal context of the utterance is known. Deictic expressions have a universal basis, as they are, by necessity, employed by all natural languages to express orientation and to convey information regarding spatial, temporal, and speech-act-participant (SAP) relations. As observed by Hanks, “It is widely recognized that all natural languages have deictics and that these forms constitute key points of juncture between grammar and context” (1992: 47). They are the bedrock upon which the referential potential of language lies. Deixis, to quote from the title of an influential article by Lyons (1975), is the “source of reference.” The spatial category of perspective—fundamentally, the viewpoint of the speaker or writer—is deictic because it is a function of the deictic notion I. Language is an inherently egocentric phenomenon and, for a specified point in time, the coordinates of space and person are intertwined. In the typical speech situation, “the speaker, by virtue of being the speaker, casts himself in the role of ego” (Lyons 1977: 638), thereby orienting space to his own viewpoint: here is where I am. In so doing,

64

chapter two

the speaker places himself, as Greenberg (1985: 272) describes, at the reference point or, more precisely, at the origin of a space described by spatial polar coordinates, where the most salient feature is the relative distance from speaker. The relationship between the speaker and the objects in this space may be described in terms of a positive vector extending from speaker to object. It is readily apparent that the organization of this perceived visual space is inherently deictic, as its origin or reference point is defined by the location of the speaker. In Sumerian spatial deixis is not the exclusive domain of the pronominal system; it is also signaled by the conjugation prefixes. This comes as no surprise. Voice is a grammatical representation of perspective and perspective is, by definition, a function of the location of the speaker-asviewer, to continue the visual metaphor. Voice, in this conceptualization, is itself a deictic category. Indeed, the spatial deictic functions of the prefixes, the discovery of which goes back to Thureau-Dangin and the directional theory he put forth a century ago, is merely a more concrete manifestation of the expression of perspective that characterizes the conjugation prefixes as a system of grammatical voice. 2.6 The Billiard-Ball Model and Macroroles The billiard-ball model, which underpins much of Langacker’s cognitive grammar (1991, 2002), draws upon Talmy’s (see 2000a: 409–470) influential theory of force dynamics, a cognitive model in which events are conceptualized in terms of the flow of, and resistance to, various kinds of force between starting points and end points in a chain of causation. Similar spatially oriented models have been put forth by Croft (1991, 1994), DeLancey (1981, 1982), and Lichtenberk (1985). Analogous to its application in chemistry and physics, Langacker’s billiard-ball model views the clausal universe as consisting of discrete, atom-like entities, that make contact with one another, resulting in a transfer of energy (1991: 283; cf. Hopper’s and Thompson’s transmittal of action metaphor [§2.4]). The nature of these contacts, or interactions, is described by the verb. The interactions that together comprise a sentence may be described as an action chain: an initiator or head object makes contact with a second object, with a transmittal of energy from the first object to the second; this second object is then driven into a third, again with a transfer of energy. The process is indefinite and only comes to an end when the energy is exhausted,

linguistic background

Initiator

65

Endpoint

Figure 3. Action Chain (Langacker 1991: 283).

being completely absorbed by a final, terminal object (Fig. 3), e.g., Johnny swung the bat, hitting the ball, which broke the window. In other cases, the transfer of energy that characterizes the billiard-ball model is more metaphorical. Take, for instance, the give event in which the donor or Agent represents the initiating source of the action and the object given is an intermediary in the transmission of energy, absorbing it from the donor before transmitting it to the recipient, e.g., Frances gave the book to Steve. Following Croft, Shyldkrot, and Kemmer (1987; see also Croft 1991, 2001 and Kemmer 1993a, 1994), I will refer to the terminal points of an action chain by the designations Initiator and Endpoint. An Initiator is an entity, either volitional or non-volitional, that is the causal source of the action; an Endpoint is an entity that is in some way altered or affected by the action (Croft, Shyldkrot, and Kemmer 1987: 184). These terms are more than convenient labels for describing the limits of a given transitive action. Rather, the notions of Initiator and Endpoint can be conceived as representing what is commonly described as a macrorole —umbrella semantic roles that subsume individual semantic roles (§2.1) and have relevance for intransitive as well as transitive events (Farrell 2005: 139–143; Kemmer 1993a: 51; Foley and Van Valin 1984: 28–32; Van Valin and Wilkins 1996). The Initiator role encompasses upstream semantic roles, such as agent, experiencer, and source; as each represents the starting point of its event, each is the initial source of energy that sets the event in motion. The Endpoint role includes those semantic roles that represent the terminal points of their respective action chains. These downstream semantic roles include patient (provided no further downstream participant is present), beneficiary, recipient, and goal (cf. Kemmer 1993a: 51). The macroroles of Initiator and Endpoint capture the inherent deictic quality of events, characterizing actions in terms of an energy flow from one point to another. It is a conceptualization that recommends itself particularly well for the description of the middle voice, not to mention the deictic functions of the prefixes. For these reasons, I will describe

66

chapter two

events most often in terms of the notions of Initiator and Endpoint. However, these notions are not the only macroroles capable of describing events. There are other construals that better capture different, but nonetheless critical, aspects of events. Consequently, I will frequently refer to other macroroles, specifically, to those of Actor and Undergoer (Foley and van Valin 1984), macroroles that correlate, for the most part, with Initiator and Endpoint respectively, but better describe the semantic qualities of the major participant(s) in the event. The roles of Actor and Undergoer correspond in their most basic sense to the Agent and Object of the prototypical transitive event; the subject of the one-participant event, on the other hand, may be either an Actor or an Undergoer. As Foley and van Valin, describe it, “we may characterize the [A]ctor as the argument of a predicate which expresses the participant which performs, effects, instigates, or controls the situation denoted by the predicate, and the [U]ndergoer as the argument which expresses the participant which does not perform, initiate, or control any situation but rather is affected by it in some way” (1984: 29). Actors are volitional, purposeful participants who effect actions, while Undergoers are participants that are in, or experience, states or undergo a changeof-state. Examples of Actors are the subjects in John ran down the street, Mary swam for an hour, and The boy went to the store; Undergoers, on the other hand, include the subjects in The janitor suddenly became ill, The door opened, and Fritz was very unhappy (from Foley and van Valin 1984: 29). As macroroles, the notions of Actor and Undergoer, like Initiator and Endpoint, naturally subsume other semantic roles. But the roles with which Actor and Undergoer are most typically associated, their most representative roles, are respectively agent and patient. 2.7

The Prototypical Transitive Event Conceptualized as a Vector

In its minimal form, the billiard-ball model consists of two entities, an Initiator and an Endpoint that interact with one another directly. This is the configuration of the prototypical transitive event, which involves an Agent, Object, and a maximally efficient transfer of energy between the two. In essential agreement with Hopper and Thompson and Givón, Langacker describes these participants within the framework of the billiard-ball model: “The archetypal agent is a person who volitionally initiates physical activity resulting, through physical contact, in the transfer of energy to an external object. Its polar opposite is an

linguistic background

Initiator = Agent

67

Endpoint = Object

Figure 4. Action Chain of the Prototypical Transitive Event (after Langacker 1991: 285 and Allan 2003: 10).

archetypal patient, an inanimate object that absorbs energy transmitted via externally initiated physical contact and thereby undergoes an internal change-of-state” (1991: 285). The prototypical transitive event is depicted in Fig. 4 and illustrates clauses of the type, Judy broke the dish, Sam killed the bug, and Bobby built the house. The head of the action chain represents the Agent and the tail the Object; the straight arrow connecting the two represents the force and its direction. The changeof-state undergone by the Object as a result of its contact with the Agent is depicted by the undulating arrow. Conceived in these terms, there is a metaphorical movement and directionality to the prototypical transitive event. We can speak of it in terms of a positive vector that extends from Agent to Object, or a movement from Agent to Object, or, in terms of the billiard-ball model, an action chain that represents the flow of energy “from the initial energy source to the ultimate energy sink” (Langacker 1991: 292). But the relationship between Agent and Object does not exist in isolation. Rather, it subsumes the semantic parameters upon which scalar transitivity depends (DeLancey 1981, 1982; Croft 2003: 181–182; Langacker 1991: 293). The vector that connects Agent and Object is therefore coextensive with the vectors that describe a host of parallel or iconic structures that relate to the prototypical transitive event (Fig. 5), structures that tend to cluster together and pertain to the Nominal Hierarchy and the characteristics of archetypical Agents and Objects (see DeLancey 1981, 1982). These structures include animacy, empathy, and, more broadly, cognitive salience, which can be described in terms of the Gestalt notions of figure and ground (§2.4). Since animacy is at issue and the prototypical transitive event correlates with the speech act, a deictic component is also in evidence. The prototypical Agents are the first and second persons, the speech-act participants (SAPs), who are conceived of as here, the location of the discourse. Prototypical Objects, on the other hand,

68

chapter two

are inanimates that are naturally uninvolved with the discourse and are conceptualized as there (see Woods 2000). Thus, there is DeLancey’s observation that the transitive event can be represented as a motion from Agent to Object, and that this motion, prototypically, can be interpreted—extending the spatial metaphor still further—as movement away from the speech situation, the location of the SAPs (DeLancey 1981; see also Croft 2003: 182). Since the relationship between Agent and Object references actual events, events that unfold over time, there is a temporal dimension that cannot be decoupled from its spatial counterpart. The initial action on the part of the Agent must logically, and temporally, precede the change-of-state experienced by the Object. Further, there are aspectual correlations with transitive events. From the point of view of the Agent or the Initiator—to anticipate the discussion of perspective—the event is seen as beginning and unfolding. The focus is upon the Agent and the action itself and so there is a natural correlation between the Initiator role, the imperfective, and atelicity. Conversely, from the perspective of the Object or the Endpoint, the event is viewed as completed and the emphasis is on the effects of the action and the Object’s resultant state. Thus, there is likewise a natural correlation between the Endpoint, the perfective, and telicity (see DeLancey 1981, 1982; Wallace 1982). Initiator

Endpoint

Agent Control

Object Affectedness

High Animacy 1st/2nd pers. = here

Low Animacy 3rd non-pers. = there

High Empathy

Low Empathy

High Salience Figure

Low Salience Ground

Onset Time (t1)

Termination Time (t2 = t1 + x)

Imperfective Atelic

Perfective Telic

Figure 5. Coincident Structures Relating to the Prototypical Transitive Event.

linguistic background 2.8

69

The Stage Model

The second cognitive model with which we will be concerned relates to perceptual experience and envisions the setting of the event as a stage. In this conception, a verbal event describes a scene of a play with the nominal participants in the clause serving as the actors who interact with one another upon the stage. The actors are taken to be neutral third persons, with the stars of the performance being the most prominent participants in the clause, the Agent and the Object. The play is viewed by an external third-person who is uninvolved in the event, the audience. A stage is a fitting image, as Langacker (1991: 283–286) explains, since it is a fixed and inclusive space that frames the play; in theory, all of the participants in the scene are visually accessible to the audience. This, in brief, is Langacker’s cognitive model for the setting of the event. Our interest, however, lies in the way in which the audience views the event, and so we take the model in this direction. The scenes of a play are such that the actors do not occupy the attention of the viewer equally, not all perform under the limelight, not all occupy center stage. The audience focuses upon the actor who is foregrounded or highlighted more than others. The same scene, of course, can be played out under different circumstances: the actors can assume different positions on stage so that those who were downstage are now upstage and vice versa. Provided all else is equal, with the actors interacting with one another in precisely the same way, the content or meaning of the scene remains the same. Consider, for instance, a scene in which Ninurta slays Anzu, shooting an arrow through the bird, a scene that is very much in keeping with prototypical transitivity. On opening night, the director sets up the scene with Ninurta downstage toward the audience, under the spotlight, and Anzu upstage (Fig. 6-A). The director has framed the scene so that Ninurta, and the action that he initiates—the drawing and releasing of the arrow—are the primary focus of the audience (A = Agent, O = Object, V = viewer); Anzu and the effects of the action, the slaying, are a secondary focal point. The director has framed the scene from the perspective of Ninurta. On the second night, however, the director has a change of heart and decides to redirect the audience’s attention (Fig. 6-B). He decides to re-frame the event with Anzu downstage under the spotlight. Anzu and the slaying are now the principal focus of the viewer, who adopts Anzu’s perspective on the scene.

70

chapter two

O

A

V Figure. 6-A. Unmarked View of the Event: Agent primary focus, Object secondary focus.

A

O

V Figure. 6-B. Marked View of the Event: Object primary focus, Agent secondary focus.

Perspective, as I have explained, is a deictic quantity as it is a function of spatial orientation with respect to a reference point. In the stage model, perspective is dependent upon the viewer’s position relative to that of the actors, and the fixed stage serves as the reference point. Much in language can be explained, or at least described, with reference to a deictic category of viewpoint or perspective (see DeLancey 1982). In the following section I describe voice in these terms; specifically, I portray the category as the grammatical expression of perspective on the clausal event. 2.9

Grammatical Voice as Alternative Perspectives on the Event

The stage model and the two settings of the scene portrayed by Figs. 6-A and 6-B present parallels to the clausal event that are both obvious

linguistic background

71

and far-reaching. The director corresponds to the speaker, the audience to the addressee, and the interaction between the actors, the content of the scene, to the event denoted by the clausal verb. The director has a host of means at his disposal by which he may modify the portrayal of the scene. These would include nuancing it through the use of lighting, sound, props, background, etc. Perspective is one of these means. A director may reconstrue a scene by varying the stage positions of the actors involved. Similarly, in language the speaker has a large stock of lexical and grammatical devices by which he may alter the construal of an event, devices that allow the speaker to foreground and background various aspects of the message according to his discourse needs. And again, perspective—or to give it its proper label, grammatical voice—is simply one, although a particularly effective, device among them. As I have described previously, grammatical voice can be understood as representing a series of alternative viewpoints from which a speaker may describe an event. As this metaphor suggests, voice constructions do not alter the information or factual content of a proposition, rather alternative voices emphasize different aspects of it, providing different pragmatic perspectives on the event. In any transitive clause, the two principal participants, the Agent and the Object, differ in topicality; never do they share the speaker’s attention in equal proportions (Klaiman 1991: 195). Voice, in this sense, may be viewed as a strategy for altering the relative topicality of these primary clausal participants based on the speaker’s assessment of which is more central to the discourse. Indeed, three voice constructions—the passive, inverse, and antipassive—have frequently been approached in recent scholarship as discourse-pragmatic phenomena in which the salient feature is the relative topicality of the Agent and the Object. This is particularly true of the antipassive and inverse voices, owing to the pioneering efforts of Givón (1979, 1990, 1994, 2001b) and his students (e.g., Cooreman [1982, 1987], Thompson [1989, 1994]). Much of what is written here with respect to these voice constructions relies upon their work. The middle voice, on the other hand, has been most commonly understood as a semantic phenomenon (e.g., Kemmer 1993a). This distinction between the passive, antipassive, and inverse on the one hand and the middle on the other is, to a certain extent, misleading since semantics and pragmatics cannot easily be disentangled, and a change in one often has consequences for the other (observe, for instance, that the inverse can be triggered by semantic as well as pragmatic factors [§2.9.3]). In the end, the four voices—passive,

72

chapter two

antipassive, inverse, and middle—share the common bond of detransitivity and are set, together, against the active voice. If the active voice is exemplified by the prototypical transitive event, then each of the four detransitive voices may be seen as “tampering,” to use Givón’s apt turn of phrase, with transitivity—either semantically by way of reducing the agentivity of the Agent, the affectedness of the Object, or the perfectivity or telicity of the verb, or pragmatically by way of altering the relative topicality of the Agent and the Object, which, in the prototypical case, consists of a more topical Agent acting upon a less topical Object (Givón 2001b: 93). Few languages, if any, have distinct constructions for the five voices described in this chapter—few languages, for instance, display distinct antipassive or inverse voice forms—although all languages have means for encoding the departures from prototypical transitivity that these voice constructions signal. More commonly, a given voice or detransitivizing construction in a language subsumes two or more voice functions. For example, the medio-passive category possessed by many languages, as its name implies, combines both middle and passive functions, while in other languages the passive voice subsumes inverse functions (e.g., Thompson 1994: 49; Givón 2001b: 154–155; Payne 1997: 210). Similarly, Sumerian economically organizes, in portmanteau fashion, various voice functions that share a common semantic basis under the forms of the individual conjugation prefixes. Grammatical voice in Sumerian, as given expression by the conjugation prefixes, revolves around the active, middle, and passive voices. In addition to describing these categories, in this chapter I also outline the inverse and antipassive voices, as well as focus systems as a form of pragmatic voice. My purpose in doing so is both to present a complete overview of voice phenomena and to facilitate the occasional references to these voice functions as subsumed under the Sumerian expressions of the active, middle, and passive voices. I begin with the active-passive contrast and then continue on to what are commonly considered the pragmatically based constructions—the antipassive, inverse, and focus systems. I end with a description of semantically oriented middle voice and the concept of granularity, which forms the theoretical basis for understanding the middle. Particular attention is paid to the middle and the related notion of granularity given their importance for voice in Sumerian.

linguistic background 2.9.1

73

The Active and Passive Voices

The two stage settings of the scene represented by Figs. 6-A and 6-B can be understood to have linguistic counterparts in the following respective sentences: [7] Ninurta killed Anzu. [8] Anzu was killed by Ninurta. In [7] the action of this prototypical transitive event is portrayed as devolving from the initiating Agent, Ninurta. This is the active voice—it is a view of the event from its most dynamic participant, the one who initiates and controls the action, who may bring about an effect in another participant, but who is not himself regarded as affected by the event (see further §2.9.5 for the relationship between the active voice and affectedness). Limiting the present discussion to transitive predications, the speaker uses the active voice in order to emphasize the Agent and the action that the Agent initiates (for active voice intransitives, see §§2.9.5, 3.2.2). The Object is also topical—Anzu is on stage within view of the audience—but the Object is not central to the interests of the speaker and so is less salient and topical than the Agent. In the terms of the billiard-ball model, the event represented by [7] is portrayed as unfolding logically in the regular or expected direction, beginning with the starting point, the initiating Agent, and concluding with the end point, the affected Object. And the linear ordering of words in the sentence mirrors this logical sequence of action. This is a view of the event from the perspective of the Initiator (Fig. 4). But there is also a syntactic aspect to [7] as an expression of the active voice, as it differs from [8] in terms of the argument that occupies the subject position. On one level, grammatical voice can be described as a device that selects the grammatical relation of subject from among the underlying grammatical roles of a clause (Shibatani 1988: 3). In this sense, voice is a mapping between deep grammatical roles and the surface expression of subject. As Barber describes it, “voice is a strategy to move NPs in and out of subject position” (1975: 16). In fact, a hierarchy [9] can be established that reflects the relative likelihood of a semantic role to serve as subject and control the action (Klaiman 1991: 110–111, 266; also Croft 1991: 152; Givón 2001b: 94; Hawkinson and Hyman 1974). Because of the quality of the referents that tend to occupy each role—agents are prototypically first or second person, beneficiaries and

74

chapter two

recipients are generally animate, objects inanimate, and so on—this hierarchy can be related directly to the Nominal Hierarchy (§2.2). agents have the greatest probability of serving as subjects, while the closely related roles of beneficiary and recipient outrank all others with the exception of agent. From a pragmatics perspective, this scale may also be seen as a topic accession hierarchy. As such, it reflects the likelihood of a specified semantic role to serve as a sustained topic in discourse. Again, agent is at the top of the hierarchy as the most natural topic. [9] agent > beneficiary/recipient > patient > source/goal, etc. What this suggests is that the active voice, which typically takes an agent as its subject, represents the unmarked—the basic or most natural—perspective on the event. Cognitively, the agent is the logical starting point of the event and, in the active voice, the starting point of the clause itself, assuming the initial or left-most position. The naturalness of this correlation stems from the broader observation that humans tend to organize structures around starting points—starting points typically have greater cognitive salience than end or mid-points (MacWhinney 1977). In the sentence corresponding to the second rendition of the scene, [8], the action is perceived from Anzu’s perspective—the passive voice. The focus is now upon the affected Object, while the Agent, Ninurta, having been relegated to a peripheral case, is de-emphasized. The logical sequence of action is no longer reflected in the structure of the sentence. From a formal point of view then, the passive may be said to select some non-Agent clausal participant, one that is less topical and less likely to control the action than the Agent, usually the Object, as the subject. In the passive, the Object does not become the Agent; it maintains its role as Object—it has merely been promoted, or perhaps better, remapped, to the subject position. Likewise, the Agent remains part of the verb’s lexical frame, its valence, even if it goes unexpressed (e.g., Anzu was killed ). Passives focus on the Object and the results of the event, in contrast to the active, which concentrates on the Agent and the action itself. But the passive still understands the event to be the responsibility of some external Agent. In this way, passives are regarded as derived constructions. A passive clause assumes an underlying and primary active participant. As such, the passive is marked in comparison with the active, an observation that is suggested by the notion of role remapping mentioned above and confirmed cross-linguistically by the

linguistic background

75

more complex morpho-syntax of passive constructions, as well as the distribution and frequency of the passive vis-à-vis the active (see Croft 1991: 254, with references). In terms of perspective, the passive may similarly be understood as representing a marked perspective on the event. The passive views the event from its Endpoint, taking for its vantage point some nondynamic, non-controlling, and affected Object. The direction in which the event logically proceeds conflicts with the perspective from which it is viewed. With respect to factual content, however, there is no fundamental difference between the active and the passive (see Klaiman 1991: xiii; Keenan 1985: 266). Sentences [7] and [8] satisfy the same truth conditions, they are, in the end, logically equivalent. What is at issue, as I have stressed, is perspective and the relative emphasis given to Agent and the Object. The reasons why a speaker opts to take a less intuitive perspective on an event, passing on the role that would most naturally fulfill the subject position and instead choosing a less natural one, are pragmatically motivated, reflecting the speaker’s communicative needs. As pointed out long ago by Jespersen (1924: 167–168) and more recently restated by Shibatani (1985: 830–831), a speaker’s choice of the passive is typically motivated by one of three factors: [10] a. The Agent is omitted for contextual reasons: it is either 1) unknown or unimportant; 2) non-specific and so cannot easily be stated; 3) generic or self-evident from the context; or 4) for particular reasons of sensitivity, deliberately withheld. b. Contrary to the typical case, in the particular clause in question the Object happens to be more topical or salient than the Agent. c. The passive is required in order to facilitate the joining of clauses, i.e., to create a syntactic pivot. The position taken by Shibatani, which has found wide acceptance (e.g., Forrest 1994: 147; Givón 2001b: 91; Noonan 1994: 279), is that, of these three functions, the first, the pragmatic defocusing of the Agent, is primary. In this view, the main purpose of the passive is not so much to emphasize the Object as much as to de-emphasize the Agent—foregrounding the Object is but a consequence of backgrounding the Agent. The Object or Endpoint perspective that characterizes the passive, then, is also a secondary consequence. The Agent, having lost its prominence,

76

chapter two

no longer provides a suitable vantage point from which to observe the event; the Object now fulfills this function by default, being the most salient remaining argument in the clause. Passives, therefore, may be described, somewhat ironically, as revolving around Agents as “their fundamental function,” in Shibatani’s conception, “has to do with the defocusing of agents” (1985: 831). Shibatani’s understanding of the passive finds support in the crosslinguistic observation that languages, if not outrightly prohibiting its expression altogether, generally avoid the Agent in passive constructions. English, for instance, allows for the expression of the Agent in passive sentences, as in our sentence [8], but agentless passives nevertheless outnumber passives with overt Agents by a wide margin (Shibatani 1985: 830–831).3 If the passive were primarily a means of promoting the Object, agentless passives would be left without an explanation. Further, Shibatani’s conception of the passive accounts for so-called impersonal passives, e.g., Eng. One should exercise, Gr. So etwas tut man nicht ‘That’s not done’, Fr. On peut le dire ‘One can say that’. Such sentences have an Agent, but the Agent is low in salience and topicality; being non-referential or generic, it is little more than a dummy placeholder. In fact, the Agent may be so unimportant to the context that it can be omitted from the surface expression altogether, although remaining semantically part of the clause. These are intransitive or agentless impersonal passives, e.g., Eng. There was some serious drinking last night, Sp. Se habla mucho aquí ‘There’s a lot of talking going on here’ (Kemmer 1993a: 180). Like the primary function of the passive voice, as Shibatani conceives of it, the impersonal passive serves to defocus or suppress the Agent (see Croft 1991: 260; Kemmer 1993a: 178; Payne 1997: 206; Shibatani 1988: 3). However, unlike the passive, which promotes the Object by default, the impersonal passive emphasizes the action predicated by the verb (Croft 1991: 260). Impersonal passives underscore the scalar nature of transitivity and its status as a prototype category. In the spectrum of events, impersonal passives are distant from prototypical transitive events, which are characteristically active, but are not quite as far down the scale as true (i.e.,

3 See also Jespersen (1924: 168), who notes that, for various English writers, between 70 and 94 percent of passive sentences are agentless. Similarly, Langacker and Munro (1975) note that in the Uto-Aztecan languages passives are typically or exclusively agentless. Lichtenberk (1985: 38) proposes that the overt expression of the agent in the passive may be, cross-linguistically, a secondary development from agentless passives.

linguistic background

77

agentless) passives by virtue of being compatible with a generic Agent (e.g., Eng. one, they, Fr. on, Gr. man, Eg. tw) in subject position.4 They appear at some intermediate point and suggest what is indeed known to be a fact, that there is a continuum between the active and the passive (Shibatani 1985) and that the passive, as a broad category, encompasses a range of events at the low end of the transitivity spectrum. But here we have to distinguish between semantics and pragmatics. Semantically, the passive clause exhibits no fundamental difference in transitivity, as defined by Hopper’s and Thompson’s ten parameters, from its active counterpart. The passive clause is, in fact, semantically transitive. The Agent, as I have noted, still belongs to the semantic frame of the event, even if it does not receive surface coding: the resultant state that the passive expresses is still conceptualized as owing to the actions of some underlying Agent (compare the passive Anzu was killed, which implies that some Agent is responsible for the resultant state of the subject, with intransitive Anzu died, which has no such implication). Rather, as Givón explains, the difference between the passive and its active counterpart is pragmatic perspective and the relative topicality that each voice allots to the Agent and the Object (2001b: 93; see also Shibatani 1985: 839; Croft 1991: 151). The shift in pragmatic attention and emphasis—a shift in topicality—away from the Agent who controls and initiates the action to the non-controlling and affected Object is the pragmatic correlate to a shift from the semantics of high transitivity to the semantics of low transitivity (Slobin 1994: 342). The correspondence between semantic and pragmatic detransitive voice is reflected by morphosyntactic surface-expression—both are coded by intransitive constructions. 2.9.2 The Antipassive Voice As its name suggests, the antipassive stands in opposition to the passive. Whereas the primary function of the passive is to suppress or demote the Agent, a consequence of which is the relative promotion of the Object, the antipassive serves the opposite function. Namely, the antipassive downgrades the Object, consequently further promoting the Agent (on the antipassive in general see Cooreman 1987, 1988;

4 Cf. also in Semitic the use of 3pl m. verbs with indefinite subjects corresponding functionally to the passive.

78

chapter two

Givón 2001b: 168–169). As with the passive, topicality is the critical dimension for the antipassive. In the active voice, both the Agent and the Object are topical, but the Agent is more topical—more central to the discourse—than the Object. In the antipassive, this asymmetry is exaggerated and the Object is rendered essentially non-topical. The “radical de-topicalization, suppression or demotion” (Givón 2001b: 168) of the Object is what distinguishes the antipassive from the active. Analogous to the passive, then, “the antipassive has the semantic effect of allowing events normally conceptualized as transitive actions to be alternatively conceptualized as intransitive activities” (Croft 1991: 259). Croft continues, observing that, like the impersonal passives discussed in the preceding section, “this in turn appears to have the effect of placing more pragmatic attention on the action since the endpoint of the action is completely ‘out of focus’” (Croft 1991: 259–260 [emphasis mine]). The antipassive can be seen once again as the converse of the passive, which places pragmatic attention on the resultant state and in which the Initiator of the action is completely ‘out of focus’ (see Dixon and Aikhenvald 2000:9). Consider the following pair of sentences [11] from Yup’ik, an Eskimo language spoken in Central Alaska. The first [11]a represents an active transitive construction with a topical Object in the absolutive case and a more topical Agent in the ergative case. In the antipassive construction [11]b, the expression of the downgraded Object is optional; if it is expressed, it appears in the instrumental case, while the Agent is in the absolutive and the clause is intransitive. The antipassive serves to stress the Agent and the action, paying little or no attention to the Object. [11]

a. Yero-m keme-q nerre-llru -a Yero-ERG meat -ABS eat -past-3sg ‘Yero ate the meat’ b. Yero-q (kemer-meng) nerre-llru -u -q Yero-ABS (meat -instr) eat -past-INTRANS-3sg ‘Yero ate (the meat)’ (Payne 1997: 219).

Similarly, in Chomorro [12], an Austronesian language spoken on the Mariana Islands, the antipassive [12]b, with omitted Object, emphasizes the action itself; its active counterpart [12]a, on the other hand, with overt Object, does not convey this nuance and is simply a statement of the subject’s intentions.

linguistic background

79

[12] a. Para baihu -bisita si Rosa gi espitat irr irr-1sg-visit unm Rosa loc hospital ‘I’m going to visit Rosa in the hospital’ b. Para baihu mam-bisita gi espitat -visit loc hospital irr irr-1sg AP ‘I’m going to visit somebody in the hospital’ (Cooreman 1987: 133–135; Cooreman 1988: 585–587). A speaker chooses to use the antipassive, and so de-emphasize the Object, because he deems the Object to be of only marginal interest or, perhaps, even irrelevant to the message. Analogous to the pragmatic motivations behind the use of the passive [10], the speaker may consider the Object to be unimportant, obvious, or generically predictable.5 This assessment of the Object corresponds to various semantic properties of the Object itself, properties that are essentially the same as several of those outlined in [5], which were described in connection with individuation and its effects on transitivity. Specifically, a less individuated Object—one that is indefinite or non-referential, or represents a plural, abstract, or mass quantity—is predictably a less topical Object and one that may trigger the use of the antipassive voice (Givón 2001b: 168–169). Clearly, with such Objects the transmittal of the action from Agent to Object, or energy in the billiard ball conception, is hindered. The Object is inherently less affected and so the transitivity of the clause is correspondingly decreased. It follows that there are certain aspectual correlates to the antipassive given that high transitivity corresponds to punctual, telic events and low transitivity to non-punctual, atelic events. Because of its Endpoint defocusing character and its proclivity “to emphasize the action or state-of-affairs depicted by the predicate” (Cooreman 1988: 585), the antipassive is often used to imply that an event is habitual, repetitive, or distributive—events that focus on the action itself rather than on the

5 Cooreman (1987: 132–133; 1988: 584) points out the corresponding difference in English between I love you and I’m in love with you. The former, with a direct object, stresses the importance of both the Agent and the Object. In the latter, the Object is relegated to a peripheral case and the sentence stresses the emotional state of the Agent (in Chamorro this sentence is translated with the Demoting Antipassive); the Object is of peripheral importance and can be omitted altogether, i.e., I’m in love (cf. *I love).

80

chapter two

Endpoint (Cooreman 1988: 584, 587–588). Observe, for instance, the following use of the antipassive in Quiché, a Mayan language [13]. In the first sentence, [13]a, the antipassive, with its focus on the Agent and the action, implies that the event is habitual or repetitive. Remarkably, the Object is obligatorily excluded from the clause in the antipassive. In contrast, the same sentence rendered in the active voice, [13]b, requires the overt expression of the Object. The action, in this case, is viewed as non-habitual, non-repetitive (cf. [13]a fiestas with [13]b the fiesta), and there is equal emphasis on the Agent, Object, and predicate (Mondloch 1978: 44; see Chung 1981: 316–317 and Cooreman 1987: 135 [1988: 587] for this function of the antipassive in Chamorro). [13] a. Qu -ē -k’ojoma-n lē ajk’ojom -āb pa tak imperf-3pl-play -AP the marimba player-pl at pl nimak’ īj fiesta ‘The marimba players play at fiestas’ b. Lē ajk’ojom -āb ca -qui-k’ojoma-j the marimba player-pl imperf-3pl-play -active lē k’ojom pa lē nimak’ īj the marimba at the fiesta ‘The marimba players play the marimba at the fiesta’ (Mondloch 1978: 66). 2.9.3

The Inverse Voice

In the preceding sections considerable space was devoted to how events are construed more naturally in some ways than in others. In the prototypical transitive event, as we have observed, the Agent is a volitional, animate being who affects a non-volitional, inanimate thing. That is, in terms of semantic content, the Agent ranks higher on the Nominal Hierarchy than the Object. Coupled with this is the notion that starting points have greater cognitive salience than end points and so events are typically viewed from the perspective of an initiating Agent rather than an affected Object. Hence, the active voice is unmarked vis-à-vis the passive. However, in the non-prototypical case, the expectation that the Agent is higher in animacy than the Object is not always met and this can alter the perspective from which the event is viewed. In English, an inversion of the natural Agent-Object relationship can result in a

linguistic background

81

discourse pressure to use the passive voice (note the second of three discourse factors promoting the use of the passive [10]b) and to view the event from the perspective of the more salient and topical participant. Compare the naturalness of the sentence John was hit by a car this morning with the stilted A car hit John this morning, or the preferable He was killed by lightning with Lightning killed him. In both cases, the Agent, lacking animacy and so volition, represents a considerable departure from the Agent prototype, yet is responsible for the action. Lightning and cars can, in a sense, only be considered quasi-agents (see DeLancey 1984; Jespersen 1924: 163). Because the Objects are more animate than the Agents—indeed, the Objects are more Agent-like than the Agents themselves—there is a pressure to assign them to the subject position. English, among other languages, may optionally use the passive when an Agent ranks lower on the Nominal Hierarchy than an Object and thus maintain the “natural direction of information flow” (Payne, Hamaya, and Jacobs 1994: 284), presenting the more animate argument before the less animate one as in the typical active sentence. The pressure to fill the subject position with the most animate participant is thereby relieved. In some languages, however, the expectation that an event will proceed in what Klaiman refers to as the “ontologically expected direction” (Klaiman 1991: 168) is grammaticalized and there is a distinct voice system for acknowledging the relative positions of Agent and Object along the Nominal Hierarchy. In direct-inverse voice systems, the direct voice —the active voice under a different name—is used when the action proceeds in the unmarked direction, when the Agent is more animate than the Object. Conversely, an inverted, that is, anomalous Agent-Object relationship, one in which the Object outranks the Agent in animacy, triggers the use of the inverse voice. Naturally, a deviant Agent-Object relationship with respect to the Nominal Hierarchy has the effect of reducing the transitivity of the clause (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 273). Take, for instance, the direct-inverse voice system exhibited in Algonquian languages (Forrest 1994; Klaiman 1991: 32–33, 162–163; Payne 1997: 211–213). As will be recalled from the discussion of the Nominal Hierarchy, first and second persons are more topical and more agentlike—they are more animate—than third-person arguments. In Cree [14], when the verbal event proceeds in the expected direction and a SAP acts upon a non-SAP (i.e., a third-person argument), the verb is obligatorily marked as direct [14]a and bears the suffix -ā. However,

82

chapter two

when the action proceeds in the opposite direction, with a non-SAP referent acting upon a SAP, then the inverse voice is triggered [14]b and the verb must be marked with the suffix -iko. [14] a. Ni-sēkih-ā -nān atim 1 -scare-DIRECT -1pl dog ‘We scare the dog’ b. Ni-sēkih-iko -nān atim 1 -scare-INVERSE -1pl dog ‘The dog scares us’ (Klaiman 1991: 32, 162). Similarly, note the direct-inverse contrast in Nocte (Naga) [15], a TibetoBurman language. The direct voice [15]a is unmarked, while the inverse voice [15]b is marked by the suffix -h-. Observe that in both cases, the verb agrees (i.e., the suffix -ang) with the first-person argument; in [15]a this is the Agent, in [15]b the Object. [15] a. nga-ma ate hetho -ang 1 -erg 3 teach -1sg ‘I will teach him’ b. ate-ma nga-nang hetho-h -ang 3 -erg 1 -acc teach -INV-1sg ‘He will teach me’ (Payne 1997: 210). In both examples [14] and [15], the direct voice signals that the Agent, as per expectations, is more animate than the Object. The inverse voice, however, serves to alert the addressee to the unusual fact that the Object is higher in animacy and that, consequently, the verb agrees with the Object rather than the Agent. In other words, in terms of the action chain, in direct-inverse systems the choice of Initiator or Endpoint as subject is dependent upon which is higher in animacy, while the lower animacy participant defaults to the role of object (Croft 1991: 250). Similar to the passive then, the inverse fulfills a detransitivizing role by defocusing the Agent. As Payne describes it, “The semantic effect of a prototypical inverse construction is to downplay the centrality of the agentive participant with respect to the more patient-like participant” (1997: 209–210). The difference between inverses and passives is that the inverse construction does not downgrade the Agent to the same degree as the passive. Consequently, inverse constructions typically include overt Agents, while most languages prohibit or discourage Agents in passive clauses.

linguistic background

83

Direct-inverse voice systems may also be pragmatically organized and dependent upon the relative topicality of the Agent and Object. Of course, no rigid distinction between semantic and pragmatic inverse systems can be claimed, since animacy correlates with topicality. In general, the pragmatic functions of the inverse are limited to instances in which both the Agent and Object are third person. The direct-inverse voice system attested in Algonquin, for instance, a system that can be described as centering on the semantics of Agent and Object, can be expanded, as Forrest explains, to take on more pragmatic functions involving third-person arguments (1994: 148). Algonquian languages make a distinction on the basis of the topicality of the third-person clausal participants: the more topical third-person participant is iconically referred to as the proximate argument, while the less topical thirdperson participant is referred to as the obviate argument. Proximate and obviate marking then is a binary system for grammaticalizing topicality, it is an assessment of which of two arguments, Agent or Object, is more central to the speaker’s attention (Klaiman 1991: 195). When the proximate argument is the Agent and acts upon a less topical obviate, the direct is used; when the obviate acts upon a proximate, the inverse is employed. The purpose of the inverse is to reflect that the Object, contrary to conventional expectations, is more topical than the Agent. In the following example from Cree [16], “the other” glosses the less topical, obviate argument; when the obviate argument is the Agent, the verb includes the inverse theme -ik. [16] a. Wāpam-ēw see -3obv ‘He (prox) sees the other (obv)’ b. Wāpam-ik see -INVERSE ‘The other (obv) sees him (prox)’ (Klaiman 1991: 192, 195). Unlike the passive, however, in which the Agent is “radically suppressed” and so can be omitted, the Agent of the inverse remains topical; it is simply less topical than the Object (Givón 2001b: 155). These qualities of direct and inverse voices allow them to serve as narrative devices in some languages, signaling a switch in subject: the active or direct voice is used as long as the more topical (i.e., the proximate) participant is the subject; when the less topical (i.e., the obviate) participant becomes the subject for short narrative stretches, the inverse is used (Givón 2001b: 157; Klaiman 1991: 198).

84

chapter two

As this characterization suggests, for many linguists, including Givón (1994), the inverse is principally a pragmatic notion. Topicality, in this view, is the common denominator behind pragmatic and semantic inverses.6 And, as we have seen, topicality underlies the active, passive, and antipassive voices as well. Upon the basis of this primary pragmatic notion, the active/direct and these three detransitive voices may be schematically described as follows: Table 2. Relative Topicality of Agent and Object in the Active/Direct, Antipassive, Inverse, and Passive Voice Constructions (Givón 2001b: 155, after Cooreman 1987). voice

relative topicality

Active/Direct Antipassive Inverse Passive

Agt > Obj Agt >> Obj Obj > Agt Obj >> Agt

Table 2 balances the relative topicality of the Agent and the Object in the four voice types discussed in §§2.9.1–2.9.3 for the semantically transitive clause. Pragmatically, the unmarked active/direct can be described as a voice construction in which both the Agent and the Object are topical, but the Agent is more topical than the Object. The antipassive magnifies this asymmetry by demoting the Object and rendering it minimally topical or altogether non-topical. Remarkably, it is the inverse, rather than the passive, that is the converse of the active/direct: the Agent and the Object are again both topical, but in the inverse the Object is markedly more topical than the Agent (note that in both the active/direct and inverse, both Agent and Object are, typically, overtly coded). Finally, there is the passive, which stands in polar opposition to the antipassive. In the passive, the Agent is severely downgraded and apportioned minimal or zero topicality. Consequently, the Agent is typically omitted, while in antipassive it is the Object that is frequently dropped from the surface expression (see Forest 1994: 149–150; Givón 2001b: 93–94).

Thus, with regard to semantic inverses, Givón comments, “In many languages, inversion is triggered obligatorily by the reversal of generic semantic ‘norms’ for agents vs. patients. These ‘norms’ involve the inherent topicality of several semantic or grammatical categories” (2001b: 156). 6

linguistic background

85 O

O

A

A

V

V

Figure 7-A. Active/Direct Perspective.

Figure 7-B. Antipassive Perspective.

A A

O

V Figure 7-C. Inverse Perspective.

O

V Figure 7-D. Passive Perspective.

The relationships between these four voices can be recast in terms of the stage model with which we began the discussion of voice (Fig. 7). There are two voice perspectives, the active/direct and the antipassive (Figs. 7-A and 7-B respectively), that highlight or foreground the Agent vis-à-vis the Object. The difference between them is a matter of degree. In the active-direct, both Agent and Object can be viewed on-stage, but in the antipassive, the Object is barely, if at all, visible to the audience. Then there are the two voice perspectives in which the Object is brought to center stage: the inverse and the passive (Figs. 7-C and 7-D respectively). In discussing sentence [8] (Anzu was killed by Ninurta) I identified the passive with the scene depicted by Fig. 7-C (= Fig. 6-B). However, once we take into account the distinction between

86

chapter two

the relative topicality of the Object that distinguishes the passive from the inverse, Fig. 7-C is more appropriately matched to the inverse. In the inverse, the Agent is topical; it has a certain on-stage presence even though it is surpassed in topicality by the Object, which occupies center stage. The passive, then, with its extreme suppression of the Agent, is to be identified with Fig. 7-D, a mise-en-scène in which the Agent is only marginally visible. 2.9.4

Focus Systems as a Pragmatic Voice Phenomenon

The passive, antipassive, and inverse voices have been presented as essentially pragmatic phenomena, although each has a considerable semantic component in that the pragmatic options closely correlate with the “ontological semantics” of the arguments involved. This was particularly clear in the case of the semantically motivated inverse voice. Similarly, the pragmatic choice of the passive or antipassive often corresponds to the semantic properties of the Agent and Object. There exists, however, a system of voice oppositions that, like the pragmatic inverse, may, more or less, be described as driven by purely pragmatic factors, being largely independent of semantic criteria. Such systems, commonly referred to as focus systems, such as those famously known from Philippine languages, signal an argument’s “centrality or noncentrality to speaker/hearer concerns, interests and expectations” (Klaiman 1991: 227). Often coexisting with other voice constructions, focus systems, as the name implies, are a means by which a speaker may highlight or emphasize a particular nominal, bringing it to center stage in the context of discourse. Cebuano [17], a Philippine language, for instance, attests a series of prepositional particles that mark nouns reflecting their semantic role in the clause. The various types of focus or voice—Actor (A), Goal (G), Directional (D), and Instrumental (I)—are indicated by indexing the role of the nominal that occurs with the focus particle (Klaiman 1991: 247; Shibatiani 1988: 88–89); each of the first three sentences [17]a–c have the same meaning content, but differ in the nominal that is emphasized or focused. Sentence [17]d exemplifies the focus of the instrumental argument.

linguistic background

87

[17] a. Nihatag si Juan sa libro sa bata A(VOICE)-give FOCUS Juan G book D child ‘Juan gave the book to the child’ b. Gihatag ni Juan ang libro sa bata G(VOICE)-give A Juan FOCUS book D child ‘Juan gave the book to the child’ c. Gihatag -an ang bata ni Juan sa libro D(VOICE)-give -D(VOICE) FOCUS child A Juan G book ‘Juan gave the child the book’ d. Ihiwa ang kutsilyo sa mangga ni Maria G mango A Maria I(VOICE)-cut FOCUS knife ‘Maria cut the mango with the knife’ (Klaiman 1991: 247; Shibatani 1988: 88–89). 2.9.5

The Middle Voice

If grammatical voice is “the most complex grammar-coded functional domain in language” (Givón 1994: 3), then by this same criterion pride of place within this domain must go to the middle, the most intricate of the voices. I begin the discussion of this elusive category with Lyons’ description, which, because of its clarity and concision, remains, after forty years, the conventional springboard for investigating the middle voice. Lyons characterizes the middle as an indication that “the ‘action’ or ‘state’ affects the subject of the verb or his interests” (Lyons 1968: 373). In this, the middle stands in contrast to the active, which views the subject as the agent or doer of the action. Similar characterizations have been put forth by others. Benveniste, for instance, describes verbs in the active as denoting “a process that is accomplished outside the subject,” while in the middle, “the verb indicates a process centering in the subject, the subject being inside the process” (Benveniste 1971: 148). Indeed, it is a characterization that is already implicit in the work of Pā ini, who for Sanskrit drew a distinction between the parasmāi padam ‘word for another’, or the active voice, e.g., yajati ‘he is sacrificing (for another as a priest)’ and the ātmane padam ‘a word for one’s self ’, or the middle voice, e.g., yajat-e ‘he is sacrificing (for himself, as the one making the offering)’ (Benveniste 1971: 146; Whitney 1896: 200). The middle voice, as its name suggests, was conceived in early grammatical tradition as being, in some sense, intermediate, a compromise category standing between the polar extremes of the active and passive voices. Depending on the semantics of the verb in question, the middle could

88

chapter two

signify action, like the active, or the resultant state like the passive (Lyons 1968: 373). What is common to all characterizations of the middle voice is that the subject is perceived as being, mentally or physically, affected by the action he initiates. In recent linguistic parlance this semantic property is commonly labeled subject affectedness (Barber 1975; Kemmer 1993a, 1994; Klaiman 1988, 1991). The active, however, does not necessarily signal the absence of this property. Many events construed as active crosslinguistically can be seen as impinging in some way upon the subject. This is certainly true of many intransitives that are marked as actives, such as the Classical Greek manner of motion verbs badízō ‘walk’, didráskō ‘run’, hérpō ‘creep’, among others, which occur only in the active voice (Allan 2003: 243–247; see §3.2.2). And it is also true of many transitive verbs, such as the Classical Greek verbs of eating and drinking, which are mostly construed as actives (Allan 2003: 26). Thus, rather than being understood as an express indication that the subject is unaffected by the action, the active—in opposition to the middle—is more accurately described as neutral to the notion of subject affectedness. The definitions of the middle voice given above, broadly stated as they are, allow for a spectrum of functions, ranging from the expression of the reflexive, the reciprocal, and the passive to those that are more lexically determined. In all instances there is an identity between the subject and an object, either direct or indirect, with the subject being affected by the action undertaken. Lexically, the middle voice has two basic, although hardly exclusive, functions. First, the middle voice marker often accompanies verbs that may be described as inherently middle. These are predicates that by virtue of their lexical semantics imply a degree of subject affectedness. In these cases the middle voice marker merely reflects what is already semantically present in the verb. For instance, in many languages verbs of obtaining and receiving are middle marked since the subject benefits from the action, serving as both agent and recipient. Also to be counted here are verbs that are intrinsically reflexive, such as body-action verbs of the type sit, stand, speak and verbs of emotion, for instance, cry, laugh, etc. in which the effects of the action clearly accrue back to the subject (Croft, Shyldkrot, and Kemmer, 1987: 190–191; Croft 1991: 256). An enumeration of the classes of verbs that are commonly middle-marked is given below (Table 3). Second, the middle may functionally add the property of subject affectedness to a verb that does not lexically possess this quality as in the Sanskrit example given above ( yajati vs. yajat-e).

linguistic background

89

Affectedness in these cases is an umbrella term that only acquires a specific meaning when combined with a given verb in a particular context (Bakker 1994: 24–25; Rice 2000: 191–192). In this function, the middle represents a pragmatic option that is a function of the speaker’s desire to construe the event as affecting the subject. In terms of orientation and perspective, the middle voice is an Endpoint oriented category. It does not emphasize the subject’s qualities as initiator and controller of the action, for this is the functional domain of the active voice, but the subject’s affectedness as a result of the action. While it is true that in the middle “the action notionally devolves from the standpoint of the most dynamic or Agent-like participant in the depicted situation,” as Klaiman observes, it is also true that this “same participant has Patient-like characteristics as well, in that it sustains the action’s principal effects” (1991: 3). It is this latter characteristic that is the critical difference between the active and middle voice perspectives on the event. The Endpoint orientation of the middle is most clearly demonstrated by some of its more extreme manifestations as attested cross-linguistically. Syntactically, the middle voice is often called upon to fulfill the role of the passive, the Endpoint category par excellence, while lexically, the middle can alter the perspective of certain verbs, framing the event from its end, rather than its starting point. Croft, Shyldkrot, and Kemmer, for instance, cite Classical Greek, Somali, Amharic, and Fula (see [22] below) as languages that use the middle voice marker to lexically derive the term for borrow from that for lend (1987: 180). The former is an Endpoint notion, it takes the downstream recipient as the subject; lend, in contrast, is an Initiator notion, taking the logical starting point of the event, the lender—that is, the upstream agent—as the subject (see §§2.1, 5.1.4). Similarly, for Creek (Muskogean), Martin observes that the middle frames the event from the end point, shifting attention from causes to effects vis-à-vis the active (2000: 381, 400–401). I begin the exemplification of the middle voice by describing its functions in Indo-European, the language family for which the middle was first described and in which to this day it is the best understood. However, as we shall see, much of what characterizes the middle voice in the classical Indo-European languages has cross-linguistic applicability. The functions that describe the Indo-European middle have been found time and again in a wide cross-section of unrelated languages and so speak fundamentally to the nature of the middle voice as a linguistic phenomenon.

90

chapter two

Consider the Classical Greek sentences given in [18]. The active form loúō ‘I am washing (s.th.)’ contrasts with the forms with the middle marker (in bold). The middle voice verb can correspond to the reflexive [18]b or to the reciprocal [18]c, but it may also take an object that is distinct from the subject [18]d. This last function is referred to variously as the self-benefactive middle, the indirect middle, or the indirect reflexive because the subject does something for ‘for him/herself ’ and therefore serves additionally as a beneficiary or recipient of the action (Bakker 1994: 36; Barber 1975: 17–18; Kemmer 1993a: 17). Barber draws a connection between the self-benefactive middle and “middly” colloquial expressions in English of the type I bought me a new hat or I fixed me a sandwich, which serve to stress the subject’s involvement in the action. Similarly, Smyth (1956: 390) broadly describes the object of the middle as relating to the “sphere” of the subject, a fitting metaphor that embraces all cases in which a middle-marked verb takes an object: the object either belongs to the subject in the sense of ownership or possession (e.g., loúo-mai t?s cheîras ‘I wash my hands’), or it can be conceived as moving toward (e.g., ‘to send for s.th.’) or away (e.g., ‘to sell s.th.’) from the sphere of the subject. True to its name, the middle can take an agentive subject like the active or a non-agentive subject like the passive (Lyons 1968: 374). But the middle voice is truly middle in a deeper sense, representing a compromise between the active and the passive, for even when it takes an agentive subject, as in [18]d, the effects of the action are seen as recoiling back to the subject. [18] a. loúō b. loúo-mai c. louó-metha d. loúo-mai khitºna

‘I am washing (s.th.)’ ‘I am washing (myself)’ ‘We wash ourselves’ or ‘We wash each other’ ‘I am washing (my) shirt (for my benefit)’ (Klaiman 1988: 32 and Lyons 1968: 373).

More broadly, the underlying notion of subject affectedness accounts for the entire range of uses of the Greek middle (see Smyth 1956: 390–394). These include certain lexicalized uses or middle deponents—verbs that occur only in the middle voice and do not have active counterparts—which often express the subject’s physical or mental disposition (including verbs of perception), for instance, the equivalents of ‘jump’, ‘dance’, ‘wish’, ‘think’, ‘perceive’, ‘see’, etc. With verbs that have both active and middle forms, the middle stresses the

linguistic background

91

Agent’s conscious participation, either physically or mentally, in the event, e.g., bouleúein ‘plan’ vs. bouleúe-sthai ‘deliberate’; skopeîn ‘look at’ vs. skopeî-sthai ‘consider’; haireîn ‘take’, haireî-sthai ‘choose’ (Smyth 1956: 392–393). Similarly, with verbs belonging to a common semantic class, the middle-marked verb may denote the subject’s more intense involvement in the event, a “more vigorous participation on the part of the subject” (Smyth 1956: 391), compared to its active counterpart, e.g., seúe-sthai ‘dart’ vs. théein ‘run’. The difference between a middle verb and its active counterpart is often an issue of transitivity when the former is intransitive. An increase in valence, and with it transitivity, results in a change from middle to active and a rearrangement of the relationship between the subject and the event: in the middle the subject is interior to the event, affected by its process; in the active, the subject is exterior, he initiates the process but is regarded as unaffected by it, e.g., koimâ-tai ‘he sleeps’ vs. koimâi ‘he puts (s.o.) to sleep’, similarly, Sans. vardhat-e ‘he increases’ vs. vardhati ‘he increases (s.th.)’ (Benveniste 1971: 149). When surface transitivity is not at issue and the active and middle forms are both syntactically transitive or intransitive, the middle emphasizes the subject’s interest or involvement in, or benefit from the action—meanings that fall under the broad self-benefactive function of the middle. Thus, there is práttō khr¶mata ‘I accomplish (manage) things’ vs. prátto-mai khr¶mata ‘I accomplish (manage) things for myself ’ (‘I make money’), dºra phérei ‘he bears gifts’ vs. dºra phére-tai ‘he bears gifts which involve himself (i.e., he carries away gifts which he has received)’, and, with an intransitive verb, politeúō ‘I am a citizen’, ‘I have civic rights’ vs. politeúo-mai ‘I act as a citizen’, ‘I carry out my civic rights for myself ’ (Barber 1975: 18; Benveniste 1971: 149). Further, often it is the activemiddle contrast that expresses the type of lexical oppositions mentioned previously, in which the middle frames the event from its end point, e.g., misthoûn ‘to give on hire’ vs. misthoû-sthai ‘to take on hire’; daneízein ‘to lend’ vs. daneíze-sthai ‘to borrow’; similarly, Sans. dāti ‘he gives’ vs. ā-dāti ‘he receives’ (Benveniste 1971: 151). As pointed out above, middles may also “do duty as passives” (Smyth 1956: 394). Kemmer points to Greek epaíon-to ‘they were struck’, the middle voice counterpart of épaion ‘they struck’ as well as Icelandic heyri-st ‘be heard’, from heyra ‘hear’ (1994: 180; see Smyth 1956: 394). Similarly, in Sanskrit, while the middle may not directly express the passive, “the function or functions it encodes happen to be compatible with the meaning of the passive” (Klaiman 1991: 85). What joins the

92

chapter two

middle to the passive is the common property of subject affectedness. Of course, in many languages the passive and middle voices are not formally distinguished (e.g., Akkadian), but instead a portmanteau category, the medio-passive, does the duty of both. Indeed, for many of these languages, the passive is a secondary development, a diachronic outgrowth of the middle voice, as has often been claimed for IndoEuropean. The primary voice opposition in these cases is, or was originally, not between the active and the passive, but between the active and the middle, with the middle subsuming the functions of the passive without formal distinction between the two (Barber 1975: 16; Lyons 1968: 373–374; also Klaiman 1988: 36; 1991: 45, 84; Shibatani 1988: 3–4). Because the middle voice has a universal basis in the form of the semantic property of subject-affectedness, the primary functions of the middle exemplified above by Classical Greek and Sanskrit find close cross-linguistic correlates. Consider the voice system evidenced in Tamil, a Dravidian language. Tamil exhibits what is traditionally referred to as a strong-weak verbal opposition, but which has been described in functional literature (Klaiman 1991: 69–82) as a basic voice system in which the strong voice corresponds to the active, and the weak voice to the middle. The weak voice denotes that the subject is “the locus of principal effects of the verbally denoted action,” while the strong voice signals that the “action’s principal effects devolve upon some other argument” (Klaiman 1991: 72). In addition to verbs that can be categorized as either weak or strong, Tamil has a class of verbs that alternate depending on whether the subject is affected by the event. This distinction is borne out by [19]. In [19]a the speaker chooses the weak voice, as Klaiman observes, in order to portray the embrace event in such a way “as to emphasize or focus on the emotive involvement or affectedness of the subject,” while in [19]b the speaker chooses the strong voice “consistent with a nuance of the object as the most affected party” (1991: 77). [19] a. Tāy ku antaiyai a ain -tu mother-nom child-acc embrace-WEAK PTCPL ko u a utāŀ take-ptcpl cried ‘The mother, embracing the child, wept’

linguistic background

93

b. Tāy ku antaiyai a ai -ttu mother-nom child-acc embrace-STRONG PTCPL nerukkināŀ engulfed ‘The mother, embracing the child, engulfed it’ (Klaiman 1991: 77–78). Similarly, the Na-Dene family, which includes Athapaskan languages such as Navajo, possesses a classifier referred to as the D-element, which, from a typological perspective, is better described as a middle voice marker (Thompson 1996). With canonically transitive events [20]a ([20] represents the Na-Dene language Ahtna) the change to the D-element [20]b reflects a change in the focus of the actions’ ultimate effects, signaling a shift from direct object to indirect object. In other words, one of the uses of the D-element is to express the self-benefactive middle. Additionally, as in Indo-European, the Na-Dene middle-voice marker in the form of the D-element is also used to code reflexives and reciprocals, as well as various passive constructions. [20] a. i -ze -ł -ghaen [no D-element] 3obj-perf-CL-kill ‘S/he killed it’ b. i’ -d -de -l -ghaen [D-element] 3obj-th-perf-CL-kill ‘S/he killed it for her/his own benefit’ (Thompson 1996: 357). Likewise the middle voice in Fula (Niger-Congo) shares some major characteristics with the Indo-European middle (Arnott 1956; Klaiman 1991: 47–69). The broad notion of subject-affectedness, the defining property of the middle voice, finds specific manifestation in various Fula reflexive constructions, the expression of the self-benefactive middle [21]b, and, relatedly, deictic-lexical derivations [22] of the type described above, in which an Endpoint-oriented notion, in this case the term for borrow [22]b is derived from that for loan [22]a, an Initiatororiented notion, by the inclusion of the middle marker (cf. the use of the passive in [22]c).7

7 Similarly, note Fula wu y-ii ‘lend’ vs. middle wu y-ake ‘borrow’; fe y y-a ‘advance (money)’ vs. middle fe y y-o ‘borrow (money)’ (see Arnott 1956: 137; Croft, Shyldkrot, and Kemmer 1987: 180).

94

chapter two

[21] a. o res -ii ±um he deposit-general past active it ‘He set it down, deposited it on the ground’ b. o res -ake ±um he deposit-GENERAL PAST MIDDLE it ‘He put it on deposit (for his own future use)’ (Klaiman 1991: 62). [22] a. nyamlu -Ø -de loan/borrow-active-inf ‘to loan (to someone)’ b. nyaml -aa -de loan/borrow-MIDDLE-inf ‘to borrow, receive something as a loan’ c. Ali nyaml -aama -kaalis Ali loan/borrow-GENERAL PAST PASSIVE-money ‘Ali has been loaned some money’ (Klaiman 1991: 49). As described at the outset of this section, the middle can be roughly described as having a two-fold lexical function. The middle marker can add the property of subject affectedness, as in the self-benefactive middle, when it is not part of the lexical-semantics of the verb, or it can index this property when it is intrinsic to the meaning of the verb, emphasizing or simply reflecting subject affectedness as denoted lexically. This second function suggests that it is possible to compose an inventory of situation types that are commonly middle marked across languages. This is precisely what Kemmer (1993a, 1994) has done in her typological comparison of the middle voice systems in thirty languages of various genetic and areal affiliations. Kemmer identifies ten basic situation types, or semantic classes of verbs—beyond the expression of the passive and other functions of the middle that are traditionally regarded as syntactic8 and beyond the ad hoc uses of the self-benefactive middle—that are frequently marked by middle morphology cross-linguistically. These classes of verbs are given in Table 3, with examples representing a wide cross-section of languages. In each case, the subject of the action is in some way affected by the event that he initiates. Kemmer (1993a: 20, 83–84) also includes here what she refers to as the logophoric middle, a relatively rare use of middle markers occurring with reportive verbs in some languages. In this function the middle serves to overtly mark co-reference between participants in main and dependent clauses. Specifically, in languages that exhibit this function, in a clause of the type, Bob said he will quit his job tomorrow, there would be a grammatical means of marking the co-reference between Bob and he. 8

linguistic background

95

Table 3. Typical Middle-Marked Situation Types (after Kemmer 1993a [16–20]; 1994 [182–183]). 1. Grooming or body care:

‘wash’ ‘get dressed’ ‘shave’

2. Change in body posture:

‘apply ointment to o.s.’ ‘sit down’

-pæs-æ lavo-r ber-dandan klœða-sk borotvál-kozsich rasieren a kt-e

Djola (Niger-Congo) Latin Bahasa Indonesia Old Norse Hungarian German Sanskrit

lak-æ daga-adhi

Djola Guugu Yimidhirr (Australian) Quechua, Ayacucho (Amerind) Bahasa Indonesia Hungarian German Classical Greek Kanuri (NiloSaharan)

tiya-ku-y ‘kneel down’ ‘rise, get up’ ‘lie down’ 3. Non-translational motion (movement w/o a change in location):

4. Translational motion (self-induced motion along a path):

‘stretch one’s body’

ber-lutut emel-kedsich hinlegen kl≈ne-sthai tàn-t-în

‘turn’

snúa-st reverto-r trépe-sthai bóngwa-na ‘bow’ sich verbeugen ‘shake (the head)’ hrista-sk ‘climb up’ i-nu-xa madha-adhi

‘go away’

5. Cognition middle:

s’en aller ganga-sk ‘come’ s’en venir koma-sk ‘walk, stroll’ ber-djalan ‘travel’ veho-r ‘fly’ péte-sthai ‘know, learn’ yacha-ku-y ‘be cogitating’ ber-pikir ‘cogitate, reflect’ ku ti-yanakanyela ‘think over, consider’

-i-sala

Icelandic Latin Classical Greek Lingala (Niger-Congo) German Old Norse Pangwa (Niger-Congo) Guugu Yimidhirr

French Old Norse French Old Norse Bahasa Indonesia Latin Classical Greek Quechua, Ayacucho Bahasa Indonesia Changana(NigerCongo) Pangwa

(continued on next page)

96

chapter two

Table 3 (cont.)

6. Emotion middle:

7. Emotive speech actions:

‘ponder, meditate’ ‘think’ ‘believe’ ‘get a shock or fright’ ‘be/become frightened’ ‘be angry’ ‘grieve, mourn’ ‘complain’

‘lament’

Other speech ‘confess’ actions (with emotional overtones): ‘admit one’s guilt’ ‘be boastful, a braggart’ ‘boast’ 8. Self-benefactive ‘acquire’ middle: ‘acquire, lay claim to’ ‘acquire for o.s.’ ‘get’ ‘take for o.s.’ ‘ask, request’ 9. Spontaneous events: ‘germinate, sprout’ ‘grow’ ‘turn green’ ‘originate, occur’ ‘die’ ‘become, change into’ ‘come to a stop’ ‘perish, end, die’ ‘shine’ ‘vanish’ ‘recover’

medito-r

Latin

þykkja-sk mat ahay dumba-adhi

Old Norse Mohave (Hokan) Guugu Yimidhirr

sich fürchten

German

mat iθa:v irasco-r bán-kodquero-r

Mohave Latin Hungarian Latin

a-ci-ku i-ni olophùre-sthai döv-ün k pat-e mat kuna:v fateo-r

Tarascan (Amerind) Classical Greek Turkish Sanskrit Mohave Latin

-i-lumba

Pangwa

àwùlò-t-în

Kanuri

dicse-keded-in

Hungarian Turkish

eigna-sk

Old Norse

ktâ-sthai apīsco-r ku ti-tekela kéredz-kedku ti-milela

Classical Greek Latin Changana Hungarian Changana

vardhat-e grøna-sk kelet-kezmorio-r mat ičo

Sanskrit Old Norse Hungarian Latin Mohave

ber-henti óllu-sthai ganda-adhi s’évanouir jampi-ku-y

Bahasa Indonesia Classical Greek Guugu Yimdhirr French Quechua, Ayacucho

(continued on next page)

linguistic background

97

Table 3 (cont.) 10. Naturally reciprocal events:

‘embrace’

ölel-kez-

Hungarian

‘wrestle’ ‘meet’ ‘converse, agree’ ‘speak together’

amplecto-r ber-gumul hitta-sk yirrga-adhi sa vadat-e

Latin Bahasa Indonesia Old Norse Guugu Yimidhirr Sanskrit

It must be emphasized that this is a list of situation types that are typically middle-marked and that there exists a great deal of variation across languages. Moreover, there are often considerable idiosyncrasies within languages: verbs belonging to a common lexico-semantic class may differ, for no transparent reason, with respect to middle marking; or for a given verb, native speakers may discern little or no significant difference between its middle-marked and non-middle-marked forms. As for the former circumstance, Kemmer observes that in some dialects of German the verbs for ‘sit down’ and ‘lie down’ are middle marked, i.e., sich hinsetzen and sich hinlegen respectively, while a common equivalent for ‘stand up’ is not, i.e., aufstehen. Similarly, in Changana, a Bantu language, ‘be/become happy’ (ku ti-tsakela) is middle marked, but ‘be/become angry’ (ku hundzuka) lacks middle marking (Kemmer 1993a: 21). As for the latter case—the well-attested semantic overlap between middle and non-middle marked forms—Kemmer points out, among other evidence for the phenomenon, that for many French speakers, both le glace fond and le glace se fond are possible renderings for ‘the ice melts’ (Kemmer 1993a: 21; see also Kemmer 1994: 185). A similar overlap in meaning between unmarked and middle marked forms is encountered with the Hungarian deadjectival verbs merészel and merész-ked-, both having the basic meaning ‘dare’.9 2.9.6 Granularity and the Relative Elaboration of Events Fundamental to human cognition is the ability to conceptualize experience at different levels, to process the world around us to varying degrees of specificity and detail. The notion of granularity (Hobbs 1985)—the rendering of reality to a more coarse- or fine-grained level—is introduced

9

I thank Ferenc Csirkes for providing me with this Hungarian parallel.

98

chapter two

to describe this basic characteristic of cognition, and so, of natural language (see Croft 1991: 163–164; Kemmer 1993a: 209–120). When a speaker conceptualizes an event, he does so with a certain level of precision. At this given level, certain details and distinctions are deemed to be relevant and so are included in the construal while others that are considered to be irrelevant are omitted. At this arbitrary level of precision, as Croft (1991: 164) explains, some concepts are presented as irreducible even though they may be further reduced at some finergrained level of conceptualization. By choosing to reconstrue the event at this finer-grained level, additional details and distinctions emerge. Alternatively, the speaker may choose a coarser-grained level and focus upon the bare essentials of an event, ignoring much of the detail. Languages have various means of expressing granularity. One basic option is to lexically increase or decrease the level of specificity. Consider sentences [23]a and [23]b, which describe the same event and satisfy the same truth conditions, but differ with respect to granularity. [23] a. John was injured. b. Yesterday, while changing a light bulb, John fell off the ladder and twisted his ankle, causing him to fall down the stairs and hit his head against the landing. The first [23]a represents a coarser-grained conceptualization of the event and consequently much of the detail is ignored on the basis of the speaker’s judgment that it is extraneous to the context of discourse. The event, at this level of coding, is portrayed as an indivisible unit without internal structure. In contrast, the finer-grained portrayal [23]b adds temporal and contextual specification. Moreover, the subject, John, is conceptualized as a complex entity with constituent parts, rather than as an undifferentiated whole. Likewise, the event itself, presented as an atomic occurrence in [23]a, is shown in [23]b to be internally complex; it has been opened up to reveal a causal sequence of subevents (see Croft 1991: 163–164). Variation in lexical specification is simply one, particularly straightforward, means by which languages signal changes in the granularity-level at which events are conceptualized. In this section I will describe the middle voice domain, which subsumes reflexive and reciprocal situation types, as a grammatical means of expressing granularity. Specifically, the middle may be defined as representing conceptualizations of events of various grain sizes in which the distinctions between participants and

linguistic background

99

between events themselves are—reinvoking our visual metaphor—to varying degrees brought into focus or blurred in the view of the speaker. What I have to say in this section is critical to understanding the distinction between the prefixes imma- and ba-. *

*

*

Along a range of parameters, as we have seen, the middle voice can be said to represent a compromise. This is certainly true in terms of control and affectedness. In the active voice, it is the subject who controls the action, but who is not considered to be affected by it. Conversely, in the passive, the subject is affected by the action, but does not control it. The middle falls between these two extremes—the subject both controls the action and is affected by it (Croft 1991: 248; also Croft 1994: 102–103). Recast in terms of the billiard-ball model, in the active voice the subject is the Initiator, but not the Endpoint of the action; in the passive, the subject is the Endpoint, but not the Initiator. In the middle, however, the subject is both the Initiator and the Endpoint of the event (Croft, Shyldkrot, and Kemmer, 1987: 184). These descriptions suggest that voice may be dichotomous, being defined in terms of the binary parameters of control and affectedness. In fact, this is consistent with the more traditional definitions of the middle, which see it “as a strategy for marking identities between the surface subject and other NP’s in the sentence position” (Barber 1975: 17). The active-middle opposition, in this view, is dependent on whether the subject is or is not identical to the clausal object or indirect object. However, as our experience with animacy and transitivity already suggests, linguistic categories are rarely dichotomous, but are often more accurately described as continuous quantities. This too is true of voice. And we can more precisely describe the middle voice domain in particular by reformulating it as a function of scalar transitivity and the degree to which the Agent and the Object—or more broadly, the Initiator and Endpoint—are distinguished from one another. The most salient effect of the co-referentiality of the Initiator and the Endpoint of an event—a description of the middle voice that essentially stems from Lyons’ definition—is to lower the semantic transitivity of the clause. It will be recalled from the discussion of scalar transitivity (§2.4) that one of the primary characteristics of the prototypical transitive event is that the Agent is physically or conceptually distinct from the Object. The effectiveness with which the action is transmitted from Agent to Object depends heavily on the distinguishability of these two

100

chapter two

participants. Clearly, if the effects of the action are perceived to recoil back to the subject, as they do in the middle, then the transmittal is less effective than if the Object absorbs the effects of the action in their totality. In this way, the middle marks a departure from the prototypical transitive event, taking its place among the group of detransitive voices that includes the passive, the antipassive, and the inverse. Like other linguistic notions, the distinguishability of Agent and Object represents a spectrum of values, as an Agent may be more or less distinct from its Object. In linguistic literature, this notion, the measure of separation between participants, takes various forms and is recognized by various names. I have already described one manifestation of this grammatical instantiation of granularity with respect to scalar transitivity (§2.4), namely Hopper’s and Thompson’s property of individuation [5], the degree to which an Object is distinguished from its Agent and its own background. Kemmer (1993a, 1994), building upon the work of Haiman (1983), Lichtenberk (1985) and others (see also Croft [1991], Langacker [1976], Langacker and Munro [1975]) has refined this notion with respect to the middle voice, drawing a distinction between the separability of participants from one another and the separability of the individual participant from its background. Kemmer’s relative distinguishability of participants relates, as its name suggests, only to the former notion. This property does not alone describe the middle; rather it is part and parcel of a superordinate property that underlies the far-flung uses of the middle voice, the relative elaboration of events. Kemmer describes the relative distinguishability of participants as “the degree to which a single physico-mental entity is conceptually distinguished into separate participants, whether body vs. mind, or non-contrasting Agent vs. contrasting Patient [i.e., Object]” (1994: 296). The relative distinguishability of participants—or more broadly conceived, the degree to which the Initiator and Endpoint are conceptually distinct—is the parameter by which the middle may be balanced against the canonical one- and two-participant events. Because this notion involves the relative conceptual overlap of Initiator and Endpoint, it subsumes the property of subject-affectedness described in §2.9.5, while providing the further benefit of restating subject-affectedness as a graded scale of values rather than simply a binary quantity (see Kemmer 1993a: 73). If all two- and one-participant events are ordered according to participant distinguishability, the result is a graded scale (Fig. 8). This spectrum, as Kemmer explains, spans from a maximum, in which the

linguistic background Two-participant Event +

Reflexive

Middle

101 One-participant Event –

Degree of distinguishability of participants Figure 8. Relative Distinguishability of Participants for the Basic Event Types (Kemmer 1993a: 73).

Agent and Object are physically and conceptually distinct to a high degree, as exemplified by the prototypical transitive event, to a minimum, the one-participant event, in which the physical and conceptual separation between the participants is zero. There are no distinct boundaries on this scale: from left to right the separation between Agent and Object—between the controller and the affectee, between Initiator and Endpoint—gradually diminishes until there is an identity between the two and “the conceptual differentiation of Initiating and Endpoint facets is utterly non-existent” (Kemmer 1993a: 73). At this extreme, negative end of the spectrum we do not have passives. True, passives have only one focused argument, the Object, but semantically there is an underlying Agent that is still part of the event, and so passives are mid-way along the scale, in a sense like two-participant events and in a sense like one-participant events. Rather, at this terminal point we have “root intransitives,” for which there is no distinct Endpoint, “but simply one participant of which a state or action is predicated” (Kemmer 1993a: 73 and 205), for example, ‘be dead’ and ‘be green’. Clearly, the degree of distinguishability of participants correlates directly with a scale of semantic transitivity. The middle, not surprisingly, is intermediate in terms of participant separation and transitivity, being situated between the polar extremes of the two- and one-participant events, although clearly gravitating more toward the latter. More remarkable is that the reflexive displays a greater degree of distinguishability and a greater likeness to the canonical transitive event than does the middle. The reason for this is that in middle situations, the roles of the Initiator and Endpoint refer essentially to a “single holistic entity,” e.g., The tree grew, The dog died. The middle merely confirms what is expected, namely, that a single entity occupies both macroroles. The reflexive—when distinguished from the middle—contrasts in signaling “the unusual fact that the different participant roles happen to be filled by the same entity,” e.g., She dressed herself, He shaved himself (Kemmer 1993a: 66). Observe in this connection that many verbs that are commonly construed as reflexives can readily

102

chapter two

take an object that is distinct from the subject, e.g., She dressed the child, He shaved the wood, while many middle verbs cannot. The liminal status of the reflexive event, its proximity to the transitive event, explains why reflexives vary in their conceptualization cross-linguistically, in some languages being coded as transitives, with the subject “ ‘separated’ into cause and effect,” as when a reflexive pronoun serves as the Object of the clause, but in others as intransitives. The middle voice, on the other hand, is cross-linguistically closely associated with intransitives (Croft 1994: 107; see Klaiman 1991: 63). The difference in the relative conceptual separability of the reflexive and the middle is reflected iconically in morphology (Haiman 1983). Many languages possess both middle and reflexive markers. What is universally true of all such languages is that the middle marker has less phonological weight in terms of the number of segments than its reflexive counterpart (see Kemmer 1993a: 24–28). Significantly, this holds true even in cases in which the middle and the reflexive markers are historically and morphologically unrelated (Haiman 1983: 797–798; Kemmer 1993a: 25–26). Greater conceptual separation between Initiator and Endpoint is reflected in the greater phonological weight of the reflexive marker. The phenomenon is illustrated by the following Russian example. In [24]a the reflexive form represents the subject’s exhaustion as a function of his own exertions. A degree of separability is implied in the subject as Initiator and the subject as Endpoint of the event. However, in the middle-marked sentence [24]b, the event is presented as occurring spontaneously. The cause is unknown or unspecified—the event lacks an Initiator that is distinct from the Endpoint. With only one participant, the event is semantically intransitive and the distinguishability of participants is, by default, zero (Kemmer 1993a: 27). [24] a. On utomil sebja 3sg m. exhausted self (RM) ‘He exhausted himself ’ (reflexive event) b. On utomil -sja 3sg m. exhausted-MM ‘He grew weary’ (spontaneous event) (Haiman 1983: 796; Kemmer 1993a: 27).

linguistic background

103

A striking example of the iconicity between form and meaning is provided by the West African language Djola. This language possesses a “strong reflexive” or heavy form -æræ [25]a, and what Sapir (1965: 52) describes as a “qua[si] reflexive,” a light form -æ [25]b, essentially a middle marker. -pæs -æræ i -ban [25] a. ni -pæs -æræ 1sg-wash-HEAVY RM-wash-HEAVY RM 1sg-finish ‘I have finished washing myself ’ -pæs -æ i -ban b. ni -pæs -æ 1sg-wash-LIGHT RM-wash-LIGHT RM 1sg-finish ‘I have finished washing (self )’ (Sapir 1965: 52; also Kemmer 1993a: 64). As Sapir explains, the difference between the two “reflexives” is a matter of emphasis, the light form [25]b with the verb -pæs ‘wash s.th.’, implying that “‘self-washing’ is not really under consideration.” It is a distinction that is aptly captured by the French glosses to the Djola infinitival (ka-) forms, i.e., ka-pæs-æræ ‘se laver lui-même’ and ka-pæs-æ ‘se laver’ (Sapir 1965: 52). In both [24]–[25], the phonologically heavier reflexive form iconically reflects a greater conceptual separation between Initiator and Endpoint vis-à-vis its lighter counterpart. Although it is clearly a single entity in a physical sense, the subject is seen as having some internal complexity. It is an entity that is conceptually separable, a collection of component parts in which the Initiator and Endpoint are perceived to be distinct in the mind of the speaker. The heavier marker serves to alert the addressee to the otherwise unexpected co-reference of the Agent and Object, to the fact that the Agent and Object belong to a single, albeit conceptually separable, entity. This signal is necessary because “in reflexive events, the Initiator acts on itself just as it would act on another entity” (Kemmer 1993a: 66). Consider, for example, kill oneself, where the reflexive pronoun indicates the remarkable identity of Agent and Object, a departure from the prototypical transitive event that this predicate normally expresses. With the lighter middle forms, on the other hand, such an indication to the addressee is unwarranted. Implicit to the speaker’s use of the middle in [24]–[25] is that he views the subject as an indivisible atomic entity that cannot be conceptually separated into Agent- and Object-like components. The Initiator and Endpoint of the event are

104

chapter two

therefore presumed to be one and the same. And the middle marker reflects this fact. The lack of complexity of the subject from the perspective of the middle—its “lower degree of ‘conceptual weight’ ”—is iconically reflected in the lesser phonological heft that is afforded to it (Kemmer 1993a: 65–66). Much of what has been written in this section about participant distinguishability as a graded quantity can be inferred from the list of typical middle-marked situations presented in §2.9.5. In fact, Table 3 is organized, from situation type 1 through 9, according to a rough, intuitive judgment of relative participant distinguishability (see Kemmer 1993a: 67–81; 1994: 210). That is, since participant distinguishability is a scalar notion, there are gradations within the middle itself with respect to the conceptual separability of participants. For the tenth situation type in Table 3, naturally reciprocal events, distinguishability of participants is not relevant; rather, this event type is discussed below in connection with the relative elaboration of events. With the first class of verbs in Table 3, grooming and body-care events, it is possible to conceive of the event in terms of an Initiator and an Endpoint that are on some level distinct. Although obviously belonging to a common entity, there are distinguishable parts of that entity, e.g., wash one’s hair, shave one’s beard, etc. Moving down the table and, correspondingly, progressively down the scale of participant distinguishability (Fig. 9), there are change of body posture events, e.g., sit, lie, and non-translational motion events (verbs denoting movement without overall change in location), e.g., turn, bow, which are similarly reflexive but whose Agent- and Object-like facets cannot be teased apart as effortlessly as with the grooming and body-care events. Verbs of translational motion, that is, verbs denoting motion along a path, e.g., come, go, represent a further decrease in the separability of participants. Here the focus is not on doing something to the body, but the movement of the body as a whole (Kemmer 1993a: 69). Participant distinguishability is low and, expectedly, these events are most often coded as intransitives. With events of cognition, emotion, and emotive speech, e.g., ponder, get angry, lament, it is more difficult still to conceptually separate Initiator and Endpoint facets of the subject. Distinguishability is extremely low, an intuition that is corroborated by the overwhelming tendency, cross-linguistically, for these event types to be expressed by intransitive verbs (Kemmer 1994: 210). To be counted here, with a similarly low degree of distinguishability, are the self-benefactive events, e.g., acquire, obtain, as “the lack of differentiation of Initiator and

linguistic background

105

Endpoint is part of the semantics of the verb” (Kemmer 1994: 210). Also at the extreme low-end of the spectrum are spontaneous events, e.g., grow, die, sink, shine, events that by definition code only one participant and so are necessarily intransitive. Absent a distinct Initiator, as the event is portrayed as occurring independently of a specified cause, it is impossible to speak of distinguishability—it is, perforce, zero. *

*

*

The relative distinguishability of participants, as I have noted, is but one facet of a broad semantic category that underlies the middle voice: the relative elaboration of events. The former, naturally, pertains to the separability of the nominal participants in the event. The relative elaboration of events, on the other hand, subsumes this property and additionally takes into account the aspectual qualities of the action as predicated by the verb, whether an event is viewed as a single unitary whole or as a sequence of subevents. In Kemmer’s words, “Relative elaboration of events can be thought of as the degree to which different schematic aspects of a situation are separated out and viewed as distinct by the speaker.” Like the relative distinguishability of participants, this too is a continuous quantity, one in which “the speaker in effect can choose to ‘turn up’ or ‘turn down’ the resolution with which a particular event is viewed in order to highlight its internal structure to a greater or lesser extent” (1994: 211). In the foregoing discussion of the relative distinguishability of participants, the reflexive played a prominent role. Turning to the relative elaboration of events, our attention turns to its verbal correlate, the reciprocal. Whereas the middle situation types 1–9 of Table 3 can be described by an asymmetrical Agent and Object relation, reciprocal events are characterized by their symmetry: each participant in the canonical reciprocal event is both an Initiator and an Endpoint. The relevant parameter here is the structure of the event and whether it is perceived as an irreducible whole or as a collection of constituent subevents. Just as heavier phonological marking corresponds to greater participant distinguishability with respect to the reflexive, greater phonological weight in connection with reciprocal markers correlates with an increased separability of event sub-structure (Kemmer 1994: 211). An illustration of this notion is given by the following pair of sentences involving arm-wrestling, which can be described as a naturally reciprocal event by virtue of the lexical-semantics of the verb.

106

chapter two

[26] a. Jack and Joe arm-wrestled for ten minutes. b. Jack and Joe arm-wrestled with each other for ten minutes. In [26]a the event is presented as a single, unitary action, without any suggestion of internal structure. The implication is that there was a single arm wrestling bout in which Jack and Joe struggled for ten minutes. Sentence [26]b lends itself to a different interpretation, representing a different conceptualization of the event, namely, that Jack and Joe were involved in arm wrestling for ten minutes and that during this time there were several individual contests. In other words, the arm wrestling event is portrayed as having internal structure, consisting of a series of sequential subevents. Morphologically, the difference between the two sentences is the addition of the reciprocal marker each other in [26]b. Again, added phonological weight, in this case by way of adding a reciprocal marker, reflects greater distinguishability, in this case, of events. The speaker employs the reciprocal here in order to pull apart the event and reveal its internal structure (see Kemmer 1994: 114–115). The reciprocal marker signals that the event has complexity, that it is composed of series of subevents. In short, it signals a greater elaboration of events in comparison with its unmarked counterpart. In contrast to [26]a in which English provides no overt coding of reciprocity, in many languages naturally reciprocal events are marked as middles. As in the case of the reflexive, middle marking simply reflects the reciprocal quality that is inherent to the lexical-semantics of the verb. But again, as with the reflexive, many of these languages are additionally equipped with a reciprocal marker that differs from the middle marker in phonological weight. This separate reciprocal marker is always at least as heavy, and most often heavier, than the middle marker. With naturally reciprocal events the greater phonological substance of the reciprocal marker is associated iconically with a greater degree of event distinguishability vis-à-vis the middle marker (Kemmer 1993a: 120–121; see also Haiman 1983: 801–808). Compare the following German sentences: [27] a. Hans und Maria haben sich geküßt. b. Hans und Maria haben einander geküßt (Kemmer 1993a: 112). Analogous to the zero-marked English example [26]a, the use of the middle-marked form in [27]a portrays the event as an undifferentiated whole. There is a single kiss and Hans and Maria engage in it

linguistic background

107

simultaneously. Sentence [27]b, in contrast, lends itself, in the opinion of many native speakers, to an alternative conceptualization of the event. Specifically, the sentence suggests there was a sequence of kisses, two or more separate kissing actions such as would occur in a greeting (Kemmer 1993a: 111–112).10 The heavier reciprocal marker with the naturally reciprocal kiss event serves to unfurl the event, revealing an internal structure of sequential subevents. With ordinary reciprocals (verbs in which reciprocity is not part of the lexical semantics), on the other hand, the heavier marking, again paralleling the reflexive case, is often preferred in order to alert the addressee to this otherwise unexpected occurrence (e.g., *they killed cannot mean they killed each other). To return to our visual metaphor, reciprocal markers of different weights provide speakers with the grammatical means of adjusting the focal length of the lens through which the event is viewed. A heavy reciprocal marker allows one to zoom in; a light reciprocal marker allows one to zoom out (see Kemmer 1993a: 208–210, 248). As such, it would not be surprising to find light reciprocal markers—again, often related or formally identical to middle markers—used in yet other situations in which a speaker wishes to view an event from a wider perspective. And, in fact, this is the case. Cross-linguistically reciprocal or middle markers are used to mark chaining situations ( follow events, e.g., the students followed one another into the classroom); in languages that possess both light and heavy markers, the heavy one naturally implies a greater distinguishability of the individual link events. Of greater interest for our purposes, however, is the use of the reciprocal or middle markers with collective situations, as there is evidence for this in Sumerian (see §4.1.1). In collective situations the participants are conceptualized as performing an action as a group rather than as individuals. A collective marker specifies that the participants are collectively involved in the situation, conveying the notion of together. 10 Among the native German speakers with whom I have discussed [27]a–b, some see this distinction between sich and einander, while others do not (see the discussion of sich vs. einander in the Duden German language Newsletter archive from June 30th, 2006 [http://www.duden.de/deutsche_sprache/newsletter/archiv.php?begriff=sich/ einander&id=144])—I thank Nicole Brisch, Gertrud Farber, Walter Farber, and Rebecca Hasselbach for discussing this phenonmenon with me. Nicole Brisch provides the following sentences as illustrative of the differences between light and heavy marking in German (paralleling [27]a–b): Hans und Greta informieren sich ‘Hans and Greta inform themselves’ (a unitary event) vs. Hans und Greta informieren einander (Hans und Greta informieren sich gegenseitig) ‘Hans and Greta inform one another’ (two distinct informing events).

108

chapter two

Collective events share a common semantic basis with reciprocal events to the extent that each participant can be viewed as fulfilling two roles, that of Initiator and co-Initiator or “companion” of the other participants (Lichtenberk 1985: 28; see also Kemmer 1993a: 123–125; Kemmer 1993b). Often reciprocal or middle marking is used to express collective events that designate group actions with multiple participants. For instance, in Shona there is gadza ‘settle’, but with the reciprocal marker, -na, gadza-na means ‘settle down together’ (cf. rwa-na ‘fight one another’ [rwa ‘fight’]), while in Ainu the addition of the reciprocal marker u- to rešpa ‘live’, i.e., u-rešpa, denotes ‘live together’ (Lichtenberk 1985: 29; see also Kemmer 1993a: 123–125; Kemmer 1993b). Paralleling the functional distribution of heavy and light markers described above, light reciprocal or middle markers often occur with verbs that designate naturally collective events. Rather than adding meaning, the light marker reflects what is inherent to the lexical meaning of the verb, e.g., Latin misceo-r ‘assemble, unite’; Hungarian tüle-ked- ‘throng’; Old Norse flykkja-sk ‘flock together’; German sich sammeln ‘collect, gather, assemble’ (Kemmer 1993a: 125). Again, light marking iconically expresses less meaning. *

*

*

The relative elaboration of events in Kemmer’s conception is the semantic property that underlies the middle voice. It subtends the notions of Initiator and Endpoint identity—subject-affectedness, in more traditional terms—and it subtends the property of the relative distinguishability of participants. The degree to which an event is elaborated is essentially a matter of perspective and granularity. It depends upon the perceived degree of separability between Initiator and Endpoint and upon the level of detail the speaker wishes to convey, what information concerning the structure of the event he deems to be important and what information he considers to be irrelevant to his message. Figure 9 represents the middle voice perspective on events, integrating the notion of the relative distinguishability of participants (and correspondingly, of events) into the stage model that was used to schematically describe the active/direct, passive, inverse, and antipassive voices (Fig. 7). The middle is fundamentally an Endpoint-oriented category and so it is the Endpoint that takes center stage and is the primary focus of the audience. The Endpoint, of course, corresponds to the Initiator in the middle, with the effects of the event boomeranging back to the subject that initiates the event. Situations for which there is no

linguistic background

109

Figure 9. Middle Perspective.

conceptual distinguishability between Initiator and Endpoint facets of the subject, as is often the case with self-benefactive and spontaneous events (Table 3), are represented by the solid circle—the Endpoint is the Initiator. In contrast, situations for which there is some perceived degree of separation between Initiator and Endpoint are depicted by the progressively fainter broken circles, a maximal case being, for example, certain grooming and body-care events. In these cases the Initiator represents a secondary focal point of the viewer.

CHAPTER THREE

MUFunctionally, mu- revolves around high agentivity and high animacy, with all uses of the prefix being explainable, directly or indirectly, in terms of these two interrelated properties (§2.2). The prefix mu- represents the Initiator or Actor perspective on the event. It is a perspective that may be described as the marked active voice, particularly when contrasted with i-, a prefix that commonly occurs in similar environments as mu-, but that neutralizes much of the functional thrust of the latter and so may be said to express the unmarked active voice in these same contexts. When a Sumerian speaker chose to prefix the verb of the simple oneand two-participant clause with mu-, he was emphasizing the subject as the initiator and controller, literally or figuratively, of the action denoted by the verb. In comparison with imma- and ba-, mu- does not expressly indicate the subject’s affectedness by the action. This is not to say that the prefix signals that the subject is unaffected by the action. Certainly with many intransitive events, which occur commonly with mu-, the subject is affected. Rather, mu- is neutral to the property of subject affectedness. The prefix signals that the effects of the action are conceived as accumulating outside the sphere of the subject; whether or not the subject is itself affected by the action is irrelevant from the vantage point of mu- (cf. the description of active voice in Classical Greek in §2.9.5). With transitive events mu- focuses on agency and the ability of the Agent to affect an Object. For this reason, the representative or canonical use of this prefix is the expression of the prototypical transitive event (§2.4). This claim is based on the prefix’s remarkably high correlation with situations of this type. All other uses of mu- are in the image of this archetype. In other words, the uses of mu-, the situations in which it occurs, like those of the prefixes imma- and ba-, describe a prototype category, with more and less typical members being bonded by certain criterial properties (§2.3). Thus, when appearing with events that display a low degree of transitivity, mu- indicates that the speaker perceives the event as sharing some highly salient characteristics with the prototype, particularly, the perceived ability to control or initiate the action. Upon

112

chapter three

this basis, these low transitive events are modeled after the prototype, representing assimilations to it. The particular stress that mu- places on the agent, or more broadly, the starting point or Initiator of the event, at the expense of the Endpoint, has some predictable consequences. The prefix can express situations in which the Endpoint of the event is severely de-emphasized and the focus is entirely on the starting point and the initiation of the event. Similarly, in contexts in which the speaker is interested in the action itself, rather than its Endpoint, the prefix can emphasize the manner of the action. In grammar and in cognition activity and potency are notions that relate to the Initiator role, they belong to the first half of the action chain (§§2.6, 2.7), the half with which mu- is principally concerned (see Langacker 1991: 321–322, citing the psycho-linguistic semantic rating experiments of Osgood, Suci, and Tannenbaum 1957). It also follows that the prefix, in low transitivity clauses, is associated with atelic events, that is, events without a natural end point. The correlation of mu- with atelic events is naturally strongest when the subject is perceived as literally or metaphorically controlling the event, e.g., mu+zu ‘know’ in the sense of to have control or mastery over a body of knowledge (§3.2.2). Although the prefixes do not themselves signal aspect, they do, by virtue of their affiliations with different portions of the action chain, have certain aspectual associations. The prefix is also triggered by the inclusion of peripheral arguments in the clause, particularly datives, when their referents are deemed to be like prototypical Agents, the Speech-Act-Participants. Here, the correlation with mu- is directly proportional to the animacy of the referent, with the correlation being absolute in the case of the first-person dative. This phenomenon is explainable in terms of the Nominal Hierarchy and the property of empathy, the degree to which speakers identify or share common concerns with the entities under discussion (§2.2). Finally, there are the motion events, which are closely related to dative events. Again, with mu- the agent is the focal point. mu- has a ventive meaning, signaling hither-directed motion—here —the place of discourse (§2.5), the location of the prototypical agents, the SAPs. In this highly iconic system, in which the functions of mu- share a clear metaphorical relationship, this is the most concrete embodiment of Initiator or Actor focus.

MU-

3.1

113

The Prototypical Transitive Event

I begin with what I have described as the canonical environment for mu-, the exemplar to which all other uses assimilate: the prototypical transitive event. The idea is a refinement of the position that Gragg was perhaps the first to voice, namely, that mu- “represents the focus on an explicit or implicit animate agent” (1972b: 210; similarly, see Michalowski 2004: 44). In the prototypical transitive event, the primary focus is upon the Agent, who controls the action—who is volitional, animate, and highly topical—and upon the action itself. The Object, on the other hand, is out-ranked by the Agent in terms of topicality, is secondary in terms of focus, and is non-controlling, non-volitional, and completely absorbs the effects of the action. Verbs that semantically lend themselves to the high-transitivity prototype include ‘kill’, ‘destroy’, ‘smash’, ‘break’, etc., events that in Sumerian, when construed actively, appear with remarkable frequency with the prefix mu-. Also to be included here, are prototypical transitive events that take an “object of result,” an object that is brought into existence as a result of an action (see Jespersen 1924: 159–160), for instance, ‘fashion a statue’, ‘create s.th./s.o.’, ‘dig a ditch’. Object affectedness in these cases is identified with object creation. Sumerian, as is true of most languages, does not distinguish between Objects of result and conventional Objects in terms of transitivity. Most conspicuously among the verbs that correlate strongly with muis du3 ‘build’. The bond between the two hardly needs to be stressed in the case of royal inscriptions, where occurrences of mu+du3 are pervasive (here our interest lies in clauses that do not include an animate peripheral argument [for which, see §3.4]). In fact, the attestations are so common that mu+du3 ‘build s.th.’ may be seen as representative of the prefix’s association with the highly transitive event. Royal inscriptions, by their nature, stress the role of the Agent, the ruler, and the actions that he effects. When this pragmatic agenda intersects with the semantics of high transitivity as expressed by the predicate, mu- appears with overwhelming frequency, constituting one of the few contexts in which a prefix occurs with something approaching predictability. This applies not only to du3 and royal inscriptions, but holds true for all verbs that, owing to their lexical semantics and pragmatic contexts, express prototypical transitivity, as the frequent attestations of the prefix with verbs such as ba-al, dim2, gaz, ha-lam, tud, uš2, among others, suggest. Conversely, as we shall see in the following two chapters, these same

114

chapter three

verbs, when construed with imma- and ba-, represent situations that deviate significantly from the prototypical transitive event. In the following passages, the verbs du3 in the sense of ‘build (s.th.)’, tud ‘fashion (a statue)’, ‘give birth (to s.o.)’, dim2 ‘create s.o./s.th.’, baal ‘excavate (a canal)’ are coupled with the prefix mu-, exemplifying prototypical transitive events with an object of result in Sumerian. The prefix is so well attested with these verbs that few examples are necessary to make the point. [28] Ur-dNanše . . . e2 dNanše mu-du3 eš3 Gir2-su mu-du3 Ib-gal mudu3 Ki-nir mu-du3 E2-dam mu-du3 Ba-gara2 mu-du3 Abzu-eg2 mu-du3 ‘Ur-Nanshe . . . built the temple of Nanshe, built the sanctuary of Girsu, built the Ibgal, built the Kinir, built the Edam, built the Bagara, and built Abzueg’ (Ur-Nanše 14). [29] Eš3-ir mu-tud . . . A-eden mu-du3 Nin-gar mu-du3 E2-gidru mu-du3 bad3 Lagaš mu-du3 dLugal-uru mu-tud ‘(Ur-Nanshe) fashioned (the statue of ) Eshir . . . built the Aeden, built the Ningar, built the Egidru, built the wall of Lagash, and fashioned (the statue of) Lugaluru’ (Ur-Nanše 17 iii 1–v 2). Lugal-uru is possibly for Lugal-urubx(URU×KAR2). [30] sipad-me e2 mu-du3 ‘I, the shepherd, built the temple’ (Gudea Cyl. B ii 5). Similarly, e2 mu-du3 ‘(Gudea) built the temple’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxi 17). [31] ama Lagaški kug dGa2-tum3-dug3-ke4 sig4-bi kur-ku4-a mu-nitud ‘The mother of Lagash, holy Gatumdug, gave birth to the bricks among the waves (of amniotic fluid)’ (Gudea Cyl. A xx 17–18). [32] sig4-bi lu2 hul-gal2 ba-an-ma5-ma5 lu2 zid mu-un-u3-tud ‘(The prison’s) brick walls crush evil men, but give rebirth to honest men’ (Nungal A 56).1 [33] sipad Šul-gi a-zu [šag4 k]ug-ga ud ba-an-ri-a ama ugu4-zu dNins[umun2-ke4] mu-u3-tud-e-[en3] dingir-zu kug dLu[gal-banda3da] mu-u3-⎡dim2-e⎤-[en3] ‘Shepherd Shulgi, when your seed was poured into the holy womb, your birth mother, Ninsumun, gave birth to you. Your (personal) god, holy Lugalbanda, created you’ (ŠD 40–42).

1 Note the contrast between mu+verb and ba+verb; the latter, projecting the image of a crumbling wall, is likely to be understood as a non-volitional event (see §5.1.5).

MU-

115

[34] An dEn-lil2 dEn-ki dNin-hur-sag-ga2-ke4 sag gi6-ga mu-un-dim2eš-a-ba ‘After An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursag had created the black-headed people’ (Flood A11–12). [35] ud e2 dEn-lil2-la2 in-du3-a id2-da dNanna-gu2-gal mu-bi id2 ki-surra-kam mu-ba-al ‘When (Ur-Namma) built the temple of Enlil, he excavated the canal named “Nanna-gugal,” the boundary canal’ (Ur-Namma 28: 8–13). [36] lu2 E2-babbar e2 dUtu-ke4 mu-un-du3-a id2Idigna id2 dagal-la mu-un-ba-al-la-a ‘(Sin-iddinam,) the one who built the Ebabbar, the temple of Utu, and who excavated the Tigris, the broad river’ (Steinkeller 2004: 141 i 15–18). At the pinnacle of highly transitive situations, the prototype among the prototypes, stands kill, the most transitive of events. With respect to perfectivity, one of Givón’s three criterial properties [6], the event is “inherently instantaneous and punctual.” And there can be no question of Object affectedness nor of the efficiency with which the action is transmitted from Agent to Object, as it “produces the ultimate effect” on an Object (Bakker 1994: 40; see also Tsunoda 1985: 387). Exhibiting a similar degree of transitivity is destroy (and like events), although it is not as quintessentially transitive as the kill event, since the lexical frame of destroy does not require that the action be instantaneous or punctual. These events in Sumerian, commonly represented by the verbs gaz ‘crush, kill’, gul, ha-lam, hul ‘destroy’, uš2 ‘kill’, appear overwhelmingly with the prefix mu- in the active construal [37]–[47]. In the case of uš2, the verb with mu-, meaning ‘kill’, stands in contrast to the ubiquitous attestations of ba+uš2, which universally denotes the die event (§5.1.5; see [503]–[507]). The association raises the issue of the relationship between mu- and the semantics of causation. Since mu- correlates with high transitivity, one might expect it to be used whenever there is an increase in valence—that is, to appear regularly in causative contexts— which is not the case. The reason for this is that not all causatives are alike. The verb kill in English is a lexical causative, which differs from analytic causatives of the type cause to die. Lexical causatives, e.g., I killed the spider, I felled the tree, express direct causation in which there is direct, often physical, contact between the Agent and the Object, between cause and effect, whereby the causer exerts complete control over the causee (Payne 1997: 181–183). Indirect causatives, on the other hand, which are periphrastic in English, iconically reflecting a lesser degree of

116

chapter three

integration between cause and effect, imply a greater conceptual separation between the Agent and the Object. As such, indirect causatives represent a step-down in transitivity in comparison to direct causatives. For instance, as Lakoff (1977: 245) points out, one can say On Friday I brought it about that John would die on Saturday, but not *On Friday I killed John on Saturday, the reason being that the direct causative demands an overlap between the spatial and temporal facets of the event. In Sumerian, mu- is associated primarily with the direct causatives of the kill type. The degree of causation is often a matter of perspective. This is a pragmatic option that is used when the speaker wishes to indicate a close conceptual integration between Agent and Object. [37] Uru-azki mu-hul ensi2-bi mu-uš2 Mi-ši-meki mu-hul A-ru2-aki mu-ha-lam ‘(Eanatum) destroyed Uruaz and killed its ruler; he destroyed Mishime, and annihilated Arua’ (Eanatum 5 iv 12–19; Eanatum 6 iv 16–v 4). [38] ud dingir-re-ne e-na-ne2-eš2-a Kiški mu-hul ‘When the gods commanded (Enshakushana), he destroyed Kish’ (Enšakušana 1: 6–9). [39] [l]u2-kin-g[i4-a]-m[u] [l]u2 mu-ga[z] ‘Someone killed my messenger’ (LEM 28: 5–6). For events with generic Agents that are viewed from the perspective of the affected Object, see §5.2, particularly, [576]. [40] mu dŠul-gi nita kalag-ga lugal Urim2ki-ma lugal an ub-da 4-bake4 Ki-maški Hu-ur5-tiki u3 ma-da-bi ud 1-a mu-hul ‘The year: Shulgi, the mighty man, king of Ur, king of the four quarters, destroyed Kimash, Hurti, and their territories in a single day’ (Šulgi YN 46). Note the frequency of mu+hul in agentive year names (see [564]). [41] kalag-ga si-ga-bi ur-re-eš2 mu-ugx(UŠ2.UŠ2) ‘(Shu-Sin) killed the strong and the weak alike’ (Šu-Sin 3 iii 16–17). ur is presumably syllabic for ur5, i.e., ur5-še3(-am3) = ana kīam(-ma)—see CAD K s.v. kīam lex. Also from this text: bad3-bi mu-gul-gul ‘(Shu-Sin) destroyed the walls (of those cities)’ (Šu-Sin 3 iv 13–14). [42] maš-gana2 a2-dam-bi mu-⎡un-gul⎤-gul-lu-uš du6-du6-ra mi-niin-si-ig-eš ‘They (Gutium, Subir, etc.) destroyed (Sumer’s and Akkad’s) settlements and habitations; they reduced them to ruin mounds’ (LUk E68).

MU-

117

[43] erim2-du di erim2-e ba-ab-sum-mu hul-gal2 mu-un-gul-le ‘(Inana) delivers a malevolent judgment for the evil and she destroys the wicked’ (IdDgn A 120). [44] uru-a nin9-mu mu-un-til3-le-en ku-li-mu mu-un-ug5-ge-en ‘In the city my sister gave me life, but my friend killed me!’ (DzD 153). Note that mu-un-til3-le-en, like mu-un-ug5-ge-en, is a direct causative. [45] u3 kug-ga maš2 gud udu mu-gaz-gaz-e gaba-na i3-im-tab ‘But Silver too held against his chest the goats, oxen, and sheep he slaughtered’ (CpSv A91). [46] ur-sag-e A2-sag3 mu-un-ug5-ga-aš ‘Because the hero had killed Asag’ (Lugal-e 698). [47] Gud-dam-e e-sir2 Unugki-ga-ke4 šar2-ra mu-ni-in-gaz šar2-ra giš tukul-a-na mu-ni-in-ug7 ‘Gudam crushed a multitude on the streets of Uruk; he killed a multitude with his mace’ (InGud C22–23). 3.2

Assimilations to the Transitivity Prototype

The prefix’s remarkable affinity for events at the highest rungs of the transitivity spectrum may reveal this to be the representative environment for mu-, but, as the review of virtually any text of substantial length will show, from a statistical standpoint this prefix often occurs in contexts that fall short, not infrequently far short, of the criteria for prototypical transitivity. On the one hand, there are high transitivity events—events that do not rise to the level of the prototype, but which are close enough that they are readily conceptualized on the model of prototypical transitive event. These events most often include distinct Objects, which are perceived as the locus of the actions’ principal effects. On the other hand, there are events that are distinctly low in transitivity, representing considerable departures from the prototype. These events, however, do not contradict the prefix’s close association with high transitivity. Rather, what they share with their higher transitivity counterparts is a focus upon the beginning of the event, stressing the doer of the action, the instigating agent [2] and the action the agent initiates. Control and volition are the semantic properties that underlie the far-flung uses of mu-. This is the critical difference between lowtransitive events marked with mu- and those marked with imma- and ba-, which focus upon the end of the event and subject affectedeness.

118

chapter three

Indeed, as described in §2.9.5, this is the very parameter that distinguishes the active from the middle cross-linguistically. 3.2.1

Other High Transitivity Events

These events represent a minor, and therefore easily assimilated, departure from the high transitivity prototype. This is the case in [48], where the Agent is certainly agentive, but it is inanimate and so non-volitional (cf. [47]). It is also the case in [49], where gaz is to be understood with the meaning ‘beat s.o.’, an event in which the Object is less than completely affected by the action and so signals a departure, if only slight, from the prototypical transitive event that is expressed by the same combination when designating kill [39], [45], [47]. And the same holds true for mu+ra, mu+sag3 ‘hit, strike’, and mu+gum ‘crush’ in [50], events that are certainly high in transitivity, but that do not meet the high standards of Object affectedness set by the prototype. The capture event, rendered by mu+dab5 in [51] represents a more significant departure. Transitivity is not particularly high since the Object is not nearly as affected by the action as he would be, for instance, in the kill event. Yet by employing mu- the writer seeks to draw this very connection, likening the event to the prototype—which, in this passage, happens to be the event represented by the previous clause (Kiš ki mu-hul ). In so doing, the writer emphasizes the affectedness of the Object by the action, as well as the Agent’s potency and control. [48] 2-kam-ma-⎡še3 ud-de3⎤ uru mu-un-gul-gul ad-bi gig-ga-am3 ‘A second time the storm utterly destroyed the city—its cry was bitter’ (LEr A30). [49] Ur-lum-ma ensi2 Ummaki En-an-na-tum2-me eg2 ki-sur-ra dNinGir2-[s]u-ka-še3 mu-gaz ‘Enanatum beat back Urluma, the ruler of Umma, to the boundary dike of Ningirsu’ (Enanatum I 2 x 6–xi 2). [50] mu-ni-ib-ra-ra-ne mu-ni-ib-sag3-sag3-ge-ne BIR-HUR-turre sukud-ra2-ni mu-ni-in-gum-gum-ne ‘They hit (BIRHURtur), they strike him—they crush BIRHURtur’s headdress!’ (GgAk 82–83; see Civil 1999–2000: 186 ad 62). For agentive mu+sag3, see also [645]. [51] ud dingir-re-ne e-na-ne2-eš2-a Kiški mu-hul En-bi2-Iš8-tar2 lugal Kiški mu-dab5 ‘When the gods commanded (Enshakushana), he destroyed Kish, and captured Enbi-Ishtar, the king of Kish’ (Enšakušana 1: 6–12).

MU-

119

In some contexts an otherwise highly transitive event has self-benefactive overtones. The use of mu- in these cases indicates the speaker’s wish to focus upon the Agent’s role as Initiator rather than Endpoint. In [52] and [53] the action is undertaken in the subject’s interests; similarly, [54] is a reflexive event (consequently, Initiator and Endpoint are coreferential; see also [105]). An analogous use of the active is found in Classical Greek, where the active may be used in lieu of the middle “when it is not of practical importance to mark the interest of the subject in the action” (Smyth 1956: 393). Consistent with the notion that the active is neutral to subject-affectedness, the active may alternate with the middle, “if it is inferable from the context that the action is performed in the interest of the subject” (Allan 2003: 25). [52] ala[n]-n[i] mu-tud Lugal-An-da-nu-hun-ga2 Gi[r2-nu]n-še3 nu[kuš2] mu m[u-(na-)sa4] ‘(Lugal-Anda) fashioned his (own) statue and named it “Lugal-Anda-nuhunga never tires (in his efforts) for the Girnun”’ (Lugal-Anda 2 iii′ 1′–4′). [53] Šul-gi nita kalag-ga lugal Urim5ki-ma lugal Ki-en-gi Ki-uri-ke4 E2-hur-sag e2 ki-ag2-ga2-ni mu-du3 ‘Shulgi, mighty man, king of Ur, king of Sumer and Akkad, built the Ehursag, his (own) beloved house’ (Šulgi 3). [54] šag4 gur4-ra ni2-bi ak-a-ba ni2-bi mu-un-gul-gul ‘(Your) arrogant heart will destroy itself by its own deeds!’ (BdFh 128). The prefix also commonly occurs with the causatives of verbs that are typically univalent (or bivalent in the case of compound verbs) and semantically middle in the sense of the situation types enumerated in Table 3, e.g., gub ‘stand’, mu2 ‘grow’, ni2—te ‘fear’, nu2 ‘lie’, su ‘sink’, šub ‘fall’, til3 ‘live, tuš ‘sit’, zalag ‘shine’ [55]–[66]. As such, these verbs commonly occur with the prefixes imma- and ba- (see §§4.1, 5.1). However, when construed as transitives, mu-, underscores the speaker’s perception of the event as an act of direct causation, stressing the conceptual closeness between causer and causee. Although these events represent an increase in valence and so in transitivity over their basic contruals, with semantic objects or patients that are often less than completely affected, they do not meet the criteria of the prototypical transitive event. Rather, like the other events described in this section, these causatives are modeled after the prototype: mu- emphasizes the subject’s agency and control, real or metaphorical, over the action, and, conversely, the affectedness of the patient.

120 [55] [56] [57] [58]

[59]

[60]

[61] [62] [63] [64]

[65]

chapter three Utu-he2-gal2 igi dU[tu]-še3 giri3-ni-še3 mu-nu2 (var. i3-[(x)]-nu2) ‘Utu-hegal made (Tirigan) lie (prostrate) at his feet before Utu’ (Utu-hegal 4: 121–122). Cf. ba+nu2 ‘lie down’ [503]–[507]. d Nin-tu ama dingir-re-ne-ke4 Gu3-de2-a lu2 e2 du3-a-ka nam-til3la-ni mu-sud ‘Nintu, mother of the gods, lengthens the life of Gudea, the man who built the temple’ (Gudea St. A iii 5–iv 2). ensi2-ke4 e2 mu-du3 mu-mu2 kur-gal-gim mu-mu2 ‘The ruler built the temple; he made it grow, made it grow like a great mountain’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxii 9–10). Cf. ba+mu2 ‘grow’ [526]–[530]. d Suen-i-din-na-am sipad nig2-ge-na-ke4 šag4 dUtu ⎡u3⎤ dDumuzid-bi mu-un-dug3 ‘Sin-iddinam, shepherd of righteousness, pleased both Utu and Dumuzi’ (Sin-iddinam 14: 32–35). Cf. ba+dug3 lit. ‘be pleasing to s.o./s.th.’ [657]–[658]. id2 Idigna id2Buranunana ni2 mu-ni-ib-te kur-ra gu3 mi-ni-ib2-ra ‘(The flood) will make the Tigris and Euphrates quiver; it will make the mountains rumble’ (LUk E25). Cf. ni2 ba+te ‘fear, shake’ [450]–[452], [454], [456]. guruš-e mu-ni-in-gub-bu-de3-eš mu-ni-in-dur2-de3-eš ‘As for the youth, (the demons) stood him up—they sat him down’ (DzGš 18). Cf. ba+gub ‘stand (up)’ [391]–[396]; ba+tuš ‘sit (down)’ [397]–[401]. kur-bal kur Dilmun-na ki dUtu e3-še3 mu-un-til3-eš ‘(An and Enlil) settled (Ziusudra) in an overseas country, in the land of Dilmun, where the sun rises’ (Flood E11). ki dug3-ga u2-šim kiri3-zal-am3 šu gal mu-un-du7-du7 ‘(Enki) made this good place perfect with luxuriant vegetation’ (EnkWO 351). Cf. ba+b.du7 ‘be made suitable’ [663]–[665]. buru14 dEn-lil2-le mu-un-su-a-ta ‘After Enlil had flooded the harvest’ (HoPl 170). Cf. ba+su ‘sink’ [508]–[512]. sisix(ANŠE.KUR) lu2 u5-a-ni u3-mu-ni-in-šub tukum-bi gu2-unmu da-ri2-še3 ne-en-nam al-sig-en-e-še ‘The horse, after having thrown off his rider (said): “If my load were to be like this forever, how weak I would be!”’ (SP 5.38). Similarly, see SP 5.39. d Nin-mah-e im nigin2 šu-na ki-a mu-un-šub LUL.AŠ lib mu-ungar ‘Ninmah threw the pinch of clay in her hand on the ground and strictly enforced silence’ (var. dEn-ki-ke4 im šu nigin2-na ki-a in-šub LUL.AŠ i3-ni-gi ‘Enki threw all off the clay on the ground and . . .’) (EnkNm 79). See also [67], [302] for mu+šub with volitional meaning; cf. ba+šub ‘fall’ [540]–[546]. d

MU-

121

[66] [si-]sa2 kug-sig17-gim mu-e-zalag-e ‘You make justice shine like gold’ (Enlbni A 76–77). Kapp (1955: 78) restores [ lu2-si]-sa2 ‘the just man’. Cf. ba+mul/zalag ‘shine’ [536]–[539]. 3.2.2

Low Transitivity Events

At the far-end of the spectrum, mu- is encountered with events that are low in semantic transitivity, many of which are, in fact, syntactically intransitive. Again, the use of the prefix—that is, the rationale for conceptualizing events that are ostensibly far removed from the prototypical transitive event on the pattern of this prototype—has its basis in the speaker’s perception that the subject exercises some volition or control over the action or state denoted by the verb. The focus is on the subject as Initiator, although the subject may occupy the Endpoint role as well. This use of the prefix conforms to the cross-linguistically observed pattern whereby the active voice expresses low transitivity (perhaps syntactically intransitive) events that are perceived by the speaker to be neutral to the property of subject affectedness (§2.9.5). Even when there is a distinct Object, the Agent’s control, or transmittal of force in terms of the billiard-ball model, can be quite metaphorical, as is the case with certain verbs denoting mental activities of perception and cognition (e.g., mu+zu ‘know’ discussed below). Here, the subject is an experiencer, who is regarded as actively directing his attention toward a stimulus [2], rather than being affected by it. Like the prototypical transitive event (Fig. 4), the action is conceptualized asymmetrically, perceived as directed away from the subject to the stimulus (see §4.1.3). Such situations force us to revise Postgate’s insightful description of the prefix, namely, that “mu- requires a person (other than the verb’s subject) on whom the action has an effect” (1974: 25). Rather, the capacity of a verb to accommodate mu- depends on the ability of the speaker to conceptualize the event in such a way that the subject is portrayed as initiating and exerting control over the action, and its effects are portrayed as accruing to some Endpoint entity other than the subject. In the extreme intransitive limit, the case in which there is no distinct Endpoint, this amounts to an ability to focus upon the subject as the Initiator of the event or to focus upon the action itself—the two, naturally, comprising the first half of the action chain (§§2.6, 2.7). In these limiting cases, control is not always at issue; rather the prefix may emphasize those categories and qualities that are iconic with the

122

chapter three

starting point of the event (see Fig. 5), particularly the onset time and the view of the event as an atelic or imperfective occurrence. Naturally, certain event types are more easily construable in terms of an asymmetrical transitive model. Kemmer (1994: 192) points out that verbs of perception assimilate with particular ease to the transitive prototype. The English sentence, I saw John, for instance, is syntactically transitive while exhibiting a low degree of semantic transitivity. Although there is no transmittal of action from subject to object, the latter being completely unaffected, the relationship between the two is conceived as asymmetrical, with an Initiator and Endpoint, much as it is in the transitive event. Similarly, active-middle voice alternations can often signal the degree to which an intransitive event is like or unlike the transitive event (see further §2.9.5). For example, Kemmer (1994: 135) observes that in Latin the verb cogito ‘think, cogitate’ implies a volitional and purposeful action on the part of an Initiator, while the middle-marked form medito-r ‘think, meditate’, suggests that the subject is more of an experiencer, who is affected by the thought process rather than an Initiator actively pursuing it. Particularly striking examples of assimilations of this general type are found in the way that some languages organize one-participant events. In these languages there is a distinction in the marking of certain intransitive verbs, a fluidity among the class of intransitive predicates in which some are marked like Agents and some are marked like Objects. The distinction is motivated by the semantics of the event and the pragmatic context of the utterance (see Dixon 1994: 78–83; also Dixon and Aikhenvald 2000: 5; Croft 1994: 107–109; Holisky 1987). Again, the subject’s perceived ability to control the event, to exercise volition, and to claim responsibility for the event are the principal parameters in the assimilation of the subject to the Agent or Object prototypes. For Tsova-Tush (Caucasian), for example, Holisky (1987) shows that some events that are necessarily controlled, such as walk, talk, wash, require or show a preference for Agent marking, while others in which control is absent, such as die, become old, and grow up, typically or only accept Object marking. Some verbs, however, do not display a preference for either type of marking—the verb labžar/lebžar, for instance, means slide, when the subject exercises control and the subject takes Agent (i.e., ergative) marking and slip, when control is absent and the subject takes Object (i.e., nominative) marking (see §2.1).2

Klaiman (1988: 66) describes a similar classification on the basis of control for the Oto-Manguean language Chocho, which attests what are referred to as active intransi2

MU-

123

The following examples [67]–[69] are syntactically transitive (with compound verbs in [68] and [69]). Semantically, however, these are low transitive events. It is impossible to speak of affectedness or a transmittal of force in a concrete sense. Yet, conceived as possessing an Initiator that is distinct from the Endpoint, a subject that is perceived as instigating the action but is unaffected by it, these events are readily patterned after the asymmetrical transitivity prototype. [67] nin-mu an mu-un-šub ki mu-un-šub kur-ra ba-e-a-e11 ‘My lady abandoned heaven, abandoned earth, and descended into the Netherworld’ (InD 4). [68] Šuruppakki-e dumu-ni-ra na na-mu-un-de5-de5 (vars. na [n]amu-de5, na na-de5-de5 [Early Dynastic]) ‘Shuruppak instructed his son’ (InŠur 6). [69] lugal-mu za-e lu2-ba igi nu-mu-ni-du8-a šag4 nu-mu-ni-dab5be2-en ga2-e lu2-ba igi mu-ni-du8-am3 (vars. igi i-ni-du8-a, igi ba-ni-du8-a) šag4 mu-ni-dab5-be2-en ‘My master, since you have not yet set eyes on that person, he does not unnerve you—but he unnerves me, I who have set eyes on him before!’ (GgHw-A 98–99). The variant igi ba-ni-du8-a suggests a degree of subject affectedness and may be more fittingly rendered, ‘I who have beheld him before’—see §4.1.3 for the experiential quality of seeing events when construed with the middle markers immaand ba-. Further removed still from the prototype are those events that lack a (semantic) object that is distinct from the subject. Examples [70]–[79] describe situations that may be broadly described as belonging to the middle domain to the extent that the subject is affected by the action or state predicated by the verb. However, with mu- the focus is not upon the subject as Endpoint, but upon the subject as Initiator. Consequently, many of these passages have imperfective or atelic overtones. Absent a termination or end point, they are viewed as unfolding, as actions or states in progress. In many of these clauses the prefix signals the subject’s control over the action in addition to the action itself (in [76] and [77] this interpretation is supported by the inclusion of the

tives (verbs marked in the ergative case), e.g., ‘arrive’, ‘dance’, ‘go’, and inactive intransitives (verbs marked in the absolutive case), e.g., ‘die’, ‘tremble’, ‘slip’, ‘sneeze’.

124

chapter three

comitative -da- in abilative function; see also mu+ak ‘do, act’ in [472]; control, if only metaphorical, may also be at issue in [75]). In others, the verbal semantics and context allow only for this second meaning, with the prefix simply underscoring the verbally denoted action or state. Remarkable in terms of the prefix’s association with altelicity and states with low transitivity events are mu+til3 [70]–[71], [79] and mu+gal2 [72]–[74]. The latter combination, mu+gal2, is commonly encountered in third-millennium administrative texts as an expression of presence or availability.3 [70] ensi2 E2-mi2-a mu-til3-la-a E2-mi2-še3 ba-de6 ‘(When) the ruler stayed in the Emi, (quantities of various beers and beer-making ingredients) were brought to the Emi’ (DP 164 iii 5–9). [71] A-bu-ni kaskal-a mu-til3-la-am3 bi2-dug4 ‘He declared that Abuni was, in fact, on a journey’ (AOAT 25, p. 445: 6). [72] 20 la2 3 giš-ur3 gištil-lu-ub2 kiri6 E2-ku-ka mu-gal2 ‘17 planks of Oriental plane tree wood were available in the garden of Eku’ (Nik 284 i 1–2 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 513–514]). [73] kišib3 Šeš-sig5 ki Ur-dNin-tu-ka mu-gal2 ‘The seal of Sheshsig was with Ur-Nintu’ (MVN 5, 26: 5–6). [74] šagina nu-banda3 ugula lu2 zig3-ga kin a-ra2 ba-ba siki gišgarigx (ZUM×LAGAB) ak nam-ugula šu-ba mu-gal2-am3 ‘General, captain, sargeant, and conscript shared the work equally—supervision was in their hands like soft (lit. combed) wool’ (Gudea St. B iv 13–19). [75] e2-ga2 ni2-gal-bi kur-kur-ra mu-ri ‘Great fear of my temple permeates into all the lands’ (Gudea Cyl. A ix 17, similarly, xxix 14–15). [76] nam-tar ur-ra-am3 zu2 mu-da-an-kud (vars. zu2 mu-da-an-ku2, zu2 mu-un-da-an-kud) ‘Fate is like a dog—it is well able to bite’ (SP 2.11). [77] eden-na gub-ba-za zu2 mu-e-da-ra-ah (var. e-da-ra-[. . .]) mini-ib-sar-sar-re-ne ‘When you stood in the plain, you were able to munch away, so they chased you off !’ (BdFh 32).

3 I thank Claus Wilcke for pointing out the frequency of this combination and for providing me with dozens of references (including MVN 5, 26: 5–6 [72]) from Ur III economic texts.

MU-

125

Na-ra-am-dSuen mu 7-am3 mu-un-ge-en ‘Naram-Sin was immobile for seven years! (lit. fixed [a period of ] seven years)’ (CAk 92). [79] mu-un-⎡til3⎤-le-na mu-un-til3-le-na na-ag2-erim2 ma-kud[d]e3-en šeš uru2 bar-ra mu-un-til3-le-nam na-ag2-erim2 makud-de3-en ‘You must swear to me that you live there, that you live there! Brother, you must swear to me that it is just that you live in the outskirts of the city!’ (DzIn B 13–14).4

[78]

d

The verb zu ‘know’ nicely captures the meaning of mu- with low transitive situations of various types, illustrating the common semantic denominator that these share with the prototypical transitive event. With mu-, zu does not simply express a state of knowing, as it does, for instance, with the prefix i-. Rather the union mu+zu focuses on the subject and his ability, if perhaps only figuratively, to control what he knows (cf. ba+zu [645]–[653]). The subject is credited with having certain powers of discernment, exhibiting a mastery over some knowledge, or possessing some skill or expertise [80]–[89] (see also [137], [138]). The verb may take an Object in which case it readily lends itself to the asymmetrical transitive prototype. Or, at the other end of the spectrum, it may occur in intransitive constructions. Common to all these contexts is that the event represents an atelic state that is in some way under the subject’s control. [80] E2-an-na-tum2-me gal na-ga-mu-zu ‘Eanatum is very wise (lit. greatly knowing)’ (Eanatum 1 rev. i 31–32). [81] sipad zid Gu3-de2-a gal mu-zu gal i3-ga-tum2-mu ‘The true shepherd, Gudea, is very wise and very accomplished as well (lit. greatly knowing and great as well in the carrying out)’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxv 22–23). [82] zid-du mu-zu erim2-du mu-zu ‘I can recognize the virtuous; I can recognize the wicked’ (ŠC A107).

4 The interpretation of mu-un-til3-le-na/nam as an intransitive verbal form—an understanding followed by most commentators (see Alster 1985: 145; Falkenstein 1954: 62 n. 102; Jacobsen 1987a: 97–98; idem 1987b: 62; Wilcke [personal communication]; cf. Kramer 1969: 105)—is based upon the broader context of the oath. A transitive interpretation, i.e., ‘you (lit. he) gave me life’, as advocated by Sefati (1990: 47–49; 1998: 130), would certainly be consistent with the prefix’s association with high transitivity (cf. [44]), but is difficult to accept in this context.

126

chapter three

[83] lugal uruki-na-ka ni2 te-ga2-bi mu-un-zu ‘(A man) should know how to revere the lord of his city’ (InUrN 66). Similarly, šešgal-zu ni2 te-ga2-e hu-mu-un-zu (var. [h]e2-en-zu) ‘You should know how to revere your older brother’ (CnWd 80). [84] mušen bar gun3-gun3 igi gun3-gun3 sag9-ga-ni-še3 mu-un-zu ‘Bird, with variegated plumage and variegated face, was convinced of his own beauty’ (BdFh 52). [85] e2-me-eš dumu ur-sag dEn-lil2-la2-ke4 a2 kalag-ga-na šag4-ga-a mu-un-zu ur5-da nir mu-un-gal2 ‘Summer, heroic son of Enlil, was convinced of his own might, and therefore trusted in himself ’ (WnSm 260–261). [86] eš-bar dug4-ga-ni ki-bi-še3 ga2-ga2 di-di-bi mu-e-zu ‘(Ninurta,) you understand how to establish and carry out the decisions firmly pronounced (by Enlil)’ (UrNin C 15). [87] ur5-zax(SA6) ki ur5 sag9-ge-bi mu-zu mu-ti-in ud-te-en-še3 e2-me-a nu2-a šag4-za ki šag4 hul2-bi mu-zu gi-ru ud-te-en-še3 e2-me-a nu2-a ‘I know how (lit. where) to give your loins pleasure: Sleep, man, in our house till morning! I know how (lit. where) to make your heart rejoice: Sleep, lover, in our house till morning!’ (ŠS B 18–21). [88] sipad sag gi6-ga šid-bi mu-e-zu u8 sila4-bi kin-kin-de3 ma-ra-šigen ud5-de3 maš2-bi gidru ud sud-ra2 tum2-tum2-mu-bi mu-ezu dNin-giš-zid-da gidru ud sud-ra2 tum2-tum2-mu-bi mu-e-zu ‘Shepherd, you understand how to keep a check on the blackheaded (people). Ewes along with their lambs come to seek you out, and you understand how to wield the scepter over the goats and kids for perpetuity. Ningishzida, you understand how to wield the scepter forever!’ (Ngzd A 12–15). [89] gi-dur kud-da nam tar-re-da inim sag9-ge-bi mu-zu ‘At the cutting of the umbilical cord, I know the favorable words for determining fate’ (Nungal A 72). That mu- can express such far-flung events, those that are so distant from the prototypical transitive event, stems from the fact that the prefix functionally describes a wide orbit around the beginning of the event—the agent, the instigator of the action, and the action itself. This is the first half of the event, which is complemented by the end point and the result of the action, the second half of the event. At the center of this domain, but by no means defining the domain in its entirety, is the prototypical Agent, the most salient of initiators or

MU-

127

agents, and the highly transitive action, the most salient of actions, an action that yields a perceptible, lasting effect in some Object. The prefix’s close bond with agency is corroborated by its interaction with the pre-radical agent pronouns. Specifically, there is a tendency, particularly in third-millennium texts, to omit these pronouns when they would appear immediately after the mu- prefix. As most scholars today would acknowledge, this is primarily a graphic phenomenon. Remarkably, however, the omission of these pronouns in early texts is not randomly distributed with respect to the prefixes, suggesting that the exclusion of these morphemes in writing, and perhaps even to a certain degree in speech, is partly conditioned by the prefixes themselves. The omission of the pronouns is most conspicuous when the prefix immediately preceding the verbal root is mu-.5 Indeed, the avoidance of the agent pronouns with mu- led Yoshikawa to the noteworthy conclusion, with respect to Ur III texts at least, that “the infix -n- is basically not compatible with the prefix mu-” (1991: 389). In contrast, in these same texts there is the relatively commonplace attestation of ba.n.verb (i.e., ba-an-verb vis-à-vis mu-un-verb; for in-du3-a, see p. 136 n. 8). One plausible reason for this asymmetry and the rarity of the pairing of muwith -n- is economy of form—agency is implied by the prefix, which renders the pronouns to a certain degree redundant and unnecessary (see already Gragg 1972b: 210); with ba- and its focus on the Object or Endpoint of the event, the Agent pronouns play a more critical role in disambiguating the clausal meaning. Conversely, when the pronoun is joined with mu-, primarily in Old Babylonian texts, the combination may be seen as emphasizing the Initiator and the action or state which he has instigated.6 This is particularly apparent when the subject ranks high on the Nominal Hierarchy, representing a SAP, e.g., [90] ur-sag-e lul mu-e-si3 šu si mu-e-sa2 (var. šu si mu-ni-in-sa2) nam-erim2 mu-e-ku4(!) (var. nam-erim2 mu-e-ni-kud) zi ama [ugu-zu] dNin-sumun2-ka a-a-zu kug dLugal-banda3da ‘Warrior, 5 Early attestations of the agent pronoun appearing immediately after mu- include, nu-mu-un-de6-a-še3 (NG 189: 7 [Šu-Sin 4]) and mu-un-GAM (Ibbi-Sin YN 14)—references courtesy of C. Wilcke. 6 If the pre-radical pronouns could express the agency of the subject or assumed this function secondarily (a broader use than simply indicating the presence of an Agent in the transitive clause), this could account, in some cases, for the otherwise difficult presence of these pronouns in intransitive contexts. This possibility, however, and the problem more broadly would naturally require systematic study.

128

chapter three

you lied! You have plotted (against me even though) you had sworn an oath by the lives of your birth mother, Ninsumun, and your father, holy Lugalbanda!’ (GgHw-B 137–138). [91] a-gim šag4-zu nam-gur4-ra im-de6 ni2-zu mu-e-šen-šen (šenšen for sun5-sun5; note the var. mu-un-sun5-sun5) ‘How has your heart become so arrogant, while you, yourself, are so lowly?’ (BdFh 57). [92] ur-sag huš-a me an-gim mu-e-il2 dumu dEn-lil2-la2 me ki-gim mu-e-il2 me kur-ra an-gim dugud-da-am3 mu-e-il2 me Eridugkiga ki-gim mah-am3 mu-e-i[l2] ‘O fierce warrior, you have taken up the me’s, which are like heaven! Son of Enlil, you have taken up the me’s, which are like earth! You have taken up the me’s of the mountains, which are as heavy as heaven! You have taken up the me’s of Eridu, which are as massive as the earth!’ (NinRN 9–12). Civil reaches a similar conclusion when he writes of the form mu-e-sum in [93] that “the omission of the dative and object infixes, as well as the prefix mu-e-, topicalize the agent and, secondarily, the action itself ” (1999–2000: 187 ad 104; see also Edzard 1976: 165). [93] Ak-ka3 zi mu-e-sum (var. ma-an-sum) Ak-ka3 nam-til3 mu-esum (var. ma-an-sum) ‘Aka, you give breath! Aka, you give life!’ (GgAk 104). Similarly, stressing agency at the expense of the expected expression of the dative: [94] a-a dEn-lil2 nam-kug-gal2 mu-e-sum a he2-gal2-la mu-e-de6 (var. mu-de6) ‘Father Enlil, you gave control of irrigation! You brought plentiful water!’ (WnSm 289). [95] uru mu-e-sum uru mu-e-sum nam-mu sum-ma-zu Dilmun uru mu-e-sum uru (mu-e-sum nam-mu sum-ma-zu) ‘You have given a city! You have given a city! But what is your giving to me? You have given a city, Dilmun! You have given a city! But what is your giving to me?’ (EnkNh 30–31). The claim that mu- stresses the verbally denoted action itself, which together with the agent represents the first half of the event, is supported by the prefix’s correlation with two verbal environments that

MU-

129

share this focus: verbs with reduplicated or triplicated stems and, more conspicuously, verbs that are accompanied by adverbial expressions of manner. The prefix occurs in both contexts with predicates that lexically express middle or low transitivity events, which shows that the prefix in these particular instances is not triggered by the semantics of high transitivity. The iteration of the verbal root, among other things, may iconically express an intensification or repetition of the verbally expressed action, a meaning that is consistent with its marû function, which, as an expression of the imperfective, focuses on the action as a process (as opposed to the am u or perfective, which views the action as an indivisible whole, emphasizing its completion). Adverbs and adverbial expressions of manner similarly highlight the action or state expressed by the verb by describing the way in which it unfolds or takes place. In both cases, the events expressed with mu- tend to be atelic, possessing starting points but not end points. Examples [96]–[103] represent low transitivity events that are consistent with the middle domain (Table 3). The triplication of the verbal root expresses an intensification or iteration of the verbally denoted action. The prefix serves to underscore this emphasis, drawing attention to the subject, not as the Endpoint but as the Initiator of the event, and, again, to the action itself. mitum-mu-u3 ur zu2 ses-a-gim gug hu-mu-u3-ra-ra-ra ‘My mitum-weapon gnashes and gnashes its blades like a sharptoothed beast’ (ŠD 158). [97] mu-zu kalam-ma mu-un-du7-du7-du7 ‘(Ishkur,) your name constantly butts about in the land’ (Cohen Eršemma no. 23: 11). [98] du5-mu-mu u3-sa2-ge ša-mu-un-ku4-ku4-ku4 u3-sa2-ge ša-muun-ga2-ga2-ga2 ‘My son, sleep is about to overtake you; sleep is about to settle upon you’ (ŠN 10–11). [99] Anzumušen-de3 dUtu e3-a-ra šeg10 un-gi4 šeg10 gi4-bi-še3 kur-ra Lu5-lu5-bi-a ki mu-un-ra-ra-ra (vars. mu-(un-)ra-ra) ‘When at sunrise Anzu cries out, at his cry the ground quakes continuously in the Lulubi mountains’ (LgB 2: 45–46). [100] lu2 hul eden ki si-ga-ke4 gu3 hu-mu-ra-ra-ra ‘May the evil one of the desert, the silent place, howl continuously!’ (CAk 255). [101] tur3-e si gud dNanna-ke4 eden ki si-ga-ke4 nigin2-na-gim šeg11 hu-mu-un-gi4-gi4-gi4 ‘May the bulls of Nanna that fill the

[96]

130

chapter three

pens shriek continuously like the one who wanders the desert, the silent place!’ (CAk 262–263). [102] nig2-gur11-mu-du-ummušen-e gu3 im-[de2-e] eden Keš3ki-a-ka i-si-iš mu-un-ga2-ga2-ga2 ‘The magpie calls out and wails continuously in the steppe of Kesh’ (Nanše C C5–6). [103] gi-zi di4-di4 pa12-pa12-al il2-la sag si3-ga-zu-a šag4-ba mušen buru5mušen ambar! kug-gim ad mu-ga2-ga2-ga2 ‘In the midst of your carefully tended small gizi-reeds with erect offshoots, flocks of sparrows twitter away as in a holy swamp’ (ŠR 28–29). Similarly, with the affirmative verbal forms in [104], reduplication coupled with mu- stresses the intensity of the actions in which the subject engages—continuous, atelic body-action middle-type events (cf. [91]). The actions are further underscored by the respective adverbial expressions (see below). [104] tumušen nir-DU šur2-bi dal-la-gim a2-mu hu-mu-un-sud-sud (var. a2-mu hu-⎡sud⎤-sud) dAnzumušen kur-bi-še3 igi il2-la-gim dub3mu hu-mu-un-bad-bad (var. dub3-mu hu-bad-bad) ‘Like a dove frantically fleeing from a mir-snake, I flapped my arms. Like Anzu lifting its gaze to the mountains, I flexed my knees’ (ŠA 44–45). It is uncertain whether reduplication in [105] owes itself simply to the marû form of the verb or represents an intensification beyond the expression of the marû. In any case, mu- is otherwise unexpected with this self-benefactive event; although zuh ‘steal’ does not occur frequently in finite verbal forms, when it does it is often prefixed with ba-, e.g., [245], [434]–[437]. With no distinct Endpoint (i.e., nig2 ‘thing’), the prefix emphasizes the potential actions of a volitional, controlling Agent. [105] nig2 nam-mu-zuh-zuh (var. nu-zuh-zuh) ni2-zu nam-mu-uš2e (vars. na-an-uš2-e, nam-uš2-⎡e-en⎤, ⎡nu?⎤-uš-⎡en⎤) ‘Don’t steal anything! Don’t kill yourself !’ (InŠur 28). Note also the verbs na-mu-zuh-zuh and nam2-zuh-zuh in the Early Dynastic version. For the reflexive reading of mu+uš2, see [54]. Regarding the co-occurrence of mu- with verbs that are accompanied by adverbial expressions, there are the common expressions giri3-ni dili mu+gub ‘walk alone (direct one’s steps alone)’ [106]–[108] (see also [183],

MU-

131

[279]) and sag il2(-la) mu+gen ‘walk proudly’, ‘walk eagerly’ (lit. with head raised high)’ [109]–[111]. Both gub ‘stand’ and gen ‘go’, as predicates that lexically denote middle domain events, appear frequently with imma- and ba- in other contexts (see §§ 4.1, 5.1; for mu+gen in deictic contexts, see §3.5). However, when they occur in these adverbial idioms, which describe the nature of the action, they are regularly joined with mu-. The phenomenon finds a parallel in the active, as opposed to middle, construal of many manner of motion verbs in Classical Greek. As described previously (§2.9.5; Allan 2003: 243–247), these predicates tend to describe atelic events in which the focus is on the action and how it unfolds rather than on subject affectedness. Of course, this is not to say that the subject is unaffected—on the contrary, subject affectedness is implicit to many of these events. Rather the active voice in Greek, like the verb joined with mu- in Sumerian, is neutral with respect to this quality. Notably, the correlation between adverbial expressions and mu- contrasts with the one described by the pairing with imma-, as exemplified in [290]–[306], in which the combination of the prefix and an adverb expressing intensity of action serves to emphasize subject affectedness. [106] Nibruki-še3 giri3-ni dili mu-un-gub ‘(Enki) walked alone to Nippur’ (EnkJN 96). [107] ud-bi-a ki-sikil dInana Abzu Eridugki-ga dEn-ki-ka3-še3 kug d Inana-ke4 giri3-ni dili mu-un-gub ‘On that day the maiden Inana, holy Inana, walked alone to Enki’s Abzu in Eridu’ (InEnk B6–8). [108] E2-kur-re e2 dMu-ul-lil2-la2-še3 Urim2ki-ma e2-dNanna-še3 Uru2ze2-ebki e2 dAm-an-ki-ga-še3 giri3-ni dili mu-un-gub ‘(Inana) walked alone to the Ekur, to the house of Enlil, to Ur, to the house of Nanna, and to Eridu, to the house of Enki’ (InD 322–325). [109] a-a dNanna uruki-ni Urim5ki-ma sag il2-la mu-un-gen ‘Father Nanna proudly entered his city Ur’ (LSU 475). [110] dUtu an-na-ke4 suh10 za-gin3 mu-un-keš2 sag il2-la mu-un-gen ‘Utu of heaven put on a lapis-lazuli crown and proudly came forth’ (GgHw-B 29–30). See also GgHw-A 80. [111] lugal ur2 kug-še3 sag il2-la mu-un-gen ur2 dInana-ka-še3 sag il2-la mu-un-gen ‘The king goes eagerly to her holy thighs; (Iddin-Dagan) goes eagerly to the thighs of Inana’ (IdDgn

132

chapter three A 187–188). Between ll. 187 and 188 some exemplars add: ur2 d I-din-dDa-gan-še3 sag il2-la mu-un-gen ‘(Inana) goes eagerly to the thighs of Iddin-Dagan’ (IdDgn A 187A).

These are not the only adverbial expressions with which mu- correlates, but are representative of a wider phenomenon as the following low transitivity events with accompanying adverbs, or adverbial expressions, suggest: [112] gud-gim sag il2-la mu-ku4-ku4 eš3 E2-ninnu-a ‘Like a bull (Gudea) proudly enters into the shrine of Eninnu’ (Gudea Cyl. B xviii 17–18). [113] kalam-ma giš-gi-na su-bi mu-un-gen ‘(The people) went about the land with naked limbs’ (ShGr 23). [114] dEn-lil2 dNin-lil2-bi hi-li-a mu-dur2-[ru-]ne2-eš-a-ba (var. mu-un-dur2-ru-n[e-eš-a-ba]) inim sag9-ga dIšme-dDa-gan-na ka kug-zu he2-em-tum3 ‘When Enlil and Ninlil sit there luxuriously, may your pure mouth bring favorable words on behalf of Ishme-Dagan!’ (IšDgn Q B10–11). [115] sumun2-gim haš2-a-na mu-un-gur nim-sahar-ra-gim še15 ud-zal-le-na mu-un-gen sig4 Kul-aba4ki-⎡a⎤-ka giri3 hul2-la mu-ni-in-gub ‘(The messenger) turned on his thigh like a wild cow. Like a sand-fly he came in the coolness of dawn—he set foot joyfully in brick-built Kulaba’ (EmkLA 297–299). Also to be counted among low transitivity uses of mu- are those cases in which the expected Object of a transitive verb is omitted from its clause. This is a relatively rare usage, but perhaps the one that is most revealing of the prefix’s singular focus on the starting point of the event. In these instances the Initiator is highlighted to such a degree that the Endpoint is completely overlooked. In other words, mu- can express a meaning akin to the antipassive (§2.9.2), to borrow the label from languages that give grammatical instantiation to this voice category. Although serving a detransitivizing function, by virtue of omitting the Object, this use is very much in line with the prefix’s close association with transitivity, representing an extreme manifestation of the asymmetry that defines the relative topicality of Agent and Object in the prototypical transitive event (cf. Figs. 7-A and 7-B). The primary pragmatic motivation behind the omission of the Object is that the speaker deems it to be obvious, predictable, or irrelevant

MU-

133

to the context of discourse. Consider, in this light, the verb dah ‘add, increase’, which typically takes a direct object, ‘add s.th. (to s.th.)’ (see pp. 280–281 n. 20). In the Ur III personal names of the type A-a-mudah ‘Father added it (i.e., a son)’ (Limet 1968: 83), however, the Object NP, presumably the child, is dropped from the clause, being obvious from context; the emphasis is on the role of the agent and the action rather than on the downstream Endpoint role of patient. As discussed in §2.9.2, the antipassive, given its Endpoint omitting character, is closely associated with habitual and iterative events. This is the case in [116]–[118] where the generic objects are omitted from these otherwise highly transitive events. [116] mu 50-uš hu-mu-du3 mu 50-uš hu-mu-sa2 (var. mu 50-uš humu-sa2 mu 50-uš hu-mu-du3) ‘For fifty years I built, for fifty years I suceeded’ (LgB 2: 302, 368). [117] ur-gu-la gu2 nu-mu-ni-ib2-ra-ra (var. sag giš nu-ub-ra-ra) ‘(In those days) the lion did not kill (lit. crush the neck)’ (EnkNh 13). [118] ki-bala-a zid-da-zu u3-mu-e-gul gab2-bu-zu u3-mu-e-si3 ‘In a rebel land, you destroy at your right! You overthrow at your left!’ (Cohen Eršemma no. 23: 26). In [116]–[118] the expected objects, being non-referential and indefinite, are completely omitted from their respective passages. However, more often the Object is referential and anaphorically retrievable from a previous clause. These contexts represent a less extreme form of Object de-emphasis, yet, clearly, the focus is on the Agent and the action rather than the predictable Object. [119]

esi im-ta-e11 alan-na-ni-še3 mu-tud ‘(Gudea) brought down diorite and fashioned (it) into a statue of himself ’ (Gudea St. A iii 1–3).

na4

Another point of contact between the traditional functions of the antipassive and mu- is encountered in the expression of certain repetitive agricultural activities that are well attested in Pre-Sargonic administrative texts. The predicates sur ‘plant’7 [120] and ba-al ‘grub, excavate’

7

Literally ‘press (the seeds/bulbs into the earth)’—see Waetzoldt 1987: 24.

134

chapter three

[121], often associated with onion cultivation, occur exclusively with mu- in these texts (see Yoshikawa 1979: 200 for references and a different explanation for this correlation). As in [119], the Object, the produce, is not directly part of the structure of the clause, but is enumerated at the beginning of the text. However, what speaks more to an antipassive meaning in these instances is the nature of the action. As is true of many agricultural activities, these are not punctual events, but represent a series of repetitive actions. With a defocused Object of low individuation [5], the prefix does not stress the transitive quality of these events, but places emphasis—similar to the continuous atelic events discussed above—on the Agent and the iterative action. An interesting parallel is found in Chamorro (Austronesian), where the antipassive is commonly used to express habitual agricultural activities, those in which the Object is generic or obvious, such as planting sugar cane—activities that occurred in the past but are expected to resume in the future (Cooreman 1988: 583). [120] (various quantities of coriander, onion, and pulse seeds for various plot sizes) šu-nigin2 1(eše3) gana2 ki sum-ma gana2 Gir2-kakam En-ig-gal nu-banda3 mu-sur ‘Total: 1 eshe of field. This is the onion plot of Gir-field. Eniggal, the captain, planted (the aforementioned coriander, onion, and pulse seeds on it)’ (Nik 46 x 1–5 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 216–219]). [121] 8(gur) la2 1(ul) sum sikil gal gal gur-sag-gal2 ki sum-ma gana2 Gir2-ka-ta En-ig-gal nu-banda3 mu-ba-al ‘7.75 gur of large white onions on the gursaggal (system). Eniggal, the captain, grubbed (these onions) from the onion plot of Gir-field’ (VS 14, 6 i 1–ii 3 [= Bauer AWL no. 187]). 3.3

Contexts in Which i- May Replace mu-

At the root of the much debated functional distinction between the prefixes mu- and i- is that the latter is neutral to the very semantic qualities that former serves to stress, namely, agentivity, activity as denoted by the predicate, and, as described in §3.4, animacy. In terms of viewpoint and voice, i- does not alter either with respect to the other prefixes—it is not itself a voice altering operation. Although i- can, in theory, appear in any context that would normally be reserved for mu-, imma-, or ba- without signaling a fundamental difference in mean-

MU-

135

ing—being unconstrained to the beginning of the event as is mu- or to its end as are imma- and ba-—the prefix most often alternates with mu- as representative of the active, unmarked voice category. The prefix i- is used when there is a discourse requirement to defocus, or more specifically to background, certain information, decreasing its topicality and salience vis-à-vis mu-. i- is also used for stylistic reasons, when the highlighting of the agency or animacy of an argument, as indicated by mu-, does not serve the broader discourse agenda. As such, the prefix is a pragmatic option for the neutral reporting of information, for relating a message without particular emphasis on any one part or participant. The prefix, then, is not—as is often claimed—without function. Rather, its function derives from its neutrality, allowing it to operate as a backgrounding device (see Vanstiphout 1985: 14, who arrives at a similar conclusion). Thus, while i- is not used with the specific purpose of altering transitivity, the decrease in topicality that i- entails often does pragmatically correlate with a decrease in semantic transitivity vis-àvis mu-. This result is anticipated by our discussion of topicality and the detransitive voices, and, in particular, by the relationship between transitivity and discourse fore- and back-grounding as described by Hopper and Thompson 1980 (§2.4). With respect to backgrounding, we encounter the clearest evidence for this use of i- in the form of the affinity of this prefix for relative clauses. As discussed in connection with scalar transitivity, foregrounded clauses “comprise the backbone or skeleton of the text, forming its basic structure,” while the backgrounded clauses “put flesh on the skeleton, but are extraneous to its structural coherence” (Hopper and Thompson 1980: 281). Main and relative clauses reflect this same distinction. The former represents what is primary and central to the message, essential information upon which the message depends. Relative clauses, on the other hand, generally represent secondary, background information, information that is non-essential or parenthetical to the message. Both syntactically and pragmatically, the information contained within the relative clause is subordinate to that in the main clause. In terms of the Gestalt metaphor of figure and ground described in §2.4, the main clause is the figure, and the relative clause the ground (Croft and Cruse 2004: 57). Indeed, the resort to visual metaphors and the description of i- as a defocusing device is particularly apt in light of Schachter’s proposal (1973) that out-of-focus and relative-clause constructions are closely related to one another on a deep semantic-pragmatic level, both serving to background information. It is a proposal that is supported

136

chapter three

by formal similarities between the two constructions as observed crosslinguistically. The most striking correlations between i- and relative clauses are those contexts in which the prefix occurs in a relative clause where one would otherwise expect mu-, specifically, contexts in which verbs that lend themselves to the expression of prototypical transitivity alternate between mu- and i- on the basis of whether the verb occurs in a main or relative clause. Furthermore, we are interested in clauses that do not include animate peripheral arguments (e.g., the dative), since these arguments, as will be discussed in the following section, may, independent of other factors, trigger the appearance of one prefix over the other. Paradigmatic of these cases is in-du3-a,8 ubiquitous in Ur III royal inscriptions [122]–[124] and conspicuous for the fact that in main clauses the event occurs, almost by rule, with mu- [28]–[30], [53]. While extremely common, it must be stressed that i- is not obligatory in these relative clause contexts, but rather represents a pragmatic option (cf. Hallo 1957: 144)—exercised only when the speaker or writer wishes to signal the background quality of information conveyed by the relative clause (note [125] with variant). Moreover, the correlation, as a pragmatic phenomenon, is more evident in some genres than in others; for instance, it is not nearly as pronounced in literary texts, which have more complex discourse agendas. Also note that the correspondence between i- and temporal when-clauses is substantially less robust that that between i- and relative clauses (cf. [35] with [126]). Events in when-clauses are simultaneous with main clause events. The temporal symmetry between the two often has the effect of making foreground and background information less distinct (see Croft and Cruse 2004: 57–58). [122] Ur-dNamma lugal Urim5ki-ma lugal Ki-en-gi Ki-uri lu2 e2 dEnlil2-la2 in-du3-a ‘Ur-Namma, king of Ur, king of Sumer and Akkad, the one who built the temple of Enlil’ (Ur-Namma 24). 8 In connection with what was discussed in §3.2.2 regarding mu- and agentivity and the suggestion that the prefix renders the pronoun to a certain extent redundant, observe that the Agent pronoun -n- regularly occurs with the prefix i- in the verbal form in-du3(-a). That is, there is a greater pressure to express the pronoun in this case, since i-, unlike mu-, is neutral with respect to the parameter of agency. in-du3(-a) is, of course, common in the Gudea corpus; yet earlier attestations include: Aanepada 5: 6; Westenholz OSP 1, 103 iii 1; ARET 5, 19 i 2, ii 1.

MU-

137

[123] Gu3-de2-a ensi2 Lagaški lu2 E2-ninnu dNin-gir2-su-ka in-du3-a ‘Gudea, ruler of Lagash, the one who built the Eninnu of Ningirsu’ (Gudea St. G i 5–10). [124] Ur-dNin-gir2-su . . . lu2 E2-ninnu dNin-gir2-su-ka in-du3-a-ke4 alan-na-ni mu-tud ‘Ur-Ningirsu . . . the man who built the Eninnu of Ningirsu, fashioned his (own) statue’ (Ur-Ningirsu II 6 i 3–ii 2). [125] Gu3-de2-a ensi2 Lagaški lu2 E2-ninnu dNin-gir2-su-ka mu-du3-a (var. in-du3-a) ‘Gudea, ruler of Lagash, the one who built the Eninnu of Ningirsu’ (Gudea 82). [126] ud e2 dNin-gir2-su-ka mu-du3-a ‘When (Gudea) built the temple of Ningirsu’ (Gudea St. B v 21–22). Relative clauses are not the only representatives of background information; they are simply one of the most obvious. In the following example, the building events denoted by i3-du3 represent secondary, almost parenthetical information; the main action is the excavation of the Ninadua-canal: [127]

Nanše id2 ki-ag2-ga2-ni id2-Ninaki-du-a al mu-na-du3 ka-ba E2ninnu i3-du3 kun-ba E2-Sirara3ki i3-du3 ‘For Nanshe, (Uruinimgina) dug her beloved canal, the Ninadua-canal, building the Eninnu at its inlet and the Esirara at its outlet’ (Uruinimgina 2 iii 4′–11′). d

Similarly, there is sequence of events in [128], which represents two descriptions of an extispicy. The first, providing more detail and reported as an on-going occurrence in the marû aspect (note the correlation between mu- and atelic events), is foregrounded (šu—mu+gid2); the second, a repeated and less detailed account (šu—i+gid2) serves as a backdrop for the outcome of the extispicy (i+sag9; see below for use of i- to describe unchanging states). [128] maš2 bar6-bar6-ra šu mu-gid2-de3 maš2-a šu i3-gid2 maš2-a-ni i3-sag9 ‘(Gudea) was inspecting (the liver of ) a white kid; having completed the inspection, his omen was favorable’ (Gudea Cyl. A xii 16–17). Consistent with the notion that backgrounding and reduction in topicality correlate with a decrease in transitivity are those attestations in

138

chapter three

which i- occurs with events that deviate from the transitivity prototype. The following passages contain highly transitive predicates, yet each event marks a considerable departure from the prototypical transitive event on account of the Object, which is altogether absent in [129]– [131] (more on negative clauses below) and indefinite and indistinct, i.e., of low individuation [5], in [132]. Low transitivity events of this type are often expressed with imma- and ba- (see §§4.2, 5.2). [129] [a]lan-ba ⎡nin-mu⎤ gu3 ma-de2 ud-dug4-ga-ba i3-du3 mu-bi ‘This statue is called “My lady addressed me and on the designated day I set to work” ’ (Gudea 99 ii 7–10). Note also ud dug4! (SAG)-gaba i3-du3 (Gudea St. E ix 3). [130] kug-ga-am3 in-tu-ud kug-ga-am3 in-t[u-ud] nin-e kug-ga-am3 in-tu-ud A-bi-si2-im-ti kug-ga-am3 in-tu-u[d] nin-e kug-gaam3 in-tu-ud ‘She, who is pure, gave birth; she, who is pure, gave birth. The queen, who is pure, gave birth. Abisimti, who is pure, gave birth. The queen, who is pure, gave birth’ (ŠS A 1–4). kug-ga-am3 is taken as the subject, rather than the direct object, of the verb (see Sefati 1998: 350 ad 1–4). [131] kur gal dEn-lil2-da nu-me-a dNin-tu nu-ug5-ge sag giš nura-ra (var. ⎡sag⎤ nu-mu-ni-ib2-ra [. . .]) ‘Without the great mountain Enlil, Nintu could not kill, she could not slay’ (Enlil A 124–125). [132] im i3-barag-en sig4 i3-du3-du3-en (vars. i3-du3-u3-en, i3-du8-(e-) en) uš ki i3-ga2-ga2-an e2 i3-du3-du3-en ‘I spread clay and make bricks. I lay foundations and build houses’ (HoPl 122–123). A decrease in transitivity may also be triggered by the speaker’s wish to background the Agent’s role in the event, choosing not to focus on the event as an act of causation. The prefix’s appearance in passive or impersonal clauses [133]–[134]—environments more often associated with ba- (see §5.2)—alongside its use in more active contexts, underscores the neutrality of this prefix to voice distinctions, occurring, as it does, with events that span the scale of semantic transitivity. [133] Ur-lum-ma ba-da-kar šag4 Ummaki-še3 e-gaz ‘Urluma was able to escape, but was killed within Umma (itself )’ (Enmetena 1 iii 15–18). [134] tukum-bi lu2-u3 sag giš bi2-in-ra lu2-bi i3-gaz-e-dam ‘If a man commits murder, that man will be put to death’ (LwUrN §1).

MU-

139

Negative clauses present another environment in which the force of mu- is occasionally neutralized, particularly when contrasted with an affirmative counterpart. But whether the prefix is replaced by i- or merely -Ø-, that is, whether i- is obligatory following a modal, remains empirically an open question (see Attinger 1993: 194; Michalowski 2004: 44). The pragmatic rationale for this correlation is that events that do not take place are not afforded the same degree of emphasis or topicality as those that do. Again, there is an association with a decrease in transitivity, as it will be recalled that affirmation and mode are two of the parameters that govern scalar transitivity (Table 1). An Agent obviously exerts less control, and an Object is obviously less affected, in actions that do not actually occur. Hopper and Thompson (1980: 276–277) observe that in a number of languages the Object in a negated clause exhibits a form that implies that the verbal action is less direct, the Object is only glancingly affected as compared to the affirmative case; this is particularly evident when the Object is indefinite (cf. Yoshikawa 1979: 188–189 with a different explanation for i-/-Ø- replacing mu- in negative clauses). Observe the striking contrast between mu+verb and nu+verb in the following passages: [135] šub-lugal-ra anše sag9-ga u3-na-tud ugula-ne2 ga-še3-sa10 u3-nadug4 ud-da mu-še3-sa10-sa10 kug šag4-ga2 a-sag9-ga la2-ma u3-na-dug4 ud-da nu-še3-sa10-sa10 ugula lipišx(AB2.ŠAG4 for AB2׊AG4)-bi na-na-tag-ge ‘When a high quality donkey is born to a shublugal, and his foreman says to him, “I want to buy it from you,” whether he lets him buy it from him and says to him, “Pay me the price I want!” or does not let him buy it from him, the foreman must not strike at (the shublugal) in anger’ (Uruinimgina 1 xi 20–31, similarly, xi 32–xii 11).9 [136] e2 ur5-gim dim2-ma ensi2 dili-e dNin-gir2-su-ra nu-na-du3 namu-du3 ‘A temple built like this one not a single ruler had ever

9 Interpretation following Cooper 1986: 72. The inclusion of this passage among these examples is dependent upon the understanding of the referent of the terminative case as being the same in both the affirmative and negative verbs. If the referents are different (specifically, if they differ in animacy [see the translation of Steible ABW 1, p. 309]), then it may be a higher animacy referent that triggers mu- in the affirmative case; see §3.4.

140

chapter three

built for Ningirsu—but (Gudea) did in fact build it!’ (Gudea St. B vi 77–vii 4). [137] ur-gir15-re šu te-ba-ab mu-zu ga2-ga2-an nu-un-zu ‘A dog understands “Take it!” but it does not understand “Put it down!”’ (SP 5.81). [138] An gal dug4-ga-zu nig2 mah-am3 a-ba-a šu mi-ni-ib-bala-e a-a d En-lil2 nam gal tar-ra-zu sag2 di nu-zu-a dUr-dNin-urta šul a2-ag2-ga2-‹zu-›ne-ne di-di mu-un-zu-a-ar nam-sipad zi-gal2 ug3 šar2-ra du-ri2-še3 sag-e-eš rig7-ga-na-ab-z[e2]-en ‘Great An, your word is preeminent—who can countermand it? Father Enlil, no one knows how to undo the great destinies that you determine. Both of you, bestow for perpetuity the shepherdship over the living creatures and the myriad people to Ur-Ninurta, the young man who knows how to carry out your orders!’ (UrNin A 17–20). The defocusing function of i- also serves broader, genre-level stylistic functions. Vanstiphout (1985: 14) has already pointed out the common occurrence of the prefix in proverbs, to which we may add its remarkable frequency in administrative texts. With the former, a genre that by nature consists of pithy statements, the emphasis is frequently on the proposition as a whole rather than on any one part or participant. mu-, of course, focuses on the first half of the event, stressing the agent’s role, or, where relevant, that of the beneficiary or recipient (note, for instance, that attestations of the type i3-na-sum out-number those of muna-sum by a wide margin in proverbs; see §§3.4, 5.3 for the relationship between the prefixes and the dative case). But there are also semantic factors associated with proverbs that tend to decrease transitivity and promote the choice of i- over mu-. Specifically, proverbs are often hypothetical and often contain indefinite Agents and Objects. Similarly, with administrative and legal texts the interest is in objectivity and simply stating the essential facts without the additional emphasis that mu- implies. This is a role for which the neutral prefix i- is well suited. The detached, impersonal, facts-only reporting for which this genre strives is revealingly shown by the distribution of prefixes with canonically transitive predicates such as gaz ‘kill’. In literary texts, and royal inscriptions in particular, genres in which writers often seek to stress agentivity, these verbs, as we have seen, are commonly coupled with mu-. However in legal texts, especially law codes, texts in which there is a pragmatic pressure to distance the agent from the event (see

MU-

141

[134] and similar attestations of i+gaz in the law codes), these verbs commonly occur with i-.10 Consider the following passage [139] from a legal proceeding. The form in-gaz appears in the neutral presentation of the background facts of the case. The verb stands in contrast to the more emphatic mu-ra occurring in the reported first-person testimony, which is naturally disengaged from the legal idiom. Here the defendant, understandably, seeks to stress agentivity and volition, and so culpability. [139]

Dur2-gar-ni Ga-li in-gaz gišDur2-gar-ni en3 ba-an-tar Ga-liam3 igi-še3 gešbax(ŠU.BULUG3)ba mu-ra bi2-dug4 ‘Durgarni killed Gali. Durgarni was interrogated. (Durgarni) declared “It was Gali (who first) struck at my face with his fist” ’ (NG 202: 15–18). I.giš

In [140], i- in lieu of expected mu- (see §3.1 for mu+uš2) may be seen as doubly motivated, appearing both in a subordinate clause and within a legal text: [140] [Ku-li dumu U ]r-e2-an-na-k[e4] [ Ba-ba]-mu nar in-ug-a-aš [igi sukka]l mah-še3 ba-gi-in ‘It has been established before the chief minister that Kuli, the son of Ur-Eana, killed Babamu, the musician’ (NG 41: 2–4). And the prefix functioning as a defocusing device is encountered elsewhere. i-, for instance, is often the prefix of choice in background narrative sequences (see Vanstiphout 1985), where the goal is, similarly, to state the facts, to describe a sequence of actions as unitary events without the semantic thrust that other prefixes would convey. Relatedly, by virtue of being unattached to the starting or ending point of the event, the prefix often occurs in static descriptions, situations that are unchanging over time and for which the expression of agency and control are not of paramount importance. In this use the prefix is

10 Naturally, these events do not occur exclusively with i-. Although administrative texts display a preference for i-, in certain contexts and for certain verbs, mu- is nevertheless well attested in this genre (cf. mu+til3 ‘live’ and mu+gal2 ‘be present’ [70]–[73], as well as mu+sur ‘plant’ and mu+ba-al ‘grub’ [120]–[121]). A more extensive study of this phenomenon will ideally analyze the distribution of mu- vs. i- on a verb-by-verb basis across various text genres, controlling for syntactic and semantic contexts.

142

chapter three

found in personal names, e.g., dŠara2-i3-sag9 ‘Sara is favorable’, dEn-lil2i3-zu ‘Enlil knows’, dŠara2-i-zu ‘Shara knows’, etc. (see Limet 1968: 77; cf. mu+zu, §3.2.2), and occasionally in geographical names, e.g., I3-baal-nu-ba-al ‘(Canal-)it-is-dug—it-is-not-dug’ (e.g., MVN 10, 105: 6). 11 Finally, to be mentioned among the corpora that demonstrate a preference for i- are the few extant Sargonic bilingual royal inscriptions. Again, this use of i- is most notable in the instance of highly transitive events [141]–[142], where one would typically expect mu-. That the Sumerian does not reflect standard usage—overlooking the nuances of agency that mu- would express and instead employing the basic or neutral prefix—may point to an inexpert knowledge of Sumerian on the part of the composers and, perhaps, to the primacy of the Akkadian versions. [141] uru Unugki e-hul ⎡bad3⎤-bi e-ga-⎡si3⎤ = URUki UNUGki SAG. GIŠ.RA u3 BAD3-su I3.GUL.GUL ‘(Sargon) conquered (Sum. destroyed) Uruk and destroyed (Sum. tore down) its walls’ (Sargon 1: 12–15 [Sum.] = 12–17 [Akk.]). e-hul also appears in ll. 39, 43, and 49); note also, bad3-bi i3-gul-gul = BAD3.BAD3 I3.GUL.GUL (Sargon 11: 6–7). [142] Ri2-mu-us2 lugal Kiš alan-na-ni an-na-kam i3-dim2 = Ri2-mu-us2 LUGAL KIŠ DUL3-su ša KUG.AN ib-ni-ma ‘Rimush, king of Kish, fashioned his (own) statue out of meteoric iron(?) (Sum. tin)’ (Rimuš 18: 9–13 [Sum.] = 9–14 [Akk.]). A particularly interesting application of i- along these same lines is its use to express the hostile acts of an enemy. mu-, as I have stressed, highlights the subject’s control over the action, emphasizing agency as well as the action that has been initiated. In royal inscriptions there is an ideal match between grammatical function and political agenda when it comes to describing the actions of the ruler, a match that accounts for the prevalence of mu- in these contexts. However, when reporting the inimical actions of an enemy, obviously, there is less desire to stress agency and control. Indeed, emphasis of these qualities, an admission of the enemy’s potency, often runs counter to the interests and agendas of those for whom the text is composed. Rather, the objective in such

11 A well-attested waterway in the Ur III period—I thank Jacob Dahl for providing me with references.

MU-

143

reports is, typically, to convey the basic facts, to report these events dispassionately, from a detached perspective that may even serve to minimize the effects of the act. To this end, a writer may optionally use i- in lieu of mu- in the description of such acts, a choice that is, once again, particularly striking with highly transitive events. With i-, these events are still viewed from the active perspective, but their Agents and the actions they instigate are denied the emphasis that mu- would impart (for a different explanation of this phenomenon, see Yoshikawa 1979: 187). In the following passages, the Ummaite actions are reported from the Lagash perspective: [143] na-ru2-a-bi izi ba-sum i3-pad-pad barag ru-a dingir-re2-ne Nam-nun-da-ki-gar-ra ab-du3-a i3-gul-gul ‘(Urluma) set fire to their steles and smashed them, and destroyed the established(?) chapels of the gods that were built on the (boundary levee called) Namnunda-kigara’ (Enmetena 1 ii 36–42). Alternatively, PAD may be read bu15, i.e., i3-bu15-bu15 ‘he tore out (the established(?) chapels)’—see PSD B s.v. bu B mng. 1. [144] UŠ ensi2 Ummaki-ke4 nam-inim-ma dirig-dirig-še3 e-ak na-ru2-abi i3-pad eden Lagaški-še3 i3-gen ‘USH, ruler of Umma, acted arrogantly—he smashed that stele and marched on the steppe of Lagash’ (Enmetena 1 i 13–21). Alternatively, i3-bu15(PAD) ‘he tore out (that stele)’—see [143]. [145] alan-bi i3-gul-gul ‘(The leader of Umma) destroyed (the temple’s) statues’ (Uruinimgina 5 iv 3–4, 9–10). [146] dAma-geštin-ta kug za-gin3-na-ni ba-ta-keš2-keš2 pu2-ba i3-šub gana2 dNin-gir2-su-ka en-na uru4-a še-bi i3-⎡pad⎤ ‘From (the statue of) Amageshtinana (the leader of Umma) removed her precious metals and lapis lazuli, and threw them in a well. In the fields of Ningirsu, whichever were under cultivation, he crushed the barley’ (Uruinimgina 5 vii 3–9). For pad ‘break’ in connection with grain, note [311]; alternatively, i3-bu15(PAD) ‘he tore out (the barley)’—see [143]. 3.4

Animacy, Empathy, and the Dative Case (I)

The correlation between the prefix mu- and peripheral arguments, specifically, animate referents of the dative, comitative, and terminative cases, has been long observed and considered a defining characteristic

144

chapter three

of this prefix since Falkenstein (§1.3). But why this is, let alone how this use meshes with the prefix’s other functions, has rarely been asked. The position taken here is that the correlation with animacy is directly related to the affinity of mu- for the semantics of high transitivity and that all uses of the prefix can be expressed in terms of the Nominal Hierarchy. As I have stressed in previous sections, agency, or more specifi cally the notion of control, is common to most of the environments in which mu- is encountered, and control is what draws the prefix to the prototypical transitive event. Even in the limiting intransitive case, the speaker’s ability to conceptualize the action in terms of a subject that controls the action allows for this ostensibly distant event-type to receive the same marking as the prototype. Among the various types of nominals in language, the first- and second-person pronouns are more likely to assume the role of Agent than any other. They are, as I have noted, the prototypical Agents. This, of course, is the basis of the Nominal Hierarchy, namely, that first- and second-person pronouns outrank the third, which in turn outranks proper nouns, and so on—that nominals in language form a continuum that reflects animacy, agency, and related parameters (§2.2). When joined with peripheral arguments, mu- typically signals the inclusion of a highly animate participant in the clause—a participant that is semantically agent-like, but not itself the agent of the event. In this way, a morpheme that is closely associated with agency is extended functionally to mark the referent of another argument, which is semantically identical, or nearly so, to the agent. In other words, the marking of a highly salient semantic role is modeled after the pattern of the most salient role. It will be recalled in this connection that according to the semantic roles hierarchy [9], beneficiary and recipient are outranked only by agent in terms of the likelihood to control the action and serve as subject. These roles, like the agent itself, are canonically occupied by animate and definite referents. In Sumerian they are typically represented by the dative and terminative cases. Also to be mentioned here, taking into account the particulars of case in Sumerian, are the (animate) referents of the comitative—clausal participants that are agent-like by way of jointly participating in the event alongside the agent (cf. Givón’s discussion of the associative semantic role [2001a: 107]). Although the correspondence between muand animate peripheral arguments holds, generally, for the terminative and comitative cases, it is most evident with the dative, the one case

MU-

145

with a necessarily animate referent and the most marked of the infixed cases with distinct allomorphs for each person. Consequently, in this section I will limit the discussion primarily to the correlation between mu- and the dative with the understanding that much of what is said here applies also to terminative and comitative cases. The meanings expressed by two broad functions of the prefix, affecting the verbal meaning by marking for voice (and, relatedly, as a ventive directional element as we will see in §3.5) and marking the animacy of a peripheral argument, are mirrored in the morphology of the verbal chain itself, reflecting an iconicity between meaning and form. When marking the animacy of a peripheral participant, mu- is immediately followed by the infix that represents that participant. Linguistic proximity, the closeness of morphemes within the word, corresponds to semantic proximity, the bond in meaning that exists between the prefix and the referent of the infix. Similarly, when the prefix attaches itself directly to the verbal meaning, signaling voice or deixis, it tends to occur close to the verbal base as the examples given in §§3.1, 3.2, and 3.5 amply attest. These correspondences speak to an iconicity that is deeply rooted in the nature of language itself, one that Bybee argues is typologically predictable, a symbolic relation in which “the greater cohesion of concepts is reflected in a higher degree of fusion in their corresponding expression units” (Bybee 1985: 24; see also Croft 2003: 207–208, Kemmer 1993a: 189). As a general, but by no means absolute rule, the voice (and deictic) functions of the prefixes are in greater evidence the closer the prefix is to the verbal root. Consequently, a case element may be omitted from the verbal chain in order to facilitate the semantic bond between prefix and verbal stem (see p. 277 n. 16). Conversely, when a dimensional infix is allowed to intervene between the prefix and the root—distancing the prefix from the root—the voice or deictic force of the prefix is diminished and the prefix is likely to bond with the immediately following infix, reflecting the animacy of its referent. This likelihood increases for those infixes with animate referents, and among these, especially for the highly topical dative case [9]. However, the attestation of forms such as ba-an-na-sum ‘(PN1) was given to (PN2)’ (NG 126: 13—[635], see §5.3) and šu ba-a-ši-ib2-ti ‘He will receive from you’ (Gudea Cyl. A vii 3—[481], see §5.1.4), in which the prefix interacts with the meaning of the verb rather than with the following dative case, show this rule to be more of a tendency rather than an inviolable law (that is, one would otherwise expect the dative case to solicit mu- or i- in these cases [see below]). But even if only

146

chapter three

representing a tendency, it nevertheless shows that the two functions of the prefix—relating to the event and the core participants, on the one hand, and relating to the animacy of a peripheral participant, on the other—operate largely independently of one another. This is borne out by the correlation between mu- and low transitive events that include highly topical and animate participants in the dative case, such as those represented by examples [147]–[150] from the Gudea corpus. The verb a—ru ‘dedicate’ [147], ubiquitous in votive inscriptions, designates an event that is essentially middle since the action is performed for the subject’s own benefit and object affectedness is minimal. Clearly, mu- is not triggered by the semantics of high transitivity in a—ru events. Rather, it is the highly topical recipient, often fronted, assuming the most topical position in the clause, that accounts for the prefix’s remarkably high correlation with these events. Indeed, so high is this correlation that it was conventionalized, as witnessed by its fossilization in the logogram A.MU.(NA.)RU = šarāku (see CAD Š/2 s.v.). [147]

Ig-alim dumu ki-ag2 dNin-gir2-su-ka lugal-a-ni Gu3-de2-a ensi2 Lagaški-ke4 nam-til3-la-ni-še3 a mu-na-ru ‘To Igalim, the beloved son of Ningirsu, his master, Gudea, ruler of Lagash, dedicated (this macehead) for his (own) life’ (Gudea 17). d

Likewise ranking low in transitivity, representing various middle and impersonal events are [148]–[150] (note the lack of an Object in [150]): [148] lugal-‹ni-›ir ug3-ga2 mu-na-zig3 šud3 mu-na-ša4 Ub-šu-kinna-ka mu-na-gen kiri3 šu mu-na-gal2 ‘(Gudea) rose before his master from among the people and prayed to (Ningirsu). He went up to him in Ubshukina and paid homage to him’ (Gudea Cyl. A viii 13–14). [149] sipad-me nam-nun-ne2 sag ma-ab-si3!-si3 nig2 maš gi6-ke4 ma-ab-de6-a-ga2 šag4-bi nu-zu ‘Profound things have been entrusted to me, the shepherd—that which the night-time vision brought to me, I do not understand’ (Gudea Cyl. A i 26–27). [150] sag ur-sag-e mu-na-du3 ‘(Only) the best warriors worked for (Gudea)’ (Gudea St. B iv 6). In the case of highly transitive trivalent events, mu- is naturally expected as it is in their bivalent counterparts, although the trigger for the prefix

MU-

147

in these cases is presumably the animate peripheral argument. Observe, in this connection, the standard Ur III brick inscription, which typically concludes with mu-na-du3, where the dative refers to a deity, highly topical and occupying the left-most position, for whom the activity is undertaken. Evidence that the voice and animacy marking functions share a common basis presents itself in the form of the distribution of the prefix with the dative allomorphs. This distribution describes a continuum that mirrors the Nominal Hierarchy. That is, the frequency with which mu- occurs with the dative is directly proportional to its referent’s position on the Nominal Hierarchy. As Gragg has observed, mu- is obligatory with the first-person dative, ma- (presumably, ma- derives from mu-+-a-[first-person dative]), overwhelmingly frequent with the second, mu-ra-, and is very frequent with the third, mu-na-. These correlations complement the distribution of i-, which is incompatible with the first person, infrequent with the second, i3-ra-, but common with the third, i3-na-, as well as that of ba-, which is incompatible with the first- and second-person dative and infrequent with the third, ba-na- (1973b: 93).12 Although not attested in the same numbers, a similar spectrum of values could be demonstrated for comitative and terminative cases. Naturally, what is at issue is not the grammatical case marker itself, but the semantics, or animacy, of the referents. And it is on the basis of the quality of the referents that the correlation with mu- is predictable from the Nominal Hierarchy. mu- is most closely associated with the first and second persons, the Agents par excellence, so much so that the prefix is obligatory with the former. In a progressively graded correlation that mimics the Nominal Hierarchy, the prefix is all but mandatory with the second person and optional with the third. As I will describe in §5.3 this graded scale does not end with mu- and third-person animate NPs, but continues and ends with ba- and its correlation with beneficiaries and recipients of the non-persons class, inanimate nominals that belong to the lowest rungs of the Nominal Hierarchy. 12 Along similar lines, Jacobsen pointed out, with regard to the equivalence between Akkadian ventives and Sum. mu-/-m-prefixed verbal forms in the Old Babylonian grammatical texts, that “Akkadian simple Ventives, denoting direction towards the speaker, are regularly correlated with Sumerian forms in -m- if no or a 3rd person goal is specified, with forms in mu- if a 1st person or 2nd person goal is specified” (1956: 6*). And for Krecher, concerned with Pre-Sargonic administrative texts, mu- is not only a ventive element with verbs of motion, but represents in other non-motion contexts an ethical dative of the first person with reference also to the second (1985: 176).

148

chapter three

The most intriguing feature of this distribution is the optional nature of mu- with the third person. While mu- with the first- and second-person is de rigeur, or nearly so, the speaker has a legitimate choice in the case of the third person. Thus, the equivalent of the clause He gave (it) to him can be rendered in Sumerian alternatively as mu-na-sum or i3-nasum—the attempt to explain the difference between the two, as we have seen (§1.3) is a problem over which a great deal of ink has been spilt. The distinction between the two, in my view, again revolves around the Nominal Hierarchy and the types of binary distinctions that are made among the spectrum of nominals in language. I begin with the famous example of RTC 19, which has been cited by virtually every commentator since Thureau-Dangin (1907: 396–397) in connection with the alternation between mu- and i-. RTC 19 consists of two passages of a Pre-Sargonic administrative text that deal with the exchange of diplomatic gifts between the wives of the rulers of Adab and Lagash, Ningishkimtil and Baragnamtara respectively. The gifts from Ningishkimtil to Baragnamtara are described in [151], those from Baragnamtara to Ningishkimtil in [152]: [151] (various gifts) Nin-giškim-til3 dam ensi2 Adabki-ka-ke4 Baragnam-tar-ra dam Lugal-An-da ensi2 Lagaški-ka-ra 2-kam-ma-ka šu mu-na-taka4 A-ne-da-nu-me-a lu2-ni Ma-al-ga-sud-da muda-gen-na-a mu-de6 (1 garment) Nin-giškim-til3-e Ma-al-ga mu-na-sum ‘With the second (delivery), Ningishkimtil, the wife of the ruler of Adab, sent (various gifts) to Baragnamtara, wife of Lugal-Anda, ruler of Lagash. Anedanumea, her servant, who came with Malgasud, delivered them. Ningishkimtil gave (one garment) to Malga(sud)’ (RTC 19 ii 1–iv 3). [152] (metals) Barag-nam-tar-ra dam Lugal-An-da ensi2 Lagaškika-ke4 2-kam-ma-ka Nin-giškim-til3 dam ensi2 Adabki-ka-ra šu e-na-taka4 Ma-al-ga e-da-gen (garments and scented oil) Barag-nam-tar-ra A-ne-da-nu-me-a e-na-sum ‘With the second (delivery), Baragnamtara, wife of Lugal-Anda, ruler of Lagash, sent (metals) to Ningishkimtil, wife of the ruler of Adab. Malga(sud) came with (Anedanumea). Baragnamtara gave (garments and scented oil) to Anedanumea’ (RTC 19 v 1–vii 5). Thureau-Dangin saw the alternation between mu- and i- in this text as essentially a deictic opposition, with the choice of prefix dependant upon the location and direction of the action from the point of view of the writer, who naturally writes from the Lagash perspective as

MU-

149

this is a Girsu text: “e s’emploie lorsque le sujet est ‘au centre’ et que l’action est dirigée du centre vers le ‘dehors’, mu lorsque le sujet est ‘au dehors’ et que l’action est dirigée du dehors vers le ‘centre’ ” (1907: 397–398). Along entirely different lines, Poebel (1908: 224–225)—in whose understanding of these prefixes RTC 19 was in fact central—saw this alternation as marking a temporal distinction between the two deliveries: “Nachdem oder weil die Frau des Patesi von Adab Geschenke geschickt hatte (Zeitunterschied), hat die Frau des Patesi von Lagaš ebenfalls Geschenke geschickt” (1908: 225). Recent opinion has sided with Thureau-Dangin’s conception, in spirit if not always in detail. Edzard follows Thureau-Dangin most faithfully, seeing mu- vs. i- as expressing a ventive vs. neutral non-ventive opposition: “All actions and motions in her [Bara-namtara’s] direction are noted as ventives; all actions and motions referring to the visiting person, Ningishkimtil, wife of the ensi of Adab, are noted as neutral non-ventives” (2003a: 104). More abstract in its outlook is Krecher’s explanation. Krecher (1985) views mu- and i- in this and similar texts as positively and negatively marked respectively for a type of methaphorical proximity: mu- is used with those participants that belong to the Bau temple, the sphere of the writer: “Diese Zuordnung zum ‘hier’ wird schwerlich in der faktischen Anwesenheit dieser Personen in der Nähe des Sprechers (Schreibers), sondern in ihrer funktionalen Zugehörigkeit zum Bereich des é-dBa-ba6, die insoweit den Sprecher (Schreiber) ‘betrifft’, und damit in ihrer vorgestellten Gegenwart gelegen haben” (1985: 173). i-, in contrast, occurs with those participants that are beyond the ‘sphere’ of the writer, RTC 19 demonstrating that “ ‘fremde’ Personen nicht in das ‘hier’ des Sprechers einbezogen werden” (1985: 174). Finally, there is Yoshikawa’s proposal (1979). As outlined in §1.3, in Yoshikawa’s opinion the distinction between mu- and i- is one that centers primarily on the relative social status of the participants involved. Specifically, when the referent of the dative case is of higher status than that of the subject, mu- is commonly used, topicalizing the greater social standing of recipient vis-à-vis the subject, as, for instance, in the case of a king giving a gift to a deity; when the dative argument is ‘lower’ in social standing, i- prevails, as in [152], where Baragnamtara (queen) gives a gift to Anedanumea (servant) and the verb is e-na-sum.13

13 RTC 19 is also discussed in connection with the prefixes mu- and i- by Scholtz (1934: 27–32) and Falkenstein (1978b: 164 n. 3). Marchesi (2004: 179) has recently discussed the content of i 1–iii 2.

150

chapter three

What is actually at issue with our text, and with the mu- vs. i- option more broadly, is empathy as a function of the Nominal Hierarchy. It will be recalled from §2.2 that the Nominal Hierarchy, the natural ordering of nominals, can assume various guises. From one perspective it is a hierarchy of animacy, from another, of topicality, and from still another, of agency. The ability of the Nominal Hierarchy to assume various labels speaks to the interrelatedness of these categories, each focusing upon a different facet of the same, overarching phenomenon. Empathy (Kuno 1976, 1987; Kuno and Kaburaki 1977) represents yet another perspective from which the hierarchy may be viewed and is the most revealing of the pragmatic motivations that prompt the choice between mu- or i- with animate peripheral arguments. When viewed as an empathy hierarchy, the natural ordering of NPs reflects the degree to which speakers, being human and animate, identify or have empathy toward a person or thing that participates in the event under discussion. The speaker naturally has the highest degree of empathy for himself and, secondarily, for the addressee, his partner in discourse. He has progressively less empathy toward third persons uninvolved in the discourse, collectives, inanimates, etc. Empathy, therefore, is a matter of perspective and so deictic, as it represents an assessment of people and objects from the speaker’s subjective point of view (Langacker 1991: 306–307). In other words, empathy reflects the degree to which a speaker identifies with another clausal participant, choosing to take, or not to take, that participant’s perspective on the event. Take, for instance, the sentences John saw Mary’s brother (who is named Bob) and John saw Bob. The two sentences have the same factual content, but the choice to describe Bob as Mary’s brother in the first, as someone whose identity is not independent but fixed to Mary’s, reveals that the speaker shares a greater degree of empathy with Mary than with Bob. Similarly, the choice of the passive over the active, as in Bob was seen by John, reflects the speaker’s greater empathy with Bob than with John. As these sentences, involving a choice of nominals in the first two and a choice of voice in the third, suggest, empathy has relevance for a wide range of grammatical constructions (see Kuno and Kaburaki 1977; also Croft and Cruse 2004: 61). The distribution of mu- with peripheral arguments can be explained as a function of empathy. It explains why mu- is obligatory with the first person (e.g., ma-sum), as a speaker by definition empathizes or identifies with himself and secondarily with the addressee (e.g., mu-ra-sum), a fact that accounts for the prefix’s remarkable correlation with peripheral

MU-

151

arguments of the second person. With third persons, the hypothesis predicts that when a speaker or writer uses mu- (e.g., mu-na-sum), he is expressing a greater degree of empathy for, or identity with, that participant than when he uses i-. In fact, i- is neutral or unmarked with respect to speaker empathy, while ba-, as described in §5.3, can signal low speaker empathy for the beneficiary or recipient. Recall that the Nominal Hierarchy is a continuum, on which the number of points is infinite, corresponding to all the possible nominals in language. With the exception of two, the first- and second-person pronouns, this spectrum consists of third-person nominals. The choice of mu- over i- may be seen as a means of making a dichotomous pragmatic distinction between these nominals when they serve as peripheral arguments in a clause. By choosing mu-, the speaker extends the empathy mark that is most closely associated with himself and the addressee to a third person. This is a person in whom the speaker has a particular interest, with whom he identifies, a person he deems to be, on some level, like himself. Under this broad label of empathy fall the many events, for instance, in which a ruler does something for the benefit of a deity, so often expressed by mu-na+verb. By opting to use i-, on the other hand, the speaker indicates that either he does not empathize or identify with this third-person participant, or, alternatively, for pragmatic or stylistic reasons, he chooses not to express it (e.g., information backgrounding, as in subordinate clauses, legal and administrative contexts—see §3.3). Returning to RTC 19, we observe that the distribution of mu- and i- conforms to what the empathy hierarchy predicts. The writer, who is in Lagash, has greater empathy for those participants that call Lagash home than for those from Adab. Thus, in [151] mu- marks Baragnamtara, wife of Lugalanda, in the dative role (mu-na-) and Malgasud, presumably her servant or lady in waiting, in the comitative (mu-da-) and dative (mu-na-) roles. i- appears with Ningishkimtil, wife of the ensi of Adad (dative: e-na-) and Anedanumea, who must belong to the Adab court (comitative: e-da-; dative: e-na-).14 Note that the empathy hypothesis is consistent with Krecher’s view—indeed, it subsumes Krecher’s notion of proximity, placing this use of the prefix within the broader framework of its voice functions by invoking the Although Malgasud and Anedanumea are nowhere in the text explicitly indentified as belonging to the respective Lagash and Adab courts, this may be safely inferred based on the fact that a Ma-al-ga(-sud) is well attested in the Lagash e2-mi2 texts, while the PN A-ne-da-nu-me-a is, apparently, known only from this text. 14

152

chapter three

Nominal Hierarchy. Further, empathy accounts for many of those uses of mu- that Yoshikawa’s topicality and social status theory is at pains to explain. An example in point is the final clause of [151], i.e., Nin-giškim-til3-e Ma-al-ga mu-na-sum ‘Ningishkimtil gave (one garment) to Malga(sud)’, for which Yoshikawa is forced to propose, “This usage may suggest the superiority of Lagaš over Adab or topicality on the side of Lagaš” (1979: 188). That the choice between prefixes with peripheral arguments is a subjective, pragmatic one—independent of fixed criteria such as social status of participants, the sphere of the speaker, or the here-ness of the beneficiary—is again suggested by [153] and [154]. In the first, Shubur, a nubanda, surely ranks lower in social status than Enentarzid, an ensi, while a ventive interpretation of the event does not immediately suggest itself. Similarly, in [154] Sagsag outranks Eniggal in terms of social standing and the event itself must be regarded as moving literally and figuratively hither, toward the e2-mi2, the vantage point from which the event is viewed (cf. Krecher 1985: 175–176; Yoshikawa 1979: 198). [153] eg2 gana2 Gibil-tur En-en3-tar-zid ensi2 Lagaški-ke4 Šubur nubanda3 mu-na-du3 ‘Enentarzid, ruler of Lagash, had the levee of the Gibiltur-field built for Shubur, the captain’ (DP 614 iv 1–v 2). [154] (a saw, various vessels) e2 E2-barag-ga-ta En-ig-gal nu-banda3 Sag9-sag9 dam Uru-inim-gi-na lugal Lagaški-ka-ra e2-gal-še3 e-na-de6 ‘(a saw, various vessels) Eniggal, the captain, brought from the house of Ebarag to Sagsag, wife of Uruinimgina, king of Lagash, at the palace’ (DP 343 ii 2–iv 2). Given that the choice of prefix represents a pragmatic option, it is not particularly surprising to find parallel passages (or even different exemplars) varying with respect to the appearance of mu- or i-. The indication of empathy is very much at the discretion of the speaker or writer and, with respect to the third person in particular, there are apparently no fixed rules governing its expression. Indeed, the optional nature of this assignment allows for certain, although imperfectly understood, expressions of style and emphasis. This is presumably the case in [155], in which the writer, ostensibly, is not specifically indicating greater empathy for the ‘wealthy’ over the ‘influential’, but rather is stressing, for poetic effect, the first of two parallel dative events with the prefix emphasizing the action itself much as it does in its voice function.

MU-

153

[155] nu-siki lu2-nig2-tuku nu-mu-na-gar na-ma-su lu2-a2-tuku nuna-gar ‘I did not expose the orphan to the wealthy, nor the widow to the influential’ (Gudea St. B vii 42–43; Gudea Cyl. B xviii 6–7 [broken context]). 3.5

Verbs of Motion and the Relationship between mu- and im-

It has often been stated that the /m/ element of the prefix system expresses hither-deixis, a category that in Assyriology is commonly referred to as the ventive, following Landsberger (1923; see §1.3). The claim, however, has not been universally accepted, and when it has been acknowledged, a ventive function is more often associated with the prefix im- than with mu-. Yoshikawa (1978), for instance, views the prefix (i3-)im- as a ventive element, but denies the function for mu- (cf. Krecher 1985). Clearly, the issue of whether we are to attribute a ventive meaning to mu- is bound up with the prefix’s relationship to im-. And it is an issue that is made all the more complex by the uncertain status of the latter prefix. Consequently, before proceeding to a discussion of mu- with verbs of motion, some clarification is in order concerning im- and its relationship to mu-. Michalowski (2004: 44) has recently suggested that the /m/ of the prefix chain (i3-)im- may actually be a reflex of -n-, the animate thirdperson pronoun. Indeed, there is much to recommend this view. Functionally, the prefix appears in contexts that do not support a ventive meaning, but for which the presence of a pronominal element would be consistent with the traditional understanding of the grammar. Further, textual variants in which /m/ ~ /n/ are not difficult to come by, e.g., i-in-si ~ i-im-si ~ im-si (Inana B 32), in-bir-re ~ im-bir (LNip 4), in-tilla-be2 ~ im-til-la-be2 ~ in-til-la-gim ~ i3-im-til-la-gim (LUr 219), im-dab5 ~ in-dab5(-be2) (Nungal A 43). There are also instances of /m/ ~ /b/ in variant texts, although the alternation is not as common as /m/ ~ /n/, e.g., he2-eb-gi4 ~ he2-em-gi4 (CAk 233, 235), i-ib2-bur2 ~ i-im-bur2 (EmkLA 300), im-ha-lam-ma-bi-še3 ~ ⎡ib2⎤-ha-⎡lam-ma⎤-bi-še3 (LNip 74). Variations of these types can easily be mustered to support the position that im- has no true morphological status, that it is merely a phonetic or graphic phenomenon (further note that there are contexts that suggest that (i3-)im- can be a writing for imma- or immi-). But whether this is true in all cases is the question. One does not necessarily have to reject im- as an independent morpheme everywhere in order to

154

chapter three

accept /m/ as a reflex of /n/, or /b/, in some, or even many, cases. If the morpheme had a limited functional range, much of the presumed ambiguity surrounding a surface (i )m- would be obviated. It may indeed be the case that there is a distinct prefix im-, but it is restricted to certain environments. This is suggested by attestations of the prefix with the writing i3-im- in the Old Babylonian grammatical texts where it occurs exclusively with the verb gen ‘go’ and is equated with Akkadian alāku. It is a correlation that is corroborated by Ur III attestations, in which the prefix occurs, again, primarily with gen, occasionally with the motion verb de6 ‘carry’, and only sporadically with other verbs (see Yoshikawa 1977a: 230–232; 1978: 463–465, 480).15 While i3-im- is reserved for verbs of motion in third-millennium texts, to judge from the vast majority of attestations, im- has a broader range of uses in all periods. But, like i3-im-, it too conveys a ventive meaning with verbs of motion. The verb gen, with both im- and i3-im- (also written i-im- in the Old Babylonian period), indicates motion hither, toward the speech event, often the location where the tablet was drawn up (Yoshikawa 1978: 480) or toward some place to which the writer projects himself:16 [156] ensi2 A-ka3-de3ki-ta im-gen-⎡na⎤ ‘(When) the ruler came here from Akade’ (ITT 1, 1104: 17–18 [Girsu]). Cf. lugal Ki-en-giše3 i3-im-ge-na-a ‘(When) the king came to Sumer’ (MCS 9, 247: 29–30 [Umma]). [157] Pu3-šu-ud lu2-kin-gi4-a Ia3-ab-ra-at LU2.SU.Aki ud LU2.SU.Aki‹-ta› i3-im-gen-na-a “When Pushud, the envoy of Yabrat, the Shimashkian, came here from Shimashki” ( Jean Šumer et Akkad pl. 65, 57: 2–3 [Drehem]). [158] Puzur4-A-šur5 lu2 kin-gi4-a Bu-ša-am ensi2 Si-ma-num2ki ⎡ud S⎤i-ma-num2ki-ta ⎡i3⎤-im-gen-na ‘When Puzur-Ashur, the envoy of Busham, the ruler of Simanum, came here from Simanum’ (Genouillac Trouvaille 84: 2–6 [= Limet Ur III Brussels 36] [Drehem]). [159] 2 sum kab2-ku5 Iš-tup-bir5-ra maškim dEn-lil2-An-zu lugal igi-nim-ta i3-im-gen-na-a 2 lugal sig-ta i3-im-gen-na-a

15 I see little evidence, in the Ur III attestations at least, that suggests that i3-imcontains a locative element (cf. Karahashi 2000b: 122; Yoshikawa 1977a: 236). 16 A closer definition of the ventive in Sumerian is certainly warranted, but must await a more extensive study of the phenomenon; for recent discussion of the ventive in Akkadian, see Hirsch 2002 (particularly, pp. 3–21) and Kouwenberg 2002.

MU-

155

Iš-dup-bir5-ra min-kam ‘2 kabku-containers of onions for IshtupIrra—Enlil-Anzu was the commissioner—(when) the king came from the upper country; 2 (kabku-containers of onions), when the king came from the lower country, again for Ishtup-Irra’ (Westenholz OSP 2, 135: 1–8 [Nippur]). [160] lugal Nibruki-še3 im-gen-na ‘(When) the king came to Nippur’ (STTI 26 l.e. 2–3 [Girsu]). This meaning is also discernible in the Old Babylonian period (it is particularly common in the expression ud im+zal [163] referring to the break [lit. the coming forth] of day): [161] nin-zu dNin-lil2-le i-im-du ud-da en3-mu mu-ra-tar-r[e] za-e ki-mu nam-mu-ni-in-pad3-de3 ‘Your lady, Ninlil, will be coming—if she asks you about me, you must not reveal where I am!’ (EnlNl 68–70). [162] [dDumu]-zid gal5-la2-zu im-ši-re7-eš (var. mu-e-re7-eš) ‘Dumuzi, your demons are coming here (for you)!’ (DzD 90). [163] ud im-zal dUtu im-ta-e3-a-ra ‘When day had broken and Utu had come forth’ (InŠk 126, 239). But often in the Old Babylonian period the prefix appears to be bleached of its original deictic meaning, suggesting motion but not necessarily hither-direction: [164] ga2-e Ak-ka3-še3 ga-am3-ši-gen (vars. ga-gen, ga-an-ši-gen) ‘I will go to Aka’ (GgAk 57, similarly 54). [165] me 7-bi zag mu-ni-in-keš2 me mu-un-ur4-ur4 šu-ni-še3 mu-un-la2 me dug3 giri3 gub-ba i-im-gen (var. um-mi-in-[. . .]) ‘(Inana) bundled up the seven divine powers, collected the divine powers together, and grasped them in her hand. With the good me’s, she went on her way (to the Netherworld)’ (InD 14–16). The position taken here, therefore, is that there was, at least in origin, a distinct im- prefix that had a ventive meaning, denoting motion toward the speech event, and as such, was restricted to verbs of motion. In early periods often written distinctively i3-im-, this prefix was later indistinguishable from non-ventive /(i )m/-. Whether the latter is, in all cases, a phonetic or graphic phenomenon, or an allograph of the ventive prefix bleached of its original deictic force (and so able to accommodate

156

chapter three

non-motion verbs), I leave as an open question. The important point is that I consider the ventive function of this prefix to apply primarily to verbs of motion and doubt that we are to understand Old Babylonian attestations of (i/i3-)im- with non-motion verbs as representing—in all cases—“the metaphorical change from the spatial movement to the emotional movement,” as does Yoshikawa (1978: 181), citing the following passage as an example of the phenomenon: [166] i-im-zig3 ma-mu2-da i-im-bu-lu-uh2 u3-sa2-ga-am3 ‘He woke up—it was a dream! He shivered—it was sleep!’ (DzD 17). What remains, then, is the relationship between the prefixes im- and mu-. The two clearly do not share an allomorphic relationship, for, as we shall see, functionally they fulfill very different roles despite displaying considerable semantic overlap. The former, as I have contended, is an uncomplicated deictic element, imparting a ventive or hither, towardthe-speech-act meaning to verbs of motion. Central to the prefix mu-, on the other hand, is agency, control, volition and the modeling of events after the transitivity prototype. But there is nothing, of course, in this basic function of mu- that is inconsistent with a ventive meaning. To the contrary, such a deictic value is very much in accord with the other uses of this prefix. Indeed, Yoshikawa’s position notwithstanding, this is one of the primary functions of mu- with verbs of motion. A transparent iconicity joins mu- with this meaning to its agentive and dative functions. The prefix is most closely associated with the prototypical transitive event and the prototypical transitive event centers around the SAPs, the most intrinsically agentive participants, who, by definition, are here, at the place of discourse (see Fig. 5). Consequently, mirroring im-—at least with respect to this function—mu- with motion verbs denotes motion in the direction of the speech event, the location where the document was executed, or the metaphorical here to which the speaker or writer has projected himself [167]–[176]. Observe that a clause that includes a verb of motion prefixed with mu-, e.g., mu+de6 ‘bring’, often will not include an NP that represents the goal [2] of the event; rather, the Endpoint of the motion event is implicitly given by the prefix. [167] 7 sa-numunx(ZI+ZI.ŠE3) gamarku6 1 sa-numunx(ZI+ZI.ŠE3) suhurku6 tur-tur U2-du šu-ku6 a dug3-ga-ke4 mu-de6 Ninaki-še3 ba-de6 ‘7 containers of gamar-fish, 1 container of small suhur-

MU-

[168]

[169] [170]

[171] [172]

[173] [174]

[175] [176]

157

carp—Udu, the fresh-water fisherman, brought them here; (subsequently,) they were taken to Nina’ (VS 14, 19 i 1–iii 1 [= Bauer AWL no. 132]). 130 sa-numunx(ZI+ZI.A) eštubku6 ku6 gana2 Ambar-kam E2-i3gara2-su3 šu-ku6-e mu-de6 ‘130 containers of carp—these are the fish of Ambar-field. Eigarasu, the fisherman, brought them here’(VS 14, 139 i 1–ii 1 [= Bauer AWL no. 142]). (totals of dates, apples, figs, and grapes) nu-kiri6 dBa-u2-ke4-ne mu-de6 ‘The gardeners of Bau brought (the dates, apples, figs, and grapes) here’ (DP 107 vii 1–3). bar še-ba-ka lu2 he2-ši-gi4-gi4-a-ka še-mu ha-mu-tum3 he2na-be2-a-ka ‘Because of that barley, (Enanatum I) sent envoys to (Urluma), having them say to him, “You must deliver my barley!”’ (Uruinimgina 3 iv 1′–4′). lu2-inim-ma-bi nu-mu-da-de6 ‘He was not able to bring forth the witnesses’ (NG 82: 6). Similarly, NG 132: 10, 169: 12. 1 NE-da-ti A-gu-za nu-banda3-ar de6-mu-un ba-na-ab-dug4 Agu-za i3-de6 bi2-in-dug4 ‘They said to NEdati and Aguza, the captain, “Bring him here!” Aguza declared, “I’ll bring him” ’ (NG 121: 10–13). Note the use of the deictically neutral i- in the second clause, for which the deictic context is established. ud dNanna An-ša-anki-ta Urim5ki-še3 mu-un-tum2-ma-a ‘When (Shu-ilishu) brought back (the statue of) Nanna from Anshan to Ur’ (Šu-ilišu 1: 8–11). [a] id2Idigna id2Buranunana-bi-da ⎡ud⎤-ul-li2-a-ta mu-un-tum3bi-eš-a ‘Water, which the Tigris and Euphrates had brought since ancient times’ (Rim-Sin 15: 9–10). Note the erroneous placement of the pronoun, -bi; the text is a school copy from Ur. E2-kur-re e2 dEn-lil2-la2-ta Abzu Eridugki-mu-še3 nam-galam mu-de6 ‘I brought the arts from the Ekur, the temple of Enlil, to my Abzu in Eridu’ (EnkWO 66–67). a-a-mu dEn-lil2-le mu-un-tum2-en ‘My father Enlil brought me (i.e., Anzu) here (to the mountain)’ (LgB 2: 101).

In some cases, of course, it is not certain whether mu- fulfills a deictic function or simply emphasizes the Agent and the action (§3.2.2), as in the following event, which is viewed from the Lagash perspective:

158

chapter three

[177] [da-ri2 da gal-la-še3] [ki-s]ur-ra [dN]in-gir2-[s]u2-ka-ke4 [b]a-ramu-bala-e ‘Forever and evermore, I shall not transgress the boundary of Ningirsu!’ (Eanatum 1 rev. i 16–19). The parallelism between space and person, between here and the location of the SAPs, which underlies the functions of mu-, is given its clearest expression in the correlation between mu- and the referents of the dative case, whereby the prefix, as discussed in §3.4, is obligatory with the first person and nearly so with the second. Hardly limited to Sumerian, the correlation between space and person is regarded as universal, motion and dative events representing but two manifestations of a common phenomenon. Indeed, as noted by DeLancey, the iconicity between motion and dative events is rooted in “the obvious and long-noted grammatical and semantic parallelism of the two types. The dative scene is, after all, prototypically a motion event, in which an object physically moves from one location to another. Even when no concrete motion is involved, the identity of marking of giver and Source, and receiver and Goal, is widespread . . .” (1981: 637). As an example in point, DeLancey points to the morpheme -(h)ong-, which specifies hither-directed motion [178]b in two closely related Tibeto-Burman languages, Sizang Chin and Tiddim Chin. This same morpheme may also indirectly denote the dative or benefactive. The recipient in [178]c is not explicitly indicated, but is retrievable from the -(h)ong- prefix and the semantic overlap between the two categories (DeLancey compares [178]c to Eng. Give it here!, which has no other interpretation than Give it to me!). However, it is not necessary to wander so far afield to exemplify this point—we need only note that the ventive in Akkadian came to bracket the dative as well as the allative (see Kouwenberg 2002), e.g., illikam ‘He came here’, iddinam ‘He gave to me’ (cf. tum2-mu = u2-bi-lam ‘Bring [it] here/to me!’ [Hh. I 315]). [178] a. kei ka -pai hi I 1sg-go ind ‘I go/went’ b. kei k -ong-pai hi I 1sg-ong-go ind ‘I come/came’ c. hong-pe -tu hi hong-give-fut ind ‘(S/He) will give it to me’ (DeLancey 1981: 637).

MU-

159

Where the prefixes im- (i.e., ventive (i/i3-)im) and mu- differ, as the above comments anticipate, is with respect to transitivity. The former is largely limited to the intransitive verb gen ‘go’ in early texts, whereas mu-, in ventive function, is typified by its high correlation with the transitive verb de6 ‘bring’—an association between verb and prefix that is so close that the two were frozen together in the Akkadian logogram MU.(UN.)DU = šūrubtu ‘bringing in’, ‘receipts’, ‘income’, etc. (CAD Š/3 s.v.; cf. the common Sumerian nominal mu-DU ‘delivery’ as well as mu-IL2-a ‘delivery’ [Uruinimgina 1 ix 4]). Observe in this connection that mu- is relatively rare with gen in univalent clauses outside of adverbial clauses in which the prefix stresses the manner of the action (§3.2.2). Conversely, those relatively rare attestations in which ventive (i3-)im- is joined with de6 in third-millennium texts show the prefix to be the low transitivity counterpart to mu-.17 Specifically, events represented by (i3-)im+de6 occur almost exclusively in subordinate and agent-defocused clauses, clauses that are markedly low in terms of transitivity [179]– [181], cf. [167]–[176]. This correspondence would appear functionally to underscore the often-assumed morphological relationship between i- (associated with backgrounding and detransitivity [§3.3]) and im-. In short, im- does not have the high agency associations that define mu-.18 The two share a ventive meaning, but only mu- has the further function of expressing the semantics of high transitivity and the marked active voice, as is tacitly demonstrated by the fact that im- is not joined to predicates such as gaz ‘crush, kill’, gul, hul ‘destroy’, uš2 with the meaning ‘kill’, and other verbs that express prototypical transitivity to nearly the same degree as mu-. When a scribe reports the building of a temple, he does not write im-du3 but mu-du3—the two prefixes are not simple allomorphs. The distinction between the two extends to motion verbs where it manifests itself in the affinity of mu- for bivalent de6 (e.g., mu+de6 ‘bring’) and im- for univalent gen (im+gen ‘come’), particularly in third-millennium texts.19

17 The reading of DU as de6/tum2, rather than DU as gen, is based on context and on the typical writings DU-a for de6-a, DU-na for gen-na, and DU-ma for tum2-ma. 18 Note, in this connection, the corroborating claim of Attinger (1993: 270–271) and Krecher (1985: 149–152) that mu+verb usually implies the presence of an Agent pronoun. More broadly, Attinger (1993: 270–280), taking a more formal morphological approach, argues for a distinction between mu- and im-. 19 In the Old Babylonian grammatical texts mu- is set against both ventive and non-ventive Akkadian forms; the latter in no way dimishes the former nor suggests a second, distinct morpheme (cf. Black 1991: 26; Yoshikawa 1978: 468–469). It merely

160

chapter three

[179] 71 guruš ud 1-še3 ki-su7 Igi-E2-mah-‹še3-›ta e2-duru5 dAmard Suen-še3 še im-de6-a ‘71 men for one day, who will bring the grain from the Igi-Emahshe threshing floor to Amar-Sin-village’ (UTI 4, 2715: 1–5). [180] 1 ma2 še ma2 zid2-da he2-a i3-im-de6-a ‘One grain boat, which is (to be used as) a flour boat (and) brought here’ (Watson Birmingham 2, 157: 3–6). [181] kišib 3 Ab-ba-sag 9-ga i 3-im-de 6 ‘The sealed document of Abbasaga was brought forth’ (YOS 4, 318: 3).

speaks to the greater functional range of mu-, which includes non-allative as well as allative uses.

CHAPTER FOUR

IMMAThe prefix imma- is typified by events in which the subject is affected by the action that he brings about, events in which the Initiator and the Endpoint are the same entity. As such, the prefix is a middlevoice marker, a claim that finds support in the prefix’s high degree of correlation with situations that are commonly middle-marked crosslinguistically (see Table 3), particularly body-action, translational motion, self-benefactive, and mental situations. With its primary focus on the affectedness of the subject, imma- views the event from its Endpoint. In this way the prefix differs critically from mu-, which is neutral to subject affectedness and revolves around the Initiator-Actor role. There has long been a broad, if vague, consensus that the prefix is functionally similar to ba-, even regarded by some as, essentially, an allomorph of ba-. It is an assessment that is mirrored in the morphological derivation of imma- from ba- that most scholars subscribe to, even if differing in the details of that derivation (§1.3).1 But a definition of the distinction between the two, not to mention of the character of imma- alone, has remained elusive. imma- and ba- are both middle voice markers—the difference between the two is a matter of both degree and type. Analogous to the crosslinguistically observed differences between reflexive and reciprocal markers (§2.9.6)—the reciprocal and reflexive, of course, being sub-domains of the middle—imma-, the phonologically heavier of the two, iconically conveys more meaning than its counterpart ba-. Whereas the middle voice meaning of ba- stems from this prefix’s tendency to occur with verbs that are naturally or inherently middle, imma-, in addition to appearing

1 See, in particular, Attinger 1993: 280–281; Falkenstein 1978a: 184; Jacobsen 1965: 83–84; Postgate 1974: 19–22; Shaffer 1969: 437–438; cf. Michalowski 2004: 44, who considers imma- to be a reduplicated form of mu- (see also Rubio 2007: 1346, 1363). The similarities in meaning and function between ba- and imma-, as well as between bi- and immi-, are often reflected in their not uncommon alternation as textual variants, e.g., ba-hun ~ im-ma-hun (GgHw-A 177); um-ma-ni-in-dur2-ru-un ~ ba-ni-ib2-dur2-ru (LgB 2: 12); bi2-ib2-be2 ~ im-me (EmkLA 174); ⎡bi2-ib⎤-gal2 ~ im-mi-ib-gal2 (InŠk 81); im-[mi-i ]ngub-bu-ne ~ bi2-in-gub-bu-ne (Hnds A 76).

162

chapter four

with these predicates, may, more often than ba-, add a reflexive reading to verbs that are not naturally middle, e.g., imma+du3 ‘build s.th. for o.s.’ (cf. Sanskrit yajat-e ‘He is sacrificing [for himself, as the one making the offering]’—see §2.9.5). But there are also differences in the types of middle situations to which each gravitates. With imma- the subject is more likely to exercise some degree of control and volition over the action, while ba- correlates most highly with middle events in which the subject is a non-volitional patient, e.g., ni2—te ‘fear’, šub ‘fall’, uš2 ‘die’, etc. Embracing the Actor role more than does ba-, imma- often corresponds to a ‘step up’ in transitivity vis-à-vis ba-. To put it another way, imma- is more mu-like than ba-. These respective affiliations of immaand ba- hold particularly true for those verbs in which no case element intervenes between the verbal root and the prefix, and the semantic bond between prefix and root is at its closest (see §3.2). Central to an understanding of the meaning and function of imma- is the notion of granularity and the elaboration of events. The domain of the middle voice, as discussed in §2.9.6, can be described in terms of a low elaboration of events (Kemmer 1993a, 1994)—a diminishment in the conceptual separation between the participants and events involved. Accordingly, imma-, as a middle marker, corresponds to events in which the Initiator and Endpoint, or subevents of the broader action, cannot be sharply differentiated from one another. But again, where imma- differs from ba- is in the degree of elaboration or distinction, or, in other terms, the grain-size with which an event is conceptualized. More so than imma-, ba- is concerned with the end result of an action or process, the resultant state assumed by an Object or patient. In this way, ba- represents a more extreme manifestation of Endpoint perspective with the event viewed as an undifferentiated beginning-to-end whole. With imma-, on the other hand, the event is opened up; it is presented as having some internal, albeit indistinct, structure. This amounts to a representation of events that have a greater complexity or intensity vis-àvis ba-. Consequently, with verbs that express naturally middle events, imma- may be regarded as an emphatic or contrastive counterpart to ba-, indicating greater subject involvement or intensity in the action. This quality of imma- is shown with particular clarity in the case of the verb šu—ti (§4.1.4). When coupled with ba-, as it most commonly is, the subject plays a passive role in the event and the union of prefix and verb denotes ‘receive, get’ (§5.1.4). With imma-, on the other hand, the subject plays a more active role and consequently the event represented by šu imma+ti expresses greater intensity, viz., ‘grab’, ‘seize’, or complexity, viz., ‘take for a (or one’s own) purpose’. The prefix

IMMA-

163

introduces the notion of subject as Actor, which is largely absent from the expression with ba-. In other cases, the greater complexity that imma- implies is associated with a certain plurality, either in terms of the participants or the event itself. In general, where there is a pragmatic option between imma- and ba-, a Sumerian speaker or writer opts for the former when he wishes to indicate greater conceptual separability between the facets of the subject or event than would be suggested if ba- were the prefix. Herein lies an iconicity between meaning and form of the type discussed in §2.9.6, where greater distinguishability—greater semantic meaning—corresponds to greater phonological or morphological substance. Although imma- represents increased separability of participants and events with respect to ba-, it still signals a decrease in these same quantities when compared to mu-. The middle voice domain is, after all, a detransitivizing category whose members are joined in expressing departures from the prototypical transitive event. As are middle markers cross-linguistically (§2.9.5), imma- is occasionally called upon to express the passive, that other major detransitivizing category, a function more commonly expressed by ba-. My principal concern in this book, as I have stated, is with the primary conjugation prefixes, and in this chapter with imma- in particular. However, there is considerable evidence that although immi- may have uses that are distinct from imma-, it may also fulfill many of the same functions as imma-. In other words, there are cases in which the functional difference between imma- and immi- appears to be a simple reflection of what our traditional understanding of Sumerian morphology would suggest, namely, that immi- is imma- with the addition of a locative-terminative element. The relationship, remarkably, differs from that between ba- and bi- (§5.0), where the latter functions relatively rarely like ba-. In the following subsections, I have included, in certain instances, examples of immi- functioning with the same range as imma-. 4.1

Typical Middle-Marked Situations

In this section I survey the occurrence of imma- with situations that are regularly marked by the middle voice cross-linguistically, as described by Kemmer (1993a, 1994) and detailed in Table 3. As outlined above, the prefix commonly emphasizes the subject’s active role in the action, stressing his volitional participation in the event. The prefix differs in

164

chapter four

this way from ba-, with which the subject more often plays a passive, patient-like, or Undergoer role in the event. Both prefixes stress, in typical middle voice fashion, the subject’s affectedness by the action he initiates. However, as noted above, with imma- there is often a complexity to the event that is not suggested when ba- is the prefix. A parallel that may speak broadly to the semantic difference between imma- and ba- may be found in the use of the reflexive pronoun in English as opposed to the unmarked verb in certain contexts (see Kemmer 1994: 202–209). In pairs such as She got herself out of bed vs. She got out of bed and The child dressed himself vs. The child (got) dressed, the sentences that include weighty reflexive pronouns lend themselves to an emphatic or contrastive meaning. There is a suggestion of greater accomplishment, that the subject has overcome some obstacle or met a goal that, on some level, is counter to expectations. The pronoun emphasizes that the Initiator—in contrast to some other entity—is, in fact, the Endpoint of the event. The subject has been decomposed into agent and object parts and the event consequently is more complex. As discussed in §2.9.6, such distinctions in meaning—between zero-marked verbs and reflexive/middle marked verbs in languages with a single reflexive or middle marker, or between light and heavy markers in languages that have two—are cross-linguistically observed. Indeed, in many of the examples given in this section the heavier marker imma- suggests an emphatic or contrastive meaning along these very lines when compared to its lighter counterpart ba-. 4.1.1

Body-Action Events

Events of this type are inherently middle since the subject performs an action on himself, either on part of the body or on the body as a whole. Under the designation body-action verbs, I include grooming, change in body posture, and non-translational motion situations (Table 3), as well as other predicates involving the body that commonly occur with imma-. In many of these events the subject is physically both the Initiator and Endpoint of the event and the subject coincides with “the locus of the principal effects of the action or situation denoted by the verb” (Klaiman 1991: xiii). However, the degree to which Initiator and Endpoint entities overlap conceptually varies. When there is some conceptual separability between the parts of the body, when it is viewed as consisting of constituent parts, those that act and those that are acted upon, or when the action itself is viewed as complex, consisting of

IMMA-

165

subevents, there is a degree of elaboration of events (Kemmer 1993a: 58). These are the situations that correlate highly with imma-, with the prefix serving to pull apart the event, exposing internal structure with respect to the subject or the action itself. Often this amounts to an emphatic or contrastive nuance, with the prefix stressing the distinction between subject as Initiator and subject as Endpoint. Grooming events are, of course, a classic middle-voice situation type and the one in which there is the greatest potential for distinguishing Initiator and Endpoint roles (§2.9.6). Such actions often entail an internal complexity, which may be lacking, for instance, in change of body posture events. [182] a im-ma-tu5 na-ma im-ma-su-ub a šen-dili2 kug-ga imma-tu5 na-ma bur babbar-ra im-ma-su-ub u5 ze2-ba bur-ra im-ma-šeš4 tug2pala3 na-ag2 Ga-ša-an-an-na im-ma-mu4 ‘I washed myself. I scrubbed myself with soap. I washed myself with water from the holy ewer. I scrubbed myself with soap from the white bowl. I anointed myself with good oil from the bowl. I dressed myself in a garment befitting Inana’ (DzIn C 3–7). [183] mu-lu nu-tuku-gim tug2 dili-a i[m-ma-]an-mu4 [E2-kur] e2 d Mu-ul-lil2-la2-še3 giri3-ni dili mu-un-gub ‘Like a pauper, (Inana) clothed herself in a simple (lit. single) garment, and walked alone to the Ekur, the temple of Enlil’ (InD 181–182). [184] nin-mu ur2 kug-ge a im-ma-tu5-tu5 (vars. a mi-ni-in/ib-tu5-tu5) ur2 lugal-la-še3 a im-ma-tu5-tu5 ur2 dI-din-dDa-gan-še3 a imma-tu5-tu5 kug dInana-ke4 naga im-ma-an-su-ub-be2 ‘My lady bathes her holy loins. (Inana) bathes them for the loins of the king; she bathes them for the loins of Iddin-Dagan. Holy Inana washes herself with soap’ (IdDgn A 182–185). [185] i-bi2-mu šim-bi-zid mi2 im-ma-ni-dug4 (vars. mi2 um-ma-nidug4, mi2 mu-na-ni-dug4) sag-ki-mu men-dalla mi2 im-mani-dug4 (var. mi2 um-ma-ni-dug4) a2-1-kuš3 (var. a2-1-kuš3-mu) u5-šim gišeren-na-ka mi2 im-ma-ni-dug4 (vars. mi2 um-ma-nidug4, mi2 mu-na-ni-dug4) murgu2-mu tug2-du8 gada-du8-a mi2 im-ma-ni-dug4 (vars. mi2 um-ma-ni-dug4, mi2 mu-na-ni-dug4) ‘I have adorned my eyes with kohl. I have adorned my forehead with a lustrous crown. I have adorned my forearms with oil and cedar essence. I have adorned my shoulders with felt and . . . -linen’ (Römer 2001: 197 ll. B31–34). Note the inclusion of the

166

chapter four

dative infix -na- in one of the variant texts, which prompts the use of mu- (see p. 277 n. 16). [186] id2 kug-ga-am3 munus-e id2 kug-ga-am3 a im-ma-tu5-tu5 (var. ‹a› im-ma-ni-tu5-tu5) ‘The river is pure—the woman bathed in the river that is pure’ (EnlNl 23). [187] dEn-ki-ke4 igi-ni im-ma-an-sig7-sig7 gidru šu bi2-in-du8 dEnki-ke4 dUttu-ra giri3 im-ma-an-gub ‘Enki (in the guise of a gardener) made his face beautiful and took a staff in his hand. Enki set off to Uttu’ (EnkNh 167–168). Given the context, igi-ni imma+sig7 likely contains a play on the literal reading, i.e., ‘he made his face green (verdant)’; cf. [365]. For im-ma+gub, see [190]–[204]. [188] ka5-a kuš-ni 1-am3 im-ma-an-peš5-peš5 ⎡siki⎤?-ni 1-am3 imma-an-bur2-bur2 igi-ni 1-am3 šimbi2 bi2-in-gar ‘The fox first anointed his skin, first shook out his fur(?), first put kohl on his eyes’ (EnkNh 228–230). Similarly, with immi-: [189] har kug-sig17 šu-ga2 im-mi-du3 za-gin3 di4-di4 gu2-ga2 im-mi-si ‘I fastened a golden bracelet to my wrist; I placed little lapislazuli beads around my neck’ (DzIn C 16–17). More frequently attested than grooming events are change in body posture events and other actions that involve the body. Representative of these events is gub ‘stand’ (and by extension ‘attend’, ‘work’),2 a verb which occurs frequently with imma-. The elaboration of events is naturally low, as the subject is not easily resolved conceptually into distinct Initiator and Endpoint facets or the action into distinct subevents. It comes as no surprise, therefore, that the verb also has a high correlation with ba- [391]–[396]. However, with imma-, there is often a level of complexity that is not evident with ba-. Consider in this connection [190]. The simple singular stand events are marked with ba-, while the collective event, representing a collection of individual standing subevents, is marked with imma-. As described in §2.9.6, middle markers, particularly reciprocal markers, are commonly used to express

2 With the extended meaning ‘attend’, ‘work’, etc., gub represents a body-action middle in literal meaning only. Nevertheless, as actions that express subject affectedness, these events are firmly within the middle domain (see §4.2).

IMMA-

167

collective events, collectivity sharing a common semantic basis with the middle (see Lichtenberk 1985: 29; Kemmer 1993a: 123–125; Kemmer 1993b). What the heavy marker imma- presumably expresses here is the notion of together—that the larger collective event is not viewed as unitary but as internally complex, the prefix stressing the individual joint actions that comprise the larger collective event. This is a notion that goes beyond what is expressed by the plural marker. Moreover, observe that there is a further implication to the imma- event—the en stands, the lagal stands, but the Anunaki, collectively, stand in astonishment. Again, the greater phonological weight of the heavy marker correlates with increased semantic meaning. [190] e2-e en ba-gub la-gal ba-gub me-e šu si im-ma-sa2 dA-nun-na u3-di-de3 im-ma-šu4-šu4-ge-eš2 ‘The en-priest stands before the temple and the lagal-priest stands (before the temple)— together they do everything to perfection. The Anunaki stand together in astonishment’ (Gudea Cyl. A xx 21–23). Paralleling [190] is the following passage—again, there is a structure and related intensity to the event involving the Anunaki: [191] ug3 ba-gar-gar kalam ba-gub-gub dA-nu-na u6-di-de3 imma-šu4-šu4-ge-eš2 ‘The people have taken their places and the land stands at the ready. The Anunaki stand together in astonishment’ (Gudea Cyl. B i 10–11). These are not isolated examples. The idiom finds close parallels in the Old Babylonian literary corpus. The events represented by [192]–[196], likewise, take the Anunaki as the collective subject, a group of individuals acting in concert. Again, there is the suggestion that the action is performed to some further end (note the correlation with the so-called contrapunctive ša- [ Jacobsen 1965: 73], i.e., [195]–[196]; see also Nanna O 13–14 and EnkWO 293; cf. [217]). [192] dingir-dingir A-nun-na mu-un-na-sug2-sug2-ge4-eš3 (var. mu-unna-sun5-sun5-ne-eš) a2-ag2-ga2 zid-de3-eš im-ma-sug2-ge-eš

3 Note that the inclusion of the dative (here as well as the variants to ll. 8 and 9) and the accompanying separation of the prefix from the verbal root prompts the use of mu- over imma- (see p. 277 n. 16).

168

[193] [194] [195]

[196]

chapter four (vars. ši-im-ma-sug2-ge-eš, mu-un-na-sug2-ge-eš) ‘The Anunaki stand before him and together attend upon his instructions faithfully’ (Enlil A 8–9). dingir-dingir A-nun-na am3-ma-sug2-sug2-ge ‘The Anunaki stand together in attendance’ (Nanna H B9). dug4-ga zid-zu-še3 dingir-dingir A-nun-na he2-em-ma-sug2sug2-ge-eš ‘May the Anunaki stand together by your true command’ (Römer 2001: 61 l. 56). d A-nun-na gal-gal im-ši-GAM-e-de3-eš siskur a-ra-zu-a ši-imma-sug2-sug2-ge-eš ‘The great Anunaki having made their bows, stand there together in prayer and supplication’ (IdDgn A 29–30). kurun2 gal-zu-še3 dingir-dingir A-nun-na ši-im-ma-sug2-sug2ge-eš ‘All the Anunaki together attend your great drinkingbouts’ (TmpHym 254, 386).

Similarly collective are the following: [197] kin-gi4-a Aratta[k]i-aš um-ma-te-a-ra nam-lu2-ulu3 Arattaki-ke4 anše barag la2-e u6 di-de3 im-ma-sug2-sug2-ge-eš ‘After the messenger reached Aratta, the people of Aratta stood together to marvel at the pack-asses’ (EmkLA 352–354). [198] en-en-e-ne barag-barag-ge2-ne ka-mu7-gal2 Eridugki-ga-ke4-ne šag4-gada-la2 Ki-en-gi-ra-ke4-ne nam-išib Abzu mu-na-ab-be2ne a-a dEn-ki ki kug ⎡ki kal⎤-[la giri3] im-mi-ib-gub-bu-ne ‘All the lords and rulers, the incantation-priests of Eridu, and the linen-clad priests of Sumer perform the purification rites of the Abzu for father Enki. Together, they step into the holy place, the esteemed place’ (EnkWO 141–145). With singular events the greater complexity implicit to imma- may find expression in the iterative or repetitious quality of the event; as is in evidence with collective subjects, the action is often complex, intense, or undertaken for some further purpose. [199] tukum-bi a2 ⎡ga2⎤-la dag-ga im-ma-gub ‘If he performs (lit. stands at) his duties with negligence’ (NRVN 1, 6: 4–5). [200] Ur-me-me mu-mu-še3 he2-em-ma-gub ‘Ur-meme should work (lit. stand) on my behalf !’ (TCS 1, 139: 3–5).

IMMA-

169

[201] e2 dNin-gir2-su gu3-di-de3 im-ma-gub ‘Ningirsu stood up in order to address the temple’ (Gudea Cylfrgm. 2 iii′ 2′). [202] ud i3-di-de3-en ud šu2-uš i3-di-de3-en balag er2-ra im-magub-gub-bu-de3-en ‘I go to it by day, I go to it under cover of night—I always stand by the lamentation drum!’ (SP 7.22; similiarly, SP 1.167). [203] en nig2-šu nu-gi4 u6-e am3-ma-gub (var. am3-gub) ‘The lord who does not hold back his goods stands to be admired’ (TmpHym 138). Cf. [394]–[395]. In the case of events that are conceptualized as indirect causatives, the prefix may reflect the middle semantics of the relationship between the causee (rather than the causer) and the predicate (for mu- and direct causation, see §3.1), e.g., [204] kur-ra u3-ma-mu im-ma-gub dEbihki-a u3-ma-mu im-ma-gub ‘I imposed (lit. made stand) my victory on the mountain—I imposed my victory on Ebih!’ (InEb 180–181). The verb gub ‘stand’ represents just one event of the body-action situation type (Table 3). The prefix commonly occurs with a large group of predicates that are semantically middle in that they designate events, broadly described, which involve the body. These include events denoting bodily disposition or a change in body posture (non-translational motion), or, alternatively, actions or motions which involve the body as a whole or its parts. As with gub, when a difference between immaand ba- is discernible, imma- expresses the more articulated or intensive meaning (occasionally reflected in the collective quality of the event). From the Gudea corpus we may cite the following: [205] an-dul3 dagal-me gissu-zu-še3 ni2 ga-ma-ši-ib2-te ‘You are a broad shade, I will cool myself in your shadow’ (Gudea Cyl. A iii 14–15). [206] e2 dGa2-tum3-dug3 nin-a-na du3-de3 u3 nu-ma-ši-ku4 ‘In order to build the temple of Gatumdug, his lady, (Gudea) did not sleep’ (Gudea St. F ii 2–5). [207] ud 2 ud 3 nu-ma-da-ab-zal ‘(Gudea) did not idle away (lit. did not let pass) even two or three days’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxiii 2). Cf. [287].

170

chapter four

And demonstrating varying degrees of overlap with the emotion middle category (§§4.1.3, 5.1.3): [208] e2-e im-ma-gen kiri3 šu im-ma-gal2 ‘(Gudea) set off to the temple and raised his hand to his nose in homage’ (Gudea Cyl. A xviii 8–9). For imma+gen, see §4.1.2; cf. with immi-: inim dug4-ga dNin-gir2-su-ka-ke4 šu zid im-mi-gar ‘He carried out faithfully the spoken orders of Ningirsu’ (Gudea St. B vii 7–9). [209] en-ne2 ki-bala kur sag-ki-ni u3-ma-da-gid2-da ‘After the lord frowned at the rebellious land’ (Gudea Cyl. B viii 4). [210] dBa-u2-mu a2-mi-zu ma-ra-gar ki-tuš dug3-ga-ma-ni-ib2 ‘My Bau, I established your women’s quarters for you: Settle yourself there in comfort!’ (Gudea Cyl. B ii 23–iii 1). Cf. [218]. Similarly, immi- appears in a chain of repetitive body-action middles in the following: [211] ensi2 kug-zu-am3 inim-zu-am3 nam-dingir-re kiri3 ki im-misu2-su2 siskur2 ra-zu-a nig2-dun-a ki im-mi-us2-us2 ensi2-ke4 dingir uru-na-ke4 ra2-zu im-ma-be2 ‘The ruler, who is wise, who is learned, repeatedly prostrates himself before the divinities. With rites and prayers, he repeatedly touches the ground in submission; the ruler, the (personal) god of his city, says a prayer’ (Gudea Cyl. B i 12–15). imma+dug4 is a speech action middle, see §4.1.3; kiri3 ki im-mi-su2-su2 is presumably a writing for kiri3 ki im-mi-su(-ub)-su(-ub). Attestations from Old Babylonian literary texts include:4

Note, once again (see §3.1) that instances of indirect causation often have no effect on the construal of the event as a middle action on the part of the causee: dEn-ki-ke4 eš3-e Nibruki-am3 a-a-ni dEn-lil2-ra ninda mu-un-ku2-e An ki mah-a im-ma-an-tuš (var. im-mi-in-tuš) An-ra dEn-lil2 im-ma-ni-in-us2 (var. im-ni-in-us2) dNin-tu zag gal-la im-mi-in-tuš (var. im-ma-an-tuš) dA-nun-na ki-us2 ki-us2-bi-še3 im-mi-in-dur2-rune-eš (var. ši-im-mi-in-dur2-ru-ne-eš) ‘In the shrine Nippur, Enki provided a meal for Enlil, his father. He had An take a seat at the lofty place and Enlil sit next to An. He had Nintu sit in the place of honor and had the Anunaki sit down together in their places’ (EnkJN 104–109). 4

IMMA-

[212] [213] [214]

[215] [216] [217]

171

Gilgameš bad3-da gu2-na im-ma-an-la2 ‘Gilgamesh craned his neck over the wall’ (GgAk 89, similarly, 66). bad3-da gu2-mu im-ma-an-la2 ‘I have craned my neck over the wall’ (GgHw-A 25). nin9-a-ni gišgu-za-ni-ta im-ma-da-an-zig3 (var. im-ma-anzig3-ga) e-ne gišgu-za-ni-ta dur2 im-mi-in-gar (var. bi2-in-gar) ‘(Ereshkigal,) her sister, arose from her throne, and instead (Inana) seated herself on her throne’ (InD 165–166). abul Ganzir igi kur-ra-ka dur2 im-ma-na-ni-in-gar ‘At the gate of Ganzir, at the entrance of the Netherworld, he sat down’ (GgEN 166). barag gal-la dur2 im-mi-in-gar ‘(An) has taken his seat in the great shrine’ (LpIš C 8). d A-nun-na-ke4-ne sahar-ta im-mi-in-durunx(TUŠ.TUŠ)-neeš ‘The Anunaki sat down in the dust’ (EnkNh 222). Cf. ba+tuš [397]–[401]. d

And again intersecting with the emotion middle category, cf. [210]: [218] uruki-bi-a ga-tuš bi2-in-dug4-ga ki-tuš nu-um-ma-an-na-dug3 A-ka3-de3ki-a ga-nu2 bi-in-dug4-ga ki-nu2 nu-um-ma-an-nadug3 ‘When someone said, “I will dwell in that city”—he could not settle himself in comfort in a dwelling place (lit. a dwelling place was not pleasing to him). When someone said, “I will rest in Akade”—he could not settle himself in comfort in a resting place’ (CAk 279–280). For a discussion of the experiencer assuming the dative case, see [273]–[275]. The following three examples represent non-translational motion events; note that non-volitional events of this type, as represented by [221], are more commonly expressed with ba- (§§5.1.3, 5.1.5): [219] e2-me-eš en-te-en-ra im-ma-an-ši-in-GAM u3-gul mu-naan-ga2-ga2 ‘Summer bowed down before Winter and prayed to him’ (WnSm 310). [220] u2šumunda ki-gub-ba-ni a-a sis-na izi ga-ba-gar ga-ba-gar imma-ni-in-du7-e ‘The habitat of the shumunda-plant is among his bitter waters. He butts about (saying): “I will start, I will start a fire!”’ (ŠumGr 27–28).

172

chapter four

[221] kur-kur-re sag im-ma-da-sag3-ge (vars. im-da-(ab-)sag3-ge) ‘All the lands tremble with fear’ (Enlil A 72). As is true of virtually every use of the prefixes, pragmatic factors may take precedence in the construal of an event, dictating the choice of prefix. Thus, it is at the discretion of the writer or speaker whether the body-action event expressed by sag —il2 ‘raise the head’ in the following pair of examples is to be understood as an instance of indirect causation [222], with the focus on the causee and the middle semantics of its relationship with the verb (immi-), or as an act of direct causation [223], highlighting the agency of the first-person causer (mu-) (note also bi2+mu2 [222] vs. mu+mu2 [223]). The alternations of prefixes in parallel contexts are often attributable to pragmatic pressures of this type. [222] dirig ud-bi-ta-še3 e2-šu-si3-ga-bi mu-dagal sag-bi im-mi-inil2 hur-sag-gim bi2-in-mu2 ‘He enlarged (the temple’s) eshusiga beyond what it had been previously. He raised (lit. caused the temple to raise) its summit and made it grow there like a mountain’ (Rim-Sin 6: 28–31). [223] dirig ud-bi-da-ke4 e2-šu-si3-ga-bi u3-mu-dagal ud ul-še3 nam-til3mu-še3 hu-mu-du3 sag-bi mu-ni-il2 hur-sag-gim hu-mu-mu2 ‘I enlarged (the temple’s) eshusiga beyond what it had been previously and built it for future days, for my own life. I raised (lit. caused the temple to raise) its summit and made it grow like a mountain’ (Warad-Sin 27: 37–43). With body-action middles that take a semantic object, the use of imma-/ immi- reflects the writer’s desire to focus on the subject’s, rather than the object’s, affectedness by the action (cf. self-benefactive middle, §§4.1.4, 5.1.4). Particularly predisposed to this construal are those actions in which the subject is sexually aroused (see also [230]–[231]): [224] giri3-ni 1-a gišma2-a bi2-in-gub 2-kam-ma bar-rim4-ma nam-miin-gub5 gaba im-ma-an-tab ne im-ma-an-su-ub ‘First,

5 Note the appearance of bi2+gub in the first clause and na+immi+gub in the second; the latter, paralleling the distinction between ba- and imma-, conveys, perhaps, a more intensive or contrastive meaning.

IMMA-

173

(Enki) put his feet in the boat, then he put them on dry land. He pressed (Ninnisig) to his chest and kissed her’ (EnkNh 97–99). [225] dEn-ki-ke4 dUttu-ra ul im-m[a]-ni-in-t[i] ⎡gaba⎤ šu im-miin-dab5 . . . lu2-tur giš3 im-in-du3 ne im-ma-ni-in-su-ub ‘Enki got drunk in the presence of Uttu. He held her against his chest . . . he had sex with the young woman, he kissed her’ (EnkNh 179–183). Alternatively, ul—imma+ti, may be taken as a self-benefactive middle (§4.1.4), i.e., ‘Enki got Uttu drunk (for his own purposes)’. [226] dEn-lil2-le lu2 id2 kur-ra-gim da-ga-na ba-nu2 giš3 im-ma-niin-dug4 ne im-ma-ni-in-su-ub ‘Enlil, as the man of the river of the Netherworld, lay down in the bedroom. He had sex with (Ninlil) there, he kissed her there’ (EnlNl 113–114). And with ammi-/amma-: [227] a-da-lam mu-bi am3-i-i še am3-mi-ib2-su-ub-be2 šag4 hul2 a hi-li šag4-ge si-a-na am3-ma-ni-ib-ta6-ta6 (var. am3-mu-un-dini-ib-ta6-ta6) ‘Before you know it (lit. now), (Enlil) will be having sex with you, he will be kissing you! And after he happily fills (your) womb with lusty semen, he will abandon you!’ (EnlNl 20–21). Naturally, there are contexts in which subject affectedness is minimized or the speaker or writer chooses not to focus on this aspect of the event. Compare, in this connection, [224]–[227] with [228]–[229] in which i-/-Ø- and mu- are employed respectively. In [228] subjectaffectedness is neutralized in those events which are hypothetical with non-referential subjects—the subject cannot be perceived as affected if the action has not actually taken place. Consequently, the prefix is i-/-Ø-. In [229] these same actions are portrayed as imminent, subject to the control of a potential, but specified, Agent. Subject affectedness is not at issue; rather, the salient qualities of the event are the Agent’s control and volition and the potential action itself—it is precisely these qualities that mu- serves to highlight. [228]

ki-sikil ne-en sag9-ga-ra ne-en mul-la-ra dNin-lil2 ne-en sag9ga-ra ne-en mul-ra lu2 giš3 na-an-dug4 (var. giš3 na-ni-dug4) lu2 ne na-an-ni-su-ub ‘With a maiden so lovely, so radiant, Ninlil, so lovely, so radiant—a man would very much like to lu2

174

chapter four

have sex with her, a man would very much like to kiss her’ (EnlNl 38–40). [229] lugal-mu MES-ga-e dirig-ga-am3 giš3-bi na-mu-un-dug4 ne-bi na-mu-un-su-ub a-a dEn-lil2 MES-ga-e dirig-ga-am3 giš3-bi na-mu-un-dug4 ne-bi na-mu-un-su-ub (var. ne-bi na-mu-un-dug4) ‘My master, . . ., floating downstream—he was really going to have sex with her, he was really going to kiss her! Father Enlil, . . ., floating downstream—he was actually going to have sex with her, he was actually going to kiss her!’ (EnlNl 44–47). In the following example, note the use of ba- rather than imma- in the subordinate clauses (the second clause is reconstructed on the basis of the first). The backgrounded quality of these clauses suggests that the events represented are viewed as unitary wholes, lacking internal complexity and intensity that is signaled by imma- in the main clauses (see §5.2.1 for the backgrounding functions of ba-; cf. [288]).6 [230] giš3 im-ma-ni-in-dug4 ne im-ma-[ni-in-su-ub] giš3 bani-in-dug4-g[a ne ba-ni-in-su-ub-ba] zag sar-ra-ka-ni imma-ši-i[n-gi4] ‘(Shukaletuda) had sex with her and kissed her there. Once he had sex with her and kissed her, he went back to beside his garden plot’ (InŠk 123–125). As [230] suggests, there is often a tendency in literary texts to string together verbs that are prefixed with imma-, with the goal of stressing the middle semantics of the actions across a stretch of narrative. Often 6 Revealing of the contrast between bi- and immi- along these same lines is the description of Gudea’s dream in Gudea Cyl. A iv 14f., which includes a number of middle situations. When Gudea first describes his dream to Nanshe, several of the events are expressed with immi-; however, when Nanshe repeats the description, using backgrounding subordinate clauses to do so, immi- is replaced with the less intensive and phonologically lighter bi-: gi-dub-ba kug NE-a šu im-mi-du8 dub mul-an dug3-ga im-mi-gal2 ad im-dab6-gi4-gi4 min3-kam ur-sag-ga2-am3 a2 mu-gur li-um za-gin3 šu im-mi-du8 ‘(The woman) was holding a stylus of NE-metal and placing it against a tablet of propitious heavenly stars—she was consulting it. Also, there was a warrior flexing his arm and holding a lapis lazuli writing board’ (Gudea Cyl. A iv 25–v 3) vs. gi-dub-ba kug NE šu bi2-du8-a dub mul dug3-ga bi2-gal2-la . . . min3-kam ur-sagga2-am3 a2 mu-gur8 li-um za-gin3 šu bi2-du8-a ‘(The young woman . . .,) who held a stylus of NE-metal and who placed it against a tablet of propitious stars . . . also, as for the warrior, who flexed his arm and who held a lapis lazuli writing board . . .’ (Gudea Cyl. A v 22–vi 4).

IMMA-

175

these events will represent different situation types, various facets of the middle voice domain, but they share the underlying quality of subject affectedness, which the prefix accentuates in these contexts. Chained together in [231] are an event of perception (§4.1.3), two body-action events, and a translational motion event (§4.1.2)—situations that are commonly middle marked cross-linguistically when the intent is to indicate that the subject is the locus of the action’s principal effects. [231] zag sar-ra-ga2-ka igi im-ma-ni-du8 giš3 im-ma-ni-dug4 ne im-ma-ni-su-ub zag sar-ra-mu-še3 im-ma-ši-gi4 ‘I eyed her from beside my plot—I had sex with her and kissed her there, then I went back to beside my garden plot’ (InŠk 165–167). A particularly striking example of this phenomenon is provided by the following passage from Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld [232]. The passage includes a number of grooming and body-care actions (imma+mu4 ‘dress’, imma+šeš4 ‘annoint’, kuše-sir2 imma+si ‘put shoes on’) as well as a kissing body-action event (ne imma+su-ub), which, as we have seen, is often construed with imma-. But also included here are a number of transitive events, which—on the basis of their lexical semantics—do not express the middle voice. What is at work here is the use of the middle for pragmatic reasons, a pragmatically motivated expression in which the middle marker adds meaning rather than simply reflecting what is inherently part of the lexeme’s semantics (see §2.9.5). By chaining together a long string of verbs prefixed with imma- (and a few with ba-), the writer seeks to stress, in each instance, the subjects’ affectedness by the actions described7—that he considers the salient effects of the highly transitive actions, like those of the semantically middle events, to recoil to their respective subjects rather than to their objects. As described in §2.9.5, the ability to add the semantics of subject affectedness to verbs that lexically do not exhibit this property, that is, the self-benefactive middle (see further §4.1.4), is one of the 7 The exeception in [232] is the last clause, i-dUtu kur-ra im-ma-an-dab5, lit. ‘The outcry of the Netherworld seized him’. The prefix in this instance signals topic, rather than subject, affectedness—the Object outranking the Agent in animacy and topicality (hence, the passive rendering ‘He was seized by the outcry of the Netherworld’). Note that the earlier admonition of Gilgamesh employs ba-, i.e., i-dUtu kur-ra ba-e-dab5be2-e[n] = ta-az-zi-im-ti KI-ti3 i- ab-bat-ka, lit. ‘The outcry of the Netherworld will seize you’ (GgEN 198). The notion of topic affectedness is further discussed in connection with [325] and [356].

176

chapter four

primary functions of middle markers cross-linguistically (cf. [18]–[21]). Remarkably, the earlier parallel passage in this text, which frames these very same events as an admonition from Gilgamesh to Enkidu not to undertake these very actions (GgEN 184–198), avoids imma-, as subject affectedness is not at issue. Many of these events in GgEN 184–198 are expressed with mu-, emphasizing that the hypothetical action is subject to the volition and control of the potential agent (cf. [229]). [232] E[n-ki-dug3 ini]m lugal-la-na-aš šu nu-um-ma-gid2-[i] tug2 dan2-dan2-na-ni im-ma-an-mu4 gir5-gim giškim im-maan-ne-eš i3 dug3-ga na4bur-ra im-ma-an-šeš4 ir-si-im-bi-še3 im-ma-an-nigin2-nigin2-ne-eš (var. gu2 im-ma-gar-re-eš) giš illar kur-ra im-ma-an-sag3-ge lu2 gišillar ra-a im-ma-annigin2-nigin2-ne-eš gišma-nu šu-na im-ma-ni-in-gar gidim ba-an-da-ur4-re-eš (var. mu-un-de3-ur4-re-eš) kuše-sir2 giri3-na im-ma-ni-in-si kur-ra tuku4-tuku4 im-ma-ni-in-gar dam ki ag2-ga2-ni ne im-ma-an-su-ub dam hul-gig-ga-ni nig2 im-ma-ni-in-ra dumu ki ag2-ga2-ni ne im-ma-an-su-ub dumu hul-gig-ga-ni nig2 im-ma-ni-in-ra i-dUtu kur-ra imma-an-dab5 ‘Enkidu did not heed his master’s advice. He dressed in a clean garment and they recognized that he was a foreigner. He rubbed himself with fine oil from a vessel and they gathered around him at its scent. He hurled a throw-stick in the Netherworld and those struck by the throw-stick gathered around him. He held a cornel rod in his hand and the spirits trembled before him. He wore sandals on his feet and caused a disturbance in the Netherworld. He kissed the wife he loved, hit the wife he hated. He kissed the son he loved, hit the son he hated—he was seized by the outcry of the Netherworld’ (GgEN 205–220). For the imma+dab5 in the last clause, see p. 175 n. 7. 4.1.2

Motion Events

Events describing motion with respect to a fixed reference point, appearing under the label of translational motion in Table 3, constitute a typical middle voice situation type since the subject itself is the locus of the event’s effects, much as it is in body-action and non-translational motion events. It is therefore unremarkable that imma-, as a middle marker, occurs commonly with predicates that express motion. What is remarkable, from a typological perspective, is that the prefix is not

IMMA-

177

merely associated with motion, but also with direction. Moreover, the deictic associations of the prefix are antithetical to those of its middle voice counterpart, ba-. Consequently, much of what is discussed in this section is relevant to the function of ba- with motion verbs (§5.1.2); additionally, it has considerable relevance for the temporal affiliations of the middle, which are discussed in connection with ba- (§5.4). The clearest statement of the meaning of imma- with motion verbs comes from the Old Babylonian grammatical texts. And the grammatical texts are equally unambiguous as to the morphological structure of the prefix—or, more precisely, what the Old Babylonian grammarians understood the structure to be. The prefixes containing /m/, particularly (i3-)im-, are set against Akkadian ventives, while verbs with ba- are commonly paired with Gt forms that are traditionally understood to be separatives. imma- is equated with both. The Akkadian forms that correspond to the Sumerian verbs of motion with imma- bear both the t-infix as well as the ventive morpheme [233]. Consequently, imma- is understood in the grammatical texts as deriving from i+m+ba- (see Black 1991:24; Foxvog 1975: 400 n. 17). Stated differently, both in terms of form and function, the Old Babylonian grammarians considered imma- to be marked vis-à-vis ba-, being both phonologically and semantically heavier than ba-, as imma- was conceived as consisting of the latter with the addition of a ventive element and with it a ventive meaning. [233] 34. 46. 52. 62.

i3-du am3-du am3-ma-du [ba-]du

i-il-lak i-il-la-kam it-tal2-la-kam it-tal2-lak

‘He goes’ [unmarked for direction] ‘He comes here’ ‘He departs to come here’ ‘He departs’ (OBGT VII).

The combination of ostensibly contradictory elements expressing notions of to go away and to come here in the same form would appear, at first glance, difficult to reconcile (Geller 1998b: 131–132; Jo 1991: 149–150; cf. Black 1991: 17). But the contradiction is illusory in several respects. In the first place, a speaker may adopt a perspective other than his own—metaphorically detaching himself from his physical location and attaching himself to some other point in space that is not his own—and anchor his utterances to that place. What this amounts to is a shift in deictic center (§2.5; Langacker 1991: 266–269). The phenomenon is particularly common with come events, which are deictically more complex than go events (see Fillmore 1997). This is

178

chapter four

suggested by such common locutions as May I come in? asked by a guest on his host’s doorstep. In asking the question, the guest adopts his host’s perspective and rejects his own (note the host’s answer, Please, Come in). Idiosyncratically, deictic transfers of this type often provide the most natural construal of the event (compare, for instance, substituting May I come in? with *May I go in?). It is always possible with motion events to replace the location of the speaker, or the speech act, for some other spatial reference point. But there are more profound reasons for believing that this apparent contradiction is something of a red herring. These have to do with the nature of motion events and situations that are typically expressed by the middle voice. The middle voice, as a review of the events discussed in this and the following chapter will reveal, is closely associated with dynamic, inchoative situations, events representing a change in state that ultimately affects the subject or his interests. This is one of the principal differences between mu-, on the one hand, and imma- and ba-, on the other, and one that stems from the difference in perspective or orientation between the active and the middle voices. mu-, with its focus on the Initiator role and the action, lends itself, as we have seen, to the expression of actions or states that are atelic or imperfective (§3.2.2), specifically, events that do not have an Endpoint. In contrast, imma- and ba- view the event from its end and so are associated with events that are telic and those that result in a state that is itself the end of the event. Implicit to the going event—or more precisely, the inital set-in-motion phase of the going event—is, likewise, the inception of a state, a change from being at rest to being in motion. Like the other middle situations, the initial phase of the going event is inherently inchoative. With this inchoative or inceptive quality—and this is a critical point—there is a greater perception of subject affectedness than there is in atelic motion events, such as run or walk, or telic come (here) events (§3.5), which do not focus on the initiation of the motion activity (see MacWhinney 1977 and §2.9.1 for the salience of starting points in cognition and language). The correlation of ba- (and so imma-, according to the understanding of the grammatical texts) with motion events, then, originates with the telicity and dynamism that is common to the initiation of the going event and the middle voice domain. The Endpoint with which these prefixes are concerned is the state of being in motion, not the goal of the motion, which in any case may be unspecified with ba-, and even with imma-. The state of being in motion is the Endpoint of the motion event as far as theses prefixes are concerned. The direction of

IMMA-

179

the motion, then, is itself quite secondary. Rather, it is the inchoative phase of setting in motion that attracts imma- and ba- as middle markers. With ba-, taking the location of the speech event as its default deictic center, setting in motion is necessarily equated with separative going (away). imma-, on the other hand, has—quite expectedly as the heavier of the two middle markers—more complex semantics. Taking some place that is not the location of the speaker as its center and adding a ventive sense to the meaning of its root element ba- (again, according to the morphological analysis of the grammatical texts), imma- literally conveys the notion of setting off in motion from there to come here. There is no true deictic contradiction, no fundamental opposition between coming and going, intrinsic to the prefix. Remarkably, the prefix differs in this way from im- and mu-, which are similarly ventive, but are indifferent to the starting point of the event and, consequently, to its initial inchoative phase. This explanation for the separative quality of motion events expressed with imma- and ba- finds considerable typological support. In various languages, the middle marking of translational motion events is often connected with a separative, thither or away directionality, e.g., Old Norse hlaupa-sk ‘run away’, ganga-sk ‘go away’, Spanish ir-se ‘go away’, Old French s’en voler ‘fly away’ (cf. modern French s’envoler), etc. (Kemmer 1993a: 22, 157). As Kemmer points out, these middle-marked verbs differ from their unmarked counterparts in focusing on the change-ofstate involved in the motion event, the initiation of the motion activity, and the fact that the entity is no longer in its initial at-rest state. In contrast, their respective unmarked forms, i.e., hlaupa, ganga, ir, voler, “designate the event as a whole without distinguishing its individual phases” (Kemmer 1993a: 157). Hatcher, describing the meaning implicit to adding a middle marker to certain verbs of motion in Old French, explains in vivid terms that these middle-marked verbs are “primarily concerned with the direction-of-motion,” that the “emphasis is upon initiation of movement, movement generated before our eyes: it serves as a signal: ‘now see them start to go!’” (Hatcher 1942: 111).8 Similar 8 Commenting on voler specifically, Kemmer, for instance, notes (based on Hatcher 1942) that “in s’en voler ‘fly away’, the focus is on the fact that the flying entity is no longer in its initial state; it has flown, and is gone from at least the immediate vicinity. Voler, however, refers to the act of flying without any specific reference to the changeof-state, or to the beginning or ending point. In other words the morphologically unmarked form is associated with the ‘semantically unmarked’ meaning” (1993a: 157; see also 253 n. 39).

180

chapter four

observations have been made by Allan (2003: 245) for Classical Greek and, outside of the Indo-European group,9 by Klaiman (1991: 58) for Fula—in both, the middle voice correlates with telic motion events and the active with atelic events. Of course, we need not go so far from home to corroborate this phenomenon. The separative sense of the Akkadian Gt-stem presumably grew out of the t-stem’s primary reflexive and reciprocal—that is middle marking—function precisely along these same lines (see Kouwenberg 2005). Indeed, observing the regular correspondence between the Akkadian Gt-stem and the Sumerian ba- prefix with verbs of motion, it would be surprising indeed if the Sumerian and Akkadian developments were not on some level intertwined with one another in the Sprachbund that was early Mesopotamia.10 The question that remains is whether the unilingual Sumerian evidence supports the ventive meaning attributed to imma- in the grammatical texts. As Yoshikawa (1978) has shown, there is considerable evidence from third-millennium administrative texts, which provide uncomplicated deictic contexts, to answer this question in the affirma9 Also outside of the Indo-European languages, note Hungarian meme-ked- and Quechua ayqe-ku-y meaning ‘flee’, and Lingala kílinga-na ‘run (away), hurry’ (Kemmer 1993a: 57). 10 I would not go as far as Kouwenberg (2005) does in his enlightening article on the subject and reject the separative function of the Gt-stem in Akkadian altogether (nor that of the ba- and imma- prefixes in Sumerian). Rather, as my comments indicate, I see this separative function—or perhaps better, the less committal separative sense—as a natural outgrowth of the middle marking function of these morphemes. It must be pointed out, however, that the correspondence between middle marking and thithermotion represents a typological tendency that is far from absolute. Note, for instance, that in Old Norse there is ganga-sk ‘to go, leave’, but there is also koma-sk ‘to come’ (see Table 3 for the middle marking of both coming and going events). Similarly, in Old French, next to s’en aler ‘leave, go away’, stands s’en venir ‘come’ (Hatcher 1942: 112; Kemmer 1993a: 157). This is in contrast to the situation in Sumerian (and Akkadian) in which the correlation between thither-deixis and middle marking is more consistently observed. It might be suggested that what had its origins in an affinity between middle marking and set-in-motion events became conventionalized in these languages by pressure from their respective ventive morphemes, the end result being a deictic allative-separative paradigm in each. Further, if the prefix system has its roots in the pronominal system, pronouns being inherently deictic, this too could be cited as a contributing factor in this correlation (see Woods 2001). In any event, the phenomenon in Akkadian is most productively approached in connection with the seemingly identical phenomenon in Sumerian and from the perspective of the linguistics of language contact situations more broadly. The coincident structures between the two languages in this respect are certainly striking. Both have ventive morphemes (which are superficially similar in form) and, perhaps more remarkably, in both, middle markers have developed separative and perfective functions (in the case of Akkadian, the latter developed into a distinct temporal category; on the Endpoint-orientation of the perfect tense and its relationship to the middle and passive, see §5.4, particularly p. 301 n. 28).

IMMA-

181

tive—but not without qualification. In many of these cases the ventive meaning of the prefix is underscored by the absence in the clause of an explicit goal NP, as the goal of the motion is implicitly understood to be here by employing this prefix. However, there are also many instances, particularly from later literary texts, in which a ventive meaning is doubtful or is at odds with the broader context, and the prefix appears merely to stress the inchoative aspect of the motion event without any particular suggestion of direction. Rather than presenting a contradiction, however, these cases underscore that imma- is foremost a middle marker, conveying an inchoative or ingressive meaning, and that motion events are not fundamentally different from other middle situations. Although the prefix may impart a ventive sense with verbs of motion in certain contexts, this is very much a secondary function. In all cases the prefix emphasizes subject affectedness, which in the particular case of motion events is associated with its initial set-in-motion phase. Observe that verbs of motion are commonly included in chains of events that are marked with imma- (e.g., [246], [346], [355]), suggesting a common semantic denominator for the sequence as a whole (contrary to the opinion expressed by Yoshikawa [1978], in my view there is nothing convincingly ventive about many of the non-motion verbs in these chains). Typologically, the only truly remarkable feature of motion events construed with imma- is that the prefix may, in certain contexts, overlay subject affectedness with a ventive sense, denoting motion toward the speaker or some other contextually determined reference point. And in so doing, the prefix often stands in directional opposition to its middle voice counterpart ba-, which does not add this meaning and consequently often has a secondary, separative nuance. The evidence cited by Yoshikawa (1978) includes contexts in which imma- is contrasted with ba- [234] (see §5.1.4 for the overlap between self-benefactive and separative semantics with verbs of taking and receiving), those in which the goal of the motion is both specified [236] and unspecified [237] (see also [346]), and, finally, those in which the motion event intersects with categories that are related to the middle, such as the passive [235], [237] (see §4.2). [234] 196(gur) ziz2 bar6-b[ar6] Dam-⎡dingir-mu⎤ ugula Gir2-suki e-made6 30(gur) še dNin-gir2-su-lu2-mu še anše ku2 tugx(LAK 483) siga-še3 gana2 Sag9-ga-tur-še ba-de6 ‘Damdingirmu, the overseer, brought 196 gur of white emmer here to Girsu. Ningirsulumu

182

chapter four

took away 30 gur of grain on the gursaggal (system) to Saggaturfield as fodder for the plowing donkeys’ (VS 14, 16 iii 1–iv 3 [= Bauer AWL no. 39]). [235] 1 udu nita Il2 1 udu nita Lugal-sa-šuš-gal [eger4] udu ur4-ra-ta udu nig2-ku2-a e-ma-lah5 . . . [x udu nita] Ur-dBa-u2 zur-zur 3 udu nita AN-i3-kuš2 1 udu nita Lugal-sa-šuš-gal udu sikiše3 Nigin3-mud e-ma-ra ‘1 ram from Il and 1 ram from Lugalsashushgal, after being sheared, were led to the fattened sheep . . . (x ram(s)) from Ur-Bau, the animal caretaker, 3 rams from ANikush, 1 ram from Lugalsashushgal, Niginmud led them to the wool-bearing sheep’ (Nik 161 i 1–v 1 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 385–386]). [236] šu-nigin2 170 la2 3 gišur3 tur mah-⎡ba⎤ giš tir Ambarki-ka i3gub-ba-am6 E2-gu3-[n]un-di ⎡lu2⎤ tir-ke4 Dam-dingir-mu ugula mu-na-šid Gir2-suki e-ma-de6 ‘Total of 167 planks, both small and large, which are from trees that stood (or: were planted) in Ambar-wood. Egunundi, the forester, counted out (the planks) before Damdingirmu, the overseer, and brought them here to Girsu’ (VS 14, 178 iii 1–v 1 [= Bauer AWL no. 84]). [237] (various onions) ki sum-ma gana2 U3-gig-ka-ta e-ma-de6 ‘(Various onions) were brought here from the onion plot of Ugigafield’ (DP 392 i 4–ii 2). Other motion events that suggest a ventive sense include (note also e-ma-ta-bala in [346]): [238] uru-e dUtu-gim ki-ša-ra im-ma-ta-a-e3 ‘Like Utu, (Gudea) came forth from the horizon for his city’ (Gudea Cyl. B xviii 12–13). [239] Na-ba ba-uš2 Inim-ma-ni-zid dumu Na-ba kaskal-ta im-magen ‘Naba has died and so Inimanizid, the son of Naba, has come back from his trip’ (NG 138: 5–6). [240] im-ma-gen-na-zu na-ag2-til3 na-nam ‘Your coming here is life indeed!’ (DzIn G 13). Elsewhere, a ventive meaning may simply derive from, or reinforce, the directionality inherent to the verbal semantics, as may be the case with e11 ‘descend’ [241]–[243], gu2—si ‘gather’ [241], šu—nigin ‘make a round trip’ [244], and ba-al with the meaning ‘recover, retrieve’ (i.e.,

IMMA-

183

‘dig up [and bring from there to here]’—see PSD B sub ba-al mng. 5; Heimpel 1994) [245] (note the contrast with ba-). [241] mu-bi-e an-zag-ta kur-kur-re gu2 im-ma-si-si Ma2-gan Meluh-ha kur-bi-ta im-ma-ta-e11-de3 ‘Because of the (Eninnu’s) fame, all the lands will gather together from the horizon—even Magan and Meluhha will come down from their mountains’ (Gudea Cyl. A ix 18–19). [242] hur-sag Zubi-še3 bi2-in-e11-de3 hur-sag Zubi-ta im-ma-da-raab-e11-de3 ‘(The messenger) brings (the message) up into the Zubi mountains, he descends with it from the Zubi mountains’ (EmkLA 164–165, similarly, 108–109). [243] ninda-e lu2 kur-ta im-ma-da-ra-an-e11-de3 ‘Food makes people come down from the mountains’ (InŠur 180). [244] [i3]-ne-eš2 im an-ta šeg3-ga2-gim [me]-⎡li⎤-e-a sig4 Urim2ki-maše3 šu nu-um-ma-nigin2-nigin2 ‘But now, just like the rain that falls from the skies, I, alas, cannot return to brick-built Ur’ (UrNm A 164–165). [245] ILu2-Hu-wa-wa geme2 Ur-dBa-u2 a-zu-ke4 tug2 Ba-zi dumu [Š]eššeš-k[a] ba-an-zuh im-ma-[a]-ta-ba-a[ l] ‘Lu-Huwawa, the slave girl of Ur-Bau, the doctor, stole a garment belonging to Bazi, the son of Sheshshesh, but she (later) brought it back’ (NG 126: 2–5). Note also [523], NG 137: 1–2, SNAT 373: 1–8 (see Wilcke 1991). But in other contexts, a ventive meaning is difficult to accept on any terms, even if it were to be attributed to deictic projection. Rather, the prefix appears to emphasize affectedness as manifested in the inchoative set-in-motion phase of the motion event, the change-of-state from being at rest to being in motion. Subject affectedness underlies the sequence of middle actions in [246], while the inchoative phase of the event is very much in focus in [247]–[250] (observe the deictic opposition that is suggested in the two motion-from-rest events in [248]; see also [231] and [271] for imma+gi4 with this sense). In all of these instances, the prefix—as it does in other situations—likely indicates some greater intensity or complexity (as for the latter, note [251]) to the action than would be implied if the same actions were construed with ba-. Certainly, the difference between ba+ku4 and imma+ku4 in [252] lends itself to this explanation, for the direction of the motion plays no role with this pair. That the second clause, the reiterated report of the event expressed

184

chapter four

by imma+ku4, represents a more emphatic or intensive portrayal is suggested by the greater detail in the description of the location (giškiri6 gi-rin dInana-še3) and, moreover, the reduplicated verbal root.11 [246] [G]u3-de2-a [min]-kam-aš2 Uru-kug-[ta] im-ma-[ta]-⎡e3⎤ gud d[u7] maš2 du7-re6 giš bi2-tag e2-e im-ma-gen kiri3 šu im-magal2 ‘Gudea set out from Urukug a second time: he slaughtered an unblemished bull and an unblemished kid, he went to the temple, and raised his hand (in homage)’ (Gudea Cyl. A xviii 6–9). [247] Si-mu-ur4ki nam-tab-ba-ni-še3 im-ma-da-[ge]n dal-ba-na hur-sag Ebihki-ke4 gištukul sag3-ge-⎡de3⎤ im-ma-ši-gen ‘(The leader of ) Simurum came to his aid—he rushed off to the area between the mountain ranges of Ebih to do battle’ (RCU 17: 15–16). [248] mušen-e gud3-bi-še3 šu am3-ma-nigin2-nigin2 Lugal-banda3da ki šeš-a-ne-ne-še3 giri3 am3-ma-gub-be2 ‘The bird rushed back to its nest and Lugalbanda set off for the place where his brothers were’ (LgB 2: 218–219). [249] me-e e2-mu-da mušen-gim im-ma-ra-dal-en ga-ša-an-men3 uru2-mu-da mušen-gim im-ma-ra-dal-en ‘I, like a bird, fly out of my house; I, the queen, like a bird, fly out of my city’ (ASJ 7 [1985]: 72 rev. 17–18). [250] zid-du šag4 kuš2-u3 dEn-lil2-la2-ke4 Kul-aba4ki nigin2-na-bi imma-an-kar-eš-ba ‘When the righteous one (Enmerkar), the one who soothes the heart of Enlil, set off with the whole of (the army of) Kulaba’ (LgB 1 A42–43). [251] ud-ba Unugki-ga lu2 dili-gim eger-bi-ir bi2-ib-us2 muš zar-ra-gim hur-sag-ta im-me-re-bala-bala ‘Then (the army of) Uruk followed as if one man—they wound their way through the mountains like a snake through grain-piles’ (LgB 2: 251–252). [252] munus-e inim An-na-ta ni2 te-a du inim dEn-lil2-la2-ta ni2 te-a du giš šu-na mu-un-dab5 Unugki-še3 ba-ni-in-ku4-re giškiri6 gi-rin dInana-še3 im-ma-ni-in-ku 4-ku4-re ‘The woman, who respects the word (uttered) by An, who respects the word

11 Similarly, compare bi2-in-gub (first clause) vs. asseverative nam-mi-in-gub (second clause) in [224].

IMMA-

185

(uttered) by Enlil, picked up the tree in her hand and brought it into Uruk. She herself brought it into Inana’s luxuriant garden’ (GgEN 32–35, similarly 75–78, 119–122). 4.1.3

Mental Events

Mental events, which include events of cognition, emotion (and emotive speech), as well as perception, are often middle-marked cross-linguistically, as the salient participant—the sentient being in whose mind the event unfolds—is affected by the action or state predicated by the verb, thereby serving as both the Initiator and the Endpoint.12 This sentient being is an experiencer and the mental event that he experiences is, in certain instances, induced by a stimulus. The semantic roles of experiencer and stimulus [2] are re-introduced here to account for the cross-linguistic, indeed often language-internal, variation, by which the experiencer or stimulus may be coded as subject or object, depending on language or context (Croft 1991: 213–214). When an experiencer reacts to a stimulus (Fig. 10–A), there are two participants and a two-way causal process is involved. The experiencer first makes mental contact with the stimulus—a turn of phrase that seeks to liken the mental event to the prototypical transitive event and its transmittal of energy (§§2.6, 2.7)—initiating the event by directing, volitionally or non-volitionally, his attentions to the stimulus. The stimulus, in turn, induces a mental state in the experiencer, e.g., I’m afraid of spiders, I like pizza, and affectedness is naturally of the mental, rather than of the physical, variety. In other cases, however, the mental event may be entirely internal and limited to the experiencer (Fig. 10–B), e.g., Joe is depressed, Bobby is happy, or, alternatively, the stimulus may be omitted from the clause for pragmatic reasons, David was shocked when he opened the door . . . Edward lay dead on the floor.

12 For the semantics of mental events and the middle voice, see the discussions of Croft 1991: 213–225 and Kemmer 1993a: 127–142, upon which this description is based.

186

chapter four

A

B

Figure 10-A. Two-Participant Mental Event (Kemmer 1993a: 128).

A

Figure 10-B. One-Participant Mental Event (Kemmer 1993a: 128).

The separation between participants in mental situations is naturally zero as the Initiator and Endpoint are, per force, the same entity, and, unlike the case of body-action events, the mind, the location of the event, is not conceptually resolvable into a collection of distinct parts. What is variable in mental events is the degree of control and subjectaffectedness. Both in terms of the semantics of individual lexical items and the pragmatics of context, there can be considerable variation in these properties. With events of perception, as noted in §3.2.2, the experiencer, the perceiver, is scarcely affected, e.g., look, smell, listen, and is often volitional and controlling in terms of the ability to direct his attention toward or away from the stimulus. Hence, there is a tendency for events of perception to be conceptualized within the same asymmetrical AgentObject framework as the prototypical transitive event. This is particularly true of visual events, for which affectedness is minimal. Thus, it comes as no surprise that events of perception tend to take active rather than middle morphology, with the experiencer often coded as the subject, and the stimulus, as the object or indirect object (the latter marking speaks to the minimal effect of the event on the stimulus). However, the intermediate status of these events can make itself known. Bakker, for example, observes that in Homeric Greek verbs of perception can take both active and middle forms, but by the time of Attic Greek “this freedom is grammaticalized away” and most verbs of this type are active (Bakker 1994: 36).

IMMA-

187

Similarly, implicit to the semantics of many cognition verbs is the expectation that the experiencer is to some degree a volitional participant, who exerts some control over the event. Consequently, these verbs often appear as active intransitives (Kemmer 1993a: 135, who points to Eng. think, Lat. cogito, Fr. réfléchir; cf. mu+zu [§3.2.2]). However, the situation is less asymmetrical than that of the perception events, with middle marking, generally, being better attested cross-linguistically with cognitive events as their inclusion in Table 3 suggests. Kemmer singles out in this connection verbs of belief, remembering, and forgetting, verbs that are considered “complex mental events” by virtue of taking a dependent proposition rather than an object (1993a: 142). As pointed out in §3.2.2 with respect to Latin cogito ‘think, cogitate’ and the middle voice medito-r ‘think, meditate’, the distinction between the active and the middle voice with cognition events is, as Kemmer surmises, that “the active intransitive forms imply more volitionality and purposeful activity on the part of the Initiator, while middle-marked verbs in this class emphasize the affectedness of the Experiencer” (1993a: 135). Representing a lower rung on the scale of control and volition are events of emotion, e.g., fear, worry, be happy, be angry, become frightened, with which we may group the closely related category of emotive speech actions, e.g., complain, lament (see Table 3). The experiencer with emotion verbs is, generally, highly affected by the event and exhibits greater involvement in the activity than in events of perception or cognition. At the same time, the experiencer is less likely to control the event or to exercise any volition with respect to it. Accordingly, events of emotion are more commonly middle-marked than are verbs of perception or cognition. But like all situation types that lend themselves to middle marking, there is considerable idiosyncrasy in and across languages as to which predicates actually appear in the middle voice (§2.9.5). First to be considered are those predicates that are least likely to receive middle marking, namely, events of visual perception—events in which the subject typically exerts control and volition and is only minimally affected. Any conclusion concerning the distribution of imma(and ba-) with these verbs is naturally tempered by the fact that—as compound verbs which relegate the semantic object to a peripheral case—it is often the quality of the semantic object, as represented by its case element in the verbal chain, which determines the prefix. Nevertheless, we would expect some correlation with imma- when either the semantics of the event specifies a degree of subject affectedness or the writer pragmatically wishes to emphasize this quality. Some hint of

188

chapter four

the former may be found in the different types of seeing verbs attested in Sumerian. According to Karahashi (2000a: 113), igi—bar ‘look’ expresses intentional visual activity, while igi—du8 ‘see’ expresses visual experience. This distinction was already observed by Gragg, who suggested the existence of semantic subclasses among verbs of visual perception, with verbs of the igi—bar class being marked for “intentional apprehension, direction of attention” and differing from igi—du8 as English look does from see (1973c: 22). Although one would not expect either verb to occur frequently with imma-, particularly when the verbal chain includes case elements with animate referents, our theory of voice would predict imma- to occur more frequently with the experiential igi—du8 than with the more agentive igi—bar (see [69]). This is in fact the case. In the 36 examples of igi—bar collected by Karahashi (2000a: 113–117), there is only one certain attestation of imma-, with the verb commonly occurring with the prefixes mu- and i-. Remarkably, in those examples that include an adverb between the nominal and verbal components of the compound—an indication that the focus is on the action itself rather than the affectedness of the subject—the prefix is universally mu- (see §3.2.2). Conversely, of Karahashi’s 44 examples of igi—du8, 9 attest imma- or immi- and the verb very rarely appears with an intervening adverb (2000a: 118–122). In all cases, the presence of imma- is consistent with the notion that the subject is in some way affected by the seeing event. There is a volitionality associated with these events, but more saliently, the action recoils back, affecting the subject. This is also true of the one example of igi—imma+bar cited by Karahashi [253] (as the example indicates, the passage contains two further, parallel attestations). The context suggests that the event is to be interpreted along the lines of an emotional or body-action middle, the seeing event inducing an emotional/physical effect in the subject—Enlil eyes13 Ninlil and is incited to rape her. The prefix may even suggest an element of non-volitionality, implying a certain inevitability in Enlil’s observing of Ninlil. Note in this connection that in the preceding passage in which Ninlil’s mother warns Ninlil to stay away from the river, for Enlil will certainly see her, the event which is yet to unfold is expressed with ba- (i-bi2 ba-e-ši-bar-re [ ll. 17–19]), the semantically less complex of the two prefixes.

13

As fittingly rendered by Cooper in his translation of the text (1980: 185).

IMMA-

[253]

189

Nin⎤-lil2-le gu2 id2-Nun-bi-ir-du-ka i-im-du-de3 igi kug-ga-am3 lugal-e igi kug-ga-am3 igi im-ma-ši-in-bar [kur ga]l ⎡a-a⎤ d En-lil2-le igi kug-ga-am3 igi im-ma-ši-in-bar [sipad n]a-ag2 tar-tar-re igi kug-ga-am3 igi im-ma-ši-in-bar [lugal-e giš3] ga-e-dug4 mu-na-ab-be2 ‘As Ninlil walked along the banks of the Nunbirdu-canal, the bright-eyed one, the master, the brighteyed one, eyed her there. The great mountain, father Enlil, the bright-eyed one, eyed her there. The shepherd who determines destinies, the bright-eyed one, eyed her there. The master said to her, “I want to have sex with you!” ’ (EnlNl 24–28). d⎡

That the subject is affected by the seeing event, which is expressed with imma-, is likewise clear from the following examples of igi—du8. The act of visual perception in [254] and [255] is experienced, often prompting some further action on the part of the subject (see also igi—du8 in the chain of middle events in [231]). [254] mušen-e engur-ra mi-ni-nigin2-nigin2 ambar mi-ni-in-kin-kin mušen-e ku6-ra engur-ra igi im-ma-an-du8 (vars. igi im-mani-in/ib2-du8) geštug2 ba-ši-in-gub i-gi4-in-zu a-e ba-da-an-kar umbin mu-ni-in-la2 agargara tur-tur-bi teš2-bi bi2-in-gar-gar zarre-eš mu-un-du8-du8 ‘Bird was roaming all around the depths, searching all over the marshes (for Fish). Then, Bird observed Fish in the depths—he studied him closely. And then before (Fish) could escape into the waters, (Bird) extended its claws and snatched from the water Fish’s tiny spawn, gathering them together and piling them up’ (BdFh 116–119). [255] inim-ma-ni nu-un-til zabar-dab5 Unugki-ga-ke4 bad3-še3 im-mee11-de3 bad3-da gu2-na im-ma-an-la2 Ak-ka3 igi im-ma-ni-indu814 BIR-HUR-tur-re gu3 mu-na-de2-e arad2 lu2-še lugal-zu-u3 ‘Before he had finished speaking, the Sergeant-at-Arms of Uruk climbed up and craned his neck over the wall. Aka noticed him and said to BIRHURtur, “Slave, is that man your king?” ’ (GgAk 65–69).

When this episode is repeated, with Enkidu scaling the wall, note that the prefix employed in this second rendition of the event is ba-, i.e., igi ba-ni-in-du8 (GgAk 90), the phonologically and semantically lighter of the two markers (see [230] and p. 174 n. 6). 14

190

chapter four

And, similarly, with igi—gar with the sense of study or observe closely (cf. igi imma+du8 in [254]): [256] a-na-aš-am3 [x]-gim lu2 mu-e-ši-in-gi4 mIš-bi-dEr3-ra ugu-mu-še3 igi-ni im-ma-ši-in-gar u3 ga2-e u3-mu-un-šub ga-am3-gen ‘Why did you send me someone (saying,) “Ishbi-Erra is studying me closely—therefore, I will come when he attacks”?’ (Let IS-PŠ [Version A] 6–9). Also to be included here are attestations of the verb igi—imma+si3. Again, with imma- there is an intensity to the seeing event, the act of visual perception having the ability to stimulate a response in the subject [258].15 In [257] Shukaletuda eyes Inana before having sex with her, an event of visual perception connected with sexual arousal that parallels [253] (see also [231]). In [258] seeing is experienced in the sense of viewing mentally or thoughtfully—essentially, seeing as an act of contemplation.16 [257] Šu-kal-le-tud-da zag sar-ra-⎡ka⎤-ni igi im-ma-ni-⎡si3⎤ ‘Shukaletuda eyed (Inana) from beside his garden plot’ (InŠk 117). [258] uruki-ga2 lu2 ba-uš2 šag4 ba-sag3 lu2 u2-gu ba-an-de2 šag4-mu hul ba-an-gig bad3-da gu2-mu im-ma-an-la2 adda a-a id2 ib2-dirigge igi im-ma-an-si3 ‘In my city people are dying, and hearts are full of distress. People are lost—this fills me with dismay. I craned my neck over the wall: corpses are (dumped) in the water, the river carries them away—this is what I contemplated!’ (GgHw-A 23–26). For ba+dirig, cf. [533]. This combination of prefix and verb regularly occurs in pivotal points in incantations. The Old Babylonian forerunners to Utukku Lemnutu, for instance, exhibit a pattern in which the incantation opens with the udug-demon ravaging its victim. Asarluhi observes or takes notice—igi imma+si3 (see Geller 1985: 96 ad 180)—and then reports the events to Enki, who prescribes the remedy. Again, the combination igi imma+si3

In a broken context, but with perhaps similar intensive or experiential meaning: ugnim-e igi im-ma-an-si3 ‘He inspected the troops’ (InGud C8). 16 I thank Miguel Civil for discussing this passage with me—‘contemplate’ as an apt translation of igi––imma+si3 in this passage stems from our conversation. 15

IMMA-

191

denotes an intensive or active seeing-event, one that is experienced by the subject, prompting him to further action: [259]

[d]Asal-lu2-hi igi im-ma-an-si3 [a-a-ni] dEn-ki-ra e2-a baan-ši-ku4 gu3 mu-un-na-an-de2-e [ud]ug hul edin-na sug2-a ‘Asaluhi took notice (of the evil wrought by the demon). He entered the temple before his father, Enki, and said to him, “The evil udug-demon is standing in the desert” ’ (FAOS 12, p. 76: 808–810, similarly, pp. 30: 180, 58: 655, 68: 721). Cf. from the first millennium, dAsal-lu2-hi igi im-ma-an-si3 = dMarduk ip-pa-lis-su-ma ‘Marduk took notice’ (Šurpu V/VI 17–18, similarly VII 37); note that the equation of igi—imma+si3 with the medio-passive N-stem of palāsu underscores the middle semantics of the event.

Interestingly, the prefix immi- commonly occurs with igi—du8 in rhetorical questions. Seeing in these cases refers to personal observation or direct experience—these are acts of eye-witnessing that have the potential of impressing the subject. A certain complexity is implicit to these events by virtue of taking abstract propositions in the form of hypothetical situations rather than canonical Objects; in this way these situations may be considered complex mental events (see above). [260] ur-sag dab5-ba šu bar-ra-am3 en dab5-ba gi6-par3-še3 gur-raam3 gudug dab5-ba hi-li-še3 gur-ra-am3 ud ul-li2-a-ta a-ba-a igi im-mi-in-du8 ‘A captured warrior who is set free! A captured en-priestess who is returned to the gipar! A captured gudug-priest who is restored to his wig! Who has ever, ever, witnessed such a thing before?’ (GgHw-B 152–155). [261] ud ul kalam ki gar-ra-ta zag ug3 lu-a-še3 bala nam-lugal-la sagbi-še3 e3-a a-ba-a igi im-mi-in-du8-a (var. igi mu-un-⎡du8-e?⎤) ‘Since days of yore, from when the land was founded until people multiplied, who has ever witnessed a reign of kingship that would take precedence (forever)?’ (LSU 367–368). [262] dNa-ra-am-dSuen mu 7-am3 mu-un-ge-en lugal mu 7-am3 šu sag-ga2 dug4-ga a-ba igi im-mi-in-du8-a (vars. igi mu-undu8-a/am3) ‘Naram-Sin was immobile for seven years. Who has ever witnessed a king burying his head in his hands for seven years?’ (CAk 92–93). For the idiom aba igi immi+du8, see also Inšk 67, 71, 77, 87, GgDth G16.

192

chapter four

True cognitive events in general represent a relatively small class and are difficult to identify in Sumerian, particularly when compared to emotion and emotive speech events. Yet there are predicates that occur with imma- (and immi-) that may be broadly classified as such, some of which, like [260]–[262], are complex in taking propositions rather than identifiable Objects. zu ‘know’ is perhaps the best attested among the verbs of this class. With mu- there is often a certain stative or atelic quality to the event, with the prefix emphasizing the knowing state under the control of the subject (§3.2.2). This, of course, follows from the Initiator orientation of that prefix. With ba- and its focus on the Endpoint of the event, there is often an ingressive change-of-state, which with zu manifests itself in the meaning get to know, learn (§5.4). When combined with imma-, which is relatively rare, the verb has a similar meaning, imparting as we might expect, a more intensive or contrastive meaning (note the experiential quality of the events represented in [263] and [264]). ⎡

ga2-e?⎤ im-ma-zu-a ni2 im-ma-an-zu-a ‘I, who have experienced (lit. come to know), who have experienced fear!’ (UrNm A C83 [Susa]). [264] e-ne nam-mah-a-ni ši-im-ma-an-zu-zu-un uru-gim namtur-ga2 gu2 ši-im-ma-ga2-ga2-an e-ne-ra ‘He, then, would have made me know his pre-eminence, and I, like the city, would then submit to him in my inferiority’ (EmkLA 292–293). [265] en-na lu 2-bi lu 2-u 18-lu he 2-a im-ma-zu-am 3 dingir he 2-a im-ma-zu-am3 (var. im-zu) giri3 kur-še3 gub-ba-mu uruki-še3 ba-ra-gub-be2-en ‘Until I learn whether that creature is man or god, I shall not direct my mountain-bound steps back to the city’ (GgHw-A 94–95). [263]

Other events that may be loosely described as cognitive, with the actions having some significant impact upon the subject include (see also gizzal imma+ak [316]): [266] dumu-mu na ga-de5 geštu2 he2-ma-ak ‘My son, I will instruct you—Pay close attention!’ (InŠur 27′–28′ [Abu alābikh], similarly 170′, and 1.9 [Early Dynastic Adab]). [267] nig2-gi-gi-na dNanše dNin-gir2-su-ka-še3 en3 im-ma-ši-tar ‘I paid particular attention to the justice ordained by Nanshe and

IMMA-

193

Ningirsu’ (Gudea St. B vii 38–41). Similarly, Gudea Cyl. B xviii 4–5. [268] bi3-lu5-da dBa-u2 nin-a-na-še3 en3 im-ma-ši-tar ‘He paid particular attention to the cultic rites of Bau, his lady’ (Gudea St. E ii 5–8). [269] Urim2ki dagal-e-de3 mu mah tuk-tuk-de3 sun5-na-bi u3-gul imma-an-ga2-ga2 ‘In order to enlarge Ur, in order that it acquire a exalted reputation, I pray humbly (to Nanna)’ (Warad-Sin 18: 10–13). And overlapping with the speech-act middle: [270] e2 Eridugki-ga-ke4 im-ma-kar-ra (vars. um-ma-kar-ra/re) id2-de3 lugal-bi-ir ad im-mi-ib-gi4-gi4 (var. ad he2-em-mi-ib-gi4 [. . .]) gu3-bi gu3 amar-ra gu3 ab2 dug3-ga-ke4 ‘When (Enki) departs from the temple of Eridu, the river resounds (lit. deliberates) for its king—its sound is a calf ’s mooing (in response) to the mooing of a good cow’ (EnkJN 90–92). See Gragg 1973c: 62 (also Thomsen 1984: 184) for the “reflective sense” of ad—gi4 when the comitative infix is absent. For the translation “resounds,” cf. rigmu apālu (see CAD A/2 s.v. apālu A mng. 2e); for imma+kar, see §4.1.2. Verbs of emotion are a better attested class of mental events, a class that is frequently attested with both imma- and ba-. One difference between the two, as the theory would predict, is that with imma- the experiencer tends to exert greater control or volition over the event, whereas with ba- the experiencer is often patient-like. Consequently, events in which the subject typically lacks volition and control (e.g., fear, terror, distress, anger) are more often expressed with ba- (§5.1.3).17 Compare, in this connection, agentive imma+hu-luh in a string of volitional middles in [271] with ba+hu-luh, which takes a patient-subject in [272]:

17 Compare the alternating subject-experiencer and object-experiencer assignments that some languages use to express nuances of control and volition (see Croft 1991: 219–222).

194

chapter four

[271] kur gal dEn-lil2-le šag4-ga-ni um-ma-an-hu-luh-ha-ta kur-da sag-ki um-ma-da-an-gid2 ki-bala-da nam im-ma-da-an-kud kibala kur sag-ki gid2-da-ni-še3 a-a-mu dEn-lil2-le im-ma-ši-in-gi4gi4 ‘After the great mountain, Enlil, made his heart fearsome, after he frowned upon the foreign land, he cursed that rebel land. My father, Enlil, dispatched me to the rebel land, the foreign land at which he had frowned’ (Ninisina A 105–109). [272] ud an-na-gim sig4 gi4-bi-e ug3 ha-ba-da-ab-hu-hu-luh-eš2 ‘May the people become as fearful at the cry as at a storm in the heavens!’ (ŠC B9). Consistent with the prefix’s ability to open up an event, revealing an internal structure, emotion events expressed with imma- may be marked for their intensity, the prefix stressing the experiencer’s involvement in the action. As in [260]–[262], complexity may take the form of the Agent or Object consisting of a proposition or situation rather than an identifiable entity. A common emotion-middle event of this type that regularly employs imma- is the idiom hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib/ib2-gar ‘It (i.e., the situation) made s.o. very happy’ (lit. ‘It happened to him as a joyous occurrence’). Here, affectedness does not, naturally, involve the syntactic subject, but the experiencer, the topic, in the dative case (see also [218], [679], [680]).18 The assignment of the experiencer to the indirect, rather than direct, object role, a phenomenon well attested cross-linguistically, reflects the fact that this is a low transitivity event in which the experiencer is less than completely affected (see Croft 1991: 213–225; Hopper and Thompson 1980: 254). [273]

A⎤-[nun-na]-ki Laga[ški] e2 dNin-gir2-su-ka du3-de3 Gu3-de2-a siskur2 ra2-⎡zu⎤ ⎡mu-da-an⎤-šu4-šu4-ge-eš2 sipad zid Gu3-de2-a hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib2-gar ‘In order to build the temple of Ningirsu, the Anunaki of Lagash stood by Gudea in rites and prayer—this made the true shepherd Gudea very happy’ (Gudea Cyl. A xiv 1–6). d⎡

18 Consequently, the distinction that is normally observed between the voice and the dative functions of the prefixes (§§3.4, 5.3) collapses in this instance, since the topic of the clause, the experiencer, is represented by the dative and it is topic, rather than Subject, affectedness that is at issue in middle events of this type (see also the discussion of [325] and [356]).

IMMA-

195

[274] ur-sag šul dUtu en dGilgameš2 7-bi-e-ne mu-na-ra-an-sum gišeren sag3-ge hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib2-gar en dGilgameš2-e hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib2-gar (var. hul2-la-gim im-muna-ni-ib-gar) ‘The warrior, the youth Utu, gave Gilgamesh these seven (warriors)—the feller of cedars was very happy, lord Gilgamesh was very happy’ (GgHw-A 45B–47). [275] en-ra hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib-gar (var. hul2-la-gim immu-na-ni-ib-gar) 5 ma-na kug-sig17 mu-na-ab-sum-mu ‘(The speech of the minister) made the lord so very happy that he gave him five minas of gold’ (EmkEsg A163–164). Another middle event, notable for its impact upon the subject and its frequent occurrence with imma-, is er2—pad3/šeš2 ‘weep, grieve, lament’. This is a naturally intensive, iterative activity, an event of emotion that intersects with the body-action and emotive speech categories (note the appearance of the neutral prefix i- in the subsequent backgrounded clauses in [276] and [277]; see §3.3). [276] abul Ganzir igi kur-ra-ka dur2 im-ma-ni-in-gar dGilgameš2 er2 im-ma-an-pad3 šešx(SIG7)-šešx(SIG7) i3-ga2-ga2 ‘At the gate of Ganzir, in front of the Netherworld, he sat down; Gilgamesh wept, shedding tears’ (GgEN 166–167). [277] ur-sag-e er2 im-ma-an-pad3 šešx(SIG7)-šešx(SIG7) i3-ga2-ga2 Hu-wa-wa er2 im-ma-an-pad3 šešx(SIG7)-šešx(SIG7) i3-ga2-ga2 ‘The warrior began to weep, shedding tears; Huwawa wept, shedding tears’ (GgHw-B 135–136). [278] [E2-kur] e2 dEn-lil2-la2-še3 ku4-ku4-da-ni-ta [igi dEn-lil2-la2]-še3 er2 im-ma-šeš2-šeš2 ‘After she enters the Ekur, the temple of Enlil, (Ninshubur) weeps before Enlil’ (InD 183–184). [279] Eridugki e2 dEn-ki-ka3-še3 giri3-ni dili mu-un-gub igi dEn-ki-ka3še3 er2 im-ma-šeš2-šeš2 ‘In Eridu (Gilgamesh) walks alone to the temple of Enki and weeps before Enki’ (GgEN 230–231). The prefix commonly appears with verbs denoting emotions of all types, employed when the writer wishes to make a point of the experiencer’s affectedness. In many cases these events involve a certain structure or intensity:

196

chapter four

[280] e2-me-eš sag-ki nig2-nam mu-un-kin zi im-ma-da-ab-gi4 ‘Summer considered everything in his head and was able to stay calm’ (WnSm 297). [281] nig 2 dug 3-ge nig 2 dug 3-ge al na-an-ga-am3-mi-in-dug 4 ‘(Nanna) desired something good, something good!’ (Nanna Hymn 6). [282] a-a-zu dEn-lil2-le ki gal-bi ši-im-ma-an-ag2 nam-ur-sag-zu ug3-e im-mi-zu ‘Your father Enlil loves you so very much—he has made your heroism known among the people’ (ŠU 19– 20). [283] Ul-maški-a ni2 im-ma-ni-in-te (var. um-ma-da-an-te) ‘In Ulmash, (Inana) became fearful’ (CAk 59). [284] lu2 inim-zu giš ba-ni-in-tuku-a šu am3-ma-kar2-kar2 ‘Those who hear your words will feel denigrated’ (Edub C 35). [285] ud-ba lugal-mu dumu-gir15-ra ur5-ra-ni ba-an-BAD en dAš-im2babbar dumu-gir15-ra šag4 hul-lu im-ma-an-dim2 ‘Then, my master, the native son, became distraught—lord Ashimbabbar, the native son, grieved’ (LSU 371–372). [286] [luga]l-mu uru ki ag2-ga2-zu šag4-zu he2-e[m-ma-h]un ⎡en⎤ [dNin-u]rta uru ki ag2-[g]a2-zu šag4-zu h[e2-em-ma-h]un eš3 Nibru⎡ki⎤ uru ki ag2-zu šag4-zu h[e2-em-ma-h]un ‘My king, may you be at peace with your beloved city! Lord Ninurta, may you be at peace with your beloved city! May you be at peace with the sanctuary Nippur, your beloved city!’ (NinRN 180–182). Note that the restorations are based on a Middle Babylonian copy from Nippur. And, expressed more periphrastically (cf. [207]): [287] [a-n]ir a2-sag3 du-lum gig-ga ⎡ud⎤ im-ma-ni-in-⎡zal⎤ ‘(The young man) spends his time in grief, illness, and utter misery’ (ManGod 11). The closely allied class of emotive speech acts similarly displays a strong correlation with imma-/immi-. The act of speaking, of course, may be considered a middle event similar to body-action situations. It is revealing, therefore, that the prefix bi- is closely associated with dug4 with the basic or neutral meaning ‘speak, say, declare (s.th.)’, so much so that the prefix was fossilized in personal names of the type Bi2-dug4-ga, d En-lil2-la2-bi2-dug4, dŠara2-bi2-dug4, etc. (see Limet 1968: 86–87; Attinger

IMMA-

197

1993: 409–410). The phonologically heavier forms immi- and imma-, on the other hand, are often connected with speech actions that are emotionally charged, that have greater semantic weight than those events expressed with bi- (or ba-) (see also discussion of [230] and p. 174 n. 6). Already in the Pre-Sargonic royal inscriptions there is the suggestion of a contrast: [288] Ur-lum-ma-ke4 šu-du7 e-ma-da-dug4 An-ta-sur-ra ga2-kam kisur-ra-mu bi2-dug4 ‘Urluma spoke arrogantly, stating “Antasura is mine! It is my territory!”’ (Uruinimgina 3 iv 5′–9′). Similarly, lu2 Ummaki-ke4 šu-du7-ra2(or: du7du) e-ma-da-dug4 ‘The leader of Umma spoke arrogantly’ (Eanatum 1 ii 24–26).19 In the following passage, the combination immi+dug4 may express more than simply ‘speak’. The prefix appears to add an intensive meaning, the coupling of prefix and verb connoting an emotive speech event along the lines of boast, brag, exclaim (see Table 3): [289] Il2 ensi2 Ummaki-a a-šag4GANA2 kar-kar nig2-erim2 dug4-dug4-ge eg2 ki-sur-ra dNin-gir2-su-ka eg2 ki-sur-ra dNanše ga2-kam i3-midug4 An-ta-sur-ra-ta E2-dGAL.DIM-Abzu-ka-še3 im-‹dub-›ba i3-e3-de3 i3-mi-dug4 ‘Il, ruler of Umma, the field thief, speaking hostilely, boasted, “The boundary dike of Ningirsu and the boundary dike of Nanshe are mine!” He bragged, “I will shift the levee from Antasura to Edimgalabzu!” ’ (Enmetena 1 iv 19–33). Similarly, see Enanatum I 2 ix 2–9. The combination imma/immi+dug4 only acquires specific meaning, of course, within a given context. That the prefix conveys some extra meaning, that the speaking action has some intensity with the subject engaged in an activity that has a recoiling effect, is again suggested by the prefix’s high correlation with adverbs specifying the manner—that is, the emotive quality—of the speech. Where these events differ

19 For šu-du7du, see Cooper 1986: 38 n. 2; a reading šu-ur6(-ra2), syllabic for šur2 ‘angry’, is also possible, yielding the emotive speech event speak angrily, i.e., ‘Urluma/the leader of Umma spoke angrily’—see Steiner 1986: 253 ad 35 and RIME 1 comm. to E1.9.3.1, with previous literature. Although somewhat obscured by lexical/graphic difficulties, a similar contrast in emphasis may exist between bi2-dug4 and i3-mi-dug4 in Enanatum I 2 viii 7 and ix 9.

198

chapter four

critically from those adverbial clauses discussed in connection with mu-, i.e., [106]–[115], is with respect to the notion of subject affectedness. Whereas mu- is neutral to this quality and the focus is on the action and the agent as the doer of the action, with imma- the pairing with an adverbial expression serves to emphasize the subject as the Endpoint of the action. More than simply describing the manner of the action, the particular adverbs that occur with imma-/immi- tend to stress the intensity of the action undertaken by the subject—again, subject affectedness takes center stage. Common among the adverbs that occur with imma/immi+dug4 is gig ‘bitterly’, the combination frequently occurring in laments: [290] a uru2 gul-la e2 gul-la-mu gig-ga-bi im-me ‘(Ninzuana) cries out bitterly, “O the destroyed city, my destroyed temple!”’ (LSU 135). [291] ad-da-bi e2 dam uš2-a-na gu3 gig-bi he2-em-me (var. em-me) ‘May (Akade’s) old man cry out bitterly in the house of his slain wife!’ (CAk 218). [292] [a] šu-mu a giri3-mu gi[g-ga-b]i im-me ‘He cries out bitterly, “O my hands! O my feet!”’ (GgEN 287B). [293] ama dNin-gal uru-ni lu2-erim2-gim bar-ta ba-ra-gub lu2 munus-e er2 e2 hul-a-na gig-ga-bi im-me (var. mi-‹ni?-›ib2-be2) eger3re eš3 Urim2ki hul-a-na gig-ga-bi im-me (var. mi-ni-ib-be2) ‘Mother Ningal, like a foreigner, stands outside her city. The woman bitterly cries out over her devastated house. The princess cries out bitterly over her devastated shrine, Ur’ (LUr 254–256). The prefixes imma- and immi- occur with a wide range of speech situations, which have in common the subject as an experiencer. Most of these contexts suggest that the subject is emotionally involved, positively or negatively, in the event.20 Even for those clauses without interjec20 The emotional quality of the speech may be implicit, as in the dialogue between two antagonists (see p. 277 n. 16 for the rationale for the omission of the dative infix), e.g., hur-sag dEbihki-ke4 im-ma-gen gu3 im-ma-de2-e (vars. gu3 am3-ma-de2-a, gu3 imde2-e, gu3 mu-un-na-de2-e) ‘(Inana) went to the mountain range of Ebih and cries out to it’ (InEb 152), gišal-e gišapin-na a-da-min3 dug4-ga gišal-e gišapin-na gu3 am3-ma-de2-e ‘The Hoe and Plow engaged in a dispute—Hoe cries out to Plow’ (HoPl 7–8), or the speech between spouses, e.g., mušen-e dam-bi-ir gu3 am3-ma-de2-e (var. am3-de2-e) Anzumušen-de3 dam-bi-ir gu3 am3-ma-de2-e (var. am3-de2-e) ‘The bird cries out to his wife, Anzu cries out to his wife!’ (LgB 2: 84–85).

IMMA-

199

tions or adverbial expressions that describe the nature of the speech act, the context nevertheless often suggests an exclamatory manner (e.g., [302]–[305], the last representing a string of middle situations). And in those instances in which the subject is not emotionally affected, e.g., [306], there is likewise an intensity to the event with the subject vigorously participating in it. The action is perceived to emanate from the patient-subject, which fulfills the roles of both the Initiator and Endpoint. [294] eger-bi dInana ba-ši-in-zig3 gu3 im-mi-in-ra šeg10 im-miin-gi4 ‘In the wake (of the devastation), Inana arose, shrieked, and yelled out aloud’ (EmkLA 193–194). [295] ama dumu-ni-še3 hul til3-la-e ama lugal-la kug dNin-sumun2-na a šag4-mu im-me ‘The mother, who is miserable on account of her son, the mother of the king, holy Ninsumun, was crying out, “O my heart!”’ (UrNm A 15–16). [296] šag4-mu lipiš-mu bil2-la-bi im-me ‘He cries out feverishly, “O my insides! O my belly!”’ (Ninisina A 35). [297] ab2 amar-bi nu-ub-da-la2-a-gim gu3 arhuš-a im-me (var. iim-me) ‘Like a cow, whose calf is not with her, I utter pitiful cries’ (Let B7 [Version A] 8). [298] 2-kam-ma-še3 dSuen dEn-ki dInana dNin-urta dIškur dUtu dNusku d Nisaba dingir he2-em-me-eš uruki-še3 igi-ne-ne i-im-ga2-ga2-ne A-ka3-de3ki aš2 hul-a im-ma-ab-bala-e-ne ‘For a second time, Sin, Enki, Inana, Ninurta, Ishkur, Utu, Nusku, and Nisaba—all the gods that there may be—turn their attention to the city and curse Akade severely’ (CAk 222–224). [299] ⎡sipad⎤-de3 dun5-dun5 dugšakir3-⎡ra⎤-ka-na dug3-ge-eš he2-⎡emmi⎤-ib-be2 ‘A shepherd will sing (those songs) sweetly as he tumbles his butter churn!’ (InŠk 299). [300] A.IGI.LU-e-ne šir3 dug3-ge-eš im-mi-ib-be2-ne en-[ra mi2 z]id-de3-eš2 mu-un-ne-ne ‘The boatmen sweetly sing a song—for the lord they sing his praise’ (Lugal-e 649–650). [301] Lugal-banda3da ni2 1-ta hul2-la 1-ta ni2 1 šag4 hul2-la 1-ta mušen-e mi2 iri-im-me Anzumušen-de3 mi2 iri-im-me ‘Lugalbanda—partly from fear, partly from delight, partly from fear, partly from delight—flatters the bird, he flatters Anzu’ (LgB 2: 111–114). [302] [ad-da dam-a-ni-t]a ba-da-gur dam-mu nu im-me [ama dumu-ni-t]a ba-da-gur dumu-mu nu im-me e2 zid-da-ke4

200

[303] [304] [305]

[306]

chapter four e2-a-ni mu-un-šub e2-mu nu im-me ‘The father turned away from his wife exclaiming, “This is not my wife!” The mother turned away from her child exclaiming, “This is not my child!” He who had a well-ordered household neglected his household exclaiming, “This is not my estate!” ’ (LSU 95–97). kug dInana-ke4 E2-an-na gu3 im-me . . . kug dInana-ke4 Zabalamki gu3 im-me ‘O holy Inana, the Eana cries out! . . . O holy Inana, Zabalam cries out!’ (Cohen Eršemma no. 165: 5–7). d En-ki [n]u-zu-gim a-na-am3 ne-e im-me ‘Enki, as if oblivious, cried out, “What is this!”’ (NinTrtl B42). An-ra a i-bi2-ga2 me-e he2-em-ma-na-de2 dMu-ul-lil2-ra ni2-mu šag4-ne-ša4 he2-em-ma-na-ak uru2-mu nam-ma-gul-lu he2me-ne-dug4 Urim2ki nam-ma-gul-lu he2-me-ne-dug4 (var. [he2-]em-me-ne-dug4) ug3-bi nam-ma-til-e he2-me-ne-dug4 ‘I shed my tears before An! I personally made supplication to Enlil! I implored them, “Let not my city be destroyed!” I implored them, “Let not Ur be destroyed!” I implored them, “Let not its people perish!”’ (LUr 144–148). uru-ta gi-bar-bar-re im-gim im-šeg3 im-dug-ge im mu-a gen-nagim bad3 Arattaki-ka gu3 nun-bi im-me ‘From the city javelins poured down like rain; sling-stones, as many as the raindrops that fall in a whole year, whizzed down loudly from the walls of Aratta’ (LgB 2: 256–258).

4.1.4 Self-Benefactive Events Another regular environment for imma- is self-benefactive events, a classic middle voice category epitomizing Lyons’ definition that the middle signals that “the ‘action’ or ‘state’ affects the subject of the verb or his interests” (Lyons 1968: 373). The elaboration of events in this case, as with the mental events, is minimal since the subject does something for himself and thereby fulfills the Endpoint role of recipient or beneficiary of the action in addition to serving as Initiator. These events provide some of the clearest evidence for the middle voice semantics of imma- and for the prefix as a middle marker that is functionally distinct from ba-. In this section I will consider two types of self-benefactive events: the relatively small group of verbs that are innately self-benefactive— receive may be regarded as prototypical in this regard—for which the prefix serves to underscore or modify this meaning that is an essential

IMMA-

201

part of the verbal semantics; and, secondly, those verbs that are not innately self-benefactive, for which the prefix serves to impart or add a self-benefactive meaning, overlaying a self-benefactive meaning on top of what is lexically expressed by these verbs (see §2.9.5). The latter comprises a particularly large, diffuse class of events that speak directly to the fundamental meaning of the middle voice—these are events in which a subject performs some action in his own self-interest with the prefix explicitly signaling this quality.21 One difference between imma- and ba- is that ba- appears to be limited, generally, to the first category of events. With verbs that are not naturally self-benefactive, other functions of ba- appear to be in evidence, such as Object and resultant-state focus. Indeed, this result is predictable on the basis of the universally observed differences between the functions of heavy and light middle voice markers in languages that possess both. As discussed in §2.9.6, heavy markers express a greater elaboration of events, a greater separation between participants, which, in the case of self-benefactive situations, refers to the Subject and the beneficiary or recipient. With events in which the co-reference between these participants is otherwise unexpected, for which co-reference is not part of the semantics, e.g., kill oneself, the heavier marker is employed, reflecting the fact that there is greater conceptual separation between participants. In short, meaning is iconic with form and the heavier marker is used because there is more meaning to be expressed. With verbs that are inherently self-benefactive, co-reference between participants is expected, e.g., receive. The participants are conceptually closer and the elaboration of events is lower. Since co-reference is lexically predictable, there is less semantic burden on the marker and consequently the lighter form is employed. As a corollary, we would expect, again on theoretical grounds, the heavier marker, imma-, to express some additional meaning when joined with naturally self-benefactive events, as it does with body-action and mental events. And this is, in fact, the case. Representative of the distinction is the verb šu—ti. With both prefixes the verb essentially means ‘take’, but with ba- [477]–[487] the subject generally plays a passive role, being the least active participant in the event (even more so than See Kemmer 1993a: 78–81, who distinguishes what she labels indirect reflexives, verbs that are not intrinsically self-benefactive, from the category that she describes as the indirect middle, “actions that one normally or necessarily performs for one’s own benefit” (1993a: 78). 21

202

chapter four

the object transferred, which at least changes locations). With ba- the subject is very much a patient and the combination šu—ba+ti means take in the sense of ‘receive, get, accept’. In contrast, imma- emphasizes the self-benefactive semantics of the event; šu imma+ti designates a more agentive take event—‘grab, seize’ or ‘pick up, take up’ ( for o.s., i.e., for one’s own purpose or further use)’.22 The prefix, thus, functions once again as an intensive or contrastive counterpart to ba-. Embracing the role of Actor, as well as Undergoer, the subject of the imma- event plays a more active role, with the event itself, consequently, having greater dimensionality or complexity. As the examples given below [307]–[312] indicate, often this manifests itself in terms of the subject seizing an object, real or metaphorical, for some further purpose, use, or goal, as in seizing a tool, implement, or weapon, or, more figuratively, power. In some cases there is an iterative or collective quality to the event, but what is common to all environments is that the prefix signals that there is some intensity or structure to the action, even if indistinct. [307] ud-ba Il2 sanga Zabalamki-kam Gir2-suki-ta Ummaki-še3 gar3dar-ra-a e-gen Il2-le nam-ensi2 Ummaki-a šu e-ma-ti ‘At that time, Il, who was the temple-estate administrator at Zabalam, marched in retreat from Girsu to Umma and seized the rulership of Umma for himself ’ (Enmetena 1 iii 28–37). [308] še-gim giš-bad-ra2 šu um-ma-ni-⎡ti⎤ ‘After I seized (the shepherd of the rebel land) as a threshing sledge (seizes) barley’ (Ninisina A 117). [309] giškiri6 u3-mu-un-nigin2 im-du3-a zag-bi u3-bi2-in-dab5 gu3 teš2-a u3-bi2-in-si3-ge5 ug3-e gišal-e šu im-ma-an-ti-eš (var. šu umma-ab-ti) ‘When they have encircled the garden, surrounding it with earthen walls, and the agreements have been reached, the people again take up the hoe’ (HoPl 143–144). Note also ug3-e gišhar-mušen-na šu im-ma-an-ti (vars. šu u3-ma-ab-ti, [šu] um-ma-[ti]) ‘People pick up the bird traps’ (HoPl 78). [310] ninda kaskal-la-ka-ni nu-um-ka-aš gištukul-a-ni 1-bi 1-bi šu imma-an-ti ‘(Lugalbanda) picked up such of his provisions as he

22 See Karahashi 2000a: 168, who observes this same difference in meaning between šu ba+ti and šu imma+ti, but does not offer an explanation or rationale for the distinction.

IMMA-

203

had not eaten and each of his weapons one by one’ (LgB 2: 340–341). [311] nu-siki nu-mu-un-su lu2ki-gul-la gi-gurur3-ra šu um-ma-ab-tieš (var. šu im?-[ma-ab-]ti) an pad-pad-ra2-mu im-de5-de5-gene ‘The orphans, the widows, and the destitute pick up their reed baskets and collect my broken-off ears (of grain)’ (HoPl 46–47). And with de5 ‘take, collect’, as the theory would predict, imma+de5 is basically synonymous with šu imma+ti (see also [313]–[314]): [312]

ha-zi-in-na-ni kug-bi an-na šu im-ma-an-ti gir2-ur3-ra-kani an-bar-sug4-am3 im-ma-da-de5 ‘(Lugalbanda) grabbed his axe, whose metal was tin; he grabbed his dagger, which was of iron’ (LgB 1 A363–364, similarly, 353–354).

urudu

Bearing witness to the claim that middle situations tend to cluster together in narrative are the sequences represented by the following three passages: [313] and [314] string together self-benefactive actions in which a goddess acquires objects that are emblematic of her essential function, while [315] and [316] respectively join self-benefactive events to body-action and cognition middles. A-ru-ru nin9 dEn-li[l2-la2-k]e4 dNin-tu nin tud-tud-d[a] sig4 tud-tud kug nam-en-na-ni šu he2-em-ma-an-[ti] gi-dur kud im-ma-an ga-rašsar-a-ni he2-em-ma-da-a[n-r]i sila3-gar-ra na4 za-gin3 duru5-ni šu he2-em-ma-an-ti a-la2 kug na de5-gani šu he2-em-ma-da-an-ri šag4-zu kalam-ma he2-em ‘Aruru, sister of Enlil, Nintu, lady of giving birth, took for herself the holy birth-bricks, (a symbol of) her en-ship. She took for herself the lancet for cutting umbilical cords, the iman-sand, as well as her leeks. She took for herself the silagara-bowl of translucent (lit. wet) lapis lazuli. She took for herself the holy consecrated alavessel—she is the midwife of the land!’ (EnkWO 395–401). [314] nin9 e-mu kug dNin-mug-ke 4 bulug kug-sig 17 ma-an-ga-ra kug-babbar šu he2-em-ma-an-ti na4gir2-zu2-gal an-ta-surra-ni he2-em-ma-da-an-de5 tibira kalam-ma he2-em ‘My noble sister, holy Ninmug, took for herself the golden awl and the silver burin. She took for herself her obsidian blade and

[313]

d

204

chapter four

antasura-alloy(?)—she is the metal-worker of the land!’ (EnkWO 406–409). [315] A2-sag3 me3 sag-ba mu-un-zig3 an nam gištukul-še3 ur2-ba mi-niin-bu šu im-ma-an-ti muš-gim sag ki-a im-mi-ib2-be2 ‘Asag leapt to the front line of the battle. For a weapon he uprooted the sky and seized it in his hands; like a snake he slid his head along the ground’ (Lugal-e 168–170). [316] dumu-mu nig2 nam-a-zu-ka gizzal he2-em-ma-ak dDa-mu nig2 nam-a-zu-ka gizzal he2-em-ma-ak tug2bar-si-ge šu imma-an-ti šu im-gur-gur-re tug2bar-si-ni i3-e im-ma-ak-e ‘“My son, pay particular attention to that which pertains to the physician’s craft! Damu, pay particular attention to that which pertains to the physician’s craft!” He picks up the bandages, wipes them clean, and then treats his bandages with oil (for further use)’ (Ninisina A 15–18). Alternatively, l. 18 may be read tug2 bar-si dig-dig-e im-ma-ak-e ‘He softens the bandages’. šu—ti ‘receive, take’ may be considered the paradigmatic selfbenefactive verb in Sumerian, but there are a number of other predicates that express this notion and for which the subject is also a recipient or beneficiary. There is, for instance, pad3 ‘choose, find’, šu—gid2 ‘accept, take’ (see also [232]), and dab5 ‘seize, hold’, which intersects with the body-action middle group. As with šu—ti, imma- is coupled with these verbs when the speaker or writer wishes to emphasize that the subject is both the active agent as well as the recipient or beneficiary of the action. [317] lu2 zid šag4-ga im-mi-ni-pad3 sipad zid Gu3-de2-a ‘(Bau,) you have chosen in your heart the faithful man, the faithful shepherd Gudea’ (Gudea A 41). [318] igi i-ni-in-bar munus šag4-ga-na-ke4 im-ma-ni-in-p[ad3-d]e3 ‘(Enlil) looked around and found himself the woman of his choice’ (EnlSu A13). [319] hur-sag 7-kam-ma bala-e-da-bi gišeren šag4-ga-ni im-ma-niin-⎡pad3⎤ (vars. mu-ni-(in-)pad3) ‘When they crossed the seventh mountain range, (Gilgamesh) found the cedar he desired’ (GgHw-A 62). Note that the event is viewed as agentive in the variants. Also to be included with [317]–[319]: munus-e š[ag4 . . .]-⎡ra⎤-ka im-ma-na-ni-in-pad3 (var. ⎡mu-ni⎤-in-pad3) ‘The woman discovered (Shukaletuda) in the middle of . . .’ (InŠk 255, similarly, 181, 210, 235).

IMMA-

[320] [321]

[322] [323] [324]

[325]

[326]

[327]

205

⎡

kadra⎤a-bi dA-nun-na-ke4-e-ne šu nu-um-ma-gid2-e ‘The Anunaki no longer reach out for his gifts’ (UrNm A B15 [Susa]). id2 a-ba mu-un-na-ba-e-ne šu am3-ma-gid2-de3-«en» a-šag4 še-ba mu-un-na-ba-e-ne šu am3-ma-gid2-de3 ‘They offer (his friend) a river of water—he takes it! They offer him a field of grain—he takes it!’ (DzD 142–143). Lugal-banda3da lu2 numun-e ki ag2-am3 šu nu-um-ma-gid2de3 ‘Lugalbanda who loves seed would not reach out for (this gift)’ (LgB 2: 148). lugal nig2 sag9-ga ku2-ku2-a šukur2-re im-ma-an-dab5 ‘The king, who used to eat fine food, grasped at a (mere) ration’ (LSU 304). a-da-al-la-bi Mar-tu du3-du3-a-bi šag4 kalam-ma-še3 ba-an-ku4ku4 erim3 gal-gal didli-bi im-mi-in-dab5-dab5 ‘Now all of the Amorites have penetrated into the land: one by one they have seized the major storehouses’ (RCU 19: 9–10). d En-lil2 Ki-ur3-ra dib-dib-be2-da-ni dingir gal-gal 50-ne-ne dingir nam tar-ra 7-na-ne-ne dEn-lil2 Ki-ur3-ra im-ma-ni-in-dab5be2-ne ‘As Enlil passed through Kiur, the fifty great gods and the seven gods who determine destinies together seized him in the Kiur’ (EnlNl 55–58). kišib-la2 zid-da-zu im-ma-an-dab5 ama-zu dNin-tu-re E2-kur eš3 mah-a mi-ni-in-ku4-re-en a-a-zu dEn-lil2-ra ‘Your mother, Nintu, clasped your right wrist and led you before your father, Enlil, in the Ekur, the magnificent shrine’ (LpIš D 9–10). ! ! ! Ga-ša-an-šubur-ra sukkal zid E2-an-na-ke4 kišib-la2!ki-še -eb -la2 zidda-na im-ma-an-dab5 ur2 Ga-ša-an-na-ka-še3 hi-li-a mu-ni-ku4 ‘Ninshubur, the faithful minister of Eana, clasped (the king’s) right hand and led him aroused to the thighs of Inana’ (DzIn D1: 33–35).

Finally to be discussed are those verbs that are not inherently selfbenefactive, but for which the prefix adds this meaning. The prefix is used in this function when speakers and writers choose to highlight this particular quality of an event over others, such as agency (mu-). Consider [328] in which the giving event, imma+sum, clearly benefits the subject. Gudea uses the statue—literally, seizes the statue as expressed

206

chapter four

in the resuming clause (imma+dab5), which follows the message—as a substitute for himself in the Eninnu. The statue, as intercessor, conveys messages to Ningirsu on Gudea’s behalf. Similarly, in [329] the collective event is obviously undertaken in the subject’s best self-interest. [328] Gu3-de2-a alan-e inim im-ma-sum-mu alan lugal-mu u3-nadug4 . . . alan na inim-še3 im-ma-dab5 ‘Gudea gives word to the statue, “Statue tell my master: . . .” Thus, (Gudea) used the stone statue for the message’ (Gudea St. B vii 21–48). [329] na[m-guruš] šu me3-ta im-ma-ta-šub-bu-⎡ša⎤-a uruki-urukibi-še3 mušen-gim zi-bi ba-ab-de6-⎡a⎤ šu-ni la-[ba]-ta-⎡e3⎤ ‘The men who quit the battle(-field) and who, like birds, saved their lives (by fleeing) to their cities, did not escape (Shu-Sin’s) hand’ (Šu-Sin 3 iv 2–7). For ba-ab-de6-a and la-ba-ta-e3, motion events with self-benefactive overtones, see §5.1.2. More striking examples of this phenomenon are found with those verbs, which, by virtue of their lexical semantics, lend themselves to the expression of prototypical transitivity. Representative of these predicates is du3 ‘build’, which is regularly coupled with mu- when the event is viewed from the perspective of the Agent, the Initiator (§3.1; in particular, see [28]–[30], [36]). However, when this same event is viewed from the perspective of the subject, not as agent but as beneficiary—when it is the contrastive self-benefactive quality of the event that is being stressed—the prefix is frequently imma-. Each of the following examples involves a deity building his or her own cult center, events for which there is a high degree of self-interest: En-lil2 a2-dam kug ki-a hur-ra-za Nibruki uru ni2-za ši-im-midu3-du3-am3 (vars. ši-im-mu-e-du3-du3-am3, ši-mu-e-du3-du3-a, ši-im-mi-⎡e⎤-du3-du3-am3) ‘Enlil, when you designed the holy settlements, you also built yourself Nippur, your own city’ (Enlil A 65–66). [331] ud-ba eš3 A-ka3-de3ki kug dInana-ke4 ama5 mah-a-ni-še3 im-maan-du3-du3 ‘At that time, holy Inana built herself the sanctuary of Akade as her magnificent woman’s domain’ (CAk 7–8). [332] ud-ba dEn-lil2-le eš3 gal-gal-la-ni-ta eš3 gi tur-tur im-ma-raan-du3 ‘At that time, Enlil, far from his great sanctuaries, built himself small reed sanctuaries’ (CAk 193–194). [330]

d

IMMA-

207

Note the remarkable contrast in perspective provided by [333], as well as the sequence of self-benefactive events in [334]. [333] dumu-mu e2 mu-un-du3 lugal dEn-ki-ke4 Eridugki hur-sag-gim ki-ta ba-ra-e3 ki dug3-ga-am3 e2 im-ma-an-du3 (var. im-an-du3) Eridugki ki sikil lu2 nu-ku4-ku4-da ‘My son has built a temple! King Enki has made Eridu come out from the earth like a mountain range! He has built himself a temple in a pleasant place, in Eridu, the pure place, where no one is to enter’ (EnkJN 120–123). [334] ur2-bi-a muš tu6 nu-zu-e gud3 im-ma-ni-ib-us2 pa-bi-a mušen d Anzumušen-de3 amar im-ma-ni-ib-gar šab-bi-a ki-sikil lil2-la2ke4 e2 im-ma-ni-ib-du3 ‘In (the tree’s) roots, the Snake-thatKnows-no-Spell made itself a nest. In its branches, Anzu settled its young. In its trunk, the Maiden-of-Ghosts built herself a home’ (GgEN 42–44). The first clause of [334] introduces a particularly interesting correlation. Verbs denoting nest building, namely, gud3––us2/gar, commonly occur with imma- (more rarely, ba-), much more so than du3 ‘build’. The rationale behind this distinction lies with the semantics of the subjects that engage in these respective activities and the nature of the actions themselves. Nests are constructed by birds, entities that are animate but not as animate as humans.23 Birds may be considered to act volitionally, but volition—particularly with respect to building a nest—borders upon impulse. In short, the act of nest building lacks the agency and volition associated, for instance, with temple building, which necessarily takes a human agent. It is an instinctive action that is necessarily carried out for the benefit of the agent—birds build nests for themselves. The event, therefore, more readily lends itself to a self-benefactive middle construal than it does to a highly agentive and volitional one in which the agent is conceptually distinct from its object, a situation that is generally expressed with mu-.

23 See Croft 2003: 130 for the intermediate categorization of animals in terms of animacy in some languages.

208

chapter four

[335] šag4-ba buru5-azmušen-e gud3 im-ma-ni-ib-us2 (var. gud3 imma-an-us2) nunuz-bi ba-ab-gar da-da-ba mušen Anzumušen-de3 gud3 im-ma-ni-ib-gar (var. gud3 im-ma-ni-ib-us2) amar-bi ba-e-še21 ‘In the midst (of the mountains), the buruaz-bird made its nest and there hatched its eggs; nearby, Anzu had established his nest and settled his young within’ (LgB 2: 38–41). [336] bar-bi-a mušen šag4 sag3-ga-ke4 gud3 im-ma-an-us2 (var. gud3 im-ma-ni-i[b!?-us2]) ‘Birds of affliction build nests on (Ebih’s) rear flanks’ (InEb 165). [337] mušen-e ka giš-gi-a-ka gud3 im-ma-ni-ib-us2 ‘Bird built his nest in an opening in the cane-brake’ (BdFh 23). [338] abul kalam-ma gar-ra-zu u3-ku-kumušen mušen šag4 sag3-ga-ke4 gud3 he2-em-ma-an-us2 (var. gud3 im-ma-ni-ib-us2) ‘In your city-gate, established for the land, may the “sleep-bird,” the bird of affliction, make its nest’ (CAk 258–259). [339] mušen dal-a-bi uru2-ga2 gud3 he2-em-ma-an-us2 (var. gud3 he2-em-ma-an-us2-e) ‘Let the flying birds build nests in my city!’ (NinRN 173). This phenomenon is widespread, extending beyond events of building. The prefix regularly adds a self-benefactive or self-interest quality to verbs of all types that do not lexically possess this meaning. Consider the stock phrase exemplified by [340] in which the slaughter event, a prototypical transitive event, is joined with imma- in order to highlight the subject as beneficiary rather than as agent (which would require mu-)—Ziusudra seeks to benefit from the action, ingratiating himself to Utu through sacrifice. [340] Zi-ud-sud-ra2 lugal-am3 igi dUtu-še3 kiri3 ki su-ub ba-gub lugal-e gud im-ma-ab-gaz-e udu im-ma-ab-šar2-re ‘Ziudsudra, the king, prostrated himself before Utu. The king butchered bulls and slaughtered sheep (in sacrifice)’ (Flood D9–11). Similarly, EnkJN 93, UrNm A 81, InEnk H243, HoPl 25. Huwawa’s demise at the end of Gilgamesh and Huwawa [341] lends itself to a similar interpretation, an event that in isolation represents the pinnacle of transitivity, but is arguably middle within its context and occurs within a chain of similarly middle events. When Enkidu (Gilgamesh and Enkidu in one ms.) cuts off Huwawa’s head, the verb describing

IMMA-

209

this event is imma+kud. However, the pragmatic focus in this context, I would suggest, is not on Huwawa as the locus of the action’s effects, on killing as an act of agency, but on Enkidu’s emotional involvement in the action (note the discussion of [19]–[21])—Enkidu kills Huwawa in a fit of sudden and unrestrained rage, an act of killing that intersects with the spontaneous and emotional middle types (§§4.1.3, 4.2). In what follows, Gilgamesh and Huwawa together deposit Huwawa’s head in a sack and bring it before Enlil and Ninlil, the prefix again stressing the active involvement of the two protagonists in the action. [341]

En-ki-dug3 ib2-ba lipiš bala-a-ni gu2-ni im-ma-an-kud (vars. im-ma-an-kud-ru-ne, im-da-kud) šag4 kuša-ga2-la2-še3 im-mani-in-gar-re-eš (vars. mu-un-da-gar, im-da-šub) igi dEn-lil2 u3 d Nin-lil2-e im-ma-an-tum2-me-eš (var. i-ni-in-ku4-re) ‘( Just as Huwawa spoke these words,) Enkidu in a fit of rage and fury cut off his head (lit. severed his neck). (Gilgamesh and Enkidu) together put (his head) inside a leather sack and brought it before Enlil and Ninlil’ (GgHw-A 179–181). d

More broadly, imma- emphasizes that the action described involves or takes place within the sphere of the subject (see §2.9.5). Thus, when Enki and Ninmah challenge one another’s importance in the creation of man—Ninmah fashioning creatures in an attempt to demonstrate her primacy, Enki finding roles for each and so proving his—the prefix is amma-, e.g., [342] peš-peš-gi munus nu-u3-tud am3-ma-ni-in-dim2 ‘Fifth, (Ninmah) fashioned a woman who could not give birth’ (EnkNm 72). Likewise, when Sumer loses the favor of the gods, and Nintu and Enki take from the land those essentials of life that are their respective prerogatives (cf. [313]), the prefixes are imma- and immi-: [343]

Nin-tu-re ama5 kalam-ma-ka gišig-šu-ur2 im-mi-in-de6 dEn-kike4 id2Idigna id2Buranunana a im-ma-da-an-keš2 (var. im-maan-keš2) ‘Nintu bolted the door of the storehouses of the land. Enki blocked the water in the Tigris and the Euphrates’ (LSU 60–61). As Nintu is a birth goddess, there is a likely play here d

210

chapter four on ama5 meaning ‘woman’s quarters’ and the reading arhuš ‘womb’ (see Michalowski 1989: 76–78 ad 60).

And when Ninhursag removes Enki’s semen from Uttu’s body, planting it in the earth and growing (or birthing) the plants that will allow her to exact her revenge upon him, the prefix is consistently imma-, this unique context bringing about the rare combination imma+mu2 (for the spontaneous events represented by ba+mu2, see [526]–[530]): [344] [u2aš-tal2]-tal2 ⎡im⎤-ma-an-mu2 [u2x x x i]m-ma-an-mu2 ⎡u2⎤ [am-ha-ru] im-ma-an-mu2 ‘She grew the ashtaltal-plant (for her use), she grew the . . . plant (for her use), she grew the amharu-plant (for her use)’ (EnkNh 195–197). Finally, when Ninhursag, in a change of heart, cures Enki by giving birth to eight deities from his pains—a powerful demonstration of her role, and prerogative, as birth goddess—tud ‘give birth’ is invariably paired with imma-, e.g., [345]

šeš-mu a-na-zu a-ra-gig ugu-dili2-mu ma-gig dAb-u2 im-mara-an-tu-ud ‘ “My brother, what hurts you?” “The top of my head hurts me”—(Ninhursag) gave birth to Abu out of it’ (EnkNh 254–256).

This broad self-benefactive meaning is supported by earlier texts as well. In [346] and [347] the recruiting or levying of troops is undertaken in the self-interest of the subject, namely, Urluma, the ruler of Umma: [346] kur-kur e-ma-hun eg2 ki-sur-ra dNin-gir2-su-ka-ka e-ma-ta-bala ‘(Urluma) recruited foreigners (as mercenaries) and transgressed the boundary-levee of Ningirsu’ (Enmetena 1 iii 1–4). Similarly, Enanatum I 2 viii 1–4; e-ma-ta-bala is a motion middle, see §4.1.2. [347] Ummaki e-ma-zig3 kur-kur-re2 šu e-ma-tag-tag ‘(Urluma) levied Ummaites and took hold of foreigners (as mercenaries)’ (Uruinimgina 3 iv 10′–12′). Self-interest is also at stake when Gudea gives names to the steles of the Eninnu which extol his favor in the eyes of Ningirsu [348], as well

IMMA-

211

as when he inscribes his own name on the standard that he fashions for his master [349]:24 [348]

na Ka2-sur-ra bi2-du3-a lugal a-ma-ru dEn-lil2-la2 gaba-šu-gar nu-tuku Gu3-de2-a en dNin-gir2-su-ke4 igi zid mu-ši-bar na-ba mu-še3 im-ma-sa4 ‘The stele which (Gudea) set up in Kasura, he named, “The king, the torrent of Enlil, who has no rival— upon Gudea the lord Ningirsu looked favorably” ’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxiii 13–18). [349] šu-nir ki-ag2-ni mu-na-dim2 mu-ni im-mi-sar ‘(Gudea) fashioned for (Ningirsu) his beloved emblem and wrote his own name on it’ (Gudea Cyl. A vii 22–23). Self-benefactive semantics may correlate with other factors associated with a decrease in transitivity, such as actions that are habitual and Objects that are indefinite or non-referential. With a reduction in the individuation of the Object, and so an impeded transmittal of the action from Agent to Object, there is an increased likelihood that the subject itself will be regarded as the locus of the action’s principal effects.25 In each of the following examples of verbs prefixed with immi-, the activity may be regarded as characterizing the subject and so residing very much within the subject’s sphere. [350] id2-da giš-keš2-da um-mi-ak (var. u3-mu-un-ak) giri3 si ummi-sa2 (vars. si im-sa2-sa2-e, si im-si-sa2-sa2, si im-mi-sa2) ki-ba

24 Note that immi- is commonly attested with this self-benefactive meaning in Old Babylonian royal inscriptions (particularly those from Larsa) often occurring in contexts where we might otherwise expect mu-, e.g., bad3 gal Bad3-tibiraki u3-ma-ni-ta gal-bi im-mi-in-du3 ‘By means of his triumph he grandly built the great wall of Badtibira’ (Sin-Iddinam 14: 28–31), temen mu-pad3-da n[am]-lugal-mu ud ul-še3 im-mi-gar ‘I put there, for posterity, a foundation inscription proclaiming my kingship’ (Rim-Sin 13: 36–37; similarly, Rim-Sin 16: 27–28, 17: 44–46). 25 Likely to be included among events of this type is that represented by the idiom nam-mi-gur-re or dug4-ga/be2 na-mi-ib/ib2-gur-re, a common exhortation in Ur III letter orders. The phrase has a literal meaning along the lines of ‘He must not return/reject this matter’ (more loosely, ‘He must not argue this point’; cf. ‘[The matter] must not come up again’ [ Michalowski 1993], ‘Let him not come back on this order’ = ‘He must not argue!’ [ TCS 1, p. 124 ad 265, with previous interpretations]). With an indistinct Object representing a proposition, the Agent is the salient affected participant; cf. (mu . . .) nam-erim2-bi-ta im-ma-ra-gur-ra ‘Because he refused to take this oath’ (NG 205: 23; similarly, NG 70: 15′, 113: 53, 209: 22–24).

212

chapter four

an-za-gar3 gu2-ba um-mi-du3 (vars. u3-bi2-(in-)du3, ba-ab-du3) ‘When I (Hoe) have worked on the canals and the dams, put the paths in order, and built shelters there on the banks’ (HoPl 151–152). Note that in the case of the variant, u3-mu-un-ak, the event is viewed as agentive. [351] sipad dUr-dNamma-ke4 hul-gal2-la uru2 am3-mi-in-gul-gul nam-gu2 mah-am3 lil2 am3-mi-i3-in-su-ub ‘The shepherd UrNamma destroys all evil like a flood. He sweeps away the great oppression like a wind’ (UrNm B 60–61, similarly, 58–59). [352] [kur-ra] ur3-ra nu2-a-bi ⎡ur3-ra⎤ ga-am3-mi-gaz!(AG2) bad3da nu2-a-bi bad3-da ga-am3-mi-gaz ‘I (Shulgi) will slaughter on the roofs those of the foreign lands who lie on the roofs. I will slaughter on the walls those who lie on the walls!’ (ŠD 211–212). 4.2

Spontaneous Events, the Passive, and Related Low Transitivity Situations

The discussion in the preceding section does not mean to imply that all occurrences of imma- can be attributed to a self-benefactive meaning when the accompanying verb does not lexically express a typical middle situation as outlined in Table 3. There are contexts in which the prefix appears that do not correspond to any of the situations described in §4.1 but which share with these situations the underlying property of low or reduced transitivity. The events discussed in this section range from the syntactically transitive to the intransitive, from those events that are commonly marked as middles cross-linguistically to those that are passive. In all of these environments, as is true of the typical middle situations described previously, imma- reflects the speaker’s focus on the perceived Endpoint of the event as the locus of the action’s principal effects. With the events described in this section, imma- functions as a general detransitivizer, signaling some departure from the prototypical transitive event. These departures may take various forms: the Object of a typically transitive verb may be omitted, or it may be of low individuation [5], or the Object may outstrip the Agent in terms of topicality, this last scenario belonging to the domain of the passive. It is not always an easy task to distinguish this detransitivizing function of imma- from the selfbenefactive context described at the end of the preceding section. Yet there is nothing surprising or contradictory about this use of the prefix.

IMMA-

213

Cross-linguistically, middle markers are frequently called upon to fulfill broader detransitivizing functions (§2.9.5). Consistent with the notion that imma- tends to represent events that have some internal complexity, often detransitivity manifests itself in terms of a plurality of action, or of participants, particularly when low individuation is involved. In the extreme limit, the prefix may mark agentless passives, but there is, again, often the implication of structure or intensity to the underlying action or resultant state. So too with semantically intransitive events. Here we encounter situations that are either typically middle-marked or closely associated with the middle voice domain cross-linguistically. Already in the Pre-Sargonic period this general detransitivizing function of imma- is in evidence. In [353] it is doubtful that the combination imma+du3 is motivated by a self-benefactive meaning in the sense exhibited in [330]–[334]. It is also unlikely that in the stripped-down register of administrative records it was deemed necessary to stress this quality of the action, or that Eniggal has greater self-interest in this particular event than he does in the many others that he supervises and that are not expressed with this prefix. Rather, what is conspicuous about the clause is that this lexically highly transitive and bivalent verb, du3 ‘build’, is missing its expected (definite) Object (note that causation is indirect and the clause is semantically equivalent to ‘the occasional workers went to work building’). Transitivity is reduced, yet the collective nature of the action speaks to an underlying structure. [353] kin id2 du3-a Še-da-lum-ma gana2 Ubur3-ra gal2-la-am6 En-iggal nu-banda3 šeš-tuš-ša4 e-ma-du3 ‘The canal-building work is on Shedalumma(-canal), which lies on Ubur-field. Eniggal, the captain, put these (80½) occasional workers to work building’ (Nik 8 v 3–vi 4 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 99–100]). See also DP 652 iv 2–v 1). Of course, there is no question of a reduction in transitivity when the Agent is omitted. Such passive situations are more central to the semantic domain of ba- and as such are better attested with this prefix (§5.2). But they are also expressed, even in early texts, with imma-. The omission of the Agent [354], the effect of which is to bring the Object to center-stage, suggests that in similar contexts, such as is represented by [355], what is likewise salient is not the Agent, or the Agent’s (selfbenefactive) affectedness, but the Objects and their resultant state as a consequence of the action, the event, in this case, subsuming a series

214

chapter four

of identical carving out subevents (referring to the cutting down and preparing of wood).26 Agency, like transitivity, is a scalar notion. The mere presence of an Agent (frequently in Object position in administrative texts) does not necessarily make the Agent the focus of the clause. [354] 1 udu siki na e-ma-de5 ‘1 (dead) wool-bearing sheep was separated (from the herd)’ (DP 260 i 1–2). [355] (numerous objects made of pine) kiri6 Ur-ki!(DU6)-ta En-šu agrig-ge na e-ma-de5 e2-gal-še3 e-ma-de6 kiri6 u2-rum dBa-u2 ‘From the garden of Urki, Enshu, the steward, carved out (these wooden objects) (i.e., he cut down the timber and prepared the objects) and brought them to the palace, to Bau’s personal garden’ (DP 416 ii 1–iii 3). See also DP 412, 417, 447. Similarly, in the Old Babylonian example [356], it is not the affectedness of the Agent that is at issue, but that of the Object—the Object is more topical and more animate than the Agent, which naturally has the effect of reducing the transitivity of the clause (cf. the inverse §2.9.3). The prefix in these transitive clauses (similarly, im-ma-an-dab5 in [232]) does not indicate subject affectedness in the sense of the self-benefactive

26 More commonly the verb na—de5 (see Sallaberger 2005a) occurs with immi- (and bi-) in Pre-Sargonic administrative texts, as does gar in the expression PN ma2-a e-me-gar ‘PN loaded (the objects) into boats’, e.g., (wooden objects) giš ki mu2-a-ba šid-da-am6 En-ig-gal nu-banda3 na bi2-de5 ma2-a e-me-gar ‘The wood was inventoried where it grew; Eniggal, the captain, carved out (the wooden objects) and loaded them on (a) boat(s)’ (DP 470 iii 1–5). The prefix bi-, I would suggest, more than relating to the transitivity of the clause, focuses in these contexts on where the action took place, i.e., a focus on the NP in the locative case. Analogous to the relationship between ba- and imma-, immi- may represent an intensification of that focus, stressing the structure or repetitive quality of the event (i.e., boat-loading is an action that consists of identical subevents). There are many instances in which immi- appears to express this intensiveor iterative-locative meaning (rather than indicating middle self-benefactive semantics), e.g., kiri6 E2-ku4-ka En-ig-gal nu-banda3 e-mi-šid ‘In the garden of Eku, Eniggal the inspector inventoried (the wooden planks)’ (VS 14, 177 ii 6–iii 3 [= Bauer AWL no. 87]—referring to three separate inventories of wooden planks); SAHAR.DU6.TAG4-bi ki 5-a i3-mi-dub ‘(Enmetena) heaped up burial mounds in five places there (for them)’ (Enmetena 1 iii 25–27); eg2-ba na-ru2-a e-me-sar-sar na-ru2-a Me-silim-ma ki-bi bi2-gi4 ‘He inscribed monuments at the (boundary-)levee and restored the monument of Mesilim’ (Enmetena 1 ii 4–8 [note the ham u reduplication in the first clause]; cf. [349]); hur-sag Bar-me-ta na4na lu-a ma2 gal-gal-a im-mi-si-si ‘From the mountain range of Barme he loaded numerous stones onto very large boats’ (Gudea St. B vi 59–62); ŠIM×UH3 ŠIM×PI giš hi-a ah-še3 im-mi-ak ‘He mixed resins and essences of various trees into a paste’ (Gudea Cyl. A xviii 21–22).

IMMA-

215

middle, but topic affectedness, the topic being, as in the impersonal passive, the affected Object (the rendering of these clauses as passives with explicit Agents attempts to capture this nuance). As the topic of a sentence typically coincides with the subject, this use of the middle presumably arose secondarily from its primary subject-affectedness meaning. [356] En-ki-dug3 e11-de3 i3-gi4-en kur-re im-ma-an-dab5 nam-tar nu-un-dab5 A2-sag3 nu-mu-un-dab5 (var. nu-un-dab5) kur-re im-ma-an-dab5 dUdug dNergal sag šu nu-du7 nu-mu-un-dab5 kur-re im-ma-an-dab5 ki nam-nita-a-ke4 me3-a nu-un-šub kurre im-ma-an-dab5 ‘Enkidu went down (to retrieve his ball and mallet)—but, Alas! He was seized by the Netherworld! Namtar did not seize him, Asag did not seize him—he was seized by the Netherworld! The Udug-demon of Nergal, who spares nobody, did not seize him—he was seized by the Netherworld! He did not fall on the battle(-field), the place of manhood—he was seized by the Netherworld!’ (GgEN 233–236). As these examples suggest, the ability of the prefix to redirect attention from the agent to the object may be exploited for stylistic purposes. In [357]–[358] the prefix likely marks a switch in viewpoint. The first event, which describes the essential action of the passage, takes the Agent’s perspective by employing mu-. The following clause, however, makes use of imma-. Further removed from the Agent and describing a supporting action, that is, some detail of the broader action (but not one without internal structure), the focus shifts to the Object and the outcome of the action. [357] ensi2-ke4 uru mu-kug izi im-ma-ta-la2 ‘The ruler cleansed the city, purifying it with fire (lit. fire hanging over it)’ (Gudea Cyl. A xiii 12–13). Similarly, Gudea St. B iii 12, Gudea St. C iii 6–7 (im- likely for imma-), Gudea St. E ii 21–22; cf. with i-: sahar-bi za-gim mu-bul5-bul5 kug-gim izi i3-la2 ‘Its earth I sifted like gems, purifying it with fire as if it were silver’ (Ur Bau 5 ii 7–8). [358] e2 mu-du3 giš-e im-ma-šub ‘(Gudea) built the temple, placing wooden (scaffolding) against it (lit. wood fell against it)’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxi 17).

216

chapter four

Naturally, the clearest evidence for the Agent defocusing function of the prefix are those relatively rare instances in which the Agent is omitted and the clause must be interpreted as an agentless or impersonal passive. In these cases the Endpoint from which the event is viewed is perforce the affected Object, which is in some resultant state, having undergone the effects of the action (see further §§2.9.1, 5.2). Although there is no contextual indication of this in a clause like [354], extrapolating from the distinction between imma- and ba- elsewhere, we would expect imma- typically to convey some additional meaning—in terms of the structure or intensity of the preceding action—over ba-, the prefix more commonly found in these contexts. A hint in this direction is provided by the differences in the portrayal of the transaction represented by [359]. The tablet describes the purchase of six oxen, expressing the event with the verbal form im-ma-ta-sa10-a; the envelope, however, describes the same event with the verb ba-an-sa10-a, this clause now appearing in the first line of the inscription. It is impossible to say with which facet of the event imma- is associated—perhaps the six oxen were purchased in more than one transaction—but what is notable is that the semantically simpler and phonologically lighter of the two prefixes appears on the envelope, which serves to reiterate and summarize the basic information that is contained on the tablet. Consistent with the synoptic quality of the information contained on envelopes generally is that with ba- the speaker zooms out from the event—the event is viewed as a unitary whole without the suggestion of internal complexity. [359] Tablet: 6 gud še sumun im-ma-ta-sa10-a ‘Six oxen that were bought with the old grain’ (LEM 123: 4). Envelope: 6 gud še sumun ba-an-sa10-a (l. 1). But clearer evidence for the semantic qualities with which imma- correlates comes from literary texts. imma-, as well as immi-, tends to occur with (impersonal) passive events in which the Object is plural, collective, or otherwise of low individuation [5]. Elsewhere, or additionally, the prefix places particular emphasis on the effects of the action and the resultant state in which the Object subsequently appears, e.g., [364], [365]. [360] uruki me-a-bi he2-im-mi-in-du3 gissu-bi ni2 ga-ba-ab-dub2-bu uru me-a sig4-bi ki kug-ga he2-im-mi-in-šub ‘Let their many

IMMA-

[361] [362] [363]

[364] [365]

217

cities be built—I want to relax in their shade. Let the bricks of those many cities be laid on pure places’ (Flood A5–6). ug3-ga2 alan im-gim im-ma-an-gul-lu-uš ‘The people have been smashed like terracotta figurines’ (Let SI-Utu 16). uru silim du3-a ku2 nag-a dugs[aman-gim] im-mi-in-šub ‘In the city built upon peace, food and drink were cast (to the ground) like an (overturned) saman-vessel’ (LUk D27). bad3-bi gu2-giri3 im-ma-an-gar-gar ug3-e še am3-ša4 abul mah giri3 gal2-la-ba adda im-ma-an-gar-gar ‘In its walls breaches had been made—the people moaned. In its magnificent citygates where one walked, corpses had been piled up’ (LUr 211–212). ud-ba du3-a-bi he2-em-ma-gul-lu ‘May that storm be entirely destroyed’ (LUr 413). d A-nun-na-ke4-ne (var. dA-nun-ke4-ne-er) u2 nam-til3-la-bi-še3 za-e ši-im-ma-ab-du3-en ku2 nag-bi-še3 ši-im-ma-sig7-geen ‘You (i.e., Nippur) were built as life-giving sustenance for the Anunaki! You were made verdant for their eating and drinking!’ (IšDgn W A41–46). For imma+sig7, see [187].

In accord with the notion that imma- expresses greater meaning than ba- is the evidence from the Old Babylonian grammatical texts. Here both ba- and imma- are equated with the medio-passive N-stem, but the Akkadian equivalents of imma-prefixed verbs additionally include the ventive element. Notably, in the case of non-motion verbs, such as gar ‘place’ [366], the equation with the ventive may simply indicate more meaning, rather than specifically an allative meaning (see §§3.5, 4.1.2). This speaks to the logic governing certain equations in the grammatical texts when no simple isomorphic correspondence exists between the meanings of the Sumerian and Akkadian forms. [366] 58. gar-ba na-aš-ki-in ‘Be set in place!’ ⎤ ⎡ 64. gar- am3 -ma na-aš-ki-nam ‘Be set in place here/for me!’ (OBGT VI). Finally, the prefix also occurs with various non-passive intransitive events, which either belong to the middle voice domain in the sense of the situation types described in Table 3, or share with these the overarching property of subject-affectedness. As for the former, imma- appears

218

chapter four

with spontaneous events, a category that is, like the passive, more frequently expressed with ba-. Indeed, spontaneous and passive events share much in common and the distinction between the two can be subjective. Both are Agent defocusing constructions, but whereas the Agent in the passive remains part of the underlying semantics of the clause, in spontaneous events there is no perceptible, salient, or discrete cause. Frequently, in these events, the subject is inanimate and the event, generally inchoative or inceptive in nature, unfolds autonomously, with the action or state appearing to emanate from this patient-subject (see further §5.1.5). Such spontaneous events [367]–[376] comprise the lowest rung of the middle situation types (Table 3)—the subject is greatly affected by the event, but control and volition are practically non-existent. Representatives of this category include uš2 denoting ‘die’, mu2 ‘grow’, su ‘sink’, šub ‘fall’, etc. (see Table 3; §5.1.5), events that are prototypically expressed with ba-. Although more rarely attested with imma-, the differences between the two prefixes with spontaneous events are consistent with those observed elsewhere, namely, there is generally an added complexity to these events when construed with imma- vis-à-vis ba-. Similar to passive situations, often this manifests itself in terms of subjects that are plural, collective, or otherwise of low individuation, or in terms of the intensive nature of the action itself. [367] mu gen-na-am3 iti til-la-am3 mu gibil an-na im-ma-gub iti e2-ba ba-a-ku4 iti-bi ud 3-am3 im-ta-zal ‘The year had come (to an end) and the month had been completed; the new year appeared in the heavens, the month entered its house, and the third day had passed’ (Gudea Cyl. B iii 5–8). [368] ud mul-an-na šu im-ma-ab-du7-a-ta 10-am3 a2 gud a-šag4 zi-zi-i-da-še3 igi-zu nam-ba-e-gid2-i ‘Once the constellations in the sky are right, do not be reluctant to take the oxen force to the field many times!’ (FmInst 38–39). [369] tu-ra dug3-ga-am3 peš13 gig-ga-am3 peš13 tu-ra im-ma-dirigga-bi ‘To be sick is manageable, to be pregnant is painful, but to be pregnant and sick is just too much’ (SP 1.193+194). [370] gud-e sag il2-la il2-la im-ma-ab-dirig ‘The bull reared up so very high that it toppled over’ (GgBH D47 [ Me-Turan]). [371] kalam-ma ga-ba-ra-hum im-ma-an-šub nig2 lu2 nu-zu-a ‘Revolt fell upon the land, something that no one had ever known’ (LSU 65).

IMMA-

219

[372] unu2 gal-bi kaš kurun lal3 muš3 im-ma-[ab?-]tum2 ‘Beer, wine, and honey ceased (to flow) in the great dining hall’ (LSU 311). [373] ma2 ma2-gur8-ra Kar-za-gin3-na muš3 im-ma-ab-tum2 ‘Boats and barges ceased (docking) at the Shining Quay’ (LSU 322). [374] dim2-ma kalam-ma u2-gu im-ma-an-de2! (vars. u2-gu ba-ande2, ⎡u2!-gu⎤ im-ta-[x]-de2) ug3-e še am3-ša4 ‘The judgment of the land vanished—the people moan’ (LUr 230). [375] ug3-bi šu suh3-ha im-ma-ab-dug4 ‘(Sumer’s) people became confused’ (LUk E56). [376] ⎡dumu⎤-ni [Gir2-g]ir2-re ⎡e-ne-bi⎤-[da] [d]Udug eden-na dLamma eden-na im-ma-an-da-an-me-eš-⎡am3⎤ ‘(Bilulu) and her son Girgire together became the protective god and goddess of the desert’ (InBl 113–114, similarly, 102–103).

CHAPTER FIVE

BAThe prefixes mu- and ba- are in many ways diametrically opposed, counterparts of one another that represent events at the antipodes of the spectrum described by Fig. 5. Whereas mu- is oriented toward the Initiator and Actor roles of the event, ba- is Endpoint- and Undergoer-focused. Control, volition, the ability to effect an action, and the conceptual distinction between participants are what characterize mu-. The prefix ba-, in contrast, is most closely associated with lack of control, non-volition, subject-affectedness, and a minimal degree of elaboration between participants or events. Most broadly, whereas mu- revolves around the interrelated categories of agency and animacy, ba- takes patiency and inanimacy as its axis. Functionally, the prefix has a broader range than either mu- or imma-, fulfilling more roles and appearing in more contexts. It is this characteristic of the prefix that led Edzard (1976: 166) to state that “ba- gehört mit zu den am schwierigsten zu definierenden Morphemen des sumerischen Verbums,” and has prompted others to propose two or more homophonous prefixes in order to account for the various and ostensibly incongruous functions of the prefix. The position taken here is that there is a single prefix ba- and that the far-flung functions attributed to it may be harmonized, simply and elegantly, with recourse to the semantic notions of Endpoint and Undergoer.1 The prefix ba- is, broadly stated, a middle marker, or more precisely, to distinguish it in a meaningful way from imma-, a medio-passive 1 Observe in this connection that there is no obvious semantic distinction governing the distribution of writings ba- and ba4- in the Ebla lexical texts (cf. Edzard 2003a: 94–95). For instance, the writing with ba4- is used regularly with šu—ti ‘receive’ (selfbenefactive middle, “reverse” verb [see §5.1.4]), but is also coupled with DU and translated by da-la-wu (likely related to tarû and so a motion(separative)-middle [§5.1.2]). The more common writing with ba- occurs with kar and is equated with à-ra/la-bù-um (cf. kar = arbu ‘fugitive’ [CAD A/2 sub arbu lex.], as well as with dib2 and DU, and so like ba4-, ba- also appears to have a separative meaning with verbs of motion. The latter prefix also occurs with other verbs that denote typical middle situation types, e.g., giš ba-tuku = sa-ma-um (šemû) ‘hear’ (perception-middle [§5.1.3 (§4.1.3)]), ba-šub = na-da-um (nadû) ‘fall, drop’ (spontaneous event [§5.1.5])—see D’Agostino 1990: 77–87 and 1991 with citations.

222

chapter five

marker. More than giving a nod to the prefix’s well-known, if at times disputed, passive function, this label underscores the one semantic role that is most representative of the prefix, namely, that of patient. Where the prefixes imma- and ba- diverge is, again, in degree. ba- is the phonologically lighter of the two. And, in an elegant display of the iconicity of form and meaning, it is also the semantically lighter of the two, conveying less meaning than its heavier counterpart. As a general tendency, particularly evident when there is no case element intervening between the prefix and the verbal root (see §3.4), ba- occurs mainly with naturally middle situations—that is, predicates that are intrinsically middle—the prefix simply reflecting, or enhancing, what is lexically expressed by the verb.2 Remarkably, a number of the events that are commonly expressed with ba- correspond to Akkadian verbs that occur lexically in the medio-passive N-stem, the exclusive use of the N-stem underscoring the intrinsic middle semantics of these events. As we have seen, imma- has this reinforcing function as well, but it may also add a middle or reflexive reading to verbs that are not lexically middle. With these same verbs, which are generally highly transitive, rather than imparting a middle reading, ba- typically places the focus on the Object, the patient of the event—compare, for instance, mu+du3 ‘built s.th.’ (§3.1), imma+du3 ‘build s.th. for o.s.’ (§4.1.4), and ba+du3 ‘s.th. was built’ (§5.2). But there are further differences between the two prefixes

2 That the prefix primarily reflects rather than imparts middle meaning is again suggested by its appearance in regular reflexive situations (i.e., those in which reflexivity is not intrinsic to the meaning of the verb). Here reflexivity, or the identity between Initiator and Endpoint, is signaled by the refexive pronoun. ba- simply underscores what is expressed by the pronoun (rather than expressing the reflexive notion alone), e.g., ni2-te-ne-ne ba-ra-an-sa10-aš2 ‘They sold themselves’ (FAOS 17, no. 20: 8), karkid-zu ka2 eš2-dam-ma-na-ka ni2 ha-ba-ni-ib-la2-e ‘May your prostitute hang herself at the entrance of her brothel’ (CAk 240), mu-zu pad3-de3-ba ni2 ha-ba-ab-bulug5 (var. h[e2-b]i2-ib2-bulug5) ‘When your name is invoked, it shall magnify itself ’ (Lugal-e 615), uru An-ne2 nam ba-an-kud-ra2-gim ni2-bi-a ba-an-gul ‘As if An had cursed the city, it destroyed itself ’ (LEr A25), tur3 utul gal-e du3-a-re ni2-bi-a ba-an-tab-tab ‘The pens that were built by the chief herdsmen collapsed by themselves’ (LUk D15). Similarly, note the following regular reciprocal situation with teš2-bi: teš2-bi ba-dug3-ge-eš ‘They have come to peace with (lit. pleased) one another’ (WnSm 315). Exceptions, instances in which the prefix appears to add a middle reading to those actions that are not prototypically performed for oneself, are relatively rare and may represent secondary or erroneous uses of the prefix, e.g., e-ne ur2-bi gišellag-a-ni-še3 ba-da-ab-dim2-e (note the variant: mu-da-ab-dim2-e) pa-bi giše-kid-ma-ni-še3 ba-ab-dim2-e ‘For himself, from (the tree’s) trunk, (Gilgamesh) fashions his ball; from its branches, he fashions his mallet’ (GgEN 149–150).

BA-

223

in terms of the types of middle situations with which each tends to occur and the way in which each views the event. Like imma-, ba- correlates with the typical middle-situation types described in Table 3, but it is weighted toward the low end of the spectrum, where the elaboration of events is minimal. The prefix does commonly occur with events in which Initiator and Endpoint can be viewed as conceptually distinct, such as grooming and body-action events, but the speaker’s choice of ba-, in contrast to imma-, reflects his perception of the subject as an undifferentiated entity and the event itself as a unitary whole without internal complexity. And, whereas the subject of the event construed with imma- tends to exercise some control or volition over the action, the prototypical environment of ba- are those events in which the subject is a patient—predicates that Perlmutter (1978: 162–163) has aptly described as “unaccusative.” Control and volition are often not in consideration and subject-affectedness is paramount. Hence, the close association of ba- with the extreme manifestation of Endpoint focus as represented by certain spontaneous events such as ba+uš2 ‘die’ (§5.1.5), instinctual emotion events in which the subject is adversely affected such as ni2—ba+te ‘fear’ (§5.1.3), as well as selfbenefactive events in which the subject plays a non-active role such as šu—ba+ti ‘receive’ (§5.1.4). From middle events in which the subject is a patient, it is but a small step to that other category with which the prefix has close ties: the passive, constructions in which the patient (i.e., the Object of the transitive clause) is promoted to the subject position (§5.2). Drawing upon its inherent detransitivizing character, ba- is called upon to mark a range of situations in which the Agent is suppressed but clausally present, unlike the canonical passive. These include impersonal passive situations and, more broadly, pragmatic contexts in which the speaker wishes to place greater emphasis on the Object than on the Agent of the transitive predication. Moreover, the prefix also shows a predilection for subordinate clauses—subordinate clauses, as was observed previously (§2.4; see also §3.3), represent background information and background information is tied to the semantics and pragmatics of low transitivity. ba-, I have stressed, is primarily a function of inanimacy and patiency, and so is very much concerned with Objects, which are prototypically inanimate and exemplary of the patient role. Complementing mu-, ba- completes a spectrum that reflects the animacy of recipients and beneficiaries that are expressed by the dative case. mu-, of course, is

224

chapter five

obligatory with the first-person in this respect, nearly so with the second, while its occurrence with third-person animates is a matter of speaker empathy (§3.4). The prefix ba- resumes this scale, appearing with NPs on the lower rungs of the Nominal Hierarchy: ba- correlates with inanimate recipients and beneficiaries, as well as with third-person animates which solicit little empathy—those that the speaker regards as object-like—such as collectives and indefinites. Also to be included here are instances of zero recipient/beneficiary—clauses that lack a recipient or beneficiary participant, but whose verbs are typically construed with one, e.g., sum ‘give (to s.o.)’, gu3—de2 ‘address (s.o.)’. The Endpoint or Undergoer focus that typifies the prefix has yet other consequences. Commonly, it is not a focus on the Object per se that baemphasizes, but, more broadly, the resultant state that characterizes the completion of the event. And it is in this vein that we encounter the prefix’s temporal associations. The Endpoint of the event—a notion that metaphorically exploits space—correlates with some later time, a time that is necessarily subsequent to that of the initiation of the event (see Fig. 5). Accordingly, ba- is often used, in narrative stretches in particular, with the goal of emphasizing the completion of the event and the state that results as a consequence of its completion. The prefix thereby functions as a resultative construction (in the sense of Nedjalkov 1988), representing a view of the event from its end time. It follows that the prefix is attracted to telic and perfective events, dynamic situations that have natural terminal points. In this way, ba- contrasts once again with mu-, whose affinities in terms of low transitivity events lie with atelicity and imperfectivity (§3.2.2). Moreover, it is this quality of ba-, its emphasis on the completion of the event and the state that results—a resultant state that often has lasting or current relevance—that allows for its equation with a similar resultative construction in Akkadian, namely, the perfect. In this chapter, I avoid, almost entirely, the prefix bi-. Whatever the morphological relationship between these prefixes may be, functionally, bi- corresponds relatively rarely to ba- with the addition of a locative element. Rarely can one simply add a locative sense to the regular meanings and functions expressed by ba- and arrive at a meaning for bi-. Observe, for instance, that bi-, in contrast to ba-, is not equated with the t-stem, perfect or separative, or with the passive in the Old Babylonian grammatical texts. Moreover, bi- is not primarily concerned with the balance between Agent and Object or with subject affectedness, that

BA-

225

is, with the phenomena that constitute grammatical voice.3 Rather, this prefix expresses a locative focus, which is exploited to fulfill a number of further grammatical functions, the most obvious being the marking of the semantic object of certain compound verbs. Remarkably, there appears to be greater distance in terms of function between ba- and bithan there is between imma- and immi-, the latter pair demonstrating, as shown in the previous chapter, considerable functional overlap. 5.1

Typical Middle-Marked Situations

I begin the discussion of the relationship between ba- and the semantics of low transitivity by exemplifying the prefix’s primary middle-voice functions. The situations that are representative of ba- as a middle voice marker are those in which the subject exercises little control or volition, but in which, conversely, the subject is highly affected by the action. Events of emotion generally meet this criterion and the prefix correlates highly with this situation type. But it is the spontaneous situation type that best exemplifies these particular semantics and that may be considered, in accord with the overwhelming correspondence of ba- with spontaneous events, the prototypical middle voice environment of this prefix. Lexically, many of these events represent undifferentiated wholes, being actions or processes without internal structure, a characteristic that lends itself to an expression with ba-, which, as I have noted, presents an atomic view of the event. The same may be said of many of those events, commonly expressed with ba-, that belong to middle situations which constitute departures from this prototype, such as body-action and self-benefactive events—events in which the subject controls the action and is less affected than it is in many spontaneous events.

3 Consider, for example, the following clause: e2 dNin-gir2-su-ka Eridugki-gim ki sikil-la bi2-du3 ‘(Gudea) built Ningirsu’s temple on a place that was as pure as Eridu’ (Gudea St. B iv 7– 9). The focus here is not on who did the building or what was built, but on where the building event takes place, a fact that is underscored by the inclusion of the modifying adjective sikil and the positioning of the locative clause immediately before the verb, iconically signaling its semantic closeness to the verbal meaning. On the morpho-syntax of bi-, see Karahashi 2000a, 2000b, Zólyomi 1999, and, in particular, Johnson 2004.

226 5.1.1

chapter five Body-Action Events

As in §4.1.1, I include under this designation grooming, change of body posture, and non-translational motion events, reserving translational motion events, because of their particular deictic associations, for the following section. Body-action events typically occupy the highest rung of the middle voice domain in terms of volition, control, and the ability, at least in theory with grooming events, conceptually to separate Initiator and Endpoint facets of the event (see Table 3 and §2.9.6). Again, the distinction between ba- and imma- rests on how the speaker views the event. With ba- the event is perceived as a beginning-to-end whole without the internal complexity or the intensity that imma- may imply. The subject is not conceptually resolved into distinct Initiator and Endpoint participants in the view of the speaker, and, consequently, the contrastive sense (i.e., to do to o.s., for o.s., by o.s.; see the introductory comments to §4.1) that is commonly implicit to events expressed with imma- is frequently lacking. It also follows that ba- is found less often than imma- in collective situations (cf. imma+gub in [190]–[197]), which imply internal structure. And when ba- does occur in these contexts, it is the action of the group as a whole rather than that of the individual participants that is stressed. Furthermore, this unitary view of the event often lends itself to a punctual or perfective reading (see further §5.4). Most conspicuous among the body-action verbs that correlate with ba- are the grooming event mu4 ‘get dressed’ and the change in body posture events nu2 ‘lie’, gub ‘stand’, and tuš ‘sit’. When coupled with ba-, these verbs, among others of this category, typically express events that are dynamic and punctual, with the action terminating in the subject attaining the resultant state described by the verb. ba+mu4 ‘get dressed’ (see also [546]): Asar-lu2-hi ul4-ul4-la tug2 ba-an-mu4 ‘Asarluhi got dressed with great haste’ (LSU 218). [378] dInana dumu dSuen-na-ke4 tug2pala3a ba-an-mu4 ul gu2 ba-ane3 ‘Inana, child of Sin, donned her royal garment and covered herself with rosettes (or more figuratively: she made herself attractive)’ (InEb 53–54). [379] nam E2-kur-ra-še3 tug2 mu-dur7-ra ba-an-mu4 ‘Because of the Ekur, (Naram-Sin) dressed in mourning clothes’ (CAk 88). [377]

d

BA-

227

Similarly, with other verbs denoting dressing and donning events: nig2-lam2 banda3da-mu ib2-ga2 ba-du3 (vars. ba-a-du3, ba-abdu7, ba-ab-du11) ‘I fastened to my hips my short niglam-garment’ (ŠA 43). [381] ama gal dNin-lil2-le šag4-gada ba-ni-in-la2 ‘Great mother Ninlil in (Nippur) clothed herself in priestly linens’ (NSJN 36). [382] lu2-mah-zu gi-gun4-na kug-zu šag4-gada la-ba-an-la2 ‘Your lumah-priest no longer dons priestly linens in your holy giguna’ (LUr 352). [380]

tug2

In [383] the difference between mu+mu4 and ba+mu4 may represent a contrast in aspect: mu+mu4 representing an atelic event that is habitual with a focus on the Initiator and the action (see §3.2.2), ba+mu4, as elsewhere, a telic, inchoative event with a focus on the Endpoint. [383] uru-ga2 tug2! dan6-na-a mu-ni-mu4-ra tug2 mu-dur7-ra ba-anmu4 ‘In my city, where I would normally wear clean clothes, I have dressed, instead, in mourning clothes’ (Let B1: 18). The following passage represents a chain of punctual self-grooming events: [384] hi-li sag-ki-na šu ba-ni-in-ti na4za-gin3 di4-di4-la2 gu2-na ba-anla2 na4nunuz tab-ba gaba-na ba-ni-in-si tug2pala3 tug2nam-nin-a bar-ra-na ba-an-dul (var. bi2-in-dul) šimbi lu2 he2-em-du he2em-du igi-na ba-ni-in-gar tu-di-da lu2 ga2-nu ga2-nu gaba-na ba-an-gid2 har kug-sig17 šu-na ba-an-du8 gi 1 ninda eš2-gana2 za-gin3 šu ba-ni-in-du8 (var. šu mi-ni-in-du8) ‘She took a wig for her forehead. She hung small lapis-lazuli beads from her neck. She placed twin egg-shaped beads on her breast. She covered her body with a pala-dress, the garment of her royalty. She placed kohl on her eyes (called,) “Let a man come, let him come!” She girded her breast with the pectoral (called,) “Come, man, come!” She placed a golden ring on her hand. She held in her hand the lapis lazuli measuring rod and measuring line’ (InD 18–25).

228

chapter five

And, on a cruder note: [385] gala-e bid3-da-ni ha-ba-an-da-ze2-er ‘A lamentation priest wiped his bottom’ (SP 2.100). Change of body posture and non-translational motion events with ba- are exemplified below. Again nu2 ‘lie’, gub ‘stand’, and tuš ‘sit’ may be taken as representative of this class; these are predicates that typically denote uncomplicated actions that lack structure, qualities that promote the choice of ba-. Further, when paired with ba-—although this is less frequently in evidence contextually in the case of gub—these predicates tend to express dynamic, punctual, and telic actions. ba+nu2 ‘lie (down)’ (see also [226]); cf. mu+nu2 ‘make lie’ [55] (for [386] and [387], note ba+uš2 [503]–[507] as well as ba+e3/11 [445]): [386] 1 maš lugud2-da Munus-sag9-ga Ad-da-šu-sikil sukkal banu2-a e-ne-de6 ‘1 small goat was brought for Munussaga and Addashusikil, the minister, who had “lain down” (i.e., died)’ (Nik 153 i 6–ii 4 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 374–375]). [387] 2 har kug-babbar 5 gin2-ta Ur-dNanna sukkal šeš Arad2-dNanna sukkal mah ud ba-nu2-a ‘2 silver rings (weighing) 5 shekels each—for Ur-Nanna, the minister, brother of Arad-Nanna, the head minister, when he “lay down” (i.e., died)’ ( JCS 10 [1956]: 30 no. 9: 1–3). [388] dNu-⎡dim2⎤-[m]ud ⎡itima⎤ma-ka ba-an-ku4 šag4-ka-tab-ba ba-annu2 ‘Nudimmud entered the bedchamber and lay down fasting’ (UrNm A 12). [389] nam-bi-še3 dEn-lil2 itima kug ba-an-ku4 šag4-ka-tab-ba ba-annu2 ‘Because of this, Enlil entered his holy bedchamber and lay down fasting’ (CAk 209). Similarly, EmkLA 390. [390] lugal u3-sa2-ge la-ba-an-nu2-a (var. la-ba-an-nu2-e) ma-mu2-de3 ba-nu2 ‘The king did not lie down to sleep, but lay down to dream’ (LgB 1 A340). Similarly, SrgUrZ B13. ba+gub ‘stand (up)’ (see also [190]; cf. imma+gub [190]–[204], mu+gub ‘make stand’ [60]): [391] (5 individuals) Amar-ki-me nig2-šu-še3 ba-sug2-eš2 ‘(5 individuals), they are the (people of) Amarki—they stand at the ready’ (Nik 14 i 6–7 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 117–119]).

BA-

[392] [393] [394]

[395] [396]

229

Ba-u2 nam-šita Uru-inim-gi-na-ka-ke4 ba-gub mu-bi ‘“Bau stands at the prayers of Uruinimgina” is (this object’s) name’ (Uruinimgina 14s [= FAOS 5/1 Ukg. 53]). alan-na-ni mu-tud nam-šita-e ba-gub mu-še3 mu-na-sa4 ‘He fashioned his (own) statue—“It stands in prayer”’ was the name he gave to it on behalf (of Geshtinana)’ (Gudea St. M ii 7–iii 3). hur-sag za-gin3-na-gim mu-mu2 hur-sag nu11-bar6-bar6-ra-gim u6-di-de3 ba-gub ‘He made (the temple) grow like a mountain range of lapis lazuli—it stood to be admired like a mountain range of white alabaster’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxiv 15–17). ga2-e na-nam u6-e ba-gub ‘I am truly one who stands to be admired’ (InŠur 117). an ki nam tar-tar-[ra] na-nam na-nam [dingir an-na?] ba-sug2sug2-ge-[eš] ‘The gods of heaven, with their ready assent, stood up in heaven at the place where fates are determined’ (ŠD 59). d

ba+tuš ‘sit (down)’ (see also [546], [556]; cf. immi+tuš [217], mu+tuš ‘make sit’ [60]): [397] giš-kan4-na-ta ba-ta-tuš ‘He sat down beside the door frame’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxi 15). [398] ku2 nag gal-gal-e ba-tuš-en ‘You sit down to plenteous food and drink’ (WnSm 227). [399] en-e u8 bi2-in-dug4 sahar-ra ba-an-da-tuš ‘The lord said “Alas!” and sat down in the dust’ (SrgUrZ C7). Similarly, GgEN 253. [400] lu2-tur inim-mu-še3 ba-tuš-u3-nam (var. ba-e-tuš-u3-nam) šag4mu bi2-dug3-ga-am3 ‘(You are) a young man who attends to (lit. sits at) my words—this pleases me’ (Edub C 61). [401] mušen ba-dal-dal ama dili-bi ba-an-tuš ‘All the birds flew off, but their mother alone stayed’ (SP 6.24 [see Veldhuis 2000: 391]). Naturally, these are not the only predicates expressing body-action events that correlate with ba-; attestations with other body-action verbs include the following (see also ni2 ba+dub2 ‘relax’ [360]): [402] u2-a Lagaški gud gal-gim a2 ba-il2-il2 ‘The provider of Lagash raised his arms like a mighty bull (raises its horns)’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxii 23).

230

chapter five

[403] guruš-e dUtu-ra an-še3 šu-ni ba-ni-in-zig3 ‘The young man raised his hands heavenward to Utu’ (DzD 164). [404] igi a-a ugu-na dEn-lil2-la2-še3 dub3 ki ba-ni-in-us2 ‘(Sin) went down on his knee before Enlil, the father who begot him’ (LSU 450). [405] a2-bi uruki-bi dingir-bi-e-ne ki-bi-še3 ba-an-gur2-ru-uš ‘Before (Asag’s) might the gods of those cities bow down to the ground’ (Lugal-e 40). d [406] Nin-immax(LAGAB×IGIgunû)mušen sur2-du3mušen-gim ha-bazig3-ge-en Nibruki-še3 a-la-ga2 ha-ba-gur-re-en ‘I rose up like a harrier(?), like a falcon, and returned to Nippur in my vigor’ (ŠA 60–61). [407] dEn-ki-ke4 inim ama-na dNamma-ke4 ki-nu2-na ba-ta!-zig3 ‘At the word of his mother Namma, Enki arose from his bed’ (EnkNm 24). The following actions share much in common with spontaneous situations (§5.1.5). In [408]–[410] control is apparently minimal, while agency is indirect and less salient than the effect. In [411] and [412] the convergence with the spontaneous situations category is complete, volition and control being completely absent (cf. Sanskrit vepat-e ‘tremble, shiver’, Lingala -ninga-na ‘move, tremble’ [Kemmer 1993a: 145]). [408] nam-bi-še3 dEn-ki lugal Abzu-ke4 uru-ni uru kur2-gim bar-ta ba-da-gub gu2 ki-še3 ba-an-la2 ‘Because of this, Enki, king of the Abzu, stayed outside his city as if it were a hostile city—he fell prostrate on the ground’ (LEr B5–6). [409] dumu ⎡uruki⎤-na mu-un-de3-re7-eš-am3 ur-gir15 di4-di4-gim giri3ni-še3 šu ba-an-dub2-dub2-me-eš ‘(Stunned by Huwawa,) those citizens of his city who had come with (Gilgamesh) flailed about at his feet like puppies’ (GgHw-A 70–71). [410] bi2-in-dug4-ga-gin7-nam šar2-ra ba-an-šub-bu-uš šar2-ra baan-zig3-ge-eš ‘It was just as he had said: the multitudes fell down, the multitudes rose up’ (GgAk 93–94). [411] e2-e guruš ug5-ga-gim gu2 ki-še3 ba-an-da-ab-la2 gu2 kur-kurra ki-še3 ba-an-da-ab-la2 ‘The temple, like a dead soldier, fell prostrate before him—all the foreign lands fell prostrate before him’ (CAk 118–119). [412] ud-ba an ba-dub2 ki ba-sag3 igi ud-da ba-lim an ba-suh3suh3 gissu ba-an-la2 ‘On that day, the heavens rumbled, the

BA-

231

earth trembled, the storm churned incessantly (lit. the storm never slept). The heavens darkened (lit. became confused), a shadow hung over it’ (LSU 81–82). igi—lim/lib4 is taken as a writing for igi—lib ‘be awake’ (see Michalowski 1989: 79–80 ad 81). Cf. agentive mu+dub2 in [540]. 5.1.2

Motion Events

As first observed by Thureau-Dangin a century ago, verbs of motion joined with ba- often have a separative nuance, denoting movement away from a reference point, which, in the default scenario, when no other location is specified, is here, the location of the speaker. This sense is most strikingly on display when these verbs are set against Akkadian Gt separatives in bilinguals [413], and when contrasted with verbs of motion bearing mu- and im- in unilingual texts [414]–[419], particularly early administrative texts, which present clear and uncomplicated deictic contexts. In the latter, mu- and ba- may appear as minimal pairs, representing an allative-separative opposition. ‘He goes away’ [413] 90. ba-gen it-ta-⎡lak⎤ ⎡ ⎤ ‘I go away’ 91. ba-g[en]-en at-ta- lak ‘You go away’ 92. ba-g[en]-en ⎡ta-at⎤-ta-⎡lak⎤ (OBGT VII). [414] 9,600 eštubku6 giri3-us2 3,600 gam-gamku6 su-su nig2-sam2-maše3 Ur-e2-muš3 dam-gar3 ba-de6 ku6 gana2 Du6-sir2-ra-ka-kam Amar-dSag-kud šu-ku6-e mu-de6 ‘Uremush, the merchant, has taken away 9,600. . . . carp and 3,600 . . . gamgam-fish as merchandise. These are the fish (of the canal) of Dusira-field. Amar-Sagkud, the fisherman, brought them here’ (VS 14, 64 iii 3 – v 4 [= Bauer AWL no. 135]). [415] 120 kinku6 1 ⎡pisan⎤ munku6 ⎡En⎤-ig-gal ⎡ba⎤-de6 1 pisan UBI׊Eku6 1 pisan gir5-gir5ku6 e2-gal-la ba-de6 Gala-tur a ŠUL-a-ke4 mude6 ‘Eniggal took away 120 kin-fish and 1 basket of mun-fish. 1 basket of . . . -fish and 1 basket of girgir-fish were taken into the palace. Galatur, the in-shore fisherman, brought them here’ (VS 14, 166 i 1–ii 4 [= Bauer AWL no. 147]). [416] 1 ma-na kug luh-ha igi-nu-du8-a sa10-sa10-de3 Ur-e2-muš3 damgar3 e2-mi2-ke4 ba-de6 šag4-bi-ta 1 igi-nu-du8 kug 14 gin2-kam mu-de6 Ur-ki nu-kiri6-ke4 ba-de6 1 sag-nita kug 1/3ša ma-nakam mu-de6 Lugal-da sipad udu siki-ka-ke4 ba-de6 1 igi-nu-

232

chapter five

du8 kug 15 gin2-kam mu-de6 Dingir-a-mu nu-kiri6-ke4 ba-de6 ‘Uremush, the merchant of the “women’s house,” took away 1 mina of refined silver for the purchase of an iginudu-worker. From this amount, he brought back 1 iginudu-worker, costing 14 shekels of silver—Urki, the gardener, took him away. (Uremush) brought back 1 man, costing 1/3 mina of silver—Lugalda, the shepherd of the wool-bearing sheep, took him away. (Uremush) brought back 1 iginudu-worker, costing 15 shekels of silver—Dingiramu, the gardener, took him away’ (Nik 293 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 521–522]). [417] ud e2-gal-e ba-ab-tum2-ma-ta igi nu-ni-du8-a ud igi i3-ib2-du8a mu-tum2-mu-a Lu2-bala-sag9-ga e2 dNanna nam-erim2-am3 ‘Lubalasaga, at the temple of Nanna, swore that he had not seen (the missing worker) since the palace took him away and that if he does see him, he will bring him here’ (NG 190: 23–27). [418] gi-NE e2-še3 lu2 60-am3 gi4-mu-un gi ba-an-tum3 ‘Send me 60 men (to collect) reeds for the household. Then, the reeds will be delivered (there)’ (LEM 77: 7–10). [419] geme2 u3 kug-babbar igi-ne-ne du8 ud kug mu-un-tum3-da geme2-ni ⎡ba-an⎤-tum3-mu ‘The slave woman and the silver are considered equal—when (the debtor) brings the silver, he can take away his slave woman’ (SLHF viii 11–15). However, as discussed in §4.1.2, this separative sense is a consequence of this prefix’s broader middle voice function. ba-, like imma-, focuses on the dynamic and ingressive change-of-state that characterizes the initial set-in-motion phase of the event, the change from being-at-rest to being-in-motion. Naturally, setting-in-motion amounts, essentially, to departing, motion away from a given reference point, especially when that reference point is here, the location of the speaker. Endpoint orientation in this case is the state of being in motion, which is not to be confused with the spatial goal of the motion (note that the physical terminal point of the motion is often not specified). The shared semantics of the setin-motion phase of the motion event and the inchoative quality of the middle domain more broadly explain the cross-linguistically observed tendency for middle-marking to impart a separative nuance to verbs of motion. That this typological tendency is more rigidly observed, more conventionalized, in Sumerian (and similarly, and quite possibly relatedly, in Akkadian) than in many other languages, I suggest, may stem in part from pressure from the ventive and the here-there contrast which resulted

BA-

233

from placing ba- in deictic opposition to mu-/im- (see p. 180 n. 10). Observe in this connection that unlike a language such as English, in which motion verbs are lexically specified for direction or orientation, e.g., come vs. go, bring vs. take, in Sumerian it is the prefix that serves to give direction or deictic content to basic motion verbs, such as gen ‘go’ and de6 ‘carry, take’, which are intrinsically neutral in this regard. That the separative sense that ba- conveys derives from its broader middle voice function—that, indeed, motion events are not fundamentally different from the other middle situation types with which the prefix correlates—goes some way to accounting for those situations that do not necessarily suggest a separative meaning. There are many contexts in which ba-, like imma- (§4.1.2), simply emphasizes the set-inmotion quality of the event regardless of direction. In accord with its broader middle-marking function, ba- serves to reinforce or reflect the inchoative-separative meaning that is inherent to the lexical semantics of certain verbs. Moreover, observe that with transitive events of carrying—again consistent with its essential middle-marking function—separative motion often overlaps with a self-benefactive meaning: take away is tantamount to take for oneself, as several of the above examples suggest. Herein lies the common semantic foundation that underlies the directional and reflexive theories of Thureau-Dangin and Poebel and the ostensibly opposed schools to which they gave rise. The two theories merely emphasize different facets of a single overarching middle voice phenomenon. In [420] and [421], ba- with the verb de6 ‘carry, take’ does not impart direction in a concrete sense, since neither gardens nor houses can literally be moved. The metaphorical separative sense of each event is tantamount to an expression of the self-benefactive middle, i.e., take for o.s. [420] Ad-da na-be2-a lugal-mu ha-ba-tum3 ‘This is what Adda said, “My lord should take away (the garden)” ’ (FAOS 19, Ad 15: 5–8). [421] nig2-u2-gu-de2-a-bi nu-mu-da-su-su e2-bi ha-ba-an-tum3 ‘I cannot replace what has been lost—therefore, he can take that house!’ (NG 143: 10–12). Some motion events lend themselves with greater ease to a separative reading, e.g., [422]–[423]. For others, however, the prefix may simply reflect the inchoative or ingressive semantics of the event, e.g., [424].

234

chapter five

[422] u3-te-am3 e2 libir-ra-aš2 ra2-zu-a ba-gen ‘When evening came (Gudea) set off to (the site of) the old temple in prayer’ (Gudea Cyl. A xvii 29). [423] uruki ka-inim-ma-bi dUtu ba-an-de6 geštug2-bi dEn-ki-ke4 baan-de6 (var. ba-an-de2) ‘Utu took away the eloquence of the city. Enki took away its wisdom’ (CAk 70–71). [424] uru ma-da ba-te-ga2-de3-en-na-zu umuš-bi zu-zu-a ‘Upon your arrival at the cities of the territory, you were to discern all of their intentions!’ (RCU 2: 8). As I have stressed, one of the primary functions of ba- is to emphasize the middle semantics that are intrinsically part of the lexical meaning of a verb. Hence such common forms as ba+uš2 ‘die’ and šu—ba+ti ‘receive’. Verbs of motion are no different in this regard. ba- frequently occurs with predicates that naturally possess an inchoative set-in-motion meaning—essentially, verbs that are inherently separative—for which the prefix serves to stress this characteristic of the event. Exemplary of this use with ba- are the frequent attestations of kar ‘flee, escape’, ‘take away, steal’, zah2/3 ‘flee, escape’, ‘disappear’, zuh ‘steal’, dal ‘fly (away)’, and e3 ‘go (out)’. In this way Sumerian plays a part in the cross-linguistically observed tendency for “verbs meaning ‘flee’ and ‘escape’ ” to be “fairly frequently attested middle-marked verbs,” this separative meaning deriving, in Kemmer’s view, “from a focus on change-of-state associated with [middle markers] in these particular languages” (1993a: 253 n. 39; see also §4.1.2). Observe that some of these events have, additionally, self-benefactive or spontaneous overtones. As is often the case, the various facets of Endpoint focus cannot be neatly distinguished or separated from one another. ba+kar ‘flee, escape’, ‘take away, steal’ (see also [133]): [425] ud-ba Ti-ri2-ga-a-an lugal Gu-ti-umki dili-a-ni giri3 ba-da-ankar ‘Then Tirigan, king of Gutium, escaped alone on foot’ (Utu-hegal 4: 103–105). [426] lu2 nam-lugal Ki-en-gi-ra2 kur-še3 ba-de6-a Ki-en-gi-ra2 nig2a-rum2 bi2-i[n-s]i-a dam tuku dam-ni ba-an-da-kar-ra dumu tuku dumu-ni ba-an-da-kar-ra ‘(Gutium,) who took away the kingship of Sumer to the mountains, who filled Sumer with evil, who took away the wife from the husband, who took away the child from the parent’ (Utu-hegal 4: 4–12). Note nig2-a-rum2 (or possibly: nig2-aNE.RU) for nig2-erim2.

BA-

[427]

235

Utu nig2-si-sa2 inim gi-na ka-ta ba-da-an-kar ‘Utu took away the pronouncement of justice and the firm decree’ (LSU 62). [428] ku6-e mušen-ra mu-ni-in-si3-si3 a-e ba-da-an-kar ‘Fish struck at Bird, and then fled into the waters’ (BdFh 109). [429] gal5-la2-mu ga-ba-da-kar ‘Let me escape my demons!’ (InD 375). d

ba+zah2/3 ‘flee, escape’, ‘disappear’ (see also [605]), an event overlapping with the spontaneous middle category; note the Akkadian equivalent na butu ‘flee, vanish’ (cf. u2(-gu/gu3)—ba+de2 = na butu [§5.1.5]), a verb occurring lexically in the ingressive N-stem. Cf. agentive mu+zah2/3: tug2 nig2-barag2 nim mu-ra-ba-ba tug2aktum mu-ra-zah2 ‘(Spring) puts away all quilts and makes the aktum-garments disappear’ (WnSm 243). Ama-lal3 geme2 E2-⎡lu2 arad2-ga2⎤ du6ki-še3 ba-zah3 ‘Amalal, a slave girl of Elu, (who is) my servant, has run off to the hills (or possibly: to [the hamlet of ] Du)’ (FAOS 19, Ad 2: 5–8). [431] mu lugal ⎡ud ba-zah3-de3-na-ga2⎤ šer7-da he2-a bi2-in-dug4 ‘(The slave) declared, “By the name of the king, if I run away, it will be a crime!”’ (BE 3/1, 1: 4–6). [432] mu 5-kam-ka dam dumu Ku-li dumu Ba-ba-mu-ke4-ne ba-anda-zah3-zah3-eš2 ‘In the fifth year, the wife and daughters of Kuli ran away from the sons of Babamu’ (NG 41: 10–12). [433] ba-zah2 «na» na-ba-ra-sa10-a dam Gi4-gi4 u3 dumu-ni namerim2-am3 ‘The wife of Gigi and her son swore that (the slave girl) ran away and was not sold’ (NG 72: 20–22). [430]

I

ba+zuh ‘steal’ (see also [245]), an event that is also self-benefactive (§5.1.4): DINGIR-gur5-ub sumsar-mu ba-an-zuh bi2-dug4 ‘He declared, “Ilam-kurub stole my onions”’ (NG 129: 3). [435] lu2 gud Lu2-dingir-ra-ka ba-zuh-a-me ‘They are the ones who stole the ox(en) of Ludingira’ (ITT 3, 6225: 7–8 [= NG 1, p. 117 n. 2]). [436] mu giš-nu2 Ik-šu-dum ba-an-zuh-a-še3 ‘Because he had stolen the bed belonging to Ikshudum’ (NG 203: 3–4). [437] lu2-IM kug ba-an-zuh lu2 gi-na gin2 mu-ni-in-ak-de3 ‘The dishonest man steals money; the honest man will earn his pay’ (SP 13.52).

[434]

[I]

236

chapter five

ba+dal ‘fly (away)’ (see also [401]); compare the Akkadian equivalent naprušu ‘fly’, the lexical use of the N-stem, as with na butu = ba+zah2/3 ‘flee, escape’, ‘disappear’, reflecting the inherent middle semantics of the event. The separative force of the prefix is often reinforced with the ablative -ta-/-ra-: [438]

[439] [440] [441] [442]

[443]

Inana-ke4 zag dib-ba ba-an-sag 3 tu-gur4⎡mušen⎤-gim ba-andal-dal bad3-bi i3-gul-e (var. i3-⎡gul⎤-gul) ‘(Gilgamesh) flung a haunch at Inana—she flew off like a pigeon and it destroyed the rampart’ (GgBH D50 [Me-Turan]). ⎡ ug3⎤? ni2 ba-da-te simmušen-gim ba-dal-e ‘The people have become frightened—they fly away like swallows’ (Cohen Eršemma no. 32: 55). For ni2—ba+te, see §5.1.3. me gal-gal-la-ni a-gim ba-ra-an-dal ‘How did Enlil make his greatest divine powers fly off?’ (LNip 114). simmušen e2-bi ba-ra-an-dal-a-gim uru-ni-še3 nu-gur-re-de3 ‘Like a swallow that has flown from its nest (lit. house), (IbbiSin) should not return to his city’ (LSU 37). simmušen-gim ab-ta ba-ra-an-dal-en zi-mu im-mi-ku2 (var. im-ku2-e) ‘He made me fly out from the window like a swallow—my vigor is spent’ (Inana B 105). Similarly note, [simmušen gud3]-⎡bi-ta ba-an-ra⎤-an-dal-dal-e-⎡de3⎤ ‘(The demons) make the swallows fly away from their nests’ (FAOS 12, p. 34: 278). tumušen-gim ab-lal3-ta ba-da-an-dal eden-na bar bi2-ib2-gub ‘Like a pigeon, (Ninhursag) flew out of the window; she stood outside in the open country’ (LSU 208). d

ba+e3 ‘go (out)’; as with ba+dal, the prefix is frequently reinforced with -ta-, ba-ta- often appearing as a frozen separative unit (note the PNs Lugal-ba-ta-ab-e3, Bar-ta-e3, etc. [see Limet 1968: 84–85]; cf. without -ta-, but similarly separative, dUtu-ba-e3 [FAOS 17, no. 83: 1′, 4′]): [444] Gu3-de2-a e2 dNin-gir2-su-ka dUtu-gim dugud-ta ba-ta-e3 ‘Gudea made the temple of Ningirsu emerge like Utu from the clouds’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxiv 13–14). [445] [e]r2 gu-la ud lugal an-še3 ba-a-da ‘(Disbursement of pots) for the great mourning, when the king (Ishbi-Erra) ascended to heaven (i.e., died)’ (BIN 10, 190: 12 [see Steinkeller 1992; cf. Yoshikawa 1989]). ba-a-da is a phonetic writing for ba-e3/11-da or, alternatively, a defective writing for ba-a-‹e3/11-›da. [446] ud dŠul-gi an-na ba-a-e11-da-a ‘When Shulgi ascended to heaven’ (Watson Birmingham 1, 132: 5).

BA-

237

[447] uru-mu dUtu-gim ba-ta-e3-en3 šag4-ba ki bi2-la2 ‘I arose over my city like Utu, suspended in its midst’ (ŠC A25). [448] a-ba nam-til3 an-na ba-e-e3 (var. ba-an-e3) ‘What mortal has ascended to heaven?’ (ŠB 282). [449] ur gal-gal 7-bi ba-e-u5 an-na ba-e-e3-de3 ‘You ride on seven great beasts when you go forth from heaven’ (Inana C 105). 5.1.3

Emotion Events

The association between ba- and mental events is dominated by predicates that express emotion (for the correlation with zu ‘know’, a cognition middle, see §5.3). Events of emotion are like self-benefactive events in typically taking a human, or anthropomorphized, subject, but are like spontaneous events to the extent that the subject exerts little control over the action and may be highly affected by its consequences. Indeed, in a number of instances it is difficult to distinguish events of emotion from spontaneous events, so patient-like is the subject, particularly when the subject is adversely affected. It is the non-volitionality and high-degree of subject-affectedness—characteristics of many of these events, particularly those that represent instinctual reactions—that account for their remarkable affinity for this prefix. Further, the simple structure of many of these actions often lends itself to an expression with ba-. The prefix allows speakers to zoom out from an event, to express a conceptualization of it as an undifferentiated whole, with particular emphasis on its inchoative phase that terminates in a state. As is true of the other middle situations, and most concretely exhibited with verbs of motion, ba- often highlights this dynamic, telic quality of the mental event, what corresponds to the set-in-motion phase of motion events. Thus, when joined with ba-, ni—te ‘fear’, designates, typically, ‘become fearful, afraid, terrified’, rather than the atelic and stative ‘be afraid’ (cf. ni2 mu+te ‘make tremble’ [59]). In addition to ni2—te ‘fear’, the prefix also correlates with zi—ir ‘be troubled, distressed’, su—zig3 ‘fear, have goose-bumps’, and other predicates that denote actions in which the subject is highly and adversely affected, but exercises little or no control. The subjects of these predicates, although animate, behave essentially like objects, the quintessential Undergoers (§2.6). These events shade easily into the spontaneous situation category; in the case of su—zig3, meaning, literally, ‘raise the skin’, the verb also overlaps with the involuntary body-action category (cf. [408]–[412]).

238

chapter five

[450] nu-kar2-kar2-de3 aga3-us2 lugal-ga2-ke4 gišbanšur-mu in-bala-a-še3 ni2 ba-da-te su ba-da-zig3 ‘Although I had given no insult, the bodyguards of my king overturned my table—I became terrified, my flesh crept’ (RCU 1: 27–28). Similarly, see [439]. [451] šag4-ba En-me-er-kar2 dumu dUtu-ke4 ni2 ba-ni-in-te zi ba-niin-ir za-pa-ag2-bi ba-ni-in-BAD ‘In the midst (of the troops) Enmerkar son of Utu became afraid, became troubled—the clamor made him anxious!’ (LgB 2: 268–269). For BAD ‘anxious’, note: en al-BAD = be-lum a-dir (Nabnitu I 157). [452] lugal-me-en ni2 ba-ra-ba-da-te su ba-ra-ba-da-zig3 (var. su ba-ra-ba-zig3) ‘I am king and so I cannot become frightened, I cannot get gooseflesh’ (ŠA 70). [453] en3 tar-tar-re-de3 zi ba-ir ‘Because of my concerns, I have become distressed’ (Let B16: 18). [454] du-a-ni-ta a-gim ni2 ba-an-te (var. ⎡ni2⎤ mu-ni-in-te) ‘When (Aka) comes, how terrified he will become!’ (GgAk 37). Note the anomalous variant with mu-. [455] lugal-mu Elamki-ma šen-šen-na zi ba-an-ir še-ba-ni ul4-la-bi al-til-la ‘My lord, the Elamite (ruler) is getting worried about the war—his grain is quickly coming to an end’ (RCU 19: 24–25). [456] ni2 ba-da-an-te ni2 ba-da-an-te [. . .] ⎡x⎤ dInana ni2 ba-daan-te ‘(An) became frightened, he became frightened! (An) became frightened of Inana!’ (GgBH B52–52A). Also to be included here are attestations of hu-luh ‘be frightened’, ur5—BAD ‘despair’, šag4—sag3 ‘be afflicted, distressed’, mud ‘be scared, anxious’, and šag4—dar ‘be heartbroken’, and, more figuratively, gig ‘be distraught (lit. sick)’ (see also [258], [272], [285], [475]): En-ki lugal Abzu-ke4 šag4 ba-an-sag3 u[r5-r]a-ni ba-BAD ‘Enki, king of the Abzu, grew distressed, he despaired’ (LEr C34–35). [458] ⎡šag4⎤ ba-sag3 ⎡mu-ra⎤-a-⎡ni⎤ ba-BAD ‘(Gilgamesh) grew distressed, he despaired’ (GgEN B69 [Me-Turan]). See also [285] and, similarly, GgDth E16. Note the attestion of the idiom with imma-: ur5 im-ma-BAD šag4 im-m[a]-sag3 ‘I despair, I grow distressed’(GgHw-B 9).4 [457]

d

4 Compare the anomalous and presumably erroneous construal with mu-: e2-a u3mu-un-ku4-re-en ur5 mu-BAD guruš-me-en sila-še3 um-e3-en šag4 mu-un-sag3 ‘When

BA-

239

[459] en dNin-urta-me-en ki-tuš mah-ga2 ba-e-hu-luh-en-na-gim (var. im-hu-luh-ha-en-na-g[im]) ‘Since you frightened me, the lord Ninurta, on my great throne’ (Lugal-e 422). [460] ur5-ša4-zu ama gal dNin-lil2 ba-e-de-hu-luh-e ‘At your thundering, great mother Ninlil cowers in fright before you’ (Cohen Eršemma no. 23: 14). [461] ba-mud-en šag4-mu ba-dar ‘I have grown scared, I am heart-broken’ (Dial 3: 136). Similarly, ni2 ba-te šag4-mu badar ‘I have grown afraid, I am heart-broken’ (Edub A 23). [462] dur2 na-ma-ta-an-zig3 ki-a nu-ub-za ba-an-da-mud-de3-en (var. ba-an-tum2-mu-de3) ‘No one rose from his seat (for me), no one bowed down (before me)—I grew anxious’ (RCU 1: 11). [463] iti6 gi6 kiri3-zal i-zalag-ga-am3 i-e3 me-e ba-gi6-ge-en ‘The moonlight, which sets aglow the glorious night, shines forth—yet I am distraught’ (Nisaba B 29, similarly 27–28, 30). Although the above verbs may be taken as representative, the prefix covers a wide range of events belonging to this category. These events exhibit varying degrees of subject affectedness, volition, and control. But in each, the prefix signals that what is salient in the view of the speaker is that the subject is an Undergoer—the locus of the event’s principal effects—and that the event itself is perceived as a unitary whole. In many, the subject is positively affected [464]–[471] and may even, to some extent, control the event [465]–[466]. In others, like the above events, the emotion is negative [470]–[476], and control is frequently diminished. Here we encounter events that intersect with involuntary body-action category [473]–[475], and, in the extreme case, there is overlap with spontaneous situations [476]. [464] 10-kam-ma-ka ba-sag9-sag9-‹ge-›de3-eš2 ‘On the tenth day they became extremely happy’ (Uruinimgina 4 ii′ 2′–3′). On the reading ba-sag9-sag9-ge9-eš2, see RIME 1 comm. to E1.9.9.4, with previous literature. [465] hi-li ag2 ze2-ba-zu ga-ba-hul2-hul2-le-en-de3-en ‘Let us thoroughly enjoy your sexuality, the sweet thing!’ (ŠS B 12).

I entered the house, I despaired. When I, a young man, went out into the street, I became distressed’ (ManGod 33–34).

240

chapter five

[466] 2-am3 inim 5-am3 u3-na-dug4 zi gi4-ba-an-ze2-en ‘I have told each one of you time and again, “Calm down!” ’ (Dial 2: 221). [467] inim guruš uru-na-še3 šag4-ga-ni an-hul2 ur5-ra-ni ba-an-zalag ‘(Gilgamesh) was pleased with the advice of the young men of his city and his spirits brightened’ (GgAk 41). [468] en-e ur-sag-ra ba-ši-hul2 a-a dEn-ki ⎡ur-sag⎤ dNin-urta-ra baši-hul2 ‘The lord rejoiced at the hero—father Enki rejoiced at the hero Ninurta’ (NinTrtl B13–14). [469] al ba-an-dug4 al ba-an-dug4 ki-nu2 al ba-an-dug4 ‘She craves it, she craves it, she craves the bed!’ (DzIn D1: 18). [470] ud-da uru-ni ki ha-ba-an-ag2 ga2-a-ra hul ha-ba-an-gig uru ga2-da a-na-aš am3-da-la2-e ud-da uru-ni hul ha-ba-an-gig ga2-a-ra ki ha-ba-an-ag2 ga2-[e] uru-da a-na-aš am3-da-la2e-en ‘If she loves her city, but hates me—why then does she bind the city to me? If she hates her city, but loves me—why then does she bind me to the city?’ (LgB 2: 311–314). [471] nig2-si-sa2-e ki ha-ba-ag2-ga2-am3 (var. ki ha-ba-da-ag2-ga2am3) nig2-erim2-e ki la-ba-ra-ag2-ga2-am3 (var. ki la-ba-ra-daag2-ga2-am3) inim nig2-erim2 dug4-ga hul ha-ba-ra-gig-ga-am3 ‘I love righteousness. I do not love wickedness—indeed, I hate words uttered malevolently’ (ŠA 23–25). [472] um-mi-a nig2 na-me ba-an-zu-a (vars. bi-zu-a, bi 2-in-zu-a) dirig-še3 sag ba-gid2 nig2-šag4-za ak-mu-un (var. ak-bi) ‘The teacher, who had learned everything, became extremely angry (saying,) “Do as you wish!”’ (Dial 3: 179–180). For ba+zu, see [645]–[653]; note that mu-, in ak-mu-un, emphasizes the control and volition of the potential agent. [473] Hu-wa-wa zu2 ba-an-da-zalag sag-ki ⎡ba-da⎤-guruš3⎡uš⎤ ‘Huwawa bared his teeth and furrowed his brow (in anger)’ (GgHw-A 152). The second clause, sag-ki . . ., is attested in only one manuscript. [474] a-a tud-da-ni-gim er2 ba-an-ši-in-pad3 ‘(Lugalbanda) wept before (Sin) as if to his own father’ (LgB 1 A213, similarly, A149, A181, A238). [475] lugal-mu er2 e-ne ba-šeš2-šeš2 (var. ba-šeš2-en) šag4-zu a-naaš hul ba-gig (var. šag4 hul a-na-aš mu-e-dim2) ‘My king, why are you weeping? For what reason are you distraught?’ (GgEN 177).

BA-

241

[476] maš-maš-e igi-ni ba-ku10-ku10 dim2-ma-ni ba-suh3 ‘As for the sorcerer, his face darkened and his mind became confused’ (EmkEsg A248). 5.1.4

Self-Benefactive Events

Like verbs of emotion, self-benefactive verbs involve animate subjects, but unlike the former, the subject, nominally at least, exercises volition and control over the event. Further, the subject is generally not as thoroughly affected by the action as in the case of many spontaneous and emotion events. Predicates corresponding to self-benefactive middles denote actions in which the agent is typically also the recipient or beneficiary of the verbal action (Table 3). As with other situation types, and in accord with the broader character of the prefix, ba- appears with verbs for which self-benefactive semantics is an inherent part of the lexical semantics (see §4.1.4). Unlike imma-, ba- generally does not add this reflexive reading when not lexically present, but redundantly reinforces it when it is part of the verbal meaning. As expected, bafurther differs from imma- in viewing the event as an atomic occurrence, as an uncomplicated beginning-to-end whole. Finally, with ba-, the subject often plays a more passive role in the event as compared with imma-. Self-benefactive verbs commonly occurring with ba- include, among others, dab5 ‘take’, tuku with the sense of ‘take a wife’, i.e., ‘marry’, du3 with the sense of ‘detain’, and, finally, paradigmatic of ba- with this situation type, šu—ti ‘receive, take’. The bond between ba- and šu—ti ‘receive, take’ is so close that the union was lexically frozen as a logogram in Akkadian, i.e., ŠU.BA.(AN.)TI for leqû, ma āru. The verb was discussed in §4.1.4 in connection with imma- with the conclusion that this prefix implies a certain intensity or complexity to the taking action, i.e., šu imma+ti ‘grab, seize (for oneself, for one’s purpose or further use)’. šu ba+ti, on the other hand, represents a less intensive form of take, more along the lines of ‘receive, get, accept’, a marked step-down in agentivity and complexity vis-à-vis šu imma+ti. In other words, the subject of the verb is perceived differently with the two prefixes: with ba-, the subject plays a less active—indeed, as we shall see, a more passive or patient-like role—in the event. Once again, this is a pragmatic choice, one that depends on context, on how the speaker or writer perceives the event, and on his discourse needs.

242

chapter five

The verb šu—ti ‘receive, take’, naturally, represents an inherently lowtransitive middle event. It also has set-in-motion connotations, implying movement from a reference point, i.e., ‘take away’ (§5.1.2). But these facts alone do not account for the verb’s striking co-occurrence with ba-, nor for the differences in meaning from šu imma+ti. Observe in this connection that in Ur III administrative texts šu—ti occurs almost universally with ba-, but dab5 ‘take’, when similarly used as an expression of receipt, occurs with equal consistency with the prefix i- (Yoshikawa 1991: 395–396). Rather, an explanation is to be found in the idiosyncratic nature of the receive (get) event, which may be taken as the basic meaning that šu—ti assumes when coupled with ba-. In contrast to give (cf. i3/mu-na-sum [see §3.4]), which takes the agentive donor as its subject, receive takes the recipient, the downstream argument, the Endpoint of the event, as its subject—choosing for this central grammatical role what Langacker felicitously describes as the “ ‘wrong’ participant” (1991: 331). And so Croft’s characterization of receive as a “reverse verb” (Croft 1991: 251; also Kuno 1987: 216–219; Palmer 1994: 28). The agentive donor—who is implicit to the semantics of the receive event—is de-emphasized by either being omitted from the surface expression altogether or relegated to a peripheral case, e.g., He received it ( from me). Lexico-semantically, receive, focusing only upon the second half of the transfer, views the event from there, a location different from that of the Agent. The sequence of words no longer follows the temporal or logical flow of the action. And the event is viewed from the end of the action chain, from its goal or termination point. This is the marked perspective on the event, one that describes a negative vector with respect to the iconic structures described in Fig. 5. In short, receive represents a natural Endpoint perspective on the transfer event. As such, its remarkably high correlation with ba- comes as no surprise. But there is more to add here. Certain qualities of the receive event elucidate the differences between imma- and ba- with this verb, for the combination šu—ba+ti ‘receive’ shares much in common with the passive and other Object-oriented situations with which the prefix is closely associated (§5.2). Naturally, in all these cases, ba- represents a view of the event from its terminal point. However, the parallels become more pronounced when we take into account the object-like role assumed by the recipient in the typical receive event (cf. šu imma+ti, with its more active subject); although canonically a person who willingly and knowingly participates in the event, the recipient plays essentially a passive role. As Langacker puts it, “the donor is agentive, and the object’s role is dynamic (it moves from the donor’s dominion to the recipient’s),

BA-

243

but the recipient does not necessarily do anything at all” (1991a: 331). Thus, there is considerable semantic overlap between the subject of the active šu ba+ti ‘receive, get, accept’ event and the subject of the passive ba+du3 ‘s.th. was built’ event (§5.2).5 Both represent a marked perspective on the action, viewing the event from its end, by-passing the Agent and taking instead as the subject some downstream non-active, non-agentive participant, that, if not an actual Object, plays a role which in many ways is quite object-like. šu—ba+ti ‘receive, get, accept’. It is hardly necessary to demonstrate the correspondence between ba- and šu—ti, ubiquitous as it is in administrative texts; more to the point, the following examples are provided for comparison with those of šu imma+ti [307]–[316]. Observe that the semantic bond between the prefix and the verb is so close that an intervening case element with a highly animate referent—even a second-person referent [481], [485]—does not alter the prefix and prompt the appearance of mu- (see §3.4). [477]

[478] [479] [480] [481] [482] [483]

⎡

nam⎤-[lugal] Gir2-su[ki] šu ba-ti-a ama-gi4-bi e-gar ‘When (Uruinimgina) received the kingship of Girsu, he cancelled the obligations (of the people of Lagash)’ (Uruinimgina 2 vii 1′–5′). nig2-šam2 gana2-kam šu ba-ti ‘(The sellers) received the purchase price of the field’ (Gelb Kudurrus 22: i 14–15). dub-ba-ni ⎡šu⎤ ha-ba-ti-ti ‘He must get his receipt!’ (LEM 167: 8). lugal-a-ni siskur2 ra2-zu-ni Gu3-de2-a-aš2 en dNin-gir2-su2-ke4 šu ba-ši-ti ‘His master, the lord Ningirsu, accepted from Gudea his prayers and offerings’ (Gudea Cyl. A ii 21–22). tur dug4-ga-zu mah dug4-ga-am3 šu ba-a-ši-ib2-ti ‘(Ningirsu) will accept from you your most trivial utterance as a grand pronouncement’ (Gudea Cyl. A vii 3). a šag4-ga šu ba-ni-in-ti a dEn-ki-ka3-ka ‘(Ninhursag) received the semen in her womb, the semen of Enki’ (EnkNh 74). en Arattaki-ke4 kin-gi4-a-ar im šu-rin-na-ni šu ba-ši-in-ti ‘The lord of Aratta received his kiln-baked tablet from the messenger’ (EmkLA 537–538).

5 See Croft (1991: 252), who draws a comparison between receive/get and “result passives.”

244

chapter five

[484] Abzu Eridugki-ga me šu ba-ni-in-ti a-a-ni dEn-ki-ke4 sag-eeš mu-ni-in-rig7 ‘She received the divine powers in the Abzu, in Eridu. Her father, Enki, presented them to her’ (IdDgn A 22–23). Common in literary texts is the topos to accept tears, which is regularly expressed with ba-: [485] a2-še dMu-ul-lil2 a i-bi2-za šu ba-e-ši-in-ti-a ‘Even now, (speak supplications to) Enlil, who will accept your tears from you!’ (LNip 140). [486] dUtu er2-na kadra-gim šu ba-an-ši-in-ti ‘Utu accepted his tears as a gift’ (GgHw-A 34). [487] dSuen-e ⎡er2⎤-na šu ba-an-ši-in-ti nam-til3 mu-na-sum ‘Sin accepted his tears and gave him life’ (LgB 1 A226). ba+tuku ‘marry’. tuku with the meaning ‘marry’ (lit. ‘acquire [as a spouse]’), occurs frequently with ba-, and less often with the neutral prefix i- (the latter, however, is common in Old Babylonian law codes and related texts, see §3.3). As with other verbs of acquiring, the event may have separative overtones (i.e., in the sense of taking a woman away from the home of her father),6 but any such force is certainly secondary, and the event is to be understood, primarily, as representing a self-benefactive action ‘take s.o. for o.s.’. As with many of the events that correlate with ba-, this is a dynamic and punctual action, one that terminates in a resultant state, specifically in this case, that of being married. [488] u3 inim A2-na-na ab-ba-ta-am3 Šes-kal-la-a Nin9-ab-b[a-n]a b[a]-an-tuku ‘And, at the word of Anana, the father, Sheshkala married Ninabbana’ (NG 16: 12–14). [489] INin-ezen dumu Lu2-dNin-gir2-su-ka A-kal-la dumu Ba-a-ke4 nam-dam-še3 ba-an-tuku ‘Akala, the son of Ba, took Ninezen, the daughter of Lu-Ningirsu, in marriage’ (NG 191: 5–8). [490] tukum-bi . . . igi ad-da til3-l[a-še3] dam ba-an-tuku ‘If . . . (the son) gets married while the father is still alive’ (LwLpIš §32).

6 Note Kraus’s comment, “Für ‘ablativisches’ ba- s. ferner etwa unter tuk, ‘(aus dem Elternhause weg) heiraten’ . . .” (1958: 82 n. 45); similarly, see Edzard 1968: 141, Jo 1991: 67.

BA-

[491]

245

Nin-kiri3-u3-tud dNin-a-zu ha-ba-an-tuku-tuku ‘Ninkiriutud shall marry Ninazu’ (EnkNh 275). [492] uru-ga2 ku-li-mu-ne-me-en dam ba-an-tuku-tuku-me-eš ⎡ du10-sa-mu-ne⎤-me-en dam ba-an-tuku-tuku-me-eš ‘In my city, I am among my friends, and they all have already married. I am among my companions, and they too have all already married’ (MarMartu 28–29). d

ba+du3, amma+du3 ‘hold in possession’, ‘detain’ (see Gelb, Steinkeller, and Whiting 1991: 247; Steinkeller 1989: 52–60). Also to be included under the designation of self-benefactive events is du3 meaning ‘hold in possession’, ‘detain’, although its remarkably high correlation with barepresents a historical development. Consistent with the non-dynamic and atelic nature of this event, in the earliest attestations (Pre-Sargonic [493], Sargonic [494]), it is, notably, with amma-, the stative equivalent of imma-, that the verb primarily occurs with this meaning, appearing in eviction clauses that provide against the possibility of some party other than the seller having possession of the property being sold. [493] lu2 am6-⎡ma⎤-du3-da gag-bi ka-ka e-gaz ‘If someone else holds (the house) in possession, this peg will be driven through (the seller’s) mouth’ (TIM 9, 94 v′ 10′–11′ [= Steinkeller and Postgate 1992 no. 2]). Similarly, lu2 [am6]-ma-d[u3-da] gag-bi ka-ka-⎡na⎤? e-g[az] (DP 31 adscription 1–4 [= Edzard 1968 no. 31]). [494] ud gana2-ga(= ašag-ga) lu2 u3-ma-a-du3-a 2(iku) gana2-bi-še3 4(iku) gana2 ab-ši-ga2-ga2 inim-ma an-gal2 ‘If someone else holds the field in possession, it is in the agreement that (the seller) will replace the aforementioned field of 2 iku with a field of 4 iku’ (MAD 4, 151: 10–13). Similarly, from the Sargonic period: lu2 gana2-ba am6-ma-du3-da (BIN 8, 172: 17); ud lu2 am6-madu3-da-a (MAD 4, 153 ii 4). The idiom is particularly common in Ur III letter orders where it refers to detaining a person or property. By this time, however, ba- had largely replaced amma- (imma-)7 in this expression:

7 A certain Ur III attestation of imma+du3 occurring in an eviction clause is provided by UET 3, 49 (lu2 nu-ma-du3-a ud-da lu2 in-ma-du3 [2′–3′]).

246

chapter five

[495] a-šag4 in-dab5-ba-na na-ba-a-du3 ‘He cannot keep for himself the field that he has seized!’ (LEM 131: 7–8). [496] A-kal-la u3 Lu2-uru-sag-ra en-na igi-mu-še3 di in-da-an-dug4-gaaš na-ba-du3 ‘He must not detain Akala and Lu-urusag until they have presented their case before me’ (LEM 235: 3–6). [497] Ur-Nanše dumu-dab5 Lu2-dNa-ru2-a-ka-ra eš2 kiri3-še3 na-badu3 ‘He should not hold on to Ur-Nanshe, the agricultural laborer of Lu-Narua, by the nose rope’ (TCS 1, 48: 3–5). The self-benefactive sense of this expression, with the effects of the event accruing ultimately back to the subject, the rightful owner, rather than the Object, the property, is underscored by the fact that, at least in origin,8 the phrase was construed intransitively. Rather than assuming the direct object position, the property or person in possession is downgraded to a peripheral case: the locative for the former [494]–[495], and the dative (although not conistently expressed) for the latter [496]–[497] (see Steinkeller [1989: 54], who likens the idiom to English ‘hold on’, equivalent to Akkadian kullu). Denying an argument the direct object slot has the effect of lowering the transitivity of the clause. It suggests that the object is only marginally affected by the action and that it is the subject which is the locus of the action’s principal effects (see n. 15; Croft 1991: 217). Syntax, in this case, corroborates the middle voice semantics of the idiom. ba+dab5 ‘seize, hold’. The correlation between prefix and verb is less consistently observed in the case of ba+dab5, yet when attested, as with the other self-benfactive events discussed in this section, the combination stresses that the action accrues back to the subject—‘seize, hold (for oneself, for one’s own purpose or further use)’. Given that the meaning of the verbal root is inherently intensive, the semantic distinction between ba- [498]–[502] and imma- [323]–[327] with dab5 ‘seize, hold’ is less apparent than it is, for instance, with šu—ti ‘receive, take’. [498] inim lugal-ni dNin-gir2-su-ke4 e-na-dug4-ga ba-dab5 ‘(Uruinimgina) seized (i.e., carried out) the command that his lord Ningirsu had given to him’ (Uruinimgina 1 viii 10–13).

8 See Steinkeller 1989: 54 for the argument that a transitive construal of this idiom developed secondarily as an Ur III innovation.

BA-

247

[499] E2-kur za-gin3-na gišgidru ha-ba-dab5-ba barag babbar-ra gišguza suhuš gi-na sag an-še3 ha-ba-il2 ‘In the lustrous Ekur, where I took hold of the scepter, I lifted my head toward heaven on a shining dais, a throne with a firm foundation’ (ŠA 88–89). Note the body-action middle sag ba+il2. [500] lugal-e muhaldim-gal nu-me-a gir2 šu-ni ba-an-dab (var. [b]aan-dab5) ‘The king, though not a master chef, took a knife in his hand’ (GgBH D49 [Me-Turan]). [501] ba-al-gu7 eger-ra-ni sa-bi ba-da-an-dab5 ‘The turtle was able to take hold of (Ninurta’s) tendon from behind’ (NinTrtl B40). [502] Ak-ka3 dumu En-me-barag-ge4-si-ke4 Unugki zag-ga ba-andab5-be2-eš ‘Aka, the son of Enmebaragesi, (and his army) laid siege to Uruk (lit. held on to the side of Uruk)’ (GgAk 49). 5.1.5

Spontaneous Events

Spontaneous events are actions that are perceived as occurring autonomously and that result in the subject attaining some end state. Often the event is conceptualized as unfolding independently of the intervention of an external cause, either because an explicit or salient—that is, human—agent cannot be identified, as for example, in physical processes such as rot, die, turn green, or because, for pragmatic reasons, the salient agent is completely de-emphasized, e.g., open, be born, boil (Kemmer 1993a: 142–144; see Table 3). Spontaneous events are, therefore, Agent-defocusing situations that share much in common with passives, as they code only one participant, the affected Endpoint (see §5.2). And, like passives, implicit to spontaneous events is the notion that the subject has undergone a resultant change-of-state and that this state represents the end of some dynamic telic action, cf. He was killed (passive), He died (spontaneous middle).9 However, unlike passives, which semantically possess an Agent (§2.9.1), which is merely ignored in the surface coding, in spontaneous events the action is viewed as emanating from the subject, who fulfills the role of Actor-Initiator in

9 See Shibatani 1985 for the close relationship between passives and spontaneous events. The semantic overlap between the categories is on prominent display, for instance, in Athapaskan languages, for which Thompson (1996: 358–359) observes that many middle-marked verbs can be translated either as passives or as “anticausatives” (i.e., our spontaneous middles), further suggesting that Athapaskan passives arose from these spontaneous middles (see also Rice 2000: 185).

248

chapter five

addition to that of Undergoer-Endpoint (Kemmer 1994: 211–212). As observed by Merlan, in a description that aptly captures the middle semantics of spontaneous events, “Such predicates have in common that the subject is the locus of the action or of whatever is described by the verb’s meaning; this is going on entirely within the subject without external agency, and also is not directed outwards toward another entity. These characteristics are related to lexicogrammatical features that Indo-Europeanists have attempted to capture by the designation ‘middle’” (1985: 351). Where spontaneous events differ from other middle-situation types, but where they are again allied with passives, is in the characteristic lack of control and volition exhibited by their subjects in most actions of this type. The lone participant coded in the event, the subject, undergoes a change-of-state in which it has little choice. These are often inchoative or inceptive events in which the subject is, essentially, a patient. Further, these object-like characteristics of the subject account for the association with inanimacy, a property with which ba- has a particularly close affinity. Again, like the prototypical Object, which serves as the subject of the passive clause, the subjects of spontaneous events are frequently inanimate, e.g., melt, dry, turn green, freeze, etc. (Kemmer 1993a: 142–143). ba- is commonly coupled with the spontaneous predicates su ‘sink’, dirig ‘float’, šub ‘fall’, sumun ‘become old, dilapidated’, u2(-gu/gu3)—de2 ‘become/be lost, disappear’, mu2 ‘grow, sprout’, among others. Not to be overlooked is uš2 denoting ‘die’—indeed, I take this verb as paradigmatic of the use of the prefix with spontaneous situations by virtue of its unequaled correlation with ba- when exhibiting this meaning. This is an event in which there is no hint of volition or control and in which affectedness is absolute, for the subject experiences the ultimate effect. With all of these verbs, a patient undergoes a change-of-state, and the event is seen as discharging spontaneously from the subject without the intervention of an external Agent. Without a distinct Initiator, the elaboration of events in these cases is necessarily zero. The subjects of these predicates are quintessential Undergoers. Mirroring the prefix’s basic function elsewhere, ba- may be seen as redundantly coding or reinforcing the subject-affectedness that is inherent to the lexical semantics of the verb. ba+uš2 ‘die’. The association between prefix and verb is so intimate in the case of ba+uš2 that it was fossilized in the logogram BA.UŠ2

BA-

249

for Akkadian mâtu ‘die’, as well as in (LU2.)BA.UŠ2 for mītu ‘dead’, the adjective expressing the resulant state of the event (cf. ŠU.BA.(AN.)TI = leqû, ma āru [§5.1.4]). As in the case of šu—ba+ti ‘receive’, the combination is so frequently attested, so obvious to anyone with even a passing familiarity with the language, that only a few examples are necessary for the sake of completeness (see also [239], [518]; for the diametrically opposite mu+uš2 ‘kill’, see [37], [41], [44], [46]–[47]). [503] 1 udu-nita ba-uš2 lu2-bi e2 muhaldim-še3 ba-de6 ‘1 ram died; the person in charge took it away to the kitchen’ (Nik 162 i 1–5 [= FAOS 15/1, p. 387]). Alternatively, adda!(LU2)-bi ‘the corpse (was taken away to the kitchen)’. [504] mu Lu2-gi-gun4-na šeš Ku-li gudu4 ba-uš2 i3-bi2-la nu-u3-tukua-še3 ‘Because Lugiguna, the brother of Kuli, the gudu-priest, has died without an heir’ (NG 80: 13–14). [505] dub zu Nibruki-a ki-lul-la ba-an-ug5 ‘The scholar (lit. the one who knows the tablet) died a violent death in Nippur’ (Elegy 1: 15). [506] ud ba-ug7-a-na ki nu-tum2-mu-dam ‘When (the Martu) dies, he will not be carried to a burial-place’ (MarMartu 138). [507] ur3-ra nu2-a ur3-ra ba-ug7 ‘Those who lay down on the roof, died on the roof ’ (CAk 181). ba+su ‘sink’, referring to boats. Although the action in [509] is causative, it is not volitional as it involves an inanimate agent. Consequently, the prefix employed is the same as that which is regularly used to express the non-causative event, namely, ba- (cf. mu+su ‘flood, sink s.th.’ [63]). [508] ma2-bi ba-su addax(LU2šeššig) ma2-ba šu A-tu-ke4 ba-an-sum ‘That boat sank and the wreckage of that boat was handed over to Atu’ (NG 62: 8). [509] tukum-bi gišma2 ru-ru-gu2 gišma2 dirig-ga ba-su gišma2 bi2-ib-su-su ‘If an upstream-boat sinks a downstream-boat, (the captain/ owner of the upstream-boat) will replace the (wrecked) boat’ (SLHF v 27–31). [510] Dilmunki-gim ⎡kur⎤ ki nu-zu-na gišma2-bi ba-da-ab-su ‘Their boat (i.e., Ur-Namma) sank in a land that was as foreign to him as Dilmun’ (UrNm A 65).

250

chapter five

[511] ba-su-a-ba ba-su-a-ba ud gišma2 Ma2-gan-na ba-su-a-ba giš ma2-gur8 gišma2-gi4-lum ba-su-a-ba ‘When it sank, when it sank, when the Magan-boat sank, when the magilum-barge sank’ (GgHw-A 112–114). [512] ⎡gišma2⎤ Dilmun-na tumu nu-mir ba-an-da-su ‘A Dilmun-ship may sink, even though the wind is not raging’ (SP CT 58, 30: 1). Note the absence of the prefix with both uš2 ‘die’ and su ‘sink’ in the following negative assertions, hypothetical statements that concern generic subjects and actions that will not take place. Subject affectedness is obviously only marginally at issue in these events and so ba- is omitted (conversely, for the absence of mu- and the neutralization of agency in nu-kud-de3, for these same reasons, see §3.3). [513] gar-ra En-ki-dug lu2 2 nu-ug7-e (var. e-ug7-en) gišma2-da-la2 nu-su-su (var. bi2-su-su) eš3 3 tab-ba lu2 nu-kud-de3 (var. nukud-da) ‘Settle down, Enkidu! Two men together cannot die. A raft cannot sink. No one can cut a three-ply rope’ (GgHw-A 107–108). ba+sumun ‘become old, dilapidated’: [514] lu2 e2 a-ba-sumun u3-un-du3 ‘As for the one, who, after the house has become old, rebuilds it’ (Amar-Sin 9: 32–33). [515] bad3 I3-si-inki-na ba-sumun-na gibil-bi-še3 in-du3 ‘(Enlil-bani) built anew the wall of Isin, which had become dilapidated’ (Enlil-bani 3: 12). [516] ud ul-li2-a-ta ba-du3-a-ba ba-sumun ‘(The Ganunmah,) which had been built in the remote past, became dilapidated’ (WaradSin 10: 32–33). Similarly, Warad-Sin 1: 16–18, 22: 15–16; cf. the slightly later, and certainly incorrect, Hammurapi attestations of mu-un-sumun-am3 (Hammurapi 8: 12; 9: 14). u2(-gu/gu3)—ba+de2 ‘become/be lost, disappear, vanish’, an event overlapping with the motion middle category. The common N-stem Akkadian equivalent of u2(-gu/gu3)—ba+de2, na butu ‘flee, vanish’ (see [678]; cf. ba+zah2/3 = na butu [§5.1.2]), captures the middle semantics of this event.

BA-

251

[517] 1 gišnaga4 šu sum-mu-de3 Lugal-kug-zu gu2 ba-an-de2 šu he2bar-re ‘He should release one wooden mortar to be given to Lugalkugzu, (as a replacement for) the one that was lost (or: the one [Lugalkugzu] lost)’ (LEM 224: 3–7). [518] u2-gu a-ba-de2-a ba-uš2 Ur-dSuen-ke4 Ur-dŠul-pa-e3 inim nuun-ga2-ga2 ‘If (the sold woman) disappears, and then dies, UrSin will not raise a claim against Ur-Shulpae (on her account)’ (FAOS 17, no. 94**: 8–11). [519] kišib3 Lugal-ezen u2 ba-an-de2 bi2-dug4 ‘He declared, “The sealed tablet of Lugalezen is lost”’ (YOS 4, 29: 6–7 [= NG 1, pg. 64 n. 6]). [520] kišib3-ba-ne-ne u2-gu ba-de2 al-pad3 ⎡ze⎤-re-dam ‘Should their sealed tablets be lost but then found, they are to be destroyed’ (TuM 1/2, 47: 10–13). See also NRVN 1, 244: 5–7. [521] kišib mu sar Ur-DUN dam-gar3-ra u2-gu ba-an-de2 ‘A seal inscribed with the name of Ur-DUN, the merchant, was lost’ (Let B12: 1). [522] kišib na4i/e!?(TUR)-lal3 Lu2-dNin-šubur-ka iti Min-eš3 ud 19 ba-ra-zal-la-ta u2-gu ba-an-de2 ‘The seal of elallu(?)-stone belonging to Lu-Ninshubur was lost after the 19th day of the month Minesh had passed’ (Hallo 1977: 55 ll. 1–3). Naturally, even in cases where there is an agent, the action, as in the univalent clause, is necessarily non-volitional and the prefix, as expected, is ba- (note also the alternative interpretation of [517]): [523] 5 dusu2 nig2-gur11 Ur-dNin-gidax(KWU 844) lu2 Šeš-kal-la u2-gu ba-de2 šag4-bi-ta 4 dusu2 IUr-dNanše u3 En-ga-ga im-ma-ta-aba-al ‘The servant of Sheshkala lost 5 donkeys, the property of Ur-Ningida. Of those (5 donkeys), Ur-Nanshe and Engaga retrieved 4 donkeys’ (ITT 2, 944b: 1–7 [Lafont 1992]). For imma+ba-al, see [245]. [524] anše lu2 A-ka3-de3ki 2-am3 u2-gu ba-an-de2 ‘Two men of Akkade lost a donkey’ (SP 2.82). Observe the sequence of typical middle-marked situations in [525] (see also [677]): two are spontaneous events, i.e., ba+uš2 and u2-gu—ba+de2, and two are events of emotion, i.e., šag4—ba+sag3 and šag4 hul—ba+gig (see §5.1.3). The prefix serves to emphasize subject affectedness and the non-volitional quality that characterizes each event and the sequence as a whole.

252

chapter five

[525] uruki-ga2 lu2 ba-uš2 šag4 ba-sag3 lu2 u2-gu ba-an-de2 šag4 (var. šag4-mu) hul ba-an-gig ‘In my city people are dying, and hearts are full of distress. People are lost—that fills me with dismay’ (GgHw-A 23–24). ba+mu2 ‘grow, sprout’, commonly referring to plants (see also [664]; cf. mu+mu2 ‘grow s.th.’ [57], [223], imma+mu2 ‘grow s.th. for o.s.’ [344]): [526]

[527]

[528] [529]

[530]

numun2 ba-da-mu2 u2numun2 ba-da-mu2 gir-re-e ba-anmu2 ‘Alfalfa grass grew, alfalfa grass grew, mourning reeds grew!’ (LSU 321). gi-re-e presumably represents gi er2-ra, following the suggestion of Civil (apud Michalowski 1989: 97 ad 321). gu2 gišma2 gid2-da id2-da-ba u2 gid2-da ba-an-mu2 har-ra-an giš gigir-ra ba-gar-ra-ba u2 a-nir ba-an-mu2 ‘On (Akade’s) canal banks, where boats are towed, grass grew long. On its roads laid for wagons, lamentation grass sprouted’ (CAk 273–274). [u2 a-ni]r ba-am3-mu2 šu-mu ba-am3-mu2 [ba]d3-bi u2 gid2da ba-am3-mu2 ‘Lamentation grass sprouted, alfalfa grass sprouted—by the walls grass grew long’ (Nisaba B 8–9). uru-mu kurDilmun ki nu-me-a gišgišimmar ba-mu 2 Nibru ki kur Dilmunki nu-me-a gišgišimmar ba-mu2 ‘My city, before Dilmun existed, palm trees grew there. Nippur, before Dilmun existed, palm trees grew there’ (NSJN 34–35). hur-sag gi6-mu nig2-babbar ba-an-mu2 ‘On my black mountain white gypsum has appeared (lit. grown)’ (OmYg 29′). u2

ba+dirig ‘float, drift, sail’ (cf. the Akk. N-stem equivalent neqelpû). This event intersects with the translational motion type and may additionally have separative overtones, i.e., ‘float away’, deriving from the inchoative set-in-motion phase of the event that the prefix serves to emphasize (§§4.1.2, 5.1.2). The grammatical Agent of [533]–[535], tumu ‘wind’, is better described as a quasi-agent (see §2.9.3), an entity that is clearly the instigator of the action, but which is inanimate and non-volitional (see also [509]). In short, effect more than agency is center stage in these clauses and the events described share much in common, semantically, with the more typical spontaneous events, hence the use of ba-. [531]

ma2-gim tumu šur2-ra ba-ra-ab-dirig gišdimgul nu-mu-nakalag ‘She is adrift like a boat in a raging storm—the mooring pole was not strong enough for her’ (UrNm A 182).

giš

BA-

253

[532] hur-sag galam kad5-dam a-e ba-dirig ‘(Eridu) is an ingeniously constructed mountain range that floats on water’ (EnkJN 74). [533] gišma2 kar gi-na li-bi2-ib-taka4-a-gim tumu-e ba-ab-dirig-ge (var. ba-ab-dirig-ge-en) ‘Like a boat that is not moored to a firm quay, I drift away with the wind’ (Let B7 [Version A] 11). [534] gišma2 nig2-gi-na tumu ba-ra-ab-dirig dUtu kar gi-na mu-unna-ab-ši-kin-kin ‘When a boat (used) in honest (pursuits) sails off with the wind, Utu seeks out a safe quay for it’ (SP 1.83). giš ma2 nig2-erim2-e tumu ba-ra-ab-dirig peš10-peš10-e im-ta[535] t[ag-tag]-e ‘When an boat (used) in dishonest (pursuits) sails off with the wind, it runs aground’ (SP 1.84). Alster (1997: 350 ad 1.83–84) reads ni2 rather than tumu here and in [534], i.e., ‘float by itself ’. ba+mul, ba+zalag ‘shine, glitter’. These verbs typify a middle-marked category that is closely related to the spontaneous middle, but differs from the latter in relating to events that are atelic. Kemmer describes this class of predicates as designating “relatively static processes involving visual properties of a Stimulus such as shining, glimmering, and so forth,” citing Sanskrit rocat-e ‘shine, be bright’, Guugu Yimidhirr gandaadhi ‘shine, be shining or glittering’, Spanish lucir-se ‘shine, sparkle’ (1993a: 145–146). Clauses that contain ba+mul, ba+zalag, and similar verbs, are often translated agentively, viz., ‘He made (the emblem) shine’, which may very well be appropriate. But even so, causation with these verbs is detached and of the indirect variety (see §3.1). The construal of these events with ba-, regardless of the presence of a clausal Agent, indicates that the speaker sees the action, primarily, not as an act of causation, but as emanating, literally, from the patient (notably, many of these events can be equally rendered ‘make shine’ or simply ‘shine’); cf. mu+zalag ‘make shine’ [66], in which the event is regarded as an act of direct causation. [536] uri3-bi dara3 kug Abzu-gim si ba-mul-mul ‘(Gudea) made the pointed tips of the standards (of Eninnu) glitter like (the horns of ) the holy ibexes of the Abzu’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxiv 21–22). [537] ga2 u3-šub-ba-ka giš ba-hur ka-al-ka uri3 ba-mul ‘(Gudea) drew a design in the shed of the brick-mold, and at the clay pit he made the standard glitter’ (Gudea St. C ii 20–23). [538] Urim5ki-ma ha-ba-zalag2 ‘I made (Nanna’s Magan-ship) shine in Ur’ (Ur-Namma 20 ii 85–86).

254

chapter five

[539] dingir-mu kalam-e ud ba-zalag ga2-ar ud ma-ku10-ku10 ‘My god, the day shines bright over the land, but for me the day is dark’ (ManGod 69). ba+šub ‘fall’. With inanimate subjects, this predicate denotes a typical spontaneous event in which volition is not in consideration [540]–[543] (note the juxtaposition of the semantically-close spontaneous and passive events in [542]–[543], as well as the instance of indirect causation represented by [540]; see also [610]). With animate subjects, however, there is the possibility of control, in which case the event is not truly spontaneous. This last scenario describes intransitive events that approach the body-action class, as, for instance, is represented by [546] (note the sequence of middle events; cf. the non-volitional events involving an animate subject in [544]). In transitive clauses, ba+šub typically indicates a lack of volition and control (a nuance that is captured by the translation drop in [545]) and the combination may be seen as standing in semantic opposition to volitional mu+šub ‘throw’ [64]–[65], [67], [302]. [540] u3-šub mu-dub2 sig4 ud-de3 ba-šub ‘(Gudea) shook the brickmold and the brick fell out into the daylight’ (Gudea Cyl. A xix 3). Cf. non-agentive ba+dub2 in [412]. [541] a-ra2 1-a-kam Tum-ma-alki ba-šub ‘For the first time, the Tummal fell (into ruins)’ (Tummal 6). [542] Eridugki ba-šub nam-lugal-bi Bad3-tibiraki-še3 ba-de6 ‘Eridu fell, and kingship was carried off to Badtibira’ (SKL 8–10). Note the difficult ba-šub-be2-en (var. ba-šub) in the parallel passages of ll. 18, 24, and 30 (cf. Finkelstein 1963: 41–42, Jacobsen 1939: 61–62 n. 116). [543] e2-e giš-bur2 mah-bi ba-šub bad3-si-bi ba-gul ‘The great door ornament of the temple fell down, and its parapet was destroyed’ (LSU 420). [544] lu2 ⎡ur3-ta ba-šub⎤ he2-me-e[n] lu2 giš⎡gišimmar-ta ba-ra?⎤-nišub he2-me-en ‘Whether you are the one who fell down from the roof, or whether you are the one who fell down from the date-palm’ (FAOS 12, p. 38: 323–324). d [545] Ga-a-a-u2 lu2 ab2 ki ag2-ga2 gištukul šurum-ma ba-šub ‘Gayau, the one who loves cows, dropped his weapon in the dung’ (LSU 333).

BA-

[546]

255

Nin-šubur-ra-ke4 giri3-ni-še3 ba-an-šub (var. ba-šub) sahar-ra ba-da-an-tuš (vars. im-da-an-tuš, ⎡i3⎤?-da-an-tuš) tug2 mu-dur7-ra ba-an-mu4 ‘Ninshubur fell at (Inana’s) feet. She sat down in the dust and donned a filthy garment’ (InD 307–308).

d

ga2/3(-la)—ba+dag ‘stop, cease doing something’, ‘desist from work’, also ‘to quit, retreat, leave’ (see Steinkeller 1989: 66–68). This verb typically designates a volitional activity, but like the prototypical spontaneous event, the action is inchoative and is perceived as occurring without the intervention of an external Agent. The subject is very much a patient, an Undergoer. As with u2(-gu/gu3)—ba+de2 = na butu ‘flee, vanish’ discussed above, the inherent middle semantics of this event are nicely captured by the lexical use of the N-stem with its Akkadian equivalent, naparkû: ga3 ba-an-dag = it-ta-pa-ar-ku, ud ga3 ba-an-dag = u4-mu šá ip-par-ku-ú (Hh. I 366–367 [CAD N/1, sub naparkû lex.]; on the correspondence with the perfect see §5.4 and [678]). [547] tukum-bi ga2-la ba-dag še 6 sila3-ta a-ag2-dam mu lugal-bi inpad3 ‘(The mother) swore by the name of the king to measure out 6 sila of grain for each (day), if (her son) stops working’ (TuM 1/2, 24: 11–14 [= Steinkeller 1989: 67]). [548] tukum-bi ga2-la ba-an-dag a2 ud-da 5 sila3 ag2-e-dam mu lugal-bi i3-pad3 ‘(The borrower) swore by the name of the king to measure out 5 sila (of grain) as daily wages, if (the pledged woman) stops working’ (TuM 1/2, 32: 7–10 [= Steinkeller 1989: 68]). [549] ug3-bi ug5-ge-de3 a2 mu-un-ag2-eš-a-ba (var. ug5-ge-de3 im-maan-ag2-eš-a-ba) ud-ba me-e uru2-mu-še3 ga2-la ba-ra-ba-radag ‘When they had ordered the killing of its people, on that day I did not quit my city’ (LUr 141–142). [550] Lugal-banda3da kur ki sud-ra2 ga2-la ba-ni-in-dag ‘Lugalbanda was idle in the mountains, in a remote location’ (LgB 2: 1). These verbs do not represent the gamut of spontaneous predicates in the language that occur with ba-. Nor do these verbs occur exclusively with this prefix, although uš2 with the meaning ‘die’ is nearly an exception in this respect. Rather, a speaker or writer uses ba- with these predicates when he wishes to emphasize the spontaneous middle semantics of the event. Of course, there are other verbs, and moreover other

256

chapter five

contexts, which may be conceived as occurring without an external Agent, with the action confined to a patient-subject. To be included here are predicates that denote actions of the type ‘become or turn (into a specified state)’, ‘change’ (see Table 3 and [590]–[592]), which are quite common with ba- and often occur in sequences of spontaneous events [551]–[555]. As discussed in connection with [654]–[659], this use of the prefix finds a parallel in languages that middle-mark verbs derived from adjectives of state. There are also events in which agency is metaphorical, or non-volitional, and as such, are tantamount to spontaneous situations [556] (see also [533]–[535]). That this last category of events exhibits a tendency to correlate with ba-, rather than with mu-, demonstrates the importance of the perception of volition for the use of the latter prefix (cf. [45], [47]–[48], in which the respective subjects are non-persons, but volitional). [551] še dNanše še dNin-gir2-su-ka 1 gur7-am6 lu2 Ummaki-ke4 ur5-še3 i3-ku2 kud-ra2 ba-us2 144,000 gur7-gal ba-ku4 ‘The leader of Umma could exploit 1 gur of the barley of Nanshe and the barley of Ningirsu as a(n interest-bearing) loan. It bore interest and became 8,640,000 gur’ (Enmetena 1 ii 19–26). [552] Eridugki-ga ud-bi ba-sud-sud gi6-bi ba-til-til ‘Eridu’s day has become long, its night has come to an end’ (LEr C44). [553] ud ba-zal-zal iti ba-sud-sud mu ama-bi-ir ba-gi4 ‘The days passed, the months became long, and the year came full circle’ (LgB 2: 259). [554] i3-ne-eš2-ta ud-da šid-bi ba-da-tur (var. a-ba-da-an-tur) ud gi6-bi-a ba-da-bur2 (var. a-ba-da-an-bur2) ud-da-ta en-nu-unbi 3-am3 ud gi6-bi-a ba-an-da-sa2 (var. [b]a-da-an-sa2) ‘From now on, the length of day becomes shorter, and day turns to night. From today, when the day’s watch is three (units) long, day is equal to night’ (InAn D43–44). [555] teš2 kalam-ma-ka ba-šubub hur-sag-gim ba-gul tir ha-šu-ur2-⎡ra⎤gim im-ma-sug4 me-dim2-bi ba-kur2 ‘The vigor of the land has fallen, like a mountain range that has been demolished; like a cypress forest that has been stripped bare, its features have changed’ (UrNm A 45–46). Note spontaneous ba+šub and passive ba+gul. [556] u2šumunda kin-gi4-a ba-an-gaz kin-gi4-a ba-an-gaz sahar HUB2-bi ba-tuš ‘The shumunda-plant crushed them with labor, crushed them with labor—(exhausted) they sat down on dust heaps’ (ŠumGr 20–21).

BA-

257

There are many other events in which the subject is inanimate and thus non-volitional, which could be included here; particularly common among these are expressions involving ba+zal ‘pass’: [557] mu 5-am3 mu 10-am3 ba-zal-la-ri (var. ba-e-zal-la-ri) mu ba-gur4 kuš-bi la-ba-dar-dar (var. mu-un-da-dar) ‘Five years, then ten years had passed, the tree had grown massive—but its bark did not split’ (GgEN 127–28). The variant mu-un-da-dar views the event, presumably, as belonging to the domain of a potential Agent, i.e., ‘(but) no one was able to split its bark’. [558] ud Ki-en-gi-ra ba-e-zal-la kur-re he2-eb-zal ud ma-da ba-ezal-la kur-re he2-eb-zal ‘The storm that passed over Sumer, passed also over the foreign lands. The storm that passed over the country, passed also over the foreign lands’ (LSU 486–487). Finally, there are events, such as gal2-la—ba+dag discussed above [547]–[550], in which the subject is animate and exercises volition, but which share with conventional spontaneous situations the quality that the action emanates from the subject without the notion of external agency; these subjects are better described as Undergoers than as Actors. [559] ud-ba Ti-ri2-ga-a-an lugal Gu-ti-umki dili-a-ni giri3 ba-da-an-kar ki zi-ni ba-da-an-kar-ra Dab6-ru-uki-ma ba-an-⎡sag9⎤ ‘At that time, Tirigan, king of Gutium, escaped alone on foot. In the place where he tried to save his life—Dabrum—he (at first) fared well’ (Utu-hegal 4: 103–108). [560] lu2 a-šag4-ga ud ba-an-da-zal-la guruš a-šag4-ga gi6 ba-anda-sa2-a an-za-gar3-ba um-mi-e11-de3 lu2-bi uru du3-a-ni-gim zi-ni ba-ši-in-tum2 (var. zi-ni ha-ba-ši-in-tum2) ‘Those who pass the day in the fields and the laborers who do the same at night go into those shelters—they take refuge there like in their built-up city’ (HoPl 155–158). For the construal of the middle event zi-tum2/tum3 ‘take refuge’ with ba-, see also ŠA 35, LSU 308, and EmkEsg 261. 5.2

The Passive and Related Agent Defocusing Functions

There is no grammatical expression in Sumerian that is better attested, more obvious, and yet, curiously, has historically garnered more skeptism

258

chapter five

or qualification, than the passive function of ba-. Some, such as Poebel, Falkenstein, and Oberhuber, have claimed that this use of the prefix was a secondary development, dating to the Ur III period. Others, such as Horsnell and Christian, have specifically denied its existence, while many writing more recently have been careful to note that the only thing passive about the prefix is that it may be suitably translated by the passive in English (e.g., Postgate 1974: 27). Thomsen expanded on this sentiment when she summed up the consensus at the time and wrote that “/ba-/ has been called a ‘passive prefix’ because of its frequent occurrence in one-participant forms . . . this use of /ba-/ depends on its inanimate/non-agentive reference, and it has nothing to do with the category ‘passive’” (1984: 183). The problem, of course, revolves around how the passive is understood. If one understands it in traditional terms, as serving solely a “role remapping” function by which an Object is moved to the subject position, and one further demands—unreasonably, given that polysemy is an intrinsic characteristic of language—that there be an exclusive isomorphic relationship between this function and the prefix, then, no, one cannot speak of ba- as a marker of the passive. However, if one accepts a more nuanced view of the passive, one embraced by most linguists today, and at the same time allows for a morpheme to express several related meanings, then, certainly, ba- unequivocally fulfills a passive function. And we can make this claim without this prefix exclusively or formally representing the passive. In fact, a passive function is entirely consistent with, if not predictable from, the semantic domain that is defined by the prefix’s other functions. As discussed in §2.9.1, the primary function of the passive is to deemphasize the Agent. This has two consequences: one, an increase in the relative emphasis and topicality of the Object (a consequence rather than the primary function of the passive [see Shibatani 1985]); and two, by making the verb less agentive and so less dynamic, the clause is stativized and the focus is not on the action itself, but on the resultant state, the Object’s affectedness. This is precisely the functional niche, both semantically and pragmatically, that is filled by ba-. Observe that the notion of a resultant state is the critical parameter that distinguishes passive ba- from stative a(l )-. The former implies the existence of some Agent, even if it is contextually de-emphasized, and a prior dynamic activity, while the latter has no such implication. In its Agent defocusing function, then, ba- may be said to represent a resultative construction (see Nedjalkov 1988). The prefix implies a state that results from some

BA-

259

previous action, an action that has been brought about by some—perhaps unspecified, perhaps unknown—Agent. Indeed, it is this quality of ba- in passive function, which is on display in the Old Babylonian grammatical texts. Although the vast majority of the ba-prefixed verbs (136 of 151 attestations, nearly 90% according to Black’s calculation [1991: 27]) are equated with Akkadian forms with the t-infix (Gt and the perfect, see §§5.1.2, 5.4), the fifteen that remain are equated with the N-stem, and also, revealingly, with Š-stem statives. The latter highlight the fact that some underlying Agent has brought about the state, a notion that is consistent with the N-stem, but completely absent from the G-stem stative (see also Black 1991: 37–40). [561] 58. gar-ba na-aš-ki-in 61. gar-ba-na-ab na-aš-ki-in-šum (OBGT VI). ⎡ ⎤ šu -uš-ku-un [562] 82. ba-ab-gar

‘Be set in place!’ ‘Be set in place for him!’

‘It has been set in place (by s.o.)’ (cf. 79. an-gar = ša-ki-in ‘It is set in place’) 88. ba-da-ab-gar šu!-uš-ku-un-šu! ‘It has been set in place for him (by s.o.)’ (cf. 85. an-da-gar = ša-ki-iš-šu ‘It is set in place for him’) (OBGT VI).

That ba- serves to signal the passive is, of course, unremarkable in light of the close relationship that exists between the contiguous categories of the passive and the middle. Cross-linguistically, the passive frequently arises from the middle, while synchronically, middle markers often do double duty and fulfill the role of the passive (§2.9.5). It is a bond that is most strikingly displayed by the joint category “medio-passive” attested in many languages. Moreover, specific to Sumerian, the use of ba- to mark the passive is hardly surprising given this prefix’s close association with spontaneous situations. The middle voice embraces both the roles of Initiator/Actor and of Endpoint/Undergoer by portraying the two as semantically co-referential—the separation between participants is therefore low. But it is the Endpoint or Undergoer role that is the most salient of the two from the perspective of the middle. What is relevant is not so much the subject’s initiation of the event as much as the degree to which the subject is affected by it. An extreme manifestation of this, as we have seen, are spontaneous situations, in which the Initiator or Actor role is completely defocused and

260

chapter five

what remains—what is relevant—is the object-like affectedness of the subject, from which the event is perceived to emanate. Similarly, with passive situations the Agent is defocused to the extent that it is typically omitted from the clause. Again, what remains is the affected object, the Undergoer, in some lasting resultant state predicated by the verb. In both cases, the elaboration of events is by default zero, and in both cases the perspective on the event is from its Endpoint. Notably, imma-, having relatively greater affinities to the Initiator or Actor role—more broadly, representing a less extreme manifestation of Endpoint focus—is less frequently called upon to express the passive (§4.2). Well-known as exemplifying the passive function of ba- are the alternative construals of Ur III and later Old Babylonian year names. The verbs involved in these clauses often represent prototypical transitive events. When the clause is agentive, the prefix is regularly mu-, when the Agent is de-emphasized, that is, omitted, ba- is often the prefix of choice. [563] mu dŠul-gi lugal-e bad3 ma-daki mu-du3 ‘The year: Shulgi, the king, built the wall of the land’ ~ mu bad3 ma-daki ba-du3 ‘The year: the wall of the land was built’ (Šulgi YN 37). [564] mu dAmar-dSuen lugal-e Ur-bi2-lumki mu-hul ‘The year: AmarSin, the king, destroyed Urbilum’ ~ mu Ur-bi2-lumki ba-hul ‘The year: Urbilum was destroyed’ (Amar-Sin YN 2). [565] mu dŠu-dSuen lugal-e ma2-gur8 mah mu-dim2 ‘The year: ShuSin, the king, fashioned the magnificent magur-barge’ ~ mu ma2-gur8 mah ba-dim2 ‘The year: the magnificent magur-barge was fashioned’ (Šu-Sin YN 8). As we have observed, there is a reluctance in the language to couple ba- with predicates that lend themselves to the expression of canonically transitive events, unless the transitivity of the clause as a whole is downgraded. Stripping the verb of its Agent, as in the agentless passives above [563]–[565], is obviously one, particularly effective, strategy for accomplishing this. The absence of an Agent in a clause that contains a canonically agentive predicate represents a marked construction. And in this way, ba- can be seen as signaling a disruption of the normal relationship between the verb and its core arguments. One benefit of defining the passive as an Agent-defocusing construction is that it accounts for the prototypical passives, those in which the Object assumes the subject position, while also embracing the more

BA-

261

peripheral members of the passive category, those akin to the impersonal passive in which the Agent is de-emphasized but not omitted. In other words, implicit to this definition is the understanding that the passive is a graded category, a progressive continuum of Agent de-emphasis. At its most extreme, it is bounded by the paradigmatic role-remapping passive and, at its minimum, it shades over to the active voice. This domain may also be described in terms of the broader continuum of event types portrayed in Fig. 8, itself a graded scale. ba- correlates with the gamut of middle and passive event-types, being weighted most heavily to the extreme end—events in which there is no perceptible Agent, as in spontaneous events, or events in which the Agent is semantically present, but clausally off-stage, as in the canonical passive. More peripherally, ba- extends to events in which an Agent may be present, both semantically and syntactically, but may not be the most salient participant in the clause. These are clauses in which the Agent is pragmatically defocused but not completely so, clauses in which the Agent still maintains some topicality but is relatively unimportant from the point of view of the speaker, being, perhaps, generic, non-specific, or predictable from context. Impersonal passives of this description, are, in fact, encountered in Old Babylonian year names. Horsnell maintains that in all cases year names should be translated actively, claiming that “forms such as ba-dù, ba-gul, ba-sìg, etc., could be intransitive-passive, but enough of these verbal forms occur in variants that also have RN lugal-e that one is forced to interpret the verb as transitive-active . . .” (1977: 284; see also 1999 vol. 1: 136). There is nothing wrong with this argument, but it overlooks the more fundamental issue, namely, that ba-—even when an Agent is present in the clause—signals that there is a pragmatic de-emphasis of the Agent and a consequent emphasis on the Object. This is corroborated by the fact that in many cases, it is the Object rather than the Agent (RN lugal-e) that is afforded the leftmost position [566], this position being reserved typically for the most topical NP of the clause. What makes for an appropriate and natural translation is a separate and secondary issue. In English, the force of ba- in this function, when the Agent is specified, is often best captured by agentive passives of the type ‘s.th. was built by s.o.’, in which the Agent is downgraded to a peripheral case and the more topical Object is promoted to the subject position (cf. mes an.e pad.a constructions). In other instances, particularly when the Agent is not specified or unidentifiable, the standard passive may be preferable. But regardless of how these various clauses are rendered in

262

chapter five

target languages, in Sumerian together they describe a semantic space defined by the de-emphasis of the Agent. And there is a fluidity within this space between strict passives, impersonal passives, and, as we shall see, certain low transitivity situations. [566]

a. mu bad3 Dal-batki Su-mu-la-el3 ba-du3 ‘The year: the wall of Dilbat was built by Sumulael’ (Sumulael [unidentified year]—CT 8, pl. 44b: 30–31). b. mu E2-sag-il2 Sa3-bi-um ba-du3 ‘The year: the Esagil was built by Sabium’ (Sabium YN 10). c. mu bad3 mah gibil KA2.DINGIR.RAki A-pil2-dSuen ba-du3 ‘The year: the magnificent new wall of Babylon was built by Apil-Sin’ (Apil-Sin YN 2). d. mu BAD3-AN.ZA.GAR3-dDa-daki Sin(30)-mu-ba-li2-i badu3 ‘The year: Dur-Dimat-Dada was built by Sin-muballit’ (Sin-muballit YN 7).

It follows that in those instances in which the Agent does assume the left-most position [567], the prefix similarly reflects a lesser emphasis on the Agent and, consequently, a greater emphasis on the Object, than would be the case if mu-, the Agent-focusing prefix par excellence, were the prefix. This is simply another, but perhaps lesser, form of Object focus. The three ba- constructions portrayed in [563]–[567]—Agent omission, Object lefting, and standard SOV syntax—represent a scale that describes different degrees of the same broad detransitivizing phenomenon. Agent omission, better known as the canonical passive, is simply the most extreme manifestation of Agent de-emphasis. [567] a. mu Su-mu-la-el2 Kiški ba-hul ‘The year: Kish was destroyed by Sumulael’ (Sumulael YN 13). b. mu Sa3-bi-um lugal-e bad3 Kar-dUTUki ba-du3 ‘The year: the wall of Kar-Shamash was built by Sabium, the king’ (Sabium YN 1). c. mu A-pil-dSuen lugal-e bad3 Bar-si2-paki ba-du3 ‘The year: the wall of Borsippa was built by Apil-Sin, the king’ (ApilSin YN 1). d. mu dSuen-mu-ba-li2-i lugal-e bad3 uru ar-ba-tumki ba-du3 ‘The year: the wall of Sarbatum was built by Sin-muballit, the king’ (Sin-muballit YN 1).

BA-

263

The passive, or, more accurately, the Agent-defocusing function of the prefix may be most clearly illustrated by the year names, but it is by no means restricted to this genre. Attestations of the prefix appearing in contexts in which the Agent is omitted, but necessarily part of the semantics of the clause, are ubiquitous. The early attestation of much of this evidence (e.g., [568] ED IIIA; [569], [570] ED IIIB) underscores that this is a primary function of ba- and refutes the suggestion that it was a secondary development (see §1.3). In all instances, the prefix emphasizes the Endpoint of the event—it focuses upon the outcome of the action and the affectedness of the Object, overlooking the initiation of the action and the role of the Agent. [568] 1 ab2 dInana-še3 ba-gid2 1 ab2 dNanna-še3 ba-gid2 ‘1 cow was supplied to Inana; 1 cow was supplied to Nanna’ (Alberti and Pomponio 1986, no. 45 i 1–6). [569] 1 maš ki-⎡su7⎤ gana2 Sag9-ga-tur-ra-ka na ba-de5 ‘1 (dead) goat was removed from the fallow land of Sagatura-field’ (Nik 179 i 1–3 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 404–405]). [570] ⎡10(gur) še⎤ gur-⎡sag-gal2 kug-ga⎤ ba-sa10 ‘10 gur of barley on the gursaggal (system) were bought with silver’ (Nik 77 i 1–2 [= FAOS 15/1, pp. 292–293]). [571] mu Ku-li ba-gaz-‹še3› eger-a-ni u3 dam dumu-ni dumu Baba-mu-ke4-ne ba-ne-sum-ma ‘Because Kuli has been killed, his estate, and his wife and child are given over to the sons of Babamu’ (NG 41: 5–8). [572] ud 7-am3 še la-ba-ara3 ‘For seven days grain was not ground’ (Gudea St. B vii 30). [573] gu3-de2-a-ni giš ba-tuku-am3 ‘(Gudea’s) call was heard’ (Gudea Cyl. A ii 20, iii 29; Gudea Cyl. B iii 2). [574] nig2 ud ul-li2-a-ta sig4 E2-babbar-ra ba-dim2-ma-ta = ša iš-tu u4-um i-a-tim iš-tu SIG4 E2-babbar ib-ba-ni-u3 ‘From the time when the brickwork of Ebabbar was (first) constructed’ (Samsuiluna 3: 42–44 [Sum.] = 55–57 [Akk.]). Similar to the year names in [567] are Agent-defocusing/Object-focusing clauses in which the Object assumes the leftmost position [575][582]. In these clauses the addressee’s or reader’s attention, which typically follows the word order and topical importance of the clausal NPs, does not flow in the expected unmarked direction, from Agent to Object, but rather takes the marked, unexpected route, namely,

264

chapter five

from Object to Agent (i.e., OSV rather than the standard SOV word order). Again, the prefix functions to indicate a disruption in the normal relationship between the verb and its core nominals, signaling a reduction in the transitivity of a clause that contains an otherwise highly transitive predicate. Observe that with respect to diminished transitivity, syntax correlates with semantics in [575]–[582], for the Agents of these clauses are not prototypical Agents, but are better described as quasi-agents (§2.9.3; see also discussion of [509], [533]–[535]), consisting of non-volitional and non-referential inanimates, non-referential animates that are non-persons, and, finally, persons that are either generic and non-specific in [576] or plural, and so indistinct, in [582]. These clauses, which like [566]–[567] are fittingly rendered in English as passives with expressed Agents, share much in common with the inverse constructions discussed in §2.9.3. The Object is clearly the focus of the clause, the most topical participant; however, unlike true passives, the Agent retains some degree of topicality, as reflected in its surface expression in canonical Object position. [575] [Lal3]-la-gu-la A2-sag3 ba-an-s[ag3]-a ‘Lallagula, who was struck by the Asag-demon (i.e., disease)’ (NG 6: 5). [576] alan-e u3 kug-nu za-gin3 nu-ga-am3 u3 urudu-nu u3 an-na-nu zabar-nu kin-ga2 lu2 nu-ba-ga2-ga2 na4esi-am3 ‘This statue is neither silver, nor lapis, nor was it worked (by someone) with copper, tin, or bronze—it is diorite!’ (Gudea St. B vii 49–54). Cf. [39], in which the event construed with mu- is viewed from the perspective of the generic Agent. [577] lu2 muš zu2 ba-du3 ‘One who is bitten by a snake’ (VS 10, 193: 15 [= Veldhuis 1993: 162]). [578] uru gišal-e ba-ab-ra-ah ‘The city was struck (as) by a hoe’ (LSU 80B). [579] uru sug-ge4 ba-ab-⎡ku2⎤ ‘The city was consumed by a swamp’ (LUk D17). [580] tukum-bi gud giššudul gid2-da-bi ur-mah-e ba-an-gaz ‘If a yoked ox that is pulling (a plow or wagon) has been killed by a lion’ (LOx §7, similarly §8). [581] l[u2] ⎡ur-e⎤ (var. ur-mah) ba-an-gaz he2-me-⎡en⎤ l[u2] ⎡ur-e⎤ (var. ur-gir15) ⎡ba⎤-an-ku2 he2-me-⎡en⎤ ‘Whether you are the one who has been killed by a lion, or whether you are the one who has been devoured by a dog’ (FAOS 12, p. 38: 320–321, similarly p. 38: 318–319).

BA-

265

[582] nig2-barag2 gud3-gim [m]u-na-si3-g[e-ne] zu2-lum gišpeš3 gaar3-ga-ar3-ra ninda ku7-ku7 nig2 lu2 tu-ra i3-ku2-u3-ne kid-da zu2-lum-ma-ka e2 ba-ni-in-du3-du3-uš ‘They set up a shelter for him that resembled a bird’s nest (and placed) dates, figs, assorted cheeses, and sweets, that which the sick should eat, in palm-frond baskets—(in this way) they made a home (for Lugalbanda) there’ (LgB 1 A88–91). In yet other clauses the Agent is omitted, as in the canonical passive, but a pre-radical -n- is present before the verbal root. The preference of many scholars is to understand this element as an allomorph of the locative -ni- (see Attinger 1993: 143, 247, with previous literature). In some cases, at least, this may simply be the third-person pronoun referring to a non-specified or impersonal Agent that is low in topicality, but is nevertheless understood as being semantically part of the event (see Gragg 1973b: 94). This possibility, naturally, is more likely for those clauses that do not include an NP in one of the locative cases (see also [418]). [583] mu In-na-sag9-ga in-sa10-a-še3 dub e2 sa10-a-bi ki In-na-sag9ga-ta ba-an-sar ‘Because Inasaga purchased (the house), the document of the sale of the house was written from Inasaga’s point of view (lit. place)’ (NG 99: 8–10). [584] ⎡ud⎤ amar-e im-⎡ta⎤-e3 amar-e ba-an-GAM u3 dugšakir3 ba-angaz ‘When the calf came out, it cowered, but the churn was still smashed’ (SP 5.36). [585] eš3 A-ka3-de3ki zi-bi suhurku6 tur-ra-gim engur-ra ba-an-til ‘The life of Akade’s sanctuary was brought to an end as if it had only been a tiny carp in the deep waters’ (CAk 77). Often the passive and its accompanying emphasis on the Object intersect with, or shade into, situations that are proper to the middle voice domain. This is particularly true of intransitive spontaneous events, in which the Agent is severely de-emphasized. Again, the common semantic denominator between the middle and the passive is a focus on the Endpoint of the event and on states that result from previous actions. Consider ba+tud ‘be born, created’ [586]–[589], in which the line between passivization and spontaneity, between Agent de-emphasis and the autonomous unfolding of the event, is blurred (cf. the middlemarked forms: føða-sk [Old Norse], gígne-sthai [Cl. Greek], jāyat-e [Sanskrit], all meaning ‘be born’ [Kemmer 1993a: 144]).

266

chapter five

Šul-gi-me-en ba-tu-de3-en-ta nita kalag-ga-me-en ‘I am Shulgi, since I was born I have been a mighty man’ (ŠA 2). [587] ud nam-tar gig-ga-ka ba-tud-de3-en ‘I was born on an ill-fated day’ (SP 2.5). d [588] Šul-gi bala nam-he2 ba-tud-da ‘Shulgi, who was born for a reign of prosperity’ (ŠV 10). [589] e2-mu kur Dilmunki nu-me-a gišgišimmar-ta ba-an-tud I3-si-inki kur Dilmunki nu-me-a gišgišimmar-ta ba-an-tud ‘My house, before the land of Dilmun ever existed, was created from a date palm. Isin, before the land of Dilmun ever existed, was created from a date palm’ (Ninisina A 93–94). [586]

d

Similarly, there is šu—dug4, which may denote ‘become, turn (into a specified state)’, ‘change’, a spontaneous event along the lines of [551]– [555]. Joined with ba- the verb has passive overtones; the common incorporation of an inanimate agent pronoun -b-, like -n-, may suggest an underlying, if indistinct, Agent (see also [663]–[665]). [590] Eridugki-ga igi nigin-bi ba-kur2 su-uh-a šu suh3-a ba-ab-dug4 ‘In Eridu, (everything) was reduced to ruin, was wrought with confusion’ (LEr A18). [591] Keš3ki an eden-na dili du3-a šu lil2-la2 ba-ab-dug4 ‘Kesh, built all alone on the high steppe, was haunted’ (LSU 143). [592] ud-ba nam-lugal kalam-ma-ka šu pe-el-la2 ba-ab-dug4 ‘In those days, the kingship of the Land was defiled’ (LSU 99). Even with canonically transitive actions (e.g., gul ‘destroy, demolish’), the construal of the event may be such that there is no sharp distinction between a passive and spontaneous reading. Consider [593] and [594], which represent sequences that juxtapose middle and passive events. As with so many of the clauses discussed in this section, the salient characteristic shared by the individual events in these chains is that the action in each is seen from its Endpoint, from the perspective of the affected entity. [593] an ba-gul-gul ki ba-sag3-sag3 an ba-gul ki ba-sag3-ga!-ta lu2 ni2-bi-a ba-an-gub ‘The heavens were utterly destroyed and the earth trembled incessantly. After the heavens were destroyed and the earth trembled, people were still standing by themselves’ (SP 3.136).

BA-

267

[594] im ba-šeg3-ga2-ba e2-gar8 ba-gul-la-[ba] ‘When the rain had rained, when the walls had been demolished’ (ŠumGr 2, 35). Of course, passivization is not limited to highly transitive predicates, but may intersect with the full range of middle situation types. A verb such as zuh ‘steal’, for instance, commonly occurs with ba-, the prefix serving to highlight the set-in-motion and self-benefactive semantics that belong to this event. The subject in these cases (see [245], [434]–[437]), the thief, is perceived as the ultimate Endpoint of the event, the salient affected entity. This situation contrasts with the passive one as represented by [595] (see also ba+de6 in [542]). Here the loop of participants has been tightened as the thief, the Initiator of the action, has been omitted from the clause. Subject affectedness, in this instance, defaults to the Object, which is now seen as the salient Endpoint of the event. That the prefix can be used to express both situations, two distinct portrayals of events, stems from the fact that in both the event is viewed from its end, the two differing only in what they take that Endpoint to be. [595] udu Šu-i3-li2 ba-zuh ‘The sheep of Shu-ili were stolen’ (NG 127: 1). Finally, there are those instances in which the semantics of the NPs involved may trigger the appearance of detransitive ba-. This is likely what is at issue with attestations of ba+zig3 meaning ‘select (lit. raise)’, particularly common in Ur III votive inscriptions [596]–[598]. In this context the first-person Object outranks the third-person Agent in terms of animacy and position on the Nominal Hierarchy. Such an inversion (§2.9.3) of the canonical relationship between Agent and Object has the effect, of course, of reducing the transitivity of the clause. But there is a further, entwined, pragmatic motivation. The first-person Object, the donor of the item bearing the inscription, is, naturally, the most salient and topical participant in the clause. Accordingly, the prefix, in this light, may be seen as fulfilling its basic Object-focusing function. The combination of these interconnected semantic and pragmatic factors results in the regular appearance of ba- in this idiom, as also witnessed by personal names of the type dBa-u2-ba-zig3-ge, Nin-e-ba-zig3ge, Lugal-mu-ba-zig3-ge, etc. Indeed, the object focusing character of these names is on particular display in the shortened forms Ba-an-zig3, Ba-anzig3-ge, and, most notably, on account of the plene writing, Ba-zig3-ge-en6 (Limet 1968: 84–85).

268

chapter five

[596] nin-mu ba-zig3-ge nam-til3 ba ‘My lady, you selected me— Grant (me) life!’ (Gudea St. E ix 1–2). [597] dingir arhuš su3-mu ki-ša-ra ba-an-zig3-ge mu-bi ‘ “My god, who is full of compassion, selected me from the horizon” (is) the name (of this libation cup)’ (Gudea 69: 3′–5′). [598] giš⎡tukul⎤-ba lugal-mu ba-zig3-ge!(ZI) mu-bi ‘The name of this weapon is “My lord selected me” ’ (Nammahani 16: 3′–5′). 5.2.1

Backgrounding Functions

In light of the correspondence between ba- and low transitivity, one might expect there to be contexts in which the prefix is employed, for pragmatic reasons, to signal background information, content that is less central to the discourse or narrative. The basis for such an expectation is the parallelism between discourse grounding and the semantics of transitivity (§2.4), and, more specifically, but conversely, the correlation between its opposite, mu-, and discourse foregrounding (§3.3). This expectation is, indeed, met. The evidence stems from the affinity of ba- for subordinate clauses, which, by their very nature, represent supportive and less salient content and contrast with main clauses, which tend to express foregrounded, essential information (Cristofaro 2003: 26). The distinction between the two is particularly relevant to Sumerian in which the most productive means of creating subordinate clauses is through nominalization, and nominalizations—predications that are rendered more object- or adjective-like and less verb-like—are themselves intrinsically low in transitivity (Cristofaro 2003: 256–262; Hopper and Thompson 1980: 285).10 It is in this light that we may place Gragg’s statistics regarding subordinate clauses in the Nippur corpus in broader perspective. Gragg (1973a: 130) found that of 47 instances of nominalized temporal clauses of the type S + -a + -ba (where S is for Sentence, -a is the nominalizer, and the suffix -ba is the contraction of the demonstrative pronoun -bi and the locative -a), 31 (66%) exhibit the prefix ba-.11 Thus, there is

10 Note, in this connection, that in the mes an.e pad.a construction, which is essentially a reduced relative clause, the Object assumes the topical, leftmost position, with the form sharing much in common semantically with the passive. 11 Gragg further observes that “of the other 16, 7 involve a third person plural suffix -eš (there are no occurrences of ba + Verb + eš + a + ba) and 3 . . . involve the prefix é-. Thus out of 47, only 6 have an as yet unmotivated prefix other than ba- (they are: 2 mu, 3 ì, 1 al)” (Gragg 1973a: 130–31). In connection with nominalizations and

BA-

269

a relatively high statistical correspondence between this prefix and a context that characteristically conveys background information—this correlation is all the more apparent when it is noted that there are only two occurrences in the corpus of mu- and three of i- in temporal clauses of this type. In fact, the correlation comes full circle, returning to the Agent-defocusing functions of the prefix discussed in the previous section, for many of these clauses are intransitive/passive, and there exists a close association between backgrounding and Agent suppression (see Hopper and Thompson 1980: 284), e.g., [599] ud-ba ud ne-en ba-sag3-sag3-ga-ba nin-da uru2-ni ba-anda-gul-la-ba ud-ba ud ne-en ba-dim2-dim2-ma-ba ‘On that day, when the storm had pounded in this way, when in the presence of the queen her city had been destroyed. On that day, when the storm had been so created’ (LUr 136–138). As we have had ample opportunity to observe, ba- is avoided with verbs that denote highly agentive situations, e.g., du3 ‘build’, gul, hul ‘destroy, demolish’, uš2 ‘kill’, and so on, when construed actively. This, rather, is the domain of mu- (§3.1). The passive and related Agent defocusing constructions are the primary contexts in which ba- occurs with these verbs. And, naturally, there are clauses, such as those in [599], in which a highly transitive predicate is both construed passively and relegated to a subordinate clause;12 in this case the presence of the prefix may be doubly, or ambiguously, motivated. But there are also subordinate clauses in which a verb prefixed with ba- occurs in an agentive context [600]–[601]. In these instances, it may be the background quality of the information that triggers the use of this prefix, a low degree of pragmatic attention being equated with a reduction in transitivity.

their inherent Endpoint character, note the use of ba- in the frozen (nominalized) verbal form ba-an-gi4 ‘response, answer’ (see PSD B s.v. ba-an-gi4). 12 Also note: eš3 Larsaki-ma-ka uru ba-dim2-me-na-ga2 ud-mu he2-su3-su3-ud ‘In the shrine of Larsa, the city where I was created, may my days be long’ (Warad-Sin 22: 39–41); see also [586], [588]. Similarly, in the following passage, although syntactically active, the Object, as in the passive, is more topical than the Agent: di4-di4-la2-la2 ba-tud-de3-en-na-aš nig2-⎡ba nam⎤-[la2] ‘For the little ones to whom I have given birth may rewards not be lacking’ (EnkNh 272).

270

chapter five

[600] lu2 ⎡Ummaki⎤-k[e4] ⎡eger⎤ ⎡Lagaš⎤[k]i ba-hul-a-ta nam-tag dNingir2-su-da e-da-ak-ka-am6 ‘The leader of Umma, when he destroyed Lagash, committed a sin against Ningirsu’ (Uruinimgina 5 vii 10–viii 3). [601] dA-ru-ru dSuen dEn-ki-bi me-dim2-bi ba-an-ak-eš-a ‘When together Aruru, Sin, and Enki fashioned its parts’ (LUk A11). A well-attested alternation occurs with the phrase šag4 (kug).e ba+pad3.a. The idiom—literally meaning ‘find, choose at the (holy) heart’—is in third-millennium texts at least, often expressed with the prefix bi- in main clauses (see Zólyomi 1999: 243–244), signaling a focus on the NP in the locative-terminative case, i.e., šag4 (kug).e, and its close bond with the predicate. Remarkably, however, ba- replaces bi- in subordinate clauses [602]–[604]. That this replacement occurs regularly suggests that it is motivated by some particular quality of subordinate clauses, some characteristic of these clauses that is not exhibited by main clauses. Plausibly, the change of prefix announces the backgrounded, defocused status of the subordinate clause content, ba- stressing the there-ness of this information. This has the effect of reducing the transitivity of the clause and shifting the pragmatic focus from the Agent and the doing of the action to the Object and the state resulting from the action. Since it is the Object of the subordinate clause that assumes the subject position of the main clause, ba+pad3 may be seen as a pivot, facilitating the change of subject. Given the incompatibility of the two prefixes, the use of ba- in detransitivizing background function would have the secondary effect of neutralizing the focus on the locative-terminative argument as expressed by bi-.13 [602] ud dNin-gir2-su2-ke4 šag4-ge ba-pad3-da-a eren bar6-bar6 kur-ta mu-na-ta-e11 ‘When Ningirsu chose (Enanatum) in his heart, (Enanatum) brought down white cedar from the mountains for (Ningirsu)’ (Enanatum I 3 i 7–ii 3). ⎡ [603] ud d⎤ Nin-gir2-su2-ke4 Gir2-nun-ta š[ag4 k]ug!-⎡ga-ni⎤ ba-⎡pad3⎤da-a . . . giš-keš2-ra2 Lum-[ma]-gim-[dug3] . . . En-TE.ME-na-ke4

13 For a different understanding of the semantics of this expression (namely, as a causative construction) and the rationale behind this substitution, see Zólyomi 1999: 243–244.

BA-

271

Nin-gir2-su2-ra mu-⎡na-ni⎤-d[u3] ‘When Ningirsu had chosen (Enmetena) in his holy heart from Girnun . . . Enmetena built the reservoir of the Lumagimdug(-canal) for Ningirsu’ (Enmetena 26 iii 1–iv 8). [604] ud dBa-u2 nin-a-ni šag4 kug-ga-ni ba-an-pad3-da-a arad ni2tuku nin-a-na-kam nam-mah nin-a-na mu-zu-zu ‘When Bau, his lady, had chosen (Gudea) in her holy heart, the pious servant of his lady (i.e., Gudea) made known the magnificence of his lady’ (Gudea St. E i 18–ii 4; see also Gudea St. B iii 6–12). Cf. main clause: Gu3-de2-a en dNin-gir2-su-ke4 šag4 kug-ge bi2-pad3 ‘The lord Ningirsu chose Gudea in his holy heart’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxiii 22–23); see also Gudea Cyl. A xxvii 22–23. d

A question naturally arises as to the difference between ba- and i- in subordinate-clause, backgrounding function. As discussed in §3.3, the neutral prefix i- may replace mu- in subordinate clauses. The distribution is most conspicuous with du3 ‘build’ in Ur III royal inscriptions: mu-(na-)du3 occurs regularly in main clauses, while in-du3-a is frequently encountered in subordinate clauses. Apparently, the choice between ba- and i- is a function of both syntax and the verb in question. When the subordinate clause is truly nominal and takes pronouns and postpositions, there is a preference for ba- (note Gragg’s observation cited above)—ba- more aggressively stresses the Object of the clause or the object-like qualities of the nominalized proposition, while i- fulfills a more general backgrounding function. Note, in this connection, that i- is not specifically marked for the expression of backgrounding, rather this is a use that derives secondarily from the neutral character of the prefix. Elsewhere, the choice would appear to be dependent upon the interaction between the semantics of the verb and the prefix. Such is the case in contexts in which i- replaces ba- in subordinate clauses, the former neutralizing the middle-voice force that ba- serves to reinforce or stress in main clauses. Take, for instance, the motion verb zah2/3 ‘flee, escape’, ‘disappear’, which, as discussed in §5.1.2, regularly occurs with ba-, the prefix stressing the subject’s involvent in the action. In backgrounded subordinate contexts, however, where this emphasis or reinforcement is not as necessary, ba- may be replaced by i-: [605] ME.PI.ZU dumu Ur-dSuen un[u3] giš-gid2-da-ta ba-zah3 mu 4-am3 i3-zah3-a ki A-da-ga-ta im-ma-dab5 ‘MEPIZU, the son of Ur-Sin, the cowherd, fled from the archer service. He was

272

chapter five

seized from Adaga’s place after being on the run for four years’ (NG 189: 11–15). [606] IGu-u2-gu arad2 Ur-dNun-gal!-ka ba-an-da-zah3 mu-dab5 igi-ni in-gar mu lugal ud a-ra2 2!(A)-ka i3-zah3-de3-na ga-hul bi2-indug4 ‘Gugu, the slave of Ur-Nungal, was able to escape, but was caught. He appeared (before the judges) and swore by the name of the king, “May I be mutilated the day that I flee for a second time!”’ (NRVN 1, 1: 1–8 [= Molina and Such-Gutiérrez 2004: 8]). Subordinate clauses provide a particularly transparent context for observing the pragmatic functions of the prefixes. There is, however, additional, albeit more subjective, evidence from the alternative portrayal of events in narratives, which speaks to similar pragmatic functions, specifically for mu- and ba-. The correlation between mu- and foregrounded information and ba- and backgrounded information manifests itself, as we have seen, in the affinity of the latter for subordinate clauses. At the root of this correlation is the relative salience of main and subordinate clauses: the information contained in main clauses is naturally more salient than that in subordinate clauses. Extending these associations further, mu- centers on the Initiator or Actor role, the salient starting point of the event, information that is metaphorically understood to be here. ba-, in contrast, revolves around the Endpoint or Undergoer role, the less salient end of the event, information that is conceptualized as there. A similar distinction in salience, again corresponding with the distribution of mu- and ba-, can be witnessed in certain parallel contexts in which the same event is reported from different perspectives—from more proximal and more distal vantage points. In the following passages from Gilgamesh and Huwawa the foregrounded, highly salient first-person version of events [607] representing direct speech—the here version—employs the prefix mu-. In contrast, the relatively backgrounded, less salient third-person version of events [608] representing narrative—the there version—is expressed with ba-. The distribution of the two prefixes reflects the iconicity that exists between spatial orientation, perspective, and, most abstractly, discourse grounding. [607] e2 tuku e2-a-ni-še3 ama tuku ama-a-ni-še3 nita sag-dili ga2-e-gim ak 50-am3 a2-mu-še3 hu-mu-un-ak-eš ‘(Gilgamesh speaks:) “Let him who has a household (go) to his household! Let him who has a mother (go) to his mother! Let only bachelors, those

BA-

273

like me, fifty of them, act on my behalf (lit.: act at my side)!”’ (GgHw-A 50–51). [608] e2 tuku e2-a-ni-še3 ama tuku ama-a-ni-še3 nita sag-dili e-ne-gim ak 50-am3 a2-ni-še3 ba-an-ak-eš (var. [. . .]-še3 hu-mu-u[n-. . .]) ‘Whoever had a household (went) to his household. Whoever had a mother (went) to his mother. Bachelors, those like him, there were fifty, acted on his behalf (lit.: acted at his side)’ (GgHw-A 52–53). The Ur source that witnesses hu-mu-u[n- . . .] confuses the first- and third-person versions of the account (cf. hu-mu-un-ak-eš in [607]); note that the other three exemplars in which the prefix is extant attest ba-, i.e., ba-an-ak-eš. A similar distribution is in evidence in the famous passage from Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld, in which Gilgamesh’s ball and mallet fall into the Netherworld. The first-person version of the event [609] is expressed with mu-, emphasizing the greater salience of the action itself, as opposed to its result, in the mind of the speaker. Additionally, in accord with the basic semantic domain of the prefix mu-, there may also be a hint of control or volition—that against Gilgamesh’s desires the ball and mallet have fallen of their own accord into the Netherworld. In the third-person narrative, however, there is less pressure to stress these qualities of the event and the focus switches to the result of the action, the Endpoint of the event. The pragmatics of backgrounding, in this case, coincide with lexical semantics, for ba- is the usual prefix with non-volitional falling events (see ba+šub [540]–[546]).14 14 The pragmatic grounding functions of the prefixes are likely in evidence in contexts other than those in which there is a distinction between direct speech and narration. One candidate is the conclusion of Home of the Fish C1–15. The narrator, who is on shore, warns Fish of the dangers inherent to the marshes, which are there, reiterating in five parallel passages that Fish will end up dangling from the claws of various predators, e.g., ku6-mu ubur-⎡re⎤ mušen-mu šu-še3 ba-e-la2-e ‘My Fish! You would dangle [there, in the marshes] from the claws of my ubure-bird’ [HoFh C4]). The text ends with the narrator urging Fish to join him here, in the house, where he will be safe from these dangers. The conclusion of this exhortation combines pragmatic emphasis, control (for Fish is at the whim of predators in the marshes [ba-], but in the house he can better dictate his fate [mu-]), and spatial orientation: [šu-š]e3 nu-mu-e-la2-e giri3-še3 nu-mu-e-il2-il2 [ku6]-mu ud zal-zal-⎡la⎤ za-e ugu-mu-uš ga2-nu ‘But you won’t dangle from their claws [here, in the house], you won’t be snatched up by their feet [here]! Time is passing, my fish! Just you come to me [here]!’ (HoFh C13–14). Another possible candidate is the contrast between a2-še3 mu-e-da-ag2-am3 ‘I will give orders to you’ and a2 ba-e-da-an-ag2 ‘You will give orders to me’ in the Dialogue between Enkimansum and Giri-isag: gen ga2-e nig2 šag4-ga2 ga-ab-sar a2-še3 mu-e-da-ag2-am3 (var. a2 mu-da-ag2-en) tukum-bi a2 ba-e-da-an-ag2 (var. a2 ba-da-⎡ag2⎤ ) šeš-gal-zu nume-en ‘ “Come! I want to write what I want. I am going to order you around.” “If

274

chapter five

ellag-mu kur-še3 mu-da-šub a-ba-a ma-ra-ab-e11-de3 (var. im-ta-e11-de3) giše-kid3-ma-mu Ganzir-še3 mu-da-šub a-ba-a ma-ra-ab-e11-de3 (var. im-ta-e11-de3) ‘My ball has fallen down into the Netherworld—who will retrieve it for me? My mallet has fallen down into Ganzir—who will retrieve it for me?’ (GgEN 174–175). [610] šu du3-du3-a nu-mu-un-su-a-ta i-dUtu ki-sikil tur-ra-ta gišellaga-ni u3 giše-kid-ma-ni dur2 kur-ra-še3 ba-da-an-šub (var. baan-šub) ‘At the protestations of the widows and the outcry of the young girls, his ball and his mallet fell down to the bottom of the Netherworld’ (GgEN 161–163).

[609]

giš

5.3

Animacy, Empathy, and the Dative Case (II)

In this section I turn to that other defining characteristic of ba- that takes its place beside patiency, namely, the related property of inanimacy. As with mu-, I am primarily concerned with the interaction of ba- with the dative case, although much of what is said is applicable to the terminative and comitative cases (which can also be marked for person with the addition of pronominal infixes) even if the correlations between person and prefix are not as consistently observed as with the dative. Previously, mu- and ba- were described as reflecting a spectrum of dative referents, which is a function of empathy and the Nominal Hierarchy (§3.4). To reiterate briefly, the frequency with which muoccurs with the dative case infix is directly proportional to the position of its referent on the Nominal Hierarchy: mu- is obligatory with the first person, nearly so with the second, and occurs with the more distant third when the speaker regards its referent to be like himself and the addressee, the local arguments—that is, when the speaker empathizes with this person who is, by definition, not involved in the discourse. Complementing mu-, ba- completes the spectrum that the former begins. This prefix appears, typically, when the recipient or beneficiary belongs to the class of non-persons, or, semantically similar to non-persons, when it belongs to the class of persons but is collective or you order me around, I will not be ‘your big brother’”’ (Dial 3: 5–6). What appears to be salient here is a difference in relative pragmatic emphasis—the first clause (mu-) is an asserted action on the part of the speaker, the second (ba-) is a conditional act on the part of the addressee.

BA-

275

indefinite. Also to be included here, with particular relevance for verbs that are naturally trivalent and therefore regularly take a recipient or beneficiary as part of their lexical frames—e.g., sum ‘give’, gu3—de2 ‘address, speak, call’—are instances of zero recipient or beneficiary (Ø-recipient/beneficiary). These are clauses in which the recipient or beneficiary role is—against the typical usage of the verb in question and so against expectations—not filled. Such clauses correspond to events of the type ‘give away’, ‘speak out’, as well as ‘give for doing s.th.’, ‘call for s.th.’, which similarly lack a recipient or beneficiary. All of these cases can be accounted for in terms of the Nominal Hierarchy and its constituent parameters, i.e., definite persons > indefinite persons; persons > non-person animates > inanimates; singular > plural. In short, ba- signals a minimal or zero degree of empathy for beneficiaries and recipients. Humans do not empathize with things; collectives are often grammatically regarded as thing-like, while the extension of empathy toward an indefinite entity that is non-referential, and so unknown, is similarly unlikely (see Croft 2003: 132). And humans, naturally, do not empathize with entities that are non-existent as in the cases of Ø-recipient/beneficiary. There is a parallelism between dative events and motion events, an iconicity between the two (see DeLancey 1982; §3.5) that is on particular display in Sumerian where the correlation between categories of spatial deixis, person, and empathy is revealed by the distribution of mu- and ba-. With respect to motion events, dative scenes may be described in terms of an overarching polarity that is bound at either end by two limiting cases. Taking sum ‘give’ as paradigmatic of the dative event, these are ma+sum ‘give here (= to me)’ and ba+sum ‘give away’. The former represents the case of the most salient, highly animate recipient, the NP with which the speaker has maximal empathy, who is by definition here—himself (cf. ma+gen ‘come here (= to me)’. ba+sum, on the other hand, represents, again in this limiting scenario, the case of no or zero recipient; animacy, salience, and empathy are necessarily zero—this is a goal at some indefinite there location (cf. ba+gen ‘go away’). The language maps, or associates, all other recipients in terms of the opposing nodes of this polarity. Beginning with the highest rungs of the Nominal Hierarchy, mu- is extended from first person (ma+sum), to the second (mu-ra+sum), to the third (mu-na+sum) so that here where I am is transferred, or projected, to here is where you are and here where he is. Observe, identically, that in Akkadian -am = first person (here) is extended to the second and third persons: iddin-am > iddin-am-kum >

276

chapter five

iddin-am-šum. In both Sumerian and Akkadian the primary first-person value is unmarked vis-à-vis its use with second and third, as the location of the first-person is intrinsically given. In Sumerian, when the dative argument is a third-person human (i.e., of the persons class), an NP which falls in the middle of the Nominal Hierarchy, the speaker may deem that person to be highly salient and so mark that person as if he is here, that is, like the SAPs (mu-na+sum ‘he gave to him’, cf. muna+gen ‘he went to him’). Alternatively, in the absence of such empathy or identity, the speaker or writer may leave the argument unmarked (i3-na+sum, i3-na+gen). In the extreme case of the absence of a recipient or beneficiary argument, when one is typically expected (again, as with sum ‘give’, gu3—de2 ‘address, speak, call’), a type of Endpoint at infinity—to use a term that captures the iconicity involved—the prefix is ba- and its separative nuance is apparent (§5.1.2): compare ba+sum ‘give away’ (also ‘give for doing s.th’) with ba+gen ‘go away’. Representing an extension of the coding of this limiting case, from the other end of the spectrum as it were, is the marking of inanimate recipients, NPs that are metaphorically there, with ba-, i.e., ba+sum ‘he gave to it’ or, collectively, ‘he gave to them’. Within the clause, this non-persons recipient or beneficiary is frequently found in the locative-terminative case, and less frequently in the locative and terminative cases. Of course, in the extreme case of zero recipient there is no NP to be marked. Prototypically, recipients and beneficiaries are animate, as prototypically it is animates that register the receipts and benefits of an event. And it will be recalled in this connection that the recipient/beneficiary role is only outranked by the agent in terms of topicality and the likelihood of serving as subject [9]. Viewed from this perspective, ba- signals a severe downgrading of the prototypical dative referent, much as it does with the agent in its detransitivizing function (cf. mu- and the bond between highly animate agent and dative referents [§3.4]).15 Indeed, this degradation is the common ground for the voice and dative functions of the prefix. Moreover—and the point is an important one—with verbs that are naturally middle, like gu3—de2 ‘address, speak, call’, the two functions can be seen as collapsing together. Absent a salient Endpoint, an animate recipient or beneficiary that can register the consequences 15 Yoshikawa (1992a) considers the primary function of ba- to be signaling the absence of a dative argument. In his view, this applies to all cases—the prefix, he contends, does not indicate a decrease in transitivity (the primary function in my view), but a valency decrease with respect to the dative (ba-na-verb forms are, therefore, labeled innovative).

BA-

277

of the action, the subject himself may be perceived as the locus of the action’s principal effects, e.g., gu3—ba+de2 meaning ‘call out, call to s.th.’.16 And with the prefix proximal to the verbal root, the likelihood that it will interact directly with the verbal meaning, specifically, functioning as a voice marker, is increased. The notion that animate, that is, sentient recipients and beneficiaries, are more likely to absorb the effects of the action than inanimates parallels—indeed, may be seen as an extension of—the critical distinction between the active and the middle/passive voices. In the active (mu-) the affected entity is prototypically distinct from the subject, viz., to do for another, in the middle/passive (imma-, ba-) the affected entity is the subject, viz., to do for oneself. As my comments suggest, I do not subscribe to the view that ba- is a non-persons dative morpheme de rigueur, a syntactic cross-referencing element comparable to -na- that indexes a host of case markers (i.e., locative, locative-terminative, terminative), as it has been commonly understood since the time of Falkenstein (§1.3). The co-occurrence of 16 Observe, in this connection, that imma- may also (although more rarely than ba-) occur in these same contexts, in which it appears to function with its regular middle-voice meaning as is suggested by the following sequences of middle events: lugal dEn-ki-ra sukkal dIsimudx(PAP.SIG7.NUN.ME.UBARA)-de3 mi2 dug3-ge-eš im-me e2-e im-magub gu3 im-ma-de2-e (vars. gu3 im-de2-e, gu3 mu-un-⎡na⎤?-de2-⎡e⎤?) sig4-e im-ma-gub gu3 im-ma-ab-sum-mu (vars. gu3 am3-sum-⎡mu⎤, gu3 mu-un-na-ab-sum-mu) ‘Before king Enki, minister Isimud sweetly praises the temple. He stands at the temple and speaks to it; he stands before the brickwork and addresses it’ (EnkJN 18–20). The notion that the subject is likely to be perceived as the locus of the event’s effects absent an animate recipient or beneficiary is also captured by Karahashi’s translation of gu3—(imma/ba+)sum as ‘echo, reverberate’, rendering the relevant clauses cited above: ‘(Isimud) stood by the brick wall and (his words) echoed/(his voice) reverberated’ (2000a: 111–112). Furthermore, the semantic and functional overlap between imma- and ba- is suggested by their appearance in parallel contexts, where the difference between the two may be merely stylistic, e.g., giš-gid2-da-ni a2 im-ma-an-ag2 . . . en-e gištukul-a-ni gu3 ba-an-de2 ‘He gave orders to his lance . . . the lord called out to his mace’ (Lugal-e 160–161); similarly, cf. na4en-ge-en na4.dezim2-ma gu3 im-ma-de2-e (vars. gu3 ba-(an-) de2-e) ‘(My king) addressed the engen- and ezim-stones’ (Lugal-e 619) with [n]a4dub-baan na4u2-ru-tum-e gu3 ba-an-de2 ‘(My king) addressed the dubban- and urutum-stones’ (Lugal-e 567); also cf. gu3 im-ma-ab-sum-mu (EnkJN 18–20), cited previously in this note, with ⎡gu3⎤ ba-an-sum (EnkJN 70), cited in [625]. Remarkably, in cases involving a recipient of the persons class, the dative -na- may be omitted to facilitate the prefix’s morphological and semantic proximity to the verbal root; the prefix thereby interacts directly with the verbal meaning, rendering the event a speech-act middle (see §4.1.3, particularly the passages cited in p. 198 n. 20), e.g., lu2 ma2-addir lu2 ma2-addir gu3 im-ma-de2-de2-e ‘One ferryman shouts out to another ferryman’ (SP UET 6/2, 271). Note also the following alternations in variants: gu3 im-ma-de2-e ~ gu3 mu-un-na-de2-e (InEb 152), cited in p. 198 n. 20; gu3 am3-ma-de2-e ~ gu3 mu-un-na-de2-e (GgHw-A 3); am3-ma-da-an-ku4-ku4 ~ mu-un-na-da-an-ku4-ku4 (CAk 47); im-ma-sug2-ge-eš ~ mu-un-na-sug2-ge-eš (Enlil A 8–9), cited in [192]; mi2 im-ma-ni-dug4 ~ mi2 mu-na-ni-dug4 (Römer 2001: B31–34), cited in [185].

278

chapter five

ba- in the limiting scenario, in which a recipient or beneficiary NP is altogether absent, underscores the fact that syntactic cross-referencing is not what is at issue in terms of the correlation of ba- with dative events. Nor do I isolate ba- in this role from its other functions, attributing the dative function to a distinct, homophonous morpheme as have others. What is common to the functions of the prefix, the common semantic denominator to all its uses, is its Endpoint orientation and the iconicity that associates the end of the event with things and with a point in space that is there and not here from the perspective of the speech event. In terms of both the agent and the dative roles, two roles that are prototypically animate, ba- signals a disruption of expectations, its presence triggered by a departure from the canonical situation. With respect to the alleged “dative” ba-, the following often-cited example of the morpheme is something of a red herring: [611] a nag-nag nu-na-sum-mu anše a nag-nag nu-ba-sum-mu ‘(The shublugal) would not give (an iginudu) water to drink—he would not even give a donkey water to drink’ (Uruinimgina 3 ii 6′–9′). The parallelism here is deceptive. ba- does not mark the non-persons recipient in terms of serving a syntactic cross-referencing function—that is, it is not, strictly speaking, equivalent to -na- in the preceding clause. Rather, the prefix signals the downgrading of what is prototypically a highly animate, human argument. ba- correlates with the low animacy of the recipient, a somewhat anomalous situation as one typically gives to a person. It is a correlation that is essentially identical to the one between mu- (or i-) and animate recipients and beneficiaries. Specifically, in [611] the correspondence between ba- and anše ‘donkey’ finds its counterpart in that between i- (or perhaps better -Ø- following the modal nu-) and iginudu, the third persons recipient. In other words, the dative morpheme, -na-, has no corresponding element in the inanimate clause. The view taken here, then, is that the dative marker for the class of non-persons is not ba-, but the null or zero (-Ø-) mark—it is, in essence, unmarked, i.e., nu.ba.Ø.(n.)sum.e. This asymmetry in terms of marking—the animate form with an explicit dative morpheme, mu/i-na+verb, and the inanimate with the zero mark for the dative, ba-Ø+verb—is explainable in terms of the widely observed relationship between animacy and case marking crosslinguistically. Specifically, there is a strong tendency for more animate

BA-

279

and definite objects to be more marked than less animate and definite objects.17 This tendency, as Croft explains, is a consequence of the constituent parameters that comprise the Nominal Hierarchy. And it is a tendency that often manifests itself in the form of overt or distinctive marking for animate objects and zero marking for inanimate objects. Well attested for direct objects, the phenomenon extends to indirect objects as well (see Croft 2003: 11, 166–168, with examples).18 Thus, for Sumerian there is the first-person dative ma- (pl. -me-), second person -ra-, third persons -na- (pl. -ne-), and the invariant and unmarked third non-persons -Ø-. With this understanding comes a simplicity and clarity with respect to the distribution of ba-. It obviates the need for convoluted theories of morpheme splitting and multiple ba- morphemes (see §1.3), which are necessary to account for the obvious issues that arise from assuming that the same form is both a prefix and an infix. More specifically, by doing away with the third non-persons dative -ba-, there is no longer a mystery as to why forms such as *mu-ba-sum are not attested, while attestations of forms such as ba-na-sum, although relatively rare, do occur (see [635]–[637]). The examples given below for the correspondence between ba- and low animacy recipients and beneficiaries draw primarily upon the verbs sum ‘give’ and, to a lesser extent, gu3—de2 ‘address, speak, call’, two verbs that prototypically take a dative argument; sum, in particular, is well-attested with a wide range of NPs fulfilling the recipient/beneficiary role (see Edzard 1976, from which a number of the examples below are taken). However, the correlations that are observable with these verbs hold true for others, both those that typically require a third argument, that is, trivalent verbs similar to sum ‘give’, and those for which a dative argument is optional, e.g., du3 ‘build’. The examples are organized according to animacy, beginning with the limiting case

17 This claim is supported by the fact that the third-person singular is the least marked person cross-linguistically, frequently taking zero marking, for instance, note the Akkadian predicative construction in which the 3sg m. form is paris-Ø, but all other persons and numbers are marked, i.e., parsāku, parsāta . . . parsā, etc. 18 The basis for this extension is the underlying unity between the indirect object of the ditransitive verb and the direct object (O) of the transitive verb. This is demonstrated by the fact that in many languages these roles are marked alike in terms of grammatical relations (see Dryer 1986; also Croft 1991: 192, 245–47; idem 2003: 152–154; Delancey 1981: 633; Dixon 1994: 199; Givón 1984: 88; Jespersen 1924: 162; Palmer 1994: 38–39).

280

chapter five

of Ø-recipients/beneficiary, proceeding to inanimates, collective and indefinite animates, and concluding, finally, with specified persons. Ø-RECIPIENTS/BENEFICIARIES. This category is represented prototypically by [612]–[613]. Also included here are verb+ede19 constructions [614]–[615], which correspond to infinitival constructions in English (e.g., ‘give for doing s.th., in order to do s.th.’) as well as purpose constructions lacking an adressee [616]-[617] (e.g., ‘call for s.th.’): [612] ki-bala hul-gig dNanna-za-ke4-eš An-ne2 ha-ba-ab-sum-mu ‘May An cast off (lit.: give away) the rebel land, as it is hateful to your Nanna’ (Inana B 93). [613] ga2-e [g]u3 ba-de2-e-en (var. [g]u3 ba-an-de2) an ki-še3 a-ba-date (vars. ⎡ba-da-te⎤, ga-am3-da-te) ‘I will shout until the heavens draw near to the earth!’ (GgBH B51). [614] [g]az-de3 ba-an-sum-⎡mu⎤-uš ‘(The judges) delivered him over to be executed’ (PBS 8/2, 173 rev. 13′ [= NG 1, p. 132: n. 5]). Similarly, SLHF ii 37–38 and RA 71 (1977): 6, 25. [615] pu-uh2-ru-um Nibruki-ka IIl3-šu-mu-ba-li2-i -‹‹e›› ka2-dNin-urta-ka [n]am-erim2 kud-ru-de3 ba-an-sum-mu-uš ‘The assembly of Nippur delivered Ilshu-muballit over to swear an assertory oath at the gate of Ninurta’ (WO 8 [1976]: 160 ll. 19–22). Similarly, SLHF vi 37–39. [616] ur-sag nig2-du7-e gu3 ba-a-de2 ‘Warrior, you called for what is fitting’ (Gudea Cyl. A viii 20). [617] En-suh-gir11-an-na-ke4 a2-ag2-ga2 gu3 ba-an-de2 inim im-kinkin-e ‘Ensuhgirana asked for advice, searching for an answer’ (EmkEsg A117). Inanimate specific:20

RECIPIENTS / BENEFICIARIES ,

both specific and non-

[618] na-ru2-a-bi izi ba-sum ‘(Urluma) set the steles (of the boundary dike) on fire (lit.: he gave fire to their steles)’ (Enmetena 1 ii 36–37). 19 Since I am here concerned with semantic roles and animacy, and not case marking, the morphology of this element (e.g., Edzard’s understanding of -ede < -ed+e[loc. term.] [2003a: 135]) is of secondary importance for my purposes. 20 Recipients and beneficiaries, as I have noted, typically belong to the persons class, and as such, ba- marks a departure from expectations, a deviation from the

BA-

281

[619] e 2-e . . . lugal dEn-ki-ke 4 eš-bar-kin ba-an-sum ‘King Enki provided oracular decisions for the temple’ (Gudea Cyl. B iv 1–3). [620] u3 70 še gur-am3 zag-10 dNin-gal-ke4 ha-ba-ab-sum-mu ‘And he should give 70 gur of grain for the tithe of (the temple of ) Ningal’ (LEM 190: 7–9). [621] dŠul-gi lugal Urim2ki-ma-me-en u3 nam-nar-ra (vars. nam-nar-e, nam-nar-a) gu2-mu ha-ba-sum (var. ha-ma-sum) ‘I, Shulgi, king of Ur, have also devoted myself to music’ (ŠB 154–155). [622] dInana-ke4 me3 šen-šen-na ki-bala-e ba-an-sum ‘Inana handed over (victory in) battle and strife to a rebellious land’ (LSU 63). [623] me-lam2-a-ni 1-am3 a-šag4-še3 ba-an-sum me-lam2-a-ni 2-kamma id2-da-še3 ba-an-sum ‘(Enlil) gave (Huwawa’s) first aura to the fields. He gave his second aura to the rivers’ (GgHw-A 193–194). [624] an-še3 tumu duru5-e gu3 ba-de2 ‘I will call up to heaven for a wet wind’ (Gudea Cyl. A xi 7). [625] ⎡sukkal⎤ dIsimudx(PAP.SIG7.NUN.ME.UBARA)-de3 sig4-e ⎡gu3⎤ ba-an-sum ‘Minister Isimud cried out to the brickwork’ (EnkJN 70). [626] en-e gana2 zid-de3 gu3 ba-an-de2 še gu-nu ba-an-sum ‘The lord addressed the cultivated fields, and bestowed upon them mottled barley’ (EnkWO 326). [627] abul kur-ra-ka gu3 hul ba-an-de2 ‘(Inana) shouted savagely at the gate of the Netherworld’ (InD 75). Animate RECIPIENTS/BENEFICIARY, representing collectives that are both of specified and unspecified number and are known to the addressee [628]–[632] (note the contrast in [631] between the specified four canonical situation. However, certain verbs take prototypically inanimate recipients. Consider dah ‘add’ in the sense of ‘add s.th. to s.th.’. As expected, the verb is regularly construed with ba- with this meaning, e.g., nam-til3-mu nam-til3 ha-ba-dah-he ‘May (Enlil) add life to my life’ (Lugalzagesi 1 iii 19–21); nig2-mussax(SAL.UŠ)sa2 dBa-u2 e2 gibil Gu3-de2-a ensi2 Lagaški lu2 e2-du3!(NI)-a-ke4 ba-an-dah-ha-am3 ‘These being the bridal gifts for Bau for the new house, which Gudea, ruler of Lagash, the builder of the temple, had increased (i.e., added gifts to gifts)’ (Gudea St. E vii 15–21); 30 gun2 esir2 had2 esir2 had2 dar-gu-la-ke4 ha-ba-ab-dah-e ‘He should add 30 talents of dry bitumen to the dry bitumen (already assigned) for the (boat-)mast’ (LEM 222: 1-3); šu šu-a ba-ab-dah e2 lu2 al-du3-e šag4-gal šag4-gal-e ba-ab-dah e2 lu2 al-gul-e ‘Hand added to hand, and a man’s house is built up. Stomach (lit. food) added to stomach and a man’s house is destroyed’ (SP 2.138).

282

chapter five

workers in the first clause [he2-ne-sum-mu] and the unspecified number in the second [ha-ba-ab-sum-mu]), as well as those that are generic [633]–[634]: [628] lugal-⎡mu⎤ surx(EREN2)-e ha-ba-ab-sum-mu ‘My lord should give (the field) to the work troop’ (FAOS 19, Gir 16 rev. 2′–3′). For the value surx in (Pre-)Sargonic sources, see Steinkeller 1990 (note the writing surx(EREN2)-ra in this text [FAOS 19, Gir 16: 5]). [629] eren2 bala gub-ba še nu-tuku Ur-dGa2-tum3-dug3-ke4 en-na ib2be2 1(bariga) še lugal-ta ha-ba-ab-sum-mu ‘The troops on duty have no barley. Until Ur-Gatumdug says (otherwise), he should give them 1 royal bariga of barley each’ (TCS 1, 141: 3–7). [630] 3 še-ba gur Ti-e2-mah-ta 3 gur A-lul 1(gur) 1(bariga) Nin9-ani še-ba-bi he2-⎡ba⎤-ab-sum-mu ‘3 gur of barley-rations for Tiemahta, 3 gur for Alul, and 1 gur 1 bariga for Ninani—he should give these barley rations to them’ (TCS 1, 151: 3–7). [631] 4 dumu-dab5-ba 1(bariga) še lugal-ta he2-ne-sum-mu . . . u3 8 še gur lugal-am3 dumu-dab5-ba bala sumun-na-ke4 ha-baab-sum-mu ‘He should give the four agricultural laborers 1 royal bariga of barley each . . . and he should give 8 royal gur of barley to the agricultural laborers of the last term’ (TCS 1, 223: 3–9). [632] ⎡i3-du8⎤ g[al] ⎡kur⎤-ra 7-bi nig2-ba ba-ab-sum-mu ‘He gave gifts to the seven chief porters of the Netherworld’ (UrNm A 76). [633] um-ma-bi ad gi4-gi4 ba-an-sum ab-ba-bi ka-inim-ma ba-ansum ki-sikil-bi ki-e-ne-di ba-an-sum guruš-bi a2 gištukul-la ba-an-sum di4-di4-la2-bi šag4 hul2-la ba-an-sum ‘(Inana) gave (Akade’s) old women counsel; she gave its old men eloquence. She gave its young women dancing; she gave its young men martial might. And she gave its little ones joy’ (CAk 29–33). [634] lu2-erim2-e i-zig3 dam dumu-bi gu3 ba-an-de2 en dNin-urta-ra a2 nu-mu-e-zig3 ‘The enemy rose up, calling out to wife and child, “You did not lift your arms to lord Ninurta!” ’ (Lugal-e 261–262). The prefix, expectedly, is rarely attested with the dative infix. In other words, the correlation between ba- and recipients and beneficiaries of the persons class is low. When the prefix does occur with these referents, it is usually in its detransitivizing or passive function (§5.2; cf. Yoshikawa

BA-

283

1991; see [676] for ba-na+dug4 with a perfect meaning). Specifically, the prefix in these cases, generally legal and administrative texts, functions independently of the following dative infix and combines with the verbal root, despite the morphological separation of the two: [635] Ba-zi dumu Šeš-šeš-ra Lu2-Hu-wa-wa nam-geme2-ni-še3 ba-anna-sum ‘Lu-Huwawa was given to Bazi, son of Sheshshesh, as his slave-girl’ (NG 126: 12–13). [636] dam dumu u3 geme2 Ur-mes Lu2-gu-la-ra ba-na-gi-in ‘Urmes’s wife, child, and slave girl were confirmed to Lugula’ (NG 42: 26–28). [637] 2-a-ne-ne nam-erim2 kud-de3 ba-an-ne-sum ‘Both (the owner of the slave and the guarantor) were given over before (the witnesses) to take an assertory oath’ (NG 51: 16–17). And, occasionally, the prefix is encountered in Old Babylonian literary texts in what appears to be its regular middle-voice capacity, despite the presence of an intervening dative infix: [638] lu2 a-ra-zu im-me-a-bi šag4 ha-ba-na-hun-e ‘May your heart relent toward him who utters prayers (to you)’ (LUr 432). [639] ga2-e ud-ba ša-ba-na-GAM-e-de3-en ‘At that time, I will, myself, submit to him’ (EmkLA 291). The correlation of mu- with persons and ba- with non-persons, as has long been observed (§1.3), extends beyond the dative to the other case infixes of the verb. As with the dative, the prefix often reflects the degree of animacy of the peripheral argument as represented by the immediately following infix. Thus, when Enlil looks upon Ningirsu, a person with whom he empathizes, the prefix is mu- [640], but when Gudea looks upon a clay pit, the prefix is ba- [641]. Similar alternations with the comitative are also common. And, as observed in §5.1.2, ba- frequently occurs with the ablative with verbs of motion. However, the sequence ba-ta-, in many of these cases, is preferably understood as fulfilling a middle-separative function and modifying the meaning of the verbal root, rather than reflecting animacy (see §5.1.2). En-lil2-e en dNin-gir2-su2-še3 igi zid mu-ši-bar ‘Enlil looked favorably upon the lord Ningirsu’ (Gudea Cyl. A i 3). [641] ka-al-bi-še3 igi zid ba-ši-bar ‘(Gudea) looked favorably upon the clay pit’ (Gudea Cyl. A xiii 18). [640]

d

284

chapter five

With the locative, the prefix’s expression of object-focus may be semantically similar to that exhibited in dative scenes. This is particularly true when the chain ba-ni- occurs with compound verbs in which an action is done for or to s.th. (see Attinger 1993: 282), with the locative often marking the instrument when applicable. In many cases, these verbs, intrinsically or contextually, represent what may be referred to as object-oriented events. An activity is performed on an object for what may be perceived as the benefit or betterment of that object, as is often the nuance implicit to verbs such as šu tag—dug4 ‘decorate, adorn s.th.’, mi2—dug4 ‘decorate, take care of s.th.’, and si—sa2 ‘prepare s.th., put s.th. in order’. Plausibly, in keeping with the object-oriented character of this prefix, the appearance of ba- with these verbs indicates that the speaker perceives the semantic object—truly an object, a thing—to be the locus of the action’s effects. Note that these events, although revolving around object-affectedness, are generally low in transitivity since the object is not fundamentally altered by the action; agency is generally not the focus of these events.21 [642] temen-bi i3-ir-nun-ka šu tag ba-ni-dug4 ‘(Gudea) smeared the foundation deposits with precious scented oil’ (Gudea St. E iii 13–15; Gudea St. F iii 3–5; Gudea St. C iii 8–10 [du8 for dug4]). [643] šim zid i3-hi-nun-ka mi2 ba-ni-ib2-e-ne ‘They were gently treating (the white cedars) with true essence of precious oil’ (Gudea Cyl. A xxii 5). [644] šag4-ba nig2-mussax(SAL.UŠ)sa2 dBa-u2 nin-a-na-ke4 si ba-nisa2-sa2 ‘Therein (Gudea) put in order the bridal gifts of Bau, his lady’ (Gudea St. D ii 13–iii 2). A detailed analysis of the often complex interactions between the prefixes and the case infixes is beyond the scope of this study. As

21 Also to be included among events of this general type is si gu3—ra meaning ‘to sound the horn’, which occurs regularly with ba- (attested already at Fara, e.g., SF 40 [si gu3 ba-ra]—see Karahashi 2000a: 111; Krebernik 1998: 324), e.g., uruki-na lu2 1-gim si gu3 ba-ni-in-ra ‘In his city, as if to a single man, (Gilgamesh) sounded the horn’ (GgHw-A 48); inim pu-uh2-ru-um-ma-ta nimgir-e sila sila-a si gu3 ba-ni-in-ra ‘In accord with the order of the assembly, the herald has sounded the horn throughout all the streets’ (Let B12: 2–3); nimgir-e kur-kur-ra si gu3 ba-[n]i-ra ‘The herald made the horn sound in all the lands’ (GgDth H11 [Me-Turan]; see also LgB 1 A25).

BA-

285

the foregoing examples suggest, there are no set rules for predicting when, or how, a prefix will interact with a following case element and when it will interact with the verbal meaning more broadly. These are highly idiosyncratic phenomena. But, as I have stressed throughout this book—as a general tendency, with exceptions, particularly with ba- in passive function, e.g., [635]–[637]—the voice functions of the prefixes are less in evidence the farther the prefix is from the verbal root (note, in particular, [640] and [641]). Linguistic and conceptual distance are iconic, so that the closer an affix is to the stem, the greater is its relevance to the verb (Bybee 1985; see also Croft 2003: 207–209). In Sumerian this typologically observed tendency is reflected in the increased likelihood of a prefix marking for voice to be in a position proximal to the root, for voice alternations fundamentally affect the meaning of the verb. Conversely, when a prefix is immediately followed by a case infix, it is often to this morpheme that the prefix is semantically bonded, a phenomenon that is in particular evidence with the dative. 5.4

Time and the Endpoint of the Event

Implicit to the notions of Initiator and Endpoint is the spatial conceptualization of events, namely, that actions can be productively represented as extending across a two-dimensional geometric space. However, all real world events also extend across time, describing a vector defined by the onset and termination times (§2.7). It is impossible to move through space without also moving through time. And, since all transitive events necessarily unfold over time, their representation must include some non-zero temporal vector. The parallels between these dimensions were addressed by DeLancey, who observed their morphological consequences: “The physical inseparability of the two dimensions is reflected in the fact that all languages show some overlap in the coding of time, space and transitivity, frequently in case syncretism . . . Explicit recognition in grammar of the parallelism of space, transitivity and time is certainly a linguistic universal . . .” (1982: 179). This parallelism has already been observed in connection with mu-, which correlates with animacy, agency, the spatial coordinate here, along with the temporal notions of onset time, atelicity, and imperfectivity (§3.2.2). These categories characterize the beginning of the event, the first half of the action chain, which represents the initiation of the action

286

chapter five

and the action itself. Correspondingly, representing the opposing node of the event, ba- embraces the Endpoint categories of inanimacy, patiency, and there. And, with respect to the temporal qualities of the event, this iconicity extends to telicity, perfectivity, and most notably—given its identification in bilinguals with the Akkadian category known by this same name—the perfect. The correlation between ba- (and to a lesser extent, imma-) and the Akkadian perfect is a topic with a long history, but one that has received remarkably less attention in recent years, with von Soden’s 1965 essay, whose intention was more contemplative than definitive, representing the last major statement. This is due not as much to scholarly oversight as to a view that any such temporal function is foreign to the prefix’s basic meaning and must therefore be secondary. As noted in §1.3, the position was summed up by Thomsen when she wrote, “How such a function may harmonize with the other functions of ba- is not evident, and I follow Falkenstein in the opinion that this is a later development which cannot be observed in the Gudea texts” (1984: 183; see Streck 1998: 190–191). How a perfect nuance—and I have chosen this word purposefully since I am speaking of temporal inclinations and affinities, rather than of formal marking—harmonizes with the other functions of the prefix is through its intrinsic Endpoint orientation. In all respects ba- signifies a view of the event from its terminal point. The middle voice embraces both the roles of Initiator and Endpoint, but it is clearly the latter that is the most salient, representing the subject’s resultant affectedness by the action. As I have observed, this is especially true of spontaneous events and passive situations, which are at the center of the prefix’s semantic domain. These situations are characterized by their extreme Endpoint emphasis, a conceptualization that ignores the agent of the event and focuses entirely on the patient. The perfective and the perfect are similarly associated with the end of the event. The perfective aspect sees the event as temporally bounded; the action is viewed in its entirety, as a discrete whole, without internal temporal constituency. With the perfective the event necessarily has an Endpoint and this is the vantage point from which the action is seen to unfold. The perfect similarly sees the event from its end, but differs in understanding it as occurring prior to some reference time and being relevant to that reference time. When the reference time is the present, the perfect refers to a past situation that has current relevance, that is,

BA-

287

the present result of a past event, e.g., John has broken the window (see Comrie 1976: 12; Bybee, Perkins, and Pagliuca 1994: 54–55).22 The perfect in particular, then, shares much in common with the passive, that other category with which ba- is so closely affiliated, for both are concerned with the states that result from previous actions. Indeed, to demonstrate the semantic bond between the perfect and the passive we need look no farther than English and Indo-European languages generally, which exhibit striking parallels between these categories. Consider, for instance, that in English the same form of the verb serves as both the past and passive participle, e.g., he has stolen it vs. it is stolen, thus linking the perfect to the passive. More broadly, Hopper and Thompson observe, “As is well known, there is a diachronic connection between such passives and perfects, since both express a participant in the state of having been affected by an event’s occurrence” (1980: 294). In fact, in many languages, the passive carries an inherently perfect meaning. For instance, Comrie claims that for modern Irish there is essentially no difference between the two: “Only in the passive is there an explicit perfect; only in the perfect is there an explicit passive. It is therefore essentially arbitrary whether one calls it ‘passive’ or ‘perfect’ or both simultaneously” (apud Wallace 1982: 206). Similarly, in Modern Eastern Armenian the correlation between the two categories is so strong that “forms with perfect meaning (i.e., Resultative) are interpreted as passive even in the absence of passive morphology” (Comrie 1981: 74–75). But far from being simply an Indo-European phenomenon, the underlying unity between the perfect and the passive is common and typologically widespread, for “there is a distinct tendency for passive voice and perfect aspect markers to be related synchronically and/or etymologically” (Payne 1997: 173). To the list of languages attesting this relationship, Comrie (1981: 75–78) adds Nivkh, an isolate encountered in the Russian Far East, while Langacker and Munro (1975: 824) discuss “the strong formal similarities” between the passive and perfect in Mojave. Along similar lines, noting the semantic overlap between voice

22 This distinction is summarized by Binnick: “Most scholars today see the perfect as resultative or stative, referring to the enduring resultant state subsequent to a completed action, while the perfective is viewed by most as, like the Greek aorist, representing an action as a whole, without regard for the progress or development of the action—that is, as ‘complexive’ or ‘totalizing’ ” (1991: 161).

288

chapter five

and aspect, Dixon observes that the passive and antipassive often carry aspectual meaning, pointing out that Tzutujil (Mayan) has a ‘completive passive’, which, as its name suggests, “emphasizes the result of the activity on the patient as well as the termination of the activity” (1994: 148 citing Dayley 1985a: 342; see also Dayley 1978: 31–33; Dayley 1985b: 205–207). As the perfective can be seen as subsuming the perfect, the latter adding a current relevance reading, there are naturally similar correlations between the perfective and the passive. For example, one such instance is known from Kham (Tibeto-Burman), for which DeLancey states that “the passive carries intrinsic perfective meaning,” adding, “terminal viewpoint with respect to the transitivity vector implies terminal viewpoint with respect to the time vector” (1982: 172). Elsewhere, DeLancey makes the astute observation that “it therefore seems natural to interpret aspect as the temporal analog of the spatial and transitive viewpoint . . ., and to view perfective aspect as a specification of terminal viewpoint, analogous to the passive . . .” (1981: 647). Conversely, similar phenomena involving the correlation of active-transitive constructions with the imperfective have been described in the literature as well. Wallace (1982: 205–206), for instance, observes that in Jakarta Malay, a transitive verb, which is marked with a certain prefix, normally occurs in the active construction and, additionally, refers to generic, habitual, routine activities, and as such, is a type of imperfective marker (cf. mu- in similar antipassive-like contexts, §3.2.2). The fundamental unity of the passive and the perfect has been commented upon more broadly in the literature, with linguists stressing its semantic-pragmatic basis. Comrie points out that both categories revolve around patient-orientation: “Correlations between aspect and voice, and specifically between perfect aspect and P[atient]-orientation (e.g., passive voice), are not purely mechanical correlations, to be handled in a purely formal way, but rather . . . stem from features of the semantics and pragmatics of the aspectual and voice categories involved” (1981: 77). Similarly, for Wallace, the phenomenon is a function of actor vs. goal orientation or view-point, a conceptualization of events comparable to our Initiator and Endpoint, or Actor and Undergoer, macroroles. In an insightful comment, which is particularly relevant to the arguments presented here for the basic opposition between mu- and ba-, Wallace draws the following distinction between actor and goal view-point: When one takes the actor’s viewpoint or orientation, one ‘sees’ primarily the inception and continuation of the action (imperfective), possibly the

BA-

289

intent or other internal executive capacity of the actor (non-eventive), and the actor as the dominant participant in the scene (active voice). When one takes the viewpoint or orientation of the goal, one ‘sees’ primarily the termination of the action or its relevance to the current state of the goal (perfective or perfect aspectuality), the actual realization of the action as it affects some entity (eventive modality), and the goal as the dominant participant in the scene (passive voice). (1982: 206)

A perfect meaning for ba-, then, as the above discussion makes clear, would be entirely consistent with the prefix’s other Endpoint-oriented functions and could be placed on a semantic map of its functions adjacent to its use with passive situations and spontaneous events. Of course, direct evidence for this meaning is relatively late, stemming from the Old Babylonian period, as the bilinguals in which the Sumerian and Akkadian forms are equated, and the Akkadian perfect itself, are first and foremost phenomena of this period. The question that arises is whether the unilingual evidence, and preferably that of earlier date, suggests that ba- may convey a perfect meaning. But the question itself is somewhat misplaced, for there is often a fine line between the typical situations that are expressed with the prefix and the punctual, current relevance meaning of the perfect. In other words, verbs with which ba- (and to a lesser extent imma-) tends to correlate frequently describe states that result from previous actions, and as such, they frequently lend themselves to a perfect reading. At the root of this phenomenon is the close association between the middle voice and punctual, changeof-state events. As I have pointed out in previous sections, many of the predicates exemplified in this chapter designate dynamic rather than stative events. In short, the prefix is attracted to verbs that describe events with Endpoints. More specifically, these are verbs that possess an inchoative and perfective Aktionsart—that is, an inchoative and perfective aspect is ingrained into their lexical meanings (Binnick 1991: 202–214; Comrie 1976: 5–7 n. 4, 19–20)—as, for example, is the case with many spontaneous predicates, e.g. uš2 ‘die’, šub ‘fall’, su ‘sink’. Observe that such a reading is also possible with body-action verbs of the type gub ‘stand’, nu2 ‘lie’, and tuš ‘sit’ (viz., stand up, lie down, and sit down respectively), as well as many verbs of emotion, events which may, at first glance, be considered to lend themselves to a stative interpretation. When coupled with ba-, the focus with these verbs—in most but not all cases—is upon the inception of a state, a change from not being X to being X, as a number of the examples in §§5.1.1 and 5.1.3 suggest (see Nedjalkov and Jaxontov 1988: 5). But, of course, it is with verbs of

290

chapter five

motion (§§4.1.2, 5.1.2) that this dynamic quality is most conspicuously on display, for when coupled with ba-, the inceptive set-in-motion phase of the event is brought center-stage. The event is perceived as unitary and terminates with the subject attaining a resultant state, namely, that of being in motion. More remarkable, however, is the dynamic, inchoative meaning that ba- imparts to verbs that in their basic meanings describe situations that are unchanging in time and are closely allied with imperfectivity and atelicity. These are verbs that are typically perceived as Initiator oriented. Consider zu ‘know’, which, as discussed in §3.2.2 (see [80]–[89]) typically takes mu- when the speaker wishes to describe an atelic event in which he attributes to the subject considerable control and volition, if perhaps only figuratively. mu+zu represents a static, unchanging situation, a homogeneous state of knowing. In this way the event is diametrically opposed to the die event as represented by ba+uš2, which denotes a dynamic situation that necessarily involves a changeof-state. Iconic with the motion events, the change-of-state involved with die represents, metaphorically, a set-in-motion event, a going from here to there. When zu ‘know’ is joined with ba-, it is similarly this dynamic and inceptive phase of the event that is brought into focus. ba+zu often has the ingressive meaning ‘get to know’, ‘learn’, ‘recognize’. Whereas know denotes a state, become known, get to know, learn, and recognize denote processes or accomplishments. The same distinction, as Lyons (1977: 706) points out, is drawn between German kennen ‘know’ vs. erkennen ‘recognize’, i.e., ‘come to know’, and between Russian znatj (imperf.) vs. uznatj (perf.), and Polish znać (imperf.) vs. poznać (perf.).23 The inception of the state of knowing, again, analogous to the set-in-motion phase of the motion event, involves a change-of-state, with the event terminating with the Endpoint of knowing. Correlating with this transformation is the perception of increased subject-affectedness, which brings us full circle to the primary middle voice function of the prefix. Observe the contrast between mu+zu following modal nu- (nu+zu in the variants) and ba+zu in the following excerpt from Enlil and Ninlil: [645] gal4-la-mu tur-ra-am3 peš11 nu-mu-un-zu (vars. nu-um-zu, nu-un-⎡x⎤) šu-um-du-um-mu tur-ra-am3 še su-ub ‹nu-›muun-zu (vars. nu-um-zu, nu-un-⎡zu⎤) ama-mu ba-zu-zu šu-mu

23

I thank P. Steinkeller for the Polish parallel.

BA-

291

mu-un-sag3-ge (var. he2-sag3-ge) ad-da-mu ba-zu-zu šu sa2-bi mu-e-en (var. mu-un-e!) ‘My vagina is too small, it does not know pregnancy. My lips are too young, they do not know kissing. If my mother learns of it, she will slap my hand! If my father learns of it, he will lay hold of me!’ (EnlNl 30–33). Similarly, note the following attestations of ba+zu (see also [472]) meaning ‘recognize’ and ‘learn’ (lit.: ‘come to know’), and ‘become known’; compare [652]–[653] with these two first-millennium passages: 7-bi a-ra2 ba-an-zu = al-ka-ka-a-ti si-bit-ti-šu2-nu la-ma-du ‘to learn (Sum. he learned) about the activities of the Seven’ (CT 16, 45: 122–123); kid3-kid3-bi ba-an-zu-a = ip-še-e-ti [an-]na-a-ti kul-lu-mi-im-ma ‘to reveal (Sum. he made known) these procedures’ (AAA 22 [1935]: 82 ll. 86–87 [Utukku Lemnutu]). [646] kur-ra a2 he2-bi2-in-gar igi he2-ni-in-bar gid2-da-bi ha-ba-zu har-ra-an kug An-na-ka-še3 he2-ni-e3 buru3-da-bi ha-ba-zu ‘I will defeat the mountain, I will examine it, and I will learn its length! I will go out on the holy road of An and I will learn its depth!’ (InEb 85–86). [647] dumu nar-ra šu tam-tam-ma-gim giš-gu3-di giš la-ba-ra-ab-tukua ki-mu-uš lu2 mu-ni-ib-DU-[x-x] u3-ne-en (vars. u3-un-e11-en, u3-un-e3-en) šag4-bi ba-zu-zu ‘Like a musician with perfect hands, if they bring me a musical instrument, which has never been heard before—when I play it, its true sound (lit. heart) becomes known!’ (ŠB 167–169). u3-ne-en and variants are understood to represent u3.n.e.en, i.e., e as the marû base of dug4. [648] zi gi4-ba šag4-zu nig2 na-me na-an-tum3 en-na ba-e-zu-zu (vars. ba-zu-zu, ba-zu-un?) ‘Calm down! Do not decide anything until you have learned more!’ (EmkEsg A132). [649] a-a dEn-ki inim m[u-un-dug4-d]ug4-ga-a Abzu-a ba-da-an-zu ‘Father Enki in the Abzu was able to learn what had been said’ (NinTrtl B9). [650] [dEn-ki]-⎡ke4⎤ u2 nam-bi bi2-in-tar šag4-ba ba-ni-in-zu ‘Enki determined the destiny of the plants and made them learn it in their hearts’ (EnkNh 219). [651] inim du14-da-ka nam-šeš-e mu-un-dim2-dim2 ki inim-ma-ka namku-li ba-an-zu-zu ‘In the words of a quarrel, brotherhood is founded. At the place of testimony, friendship becomes known’ (SP UET 6/2, 276).

292

chapter five

[652] e2 mu-lu-ne-ka malga ba-e-zu = bi-it a-wi-li-im ma-la-ak-šu tala-am-ma-di-ma ‘You learn what is being deliberated in the houses of men’ (Dial 5: 113). [653] dumu lu2-ra giš3 na-an-ne-en kisal-e ba-e-zu-zu-e (vars. ba-esu-su, bi2/bi-zu-zu) ‘Don’t rape a man’s daughter—the courtyard will learn of it!’ (InŠur 62). Note the Akkadian version with lamādu, i.e., ma-ar-ti a-me-li ina ša-ga-aš-ti la ta-na-qi2-ip pu-u -ri i-lam-mad-ka ‘Don’t rape a man’s daughter—the assembly will learn of you’. Relatedly, the prefix often occurs with verbs that are derived from what are basically adjectival roots. Although there are no clear morphological means of distinguishing adjectival roots (see Black 2000) from verbal, or, for that matter, nominal roots, lexemes such as dug3 ‘sweet’, dugud ‘heavy’, tur ‘small’, etc., may be regarded as essentially adjectival in terms of semantics and typical usage. The prefix in these instances focuses, again, on the change-of-state Endpoint that represents the completion of a dynamic process. Many of these events are indistinguishable from the spontaneous events discussed in §§4.2 and 5.1.5, particularly those that express actions of the type ‘become, turn (into a specified state)’ [551]–[555]. In this use, the prefix adheres to a typological pattern whereby middle markers are “placed on verbs derived from adjectives designating states,” e.g., Turkish hastal-án ‘get sick’ (from hasta ‘sick’), Old Norse grøna-sk ‘turn green’ (from grønn ‘green’) (Kemmer 1993a: 146). [654] immen2 šag4-gar-mu ba-tur (var. ba-tur-e-me-en) ‘Because of my thirst and hunger, I have wasted away’ (Let B16: 11). [655] sag-ki gal-gal-la um-ma-te inim-zu ba-dugud-de3-en ‘Once you have come into contact with such great minds, you will make your own words (become) more weighty’ (Edub C 20). [656] tur3 amaš-a nig2-gig-ga bi2-ak i3 ga ba-e-ni-kal (var. mu-e-nikal) ‘You have caused distress in the pen and sheepfold; the butter and milk have become scarce there (as a result)’ (EmkEsg A265). Note that the variant mu-e-ni-kal, i.e., ‘you have made (the butter and milk) scarce there’ views the event as an act of direct causation. The combination ba+dug3 often has a quasi-factitive sense and is commonly encountered in isomorphic equivalents of the Akkadian idioms

BA-

293

šīr/libbi s.o./s.th. ubbu lit. ‘please the flesh/heart of s.o./s.th.’, which similarly makes use of the D-stem of iābu in factitive function (cf. an-na zag-bi-še3 ba-an-dug3-ge-eš = AN-e ana pat-ti-šu2-‹nu› ú- ib ‘He (Sum.: They) pleased the heavens to their borders’ [ZA 61 (1971) 13: 7]). Notably, transitivity is minimized in those clauses in which the semantic object is relegated to the locative or locative-terminative case (i.e., lit. ‘be pleasing to s.o./s.th.’ [= Akk. ana šīr/libbi s.o./s.th. tiābu]; cf. transitive mu+dug3 ‘please s.o./s.th.’ [58]).24 Consequently, as in [655] and [656], causation is of the indirect, rather than the direct, variety: [657] un sag gi6-ge ba-dug3-ge-me-en ‘You please (lit. are pleasing to) the black-headed people’ (Enlil-bani 1001 ii 11–12). [658] dIš-me-dDa-gan-na inim-ma-ni su-a-na (var. su-a-ni) ba-dug3ga-am3 ‘The words of Ishme-Dagan please (lit. are pleasing to) the flesh (of Enlil)’ (LNip 308). [659] murub4-ba inim dug3-ga ga2-ga2-de3 teš2-bi ba-dug3-ge-eš ‘By setting sweet words between them, they have come to peace with (lit. pleased) one another’ (WnSm 315). Two prototypically stative verbs that occur relatively frequently with ba- are gal2 ‘be present, exist’ and du7 ‘be suitable’. With both, the combination tends to designate a process or the dynamic inception of a state. As in the case of the adjectival roots, events represented by ba+gal2 and ba+du7 are virtually indistinguishable from spontaneous events. As for the former, Jacobsen appears to have arrived at a similar conclusion when he remarked with respect to [660], “The force of ba- with gal2 seems to parallel the IV.1 [i.e., N-stem] of bašû and to make the form ingressive; cf. la-ba-an-gal2-la-a-me-eš : ul ib-ba-aš-ši ‘(their names) have not come into being (in heaven or on earth)’ (CT 16, 44: 96–97)” (apud Gordon 1959: 456).25 24 In this same vein are the Ur III personal names based on the typically stative verb sag9 ‘be beautiful’. The combination ba+sag9 commonly means ‘make beautiful’ denoting a process, while i+sag9 designates ‘be beautiful’, signifying a state, e.g., dŠara2i3-sag9 ‘Shara is good’; Lugal-e-ba-an-sag9 ‘The king made (him/her) good/beautiful’, etc. (Limet 1968: 77, 80, 85); cf. dingir uru-ni ba-an-sag9 he2-⎡me⎤-[en] ‘May you be one who pleases his city’s god’ (DzIn O 22). 25 Compare the stative meaning denoted by mu+gal2 in the following first-millennium copy: u2-bi i-bi2-bi hul-še3 mu-un-ma-al u2-bi a?-[gim . . .] = a-ka-lu šu-u2 pa-nu-šu2 lim-niš i-ba-aš2-šu-u2 a-[ka-lu šu-u2 . . .], which Jacobsen renders, “‘That food, its aspect (lit.: its face/features) is bad (lit.: baddish); how (could you eat) that food?’” (K. 4954: 4 [apud Gordon 1959: 456]).

294

chapter five

In [660]–[662] the context supports an inchoative reading for ba+gal2, the union of prefix and verb signifying a state that results from an autonomous, punctual process much along the lines of the spontaneous events: [660] ninda hul ba-gal2-la gu2-zu la-ba-ši-šub ‘You don’t scorn bread which has turned bad’ (SP 1.21). [661] a-gar3-ta a um-ta-kud-a-ta ki-duru5 kin-ga2 ba-gal2-la-ta ‘After the water had been cut off from the arable tracts, and the work on the damp earth had begun’ (HoPl 80–81). [662] uru2-mu du-lum gig ba-gal2-la-ke4-eš mušen an-na-gim a2 dub2 he2-em-ši-ak me-e uru2-mu-še3 he2-em-ši-dal-dal-en ‘Because bitter misery appeared in my city, I beat my wings like a bird of the heavens and flew to my city’ (LUr 104–106). With the verb du7 ‘be suitable’, the combination often reflects the dynamic event of becoming suitable. Attestations with ba- often include a pre-radical -b-, which may suggest an underlying agency—generic, unknown, or unimportant—that brings the state into being (see [590]– [592]; cf. šu mu+du7 ‘make perfect’ [62]). [663] ki-tuš nam-ur-sag-ga 2-ka-ni tuš-u 3-de 3 ba-ab-du 7-a ‘His residence of valor, which has been made suitable for dwelling’ (Rim-Sin 5: 13–14). [664] id2 gišma2-gur8-ra ba-ab-du7-a-zu šag4-ba u2temesar ba-mu2 ‘In the middle of your watercourses, which were made suitable for barges, teme-plants grow’ (LUr 367). Note the spontaneous event represented by ba+mu2. [665] barag mah-ha sag il2-la-a ba-ab-du7-me-en3 ‘You are one who has been entitled (lit. made suitable) to hold his head high on the lofty dais’ (ŠX 57). As these examples clearly illustrate, the resultant change-of-state that ba- serves to highlight readily lends itself to a perfective or perfect reading. Naturally, the choice of one over the other for a given passage hinges on whether the state that results from the completion of the action is deemed to have a lasting salient effect. There is a fine line here, as discussed above in connection with the typology of perfects, between punctual perfective actions, the perfect, and the passive, that line being current relevance. This is reflected in the inclination, as

BA-

295

evidenced by many of the examples scattered throughout this chapter, to translate verbs prefixed with ba- as perfects when the resultant state is seen as persisting and affecting conditions at the time that the message was coded. The grammar may support either a past or a perfect translation, but the latter is often chosen because the context suggests a persistent state that is relevant to the reference time, e.g., [666] ma-da dim2-ma-bi ba-da-kur2 ‘The allegiance of the territory has changed’ (RCU 17: 23). [667] uru2 mu-zu i3-gal2 za-e ba-e-da-gul-e (vars. mu-da-gul-e/en) uru2 bad3-zu i3-il2 kalam-zu ba-e-da-til uru2-mu u8 zid-gim sila4-zu ba-e-da-kud Urim2ki ud5 zid-gim maš2-zu ba-e-da-til ‘O city, your name exists, but you have been destroyed! O city, your wall rises high, but your land has perished! O my city, (you are) like a faithful ewe, your lamb has been separated from you! O Ur, (you are) like a faithful goat, your kid has perished!’ (LUr 64–67). Note that the anomalous variants mu-da-gul-e/en suggest an agentive interpretation. And the understanding of an inherent perfect nuance to medio-passive events construed with ba- would appear to find support in parallel contexts in Akkadian, a language that grammaticalizes this aspectual distinction. The following passage from a literary letter [668] is to be loosely compared to [669], a contextually similar passage from an Akkadian letter from the Sargonic period that bears witness to an early attestation of the perfect (note the use of the enclitic -ma in both instances, emphasizing the culminating event): [668] inim na-me ma-an-ne-eš-ma LUL.AŠ ba-hul2-le ‘They told me every word and it has made me very happy (lit. I have become very happy)’ (Let B19: 3). [669] aš2-ma2-ma a -ta2-du2 ‘I heard (his letter) and it has made me happy (lit. I have become happy)’ (FAOS 19, Gir 37: 3). The extent to which ba- imparts a perfect meaning must remain, naturally, an open question. What is certain, however, is that Old Babylonian scribes, most if not all of whom spoke Akkadian as their mother language, understood the verbs joined with this prefix—with their singular focus on the Endpoint of the event—to be similar enough in meaning to the Akkadian perfect that they were frequently

296

chapter five

compelled to equate the two in bilinguals. And in this connection, we cannot overlook the highly suggestive, albeit late, evidence from the Neo-Babylonian grammatical texts (a grammatical genre, however, which has its origins in the Old Babylonian period), in which the prefix ba- is described as gamartum/gamirtum ‘completed’ (NBGT I 257, II 262f. [TIL-ti]; note also [nig2] til-la-a = ga-mir-ta/ti3 [Examination Text A 16 (= ZA 64 [1974]: 142)]).26 Consider, for instance, the following bilingual proverb from an Old Babylonian exercise tablet; the correlation with the Akkadian perfect emphasizes the ease with which punctual and dynamic middle domain events lend themselves to a perfect reading:27 [670]

[u3-ua]-bi? [bi2]-dug4 [gišma2-ni b]a-da-su3 [a-la-la/li] bi2-dug4 [gišgi-muš b]a-da-haš [guruš-e u3-u8-a . . . bi2]-dug4 [gišma2-ni kibi]-še3 [ba]-te = e -lum ú-ua!(KU) iq-bi-ma e-li-pa-šu i - e4-bu ala-li iq-bi-ma si-ka-an-šu it-te-eš-bi-ir ú-ua!(KU) ù a-a-ru iq-bi-ma e-li-pa-šu a-na ki-ib-ri i - e4- i ‘A young man said, “Woe!”—his boat had sunk. He said, “Alas!”—his rudder had broken. He said, “Alas!” and “Aiaru!”—his boat had reached the bank!’ (BWL, p. 274: 10–18; SP 3.179).

And from a bilingual Mari letter there are the following correspondences between ba-prefixed verbs and the Akkadian perfect: [671] igi TUL2-la2 nam-dub-sar-ra ba-a[n? ]-gig-ga = im-ru-um ša upšar-ru-tim uš-tam-ri- a-an-ni ‘The eye disease of the scribal craft has afflicted me’ (Charpin 1992: 13 l. 7′). [672] [z]arahx(PA.SAG.LAGAB)-e [g]u2 ba-GAM = ni-sa3-tum u[qda]-di-da-a[n-ni] ‘Despair has bowed me’ (Charpin 1992: 12 l. 4′). The prefix imma- is also equated with the Akkadian perfect, as exemplified by the following passage from an Ur III literary letter; the Susa 26 Black dismissed the identification of gamartum/gamirtum as a designation for the perfect, already suggested by the editors of MSL 4 (p. 186 s.v. gamartum), as “superficially attractive” (1991: 98); as discussed below, Black believed that the perfect was excluded from the Old Babylonian grammatical texts, preferring to see all t-infixed verbs as belonging to the Gt, Št, and Nt stems. 27 The restorations are based on the unilingual Sumerian version STVC 3+4 iv 26–30 and SP 3.179 also cited by Lambert (BWL, p. 274).

BA-

297

copy cited here provides a syllabic Sumerian version with an Akkadian translation: [673] e-ne-eš-še um-ni-im im-ma-an-gen = i-na-an-na um-ma-nu i e4- a-a ‘Now the troops have arrived’ (RCU 10: 18 [Susa]). Of a more circumstantial nature is the frequent parallelism between ba+dug4 and the perfect of qabû, which occurs in a number of stock phrases that are common in the legal jargon of the Old Babylonian period. The Sumerian and Akkadian versions of these idioms are exact calques of one another; compare the following: [674] a-na a-bi-im mu-ra-bi-šu u3 um-mi-im mu-ra-bi-ti-šu u2-ul a-bi at-ta u2-ul um-mi at-ti iq-ta-bi ‘(If) he has said to the father who raised him or to the mother who raised him, “You are not my father,” (or) “You are not my mother”’ (CH §192; cf. VAB 5, 10). [675] tukum-bi ad-da-ni u3 ama-ni nu ad-da-mu nu ama-mu ba-andug4 ‘If he has said to his father or his mother, “You are not my father,” (or) “You are not my mother”’ (SLEx §4′). It is a correspondence that is made explicit in ana ittišu: [676]

tukum-bi dumu ad-da-na-ra ad-da-mu nu-me-a ba-an-naan-dug4 = šum-ma ma-ru a-na a-[bi-šu2] ul a-bi a[t-ta] iq-ta-[b]i ‘If a son has said to his father, “You are not my father” ’ (Ai. VII iii 23–25, similarly, 29–30).

In fact, ana ittišu is replete with equations between verbs bearing ba(and occasionally imma-) and Akkadian perfects (i.e., verbs for which the Gt is unattested). The earliest witnesses of the series cannot be dated before the end of the second millennium, and as such, may be regarded as having doubtful value for the study of Sumerian grammar, particularly with respect to the Akkadian perfect, which by this period had lost its current relevance value and had come to replace the preterite in most environments. This being said, there is good reason to assume that the series has its origins in the Old Babylonian period, as it reflects in both idiom and practice Old Babylonian jurisprudence (see MSL 1, pp. I–III; Lieberman 1977: 29 n. 74). Notably, the series closely follows in content and structure an Old Babylonian compendium

298

chapter five

of legal phrases, the so-called Sumerian Laws Handbook (Roth 1997), as a comparision of [677] with [678] suggests. Indeed, in many cases these idioms find direct counterparts in the warranties of Ur III contracts, cf. [518], [547], [548]. [677] [t]ukum-⎡bi⎤ [ba]-⎡uš2⎤ [ba-an]-zah2-a ⎡u2⎤-gu ba-an-de2 u3 tu-ra ba-an-ku4 ‘If she has died, run off, vanished, or fallen ill’ (SLHF viii 3–8). [678] [t]ukum-b[i] lu2 sag-ga2-e lu2 hun-ga2-e-de3 ba-uš2 ba-an-zah2 ugu bi-an-de2-e ga3-la ba-an-dag u3 tu-ra ba-ab-ak = šum-ma a-wi-lum ar-da i-gu-ur-ma im-tu-ut i -ta-liq it-ta-ba-ta it-ta-pa-ar-ka u3 im-ta-ra- u ‘If a man hired a slave, but (the slave) has (subsequently) died, run off, vanished, stopped work, or fallen ill’ (Ai. VII iv 13–19). The events represented in the parallel clauses of [677] and [678] underscore the bond between the middle voice and the perfect, a bond that is particularly evident in the case of spontaneous events, owing to their inherent dynamism and telicity. These are events that terminate or result in states that are typically lasting and so are likely to be relevant to a subsequent reference or coding time—that is, they are easily interpreted as perfects, e.g., ‘he died, he has died’, ‘it sank, it has sunk’ (observe, in this regard, that among Old Babylonian attestations of mâtu ‘die’ cited in the CAD, perfects out-number preterites, see M/1 sub mâtu 1a–c′). In light of this close association, and the fact that combinations such as ba+uš2 ‘die’ are standard already at a very early date, there is no a priori reason to assume that the perfect nuance of this prefix is a late contrivance of the Old Babylonian scribal schools. In other words, ba+uš2 ‘die’, as widely attested in Pre-Sargonic administrative texts, must be taken to bracket both ‘he died’ and ‘he has died’. Naturally, the same applies to other middle and passive events expressed with ba-. Indeed, the semantics of the perfect—a category that essentially stresses the completion of an action, viewing it from its terminal point—are in such accord with the Endpoint-character of both ba- and imma- that I see little reason to assume that this meaning is not intrinsic to these prefixes. Although Falkenstein specifically denied any such perfect function for ba- in the Gudea corpus (cf. von Soden 1965: 107), there are instances in which events represented by ba- or imma-prefixed verbs can be interpreted as expressing the middle notion of subject-affectedness,

BA-

299

while simultaneously stressing the culminating event in a manner that is reminiscent of the Akkadian perfect in Old Babylonian letters (cf. [668]–[669]). Consider the following passage from Cylinder A (for a discussion of the experiencer assuming the dative case, see [273]–[275]; note also [218]); the intensity that is intrinsic to the heavy middle marker imma- serves additionally to emphasize the central event in a chain of events: [679] iku zid-dam eš2 i3-gar-gar a2-ba giš bi2-gar ni2-te-ni mu-zu hul2la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib2-gar ‘(Gudea) applied the measuring rope to what was exactly an iku; he had pegs driven in alongside it and made sure himself (it was correct)—this made him very happy (lit. it then occurred to him as a joyous event)’ (Gudea Cyl. A xvii 26–28). Remarkably, this same idiom occurs—in identical form—in a Samsuiluna bilingual, where it is translated with an N-stem perfect of šakānu. And like the Gudea passage [679], it may be similarly understood as referring to a culminating event (note the temporal pivot ud-bi-a), as the previous seventeen lines that comprise the beginning of the text describe Enlil’s decrees for Shamash: [680] ud-bi-a ur-sag šul dUtu nam-gal dEn-lil2-le Zimbirki E2-babbarra mu-ni-in-tar-ra-še3 hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib2-gar = i3-nu-šu UR.SAG ŠUL dUTU a-na ši-ma-tim ra-bi-a-tim ša dEn-lil2 a-na ZIMBIRki u3 E2-babbar i-ši-mu ki-ma i-du-tim it-ta-aška-an-šum ‘At that time, the great destinies that Enlil determined for Sippar and the Ebabbar made the hero, the youth Shamash, very happy (lit. it then occurred to him as a joyous event)’ (Samsuiluna 3: 18–24 [Sum.] = 25–32 [Akk.]). In light of this Sumerian idiom and its particular rendering in Akkadian, I turn, finally, to the grammatical texts, which provide the most extensive evidence for the correlation of ba- and imma- with Akkadian t-forms in the Old Babylonian period. Black (1991: 27–29) proposed that the perfect is completely absent from these texts. The Akkadian t-forms that are equated with ba- and imma-, e.g., [681]–[682], he argued, are to be regarded, unequivocally, as t-stems. This leads to the uncomfortable position of accepting no less than thirteen attestations of the Nt for a verb, šakānu, that is otherwise not acknowledged

300

chapter five

to occur in this stem. As Black explained, “it seems that we are dealing with a theme that has been especially concocted to set against certain Sumerian forms” (1991: 29). [681]

[682]

⎡ it-ta⎤-aš-ka-[an] 160. ba-gar ⎡ ⎤ (cf. 142. ba-an -gar = iš-ta-ka-an) ⎡ ⎤ it -ta-aš-ka-an-‹šum› 163. ba-na-gar ⎡ ⎤ ⎡ (cf. 154. ba-na -an-gar = iš-ta⎤-ka-an-šum) (OBGT VI). ⎡ it-ta⎤-aš-ka-nam 184. im-ma-⎡an⎤-gar ⎡ ⎤ (cf. 166. im-ma-an -gar = iš-ta-ak-nam) ⎡ it-ta⎤-aš-ka-na-aš-šum 187. i[m-m]a-⎡na⎤-gar (cf. 178. im-ma-na-an-gar = iš-ta-ak-na-aš-šum) (OBGT VI).

It is difficult to accept this interpretation, however, if one believes that the raison d’être of the grammatical texts was to elucidate Sumerian forms for native Akkadian speakers. And it becomes more difficult still if one further accepts that these texts were compiled for practical teaching and learning purposes, and as such, do not represent the musings of abstract grammatical speculation. Conceivably, the grammatical texts could have been used, among other teaching purposes, as a reference for executing bilinguals such as the Samsuiluna one cited above [680]; for many of these royal inscriptions, one has the impression that the Sumerian version represents a translation from the Akkadian. It is hard to imagine how a contrived Akkadian form of this type could serve this end. There are rare—very rare—lexical instances of the Nt stem. There is, for instance, the Nt of naprušu ‘fly’, for which the N-stem captures the intrinsic middle voice semantics of the event (cf. ba+dal [438]–[443]; Table 3), while the t-element emphasizes the ingressive set-in-motion phase of the event, which results in a separative reading, i.e., ‘fly away’. With a verb such as šakānu, however, the rationale for the Nt stem is far less clear (see Streck 2003: 129–131; Huehnergard 2002: 175). Moreover, the evidence from the Samsuiluna bilingual, which is supported by an exact third-millennium parallel, strongly suggests that the N-stem t-forms of šakānu in the grammatical texts are to be interpreted as perfects, viz., hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib2-gar [679] (also [273]–[275]), hul2-la-gim im-ma-na-ni-ib2-gar = kīma idūtim ittaškanšum [680], im-ma-na-gar = ittaškanaššum [682]. There is simply no compelling reason to assume otherwise.

BA-

301

These perfects, then, take their place in the grammatical texts alongside what we would traditionally distinguish as t-stem forms, e.g., [233], [413]. The argument that the acceptance of perfects would ruin the systematic arrangement of the paradigms (Black 1991: 28) can only hold true if the Old Babylonian grammarians drew the same rigorous distinction between the perfect and the Gt stem that modern scholars do. That the organization of the grammatical texts provides no suggestion of distinguishing the perfect from the t-stem, may indicate that there was no salient difference between these categories in the view of the Old Babylonian grammarians. This supposition, of course, touches upon a more interesting phenomenon—namely, the remarkable development, in both Sumerian and Akkadian, whereby middle markers (Akk. t-stem, Sum. ba- and imma- prefixes; see p. 180 n. 10), drawing upon their innate Endpoint orientation, came to express the temporal notion of the perfect and the spatial notion of the separative within a language contact situation.28

28 Note that -tat- infixed verbs—the only forms for which the perfect can be formally distinguished from the t-stem preterite—are unconfirmed for Old Akkadian and Old Assyrian (see Hecker 1968: §76a for the one, likely corrupt, attestation in this dialect), sporadic in Old Babylonian, and only become a regular feature of the grammar in Middle Babylonian (see von Soden 1950). This distribution may suggest that the perfect, as a morphological category distinct from the t-stem, was the result of a grammaticalization process of the historic periods, arising, like the separative function, from the reflexive/reciprocal—that is, middle marking—t-stem inherited from common Semitic (see p. 180 n. 10). Such a development would be consistent with the well-known relationship between the medio-passive and perfect categories as discussed above. This proposal contrasts with that of Buccellati (1996: 87, 108–112), who eliminates the perfect altogether. Also to be mentioned here is the position of von Soden (1965), who, following the suggestion of Gelb (1955: 110), assumed that the perfect developed from the separative function of the t-stem, regarding both categories as unique to Akkadian among the Semitic languages. Another view that has been expressed sees the perfect not as an innovation in Akkadian, but as vestigial, reflecting the original perfective value of the Afro-Asiatic t-form. This argument has revolved largely around the Egyptian s m.t.f forms—a perfective conjugation which exhibits a t-suffix between the verbal root and the pronominal subject (Loprieno 1980; 1995: 75–76). A connection between the form and function of this construction and the Akkadian perfect was first suggested by Petrovskij (see Lieberman 1986: 627 n. 302 with reference [Russian]), accepted by Satzinger (1971:68), and most extensively discussed by Loprieno (1986: 44–50, 123–34). However, the proposal does not take into account the historical distribution of -tat- infixed verbs or the Sumero-Akkadian language contact situation. Indeed, even if the Akkadian tform inherited its perfect value from Afro-Asiatic (seemingly unlikely in view of Semitic, generally, and the relatively late attestation of the Akkadian perfect), it is conceivable that contact with Sumerian served to reinforce this old aspectual value of -t-.

CONCLUSION Grammatical voice is a linguistic means of altering the perspective from which events may be viewed, providing speakers with a series of options for better approximating in language the infinitely graded spectrum of human conceptualization and experience. Implicit to this spatial metaphor is the notion that actions and states can be described with respect to their beginnings and ends, in terms of Initiator and Endpoint roles (Fig. 5). The Initiator role is typified by the agent, the doer of the action, the responsible entity, and, iconic with the agent, by the starting point and onset time of the event. The Endpoint role is exemplified by the patient, the affected entity, and with it, the terminal point and time of the event. The active voice is an Initiator-oriented notion; it takes the agent as its vantage point. The middle and passive voices, in contrast, revolve around the Endpoint, viewing the event from its end. The prefix mu- represents what I have referred to as the marked active voice because of its close associations with control, agency, and animacy. Its paradigmatic environment, the one upon which all others are modeled, is the prototypical transitive event, e.g., mu+uš2 ‘kill’, mu+gaz ‘destroy’, mu+du3 ‘build’, a fact that accounts for the affinity of this prefix for Agents, the Actors or Initiators par excellence, canonical among which are the Speech-Act-Participants (SAPs), who are typically volitional, and by definition animate. Even when extended well-beyond this prototypical use to intransitive clauses, there is often the notion, if only metaphorical in certain instances, that the subject of the mu-prefixed verb—as the doer of the action—exercises some degree of control or volition over the verbally described event. At the other end of the spectrum, at antipodes to mu-, stands the medio-passive marker ba-, which aligns itself closely with patients, the archetypical Undergoers. Consequently, the semantic center of gravity for this prefix—based on its high degree of correlation with events of this type—are spontaneous events and passive situations, e.g., ba+uš2 ‘die’, ba+mu2 ‘grow’, ba+du3 ‘be built’, situations in which the subject is a patient, a non-volitional, affected, and commonly inanimate entity. The prefix in this way straddles the often indistinct line that separates the middle from the passive. From this prototypical usage, this prefix spans the gamut of the middle domain, extending across instinctual emotion events in which the subject is adversely affected, e.g., ni2—te

304

conclusion

‘fear’, and stretching as far as to occur with middle situations that involve volitional subjects, as is the case in many body-action and self-benefactive events, e.g., ba+gub ‘stand (up)’, ba+nu2 ‘lie (down)’, šu—ba+ti ‘receive’. When expressed with ba-, what these events share with the more prototypical spontaneous events and passive situations is a singular focus on subject affectedness. Complementing mu-, which is preoccupied with the Initiator role, ba- focuses on the Endpoint, the completion of the event and its results. The prefix imma-, as a middle marker, similarly emphasizes the Endpoint notion of subject affectedness. However, there are differences between imma- and ba-, in terms of both the situations in which each canonically occurs and how the event is viewed with each. These are sufficient to establish imma- as a primary voice marker that is functionally independent of ba-. While in theory imma- may occur with all the middle and related situations that ba- does, it gravitates, in terms of typical usage, to situations in which the subject exercises some degree of control and volition. Compared to ba-, imma- represents a less extreme manifestation of Endpoint orientation, as it embraces the Initiator or Actor role to a greater extent than ba-. A case in point is the correlation with uš2 ‘die’, an event representing an acute manifestation of Endpoint focus: forms of ba+uš2 are ubiquitous, while imma- is exceeding rare with the verb, if it occurs at all. Closely bound up with this distinction is the notion of event complexity, or to use Kemmer’s term, the elaboration of events. Spontaneous events at the far end of the spectrum, such as uš2 denoting ‘die’, su ‘sink’, šub ‘fall’—events that are typically expressed with ba-—tend to be punctual and unitary, lacking internal complexity. These are simple, autonomous events in which the action emanates from a patient-subject. Lacking an Initiator, the elaboration of events is minimal in these cases. That imma- does not occur regularly with these predicates is consistent with the notion that the prefix typically implies that the event has a certain degree of complexity. To put it differently, imma- expresses more meaning than ba-. This is most clearly demonstrated by the large class of events that commonly occur with both prefixes. šu—ti ‘receive, take’ may be taken as paradigmatic in this respect: šu ba+ti denotes the relatively passive event ‘receive, get, accept’, while šu imma+ti designates the more intensive ‘grab, seize (for oneself, for one’s purpose or further use)’, which represents a step up in agency and complexity. Frequently, the greater complexity that is implicit to imma- manifests itself in the appearance of this prefix with events that are plural or collective. Elsewhere,

conclusion

305

where there is no fundamental difference in meaning between events expressed with the two prefixes, greater complexity amounts simply to intensity, and imma- may be described as the emphatic or contrastive counterpart of ba-. More broadly, the distinction between imma- and ba- corresponds, cognitively, to a difference in granularity, the grain-size with which events are conceptualized. With imma-, the event is opened up and something of its internal structure is on display. To borrow a metaphor from Kemmer (1993a: 208–210, 248) that draws upon the parallels between language structure and visual perception (see Jackendoff 1987), immaand ba- may be likened to the alternative objectives on a microscope. imma- is the high resolution objective that zooms in on events presenting greater detail; it allows speakers to emphasize the complexities or internal structure of the event. ba- is the low resolution objective that allows speakers to zoom out and describe events as discrete wholes when internal consistency is either lacking or unimportant from the speaker’s perspective. As the last option suggests, the choice between the two is often pragmatically driven, dependent upon the context and the speaker’s discourse requirements. I have avoided discussing the morphology of the prefixes in this book in the interest of uncovering meaning and function independent of the constraints that assumptions about form would necessarily entail. Having accomplished this, I will permit myself to make two observations about form as it relates to function. The first is that there is no reason, on the basis of function and meaning, to assume that ba- contains a locative element /a/. This is an old idea that can be traced back through Falkenstein to Poebel. Although challenged by Civil over thirty years ago (apud Postgate 1974: 20 n. 11), it remains entrenched in the scholarly consensus, the vestige of a view, likewise old but held to this day by many Sumerologists, that each phoneme of grammatical elements has morphemic status. Certainly, there are instances in which the prefix co-occurs with a nominal in the locative or locative-terminative case, but there are many more in which it does not. Moreover, what role a locative element would play in the primary middle-voice function of the prefix—what meaning it imparts or function it serves with a basic ba- event such as ba+uš2 ‘die’—is, at a minimum, obscure. My second comment concerns the morphology of imma-, the one prefix that is likely to be analyzed as a compound. As a middle marker that functions much along the lines of ba-, that expresses meanings that are very similar to ba-, and that shares with ba- an Endpoint perspective

306

conclusion

on events, imma- has no direct connection with mu-. If imma- represented a morphological doubling of mu- (see §1.3) one would, reasonably, expect the prefix to function as mu- does, perhaps even for the reduplication to reflect an iconic intensification of the qualities intrinsic to mu-. In other words, one would expect the prefix to occur in the expression of prototypical transitive events, which it does not. If we are to seek to derive the prefix from the other members of this class, the anchor for any such compound must be ba-. Given the ventive force the prefix has with verbs of motion, at least in certain contexts, the most viable candidate, on the basis of function and meaning, remains the one implied by the analysis of the ancients, namely, imma- < i+m+ba- (§4.1.2). Iconicity is integral to the functions attributed to each prefix and to the system as a whole. It is on display with the aforementioned distinction between the middle markers imma- and ba-, in which—consistent with the parallelism between form and meaning that is fundamental to language—the phonologically heavier marker, imma-, conveys more meaning than its lighter counterpart, ba-. Most broadly, it can be witnessed in the voice-marking potential of the prefixes. As linguistic distance is iconic with conceptual distance, the potential of the prefix to modify the meaning of the verbal root—that is, to express grammatical voice—increases the closer the prefix is to the root. Although no firm rules can be established in this regard, when case elements intervene, the voice potential of the prefix, as a general tendency, diminishes and the prefix is likely to bond with the semantics of the referent of the following infix, as the inclusion of a dative infix so clearly demonstrates. Additionally, with the non-voice functions of the prefixes, there is an iconicity at work, and they may be accounted for in terms of the coincident parameters of the event and the quantities of each that are associated with the Initiator and Endpoint roles (Fig. 5). At the most basic and concrete level, this amounts to the bond between mu- and agency, the prototypical Agents being the SAPs who are by definition here, and between ba- and patiency, the prototypical Objects being inanimates, which are metaphorically envisioned as there. Within this framework the deictic functions of the prefixes find structure. mudenotes motion hither to a specified reference point, which by default is the location of discourse. ba-, as a middle marker, emphasizes the ingressive set-in-motion phase of the event, which amounts to designating motion thither, again, with respect to the location of the SAPs. Paralleling motion events are dative events, in which the abstract concepts that comprise the Nominal Hierarchy are mapped onto the more concrete spatial notions of the physical world. In dative events mu- is manda-

conclusion

307

tory in give to me (ma+sum), nearly so in give to you (mu-ra+sum), and an option that is exercised in the case of give to him/her (mu-na+sum), when the speaker empathizes with this third person and seeks to identify this distant individual, who is uninvolved in the discourse, with the SAPs, the local arguments. Completing this spectrum, give to them (collective), give to it, and, moreover, give away are typically expressed with ba- (ba+sum). Also modeled on this template are the temporal affinities of the prefixes. Viewing the event from the vantage point of its initiation, mu- highlights the beginning and unfolding of the action. Consequently, the prefix occurs frequently with events that lack an Endpoint, that are atelic and imperfective. In contrast, ba- and imma-, observing the event from its end, tend to correlate with actions that are punctual and telic, a quality that finds its most dramatic expression in their equation with the Akkadian perfect in Old Babylonian bilinguals. Finally and most abstractly, there is the iconicity that exists between discourse grounding and transitivity: mu- is often called upon to express foregrounded information that is essential to the message, while ba- (and i-) may be relegated to the expression of supportive material. To place these correlations within a more sweeping framework, what is at issue is the relative salience of linguistic categories: mu- clusters around those quantities that are more salient, that correspond to the figure in Gestalt terms, ba- around those that are less cognitively prominent, that correspond to the ground. More concretely, to couch the limits of these correlations within spatial dimension of the real world, mu- corresponds to what is conceptualized as here, as manifested by the place of discourse, the location of the SAPs, who are the prototypical agents; ba- corresponds to that which is envisioned as there, as represented by the location of things, the prototypical patients, which are necessarily removed from the speech situation. The polysemy that characterizes the prefixes comes as no surprise, for situations that are perceived to be similar, that share a common semantic space, frequently receive similar or identical marking—again, there is an iconicity at work, for as Haiman explains, addressing the phenomenon from the other direction, “recurrent similarity of form must reflect similarity in meaning” (1985: 26 [emphasis in original]; see also Croft 2003: 105; Haiman 1983; Lichtenberk 1985: 39–40). Nor is it surprising that this polysemy permeates into other categories that are removed from grammatical voice, for languages do not observe the sharp divisions between categories that grammarians do. Indeed, at the root of grammaticalization, which is part and parcel of the evolution of all languages, is the ability of grammatical morphemes to progress from

308

conclusion

one category to another, accumulating properties from each along the way (Bybee, Pagliuca, and Perkins 1994: 17–18; Kemmer 1994: 220). *

*

*

The theory presented in this book, that the primary conjugation prefixes represent a system of grammatical voice in Sumerian, is based on the observation that each prefix tends to occur with certain verb-types and more frequently in certain environments than in others. This is a basic active-middle voice system in which middle marking is often used to express the passive. To summarize, the markers in this system consist of mu-, representing what I have described as the marked active voice, and two middle markers of different weights—a heavy marker, imma-, and a light marker, ba-. Although there is near isomorphic overlap in types of situations in which the two middle markers may occur—both prefixes span the range of middle domain—ba- clusters much more toward the low end of this spectrum. ba- gravitates in terms of prototypical usage toward the vague boundary between the middle and the passive, a semantic area dominated by the patient, the paradigmatic Undergoer. imma-, with the greater complexity or elaboration of events that it implies, more often occurs with middle situations in which the subject exerts some volition or control, in which the subject serves as the Initiator or Actor of the event in addition to fulfilling the Endpoint or Undergoer role. Accounting for these differences while distinguishing between the two prefixes, imma- may be described as a middle marker, and ba- as a medio-passive marker. In detail, the analysis that accounts for the various uses of the prefixes may seem complex, as does the analysis of any intricate system of language, but it can be reduced conceptually and expressed simply in terms of the extremities of the event as schematized in Fig. 11: mu- is bound to the beginning of the event, while imma- and ba-, although differing with respect to degree, are bound to the end of the event. These three prefixes are set against the prefix i-, which is neutral to voice distinctions and may, as a pragmatic option, be used in lieu of the voice prefixes in most muagent (Initiator/Actor)

immai-

ba-

patient (Endpoint/Undergoer)

Figure 11. Organization of the Primary Prefixes According to Prototypical Usage.

conclusion

309

situations. The function of this prefix derives precisely from its neutrality, allowing a speaker to de-emphasize or neutralize various qualities of a proposition, including agency, subject-affectedness, empathy, and information salience. As these last comments suggest—and as I have stressed throughout this book—the choice of prefix is very much at the discretion of the speaker. The tendency for a given prefix to occur in certain contexts is simply that, a tendency. The number of contexts for which we can anticipate which prefix will occur, with anything approaching predictive power, are remarkably few. Consistent with linguistic prototypes and categories, each prefix is a function of a number of semantic and pragmatic factors, no one of which is definitive. Only with those situations that revolve around the opposing nodes of the event, those that represent the canonical uses, can we speak with confidence about which prefix should occur. A prototypical transitive event in which agency is pragmatically stressed will occur with mu- in most cases, e.g., mu+uš2 ‘kill’; a prototypical spontaneous or passive event in which subject affectedness is pragmatically stressed will conversely occur with ba-, e.g., ba+uš2 ‘die’. The properties upon which transitivity is based (Table 1) correlate to such a degree with these events that other construals or perspectives are virtually impossible. For the vast majority of events, however, these properties do not coincide to this degree, and, consequently, there is considerable pragmatic leeway to alter the construal, and view the event from different vantage points. Indeed, as I pointed out at the outset, the system may be semantically based, but it is often pragmatic criteria that are the overriding factor. This is again shown by the distribution of prefixes across various genres. In the detached impersonal jargon of legal and administrative texts, which strives for objectivity, there is a preference for i- over the more emphatic, agency stressing mu-. Similarly, the intensity and complexity that is implicit to imma- is most compatible with literary efforts, and it is in these genres that the prefix is primarily encountered, where the added intensity that it conveyed presumably provided some stylistic flourish (compare the ubiquitous attestations of šu—ba+ti ‘get, receive’ in administrative texts with šu—imma+ti ‘grab, seize’, which is largely limited to literary texts and royal inscriptions). The overriding role that discourse considerations may play brings to mind the pragmatically based focus systems of the type encountered in Philippine languages (§2.9.4). In fact, as I noted in the introduction, if we take into account a(l )- and the locative prefixes, bi- and immi-, we could describe the

310

conclusion

extended category in Sumerian as constituting a broad focus system that includes aspectual distinctions and various types of locative focus in addition to grammatical voice. The modern scholar cannot help but see a certain chaos in the behavior of the prefixes precisely because there are so few semantic and morphosyntactic environments in which a given prefix can be expected. Much of this, as we have seen, stems from the critical role played by pragmatic factors. And it is exacerbated by the multiple functions of the prefixes and the polysemy that characterizes the system as a whole. Undoubtedly, speakers must have relied heavily upon the broader context, irretrievable today, in order to resolve certain ambiguities. These have been the veils that have mystified the conjugation prefixes and impeded the recognition that, in their basic function, they constitute a system of grammatical voice. This brings us back to the comments of Sollberger and others with which we began. How, and even whether, the prefixes should be translated, and what constitutes an appropriate translation, depends—as it does in the case of any grammatical morpheme—upon the structure and lexicon of the target language and the level of specificity desired in the translation. But these are very different questions from the deeper one of meaning and the ways in which various languages convey meaning. Broadly stated, the prefixes provide a means for increasing the expressive potential of the Sumerian language. To apply a label that embraces their voice and non-voice functions, if not particularly useful from the point of view of language comparison, they are semantic modifiers that alter the verbal or clausal meaning. By marking for perspective, for instance, the prefixes extend a limited lexicon, creating distinctions, oppositions, and nuances of meaning that other languages with richer vocabularies make lexically (e.g. mu+uš2 ‘kill’ vs. ba+uš2 ‘die’; mu+de6 ‘bring’ vs. ba+de6 ‘take’; mu+zu ‘know’ vs. ba+zu ‘learn’; šu—ba+ti ‘get, receive’ vs. šu—imma+ti ‘grab, seize’, and so on). By marking for subject affectedness, indicating the co-referentiality of Initiator and Endpoint, they signal what many other languages indicate with various pronouns, which are notably of limited productivity in Sumerian. Furthermore, by marking for such abstract notions as agency, control, volition and empathy, they articulate, economically and elegantly, what is typically expressed lexically or periphrastically in more familiar languages. Many more examples of this type could be given. There is nothing sui generis about the meanings represented by the conjugation prefixes. They express the same meanings that all languages do. Sumerian simply

conclusion

311

expresses them by more grammatical means, exploiting the flexibility of an iconically structured system. And this speaks to what is most profoundly interesting about the prefixes—the glimpse they provide into how Sumerian speakers conceptualized reality and experience as reflected in their language.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Aalderen, C. T. van. 1982. “Some Observations on Ergativity,” OLP 13, 35–36. Aistleitner, J. 1923. “Des préformatifs verbaux sumériens et principalement des préfixes des subjectifs,” RA 20, 53–71. Alberti, A. and F. Pomponio. 1986. Pre-Sargonic and Sargonic Texts From Ur Edited in UET 2, Supplement (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 13). Rome: Biblical Institute. Al-Fouadi, A.-H. A. 1969. “Enki’s Journey to Nippur: The Journeys of the Gods.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. Ali, F. A. 1964a. “Sumerian Letters: Two Collections from the Old Babylonian Schools.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. ——. 1964b. “Blowing the Horn for Official Announcement,” Sumer 20, 66–68. Allan, R. J. 2003. The Middle Voice in Ancient Greek: A Study in Polysemy (Amsterdam Studies in Classical Philology 11). Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben. Alster, B. 2006. “New Sources for Dumuzi’s Dream,” ZA 96, 1–30. ——. 2005. Wisdom of Ancient Sumer. Bethesda, MD: CDL. ——. 1997. Proverbs from Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collection, 2 vols. Bethesda, MD: CDL. ——. 1985. “Sumerian Love Songs,” RA 79, 127–159. ——. 1974. The Instructions of Šuruppak: A Sumerian Proverb Collection (Mesopotamia 2). Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. ——. 1972a. Dumuzi’s Dream: Aspects of Oral Poetry in a Sumerian Myth (Mesopotamia 1). Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. ——. 1972b. “ ‘Ninurta and the Turtle’, UET 6/1 2,” JCS 24, 120–125. Andersen, P. K. 1994. Empirical Studies in Diathesis. Munster: Nodus. Andrews, A. 1985. “The Major Functions of the Noun Phrase,” in Language Typology and Syntactic Description. Volume 1: Clause Structure, ed. by T. Shopen, pp. 62–154. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Arce-Arenales, M., M. Axelrod, and B. A. Fox. 1994. “Active Voice and Middle Diathesis: A Cross-Linguistic Perspective,” in Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27), ed. by B. Fox and P. J. Hopper, pp. 1–21. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Arnott, D. W. 1956. “The Middle Voice in Fula,” BSOAS 18, 130–144. Attinger, P. 2003. “L’Hymne à Nungal,” in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke (Orientalia Biblica et Christiana 14), ed. by W. Sallaberger, K. Volk, and A. Zgoll, pp. 15–34. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. ——. 1998a. “Inana et Ebi ,” ZA 88, 164–195. ——. 1998b. “/n/ réflexif ?,” NABU 1998/41. ——. 1993. Eléments de linguistique sumérienne: La construction de du11/e/di «dire» (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Sonderband). Friborg: Ruprecht Göttingen. ——. 1984a. “Enki et Nin ursaXa,” ZA 74, 1–52. ——. 1984b. “Remarques a propos de la ‘Malédiction d’Accad’,” RA 78, 99–121. Bakker, E. J. 1994. “Voice, Aspect and Aktionsart: Middle and Passive in Ancient Greek,” in Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27), ed. by B. Fox and P. J. Hopper, pp. 23–47. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Barber, E. J. W. 1975. “Voice: Beyond the Passive,” Berkeley Linguistics Society 1, 16–24. Bauer, J. 2004. “DU = kux (-dr) ‘eintreten, hineinbringen’?,” ZA 94, 16–17. ——. 2001. “Zum sumerischen Verbalpräfix ba-,” NABU 2001/34. ——. 1972. Altsumerische Wirtschaftstexte aus Lagasch (Studia Pohl 9). Rome: Biblical Institute Press.

314

bibliography

Behrens, H. 1978. Enlil und Ninlil: Ein sumerischer Mythos aus Nippur (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 8). Rome: Biblical Institute Press. Benito, C. A. 1969. “Enki and Nimah and Enki and the World Order.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. Benveniste, E. 1971. Problems in General Linguistics. Coral Gables, FL: University of Miami Press. Berlin, A. 1979. Enmerkar and Ensu kešdanna: A Sumerian Narrative Poem (Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund 2). Philadelphia: University Museum. Bertin, G. 1886. “L’incorporation verbale en Accadien,” RA 1, 105–115, 148–161. Binnick, R. 1991. Time and the Verb: A Guide to Tense and Aspect. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Black, J. 2000 [published 2005]. “Some Sumerian Adjectives,” ASJ 22, 3–27. ——. 1991. Sumerian Grammar in Babylonian Theory, 2nd ed. (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 12). Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico. ——. 1986. Review of M.-L. Thomsen, The Sumerian Language, AfO 33, 77–83. ——. 1985. “A-še-er Gi6-ta: A Balag of Inana,” ASJ 7, 11–87. Black, J., et al. 1998–2006. The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (http://www. etcsl.orient.ox.ac.uk/). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Blake, B. J. 1994. Case. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bloomfield, L. 1933. Language. New York: H. Holt. Borger, R. 1991. Ein Brief Sîn-idinnams von Larsa an den Sonnengott sowie Bemerkungen über “Joins” und das “Joinen” (Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen I. Philologisch-historische Klasse 1991/2). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Brown, D. and G. Zólyomi. 2001. “‘Daylight Converts to Night-time’: An AstrologicalAstronomical Reference in Sumerian Literary Context,” Iraq 63, 149–154. Brown, G. 1995. Speakers, Listeners and Communication: Explorations in Discourse Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brown, G., and G. Yule. 1983. Discourse Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Buccellati, G. 1996. A Structural Grammar of Babylonian. Wiesbaden: Harrossowitz. Bybee, J. 1985. Morphology (Typological Studies in Language 9). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Bybee, J., and W. Pagliuca. 1987. “The Evolution of Future Meaning,” in Papers from the 7th International Conference on Historical Linguistics, ed. by A. G. Ramat, O. Carruba, and G. Bernini, pp. 109–122. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Bybee, J., W. Pagliuca, and R. Perkins. 1991. “Back to the Future,” in Approaches to Grammaticalization. Volume 2: Focus on Types of Grammatical Markers (Typological Studies in Language 19: 2), ed. by E. C. Traugott and B. Heine, pp. 17–58. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Bybee, J., R. Perkins, and W. Pagliuca. 1994. The Evolution of Grammar: Tense, Aspect, and Modality in the Languages of the World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Carroll, M. 1997. “Changing Place in English and German: Language-Specific Preferences in the Conceptualization of Spatial Relations,” in Language and Conceptualization (Language, Culture and Cognition 1), ed. by J. Nuyts and E. Pederson, pp. 137–161. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Castellino, G. R. 1972. Two Šulgi Hymns (BC) (Studi Semitici 42). Rome: Istituto di Studi del Vicino Oriente. Cavigneaux, A. and F. Al-Rawi. 2000a. Gilgameš et la Mort: Texts de Tell Haddad VI, avec un appendice sur les textes funéraires sumériens (Cuneiform Monographs 19). Groningen: Styx Publications. ——. 2000b. “La fin de Gilgameš, Enkidu et les Enfres d’après les manuscrits d’Ur et de Meturan (Textes de Tell Haddad VIII),” Iraq 62, 1–19. ——. 1993. “Gilgameš et Taureau de Ciel (šul-mè-kam) (Textes de Tell Haddad IV),” RA 87, 97–129.

bibliography

315

Chafe, W. L. 1976. “Givenness, Constrastiveness, Definiteness, Subjects, Topics, and Point of View,” in Subject and Topic, ed. by C. N. Li, pp. 25–55. New York: Academic Press. Charpin, D. 1992. “Les malheurs d’un scribe ou de l’inutilité du sumérien loin de Nippur,” in Nippur at the Centennial (CRRA 35), ed. by M. de Jong Ellis, pp. 7–27. Philadelphia: University Museum. Christian, V. 1957. Beiträge zur sumerischen Grammatik (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Sitzungsberichte, 231. Band, 2. Abhandlung). Vienna: Rudolf M. Rohrer. Chung, S. 1981. “Transitivity and Surface Filters in Chamorro,” in Studies in Pacific Languages & Cultures, ed. by J. Hollyman and A. Pawley, pp. 311–332. Auckland: Linguistic Society of New Zealand. Civil, M. 2000 [published 2005]. “Modal Prefixes,” ASJ 22, 29–42. ——. 1999–2000. “Reading Gilgameš,” Aula Orientalis 17–18, 179–189. ——. 1994. The Farmer’s Instructions: A Sumerian Agricultural Manual (Aula OrientalisSupplementa 5). Sabadell: Editorial Ausa. ——. 1993. “On Mesopotamian Jails and Their Lady Warden,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo, ed. by M. E. Cohen, D. Snell, and D. Weisberg, pp. 72–78. Bethesda, MD: CDL. ——. 1983. “Enlil and Ninlil: The Marriage of Sud,” JAOS 103, 43–66. ——. 1973. “The Sumerian Writing System: Some Problems,” Or. NS 42, 21–34. ——. 1969. “The Sumerian Flood Story,” in Atra- asīs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood, by W. G. Lambert and A. R. Millard, pp. 138–145, 167–172. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——. 1964. “The ‘Message of LÚ-DINGIR-RA to His Mother’ and a Group of Akkado-Hittite ‘Proverbs’,” JNES 23, 1–11. ——. 1961. “Home of the Fish,” Iraq 23, 154–175. Claudi, U., and B. Heine. 1986. “On the Metaphorical Base of Grammar,” Studies in Language 10, 297–335. Cohen, M. E. 1981. Sumerian Hymnology: The Eršemma (HUCA Supplements 2). Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College. ——. 1975. “The Incantation-Hymn: Incantation or Hymn?,” JAOS 95, 592–611. Cohen, S. 1973. “Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. Comrie, B., ed. 1990. The World’s Major Languages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——. 1989. Language Universals and Linguistic Typology: Syntax and Morphology, 2nd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1985. Tense. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1981. “Aspect and Voice: Some Reflections on Perfect and Passive,” in Tense and Aspect (Syntax and Semantics 14), ed. by P. J. Tedeschi and A. Zaenen, pp. 65–78. New York: Academic Press. ——. 1976. Aspect. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cooper, J. S. 1986. Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions. Vol. 1: Presargonic Inscriptions (The American Oriental Society Translation Series 1). New Haven: The American Oriental Society. ——. 1983. The Curse of Agade. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. ——. 1980. Review of H. Behrens, Enlil und Ninlil: Ein sumerischer Mythos aus Nippur (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 8), JCS 32, 175–188. Cooper, J. S. and W. Heimpel. 1983. “The Sumerian Sargon Legend,” JAOS 103, 67–82. Cooreman, A. 1994. “A Functional Typology of Antipassives,” in Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27), ed. by B. Fox and P. J. Hopper, pp. 49–88. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1988. “The Antipassive in Chamorro: Variations on the Theme of Transitivity,” in Passive and Voice (Typological Studies in Language 16), ed. by M. Shibatani, pp. 561–593. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

316

bibliography

——. 1987. Transitivity and Discourse Continuity in Chamorro Narratives (Empirical Approaches to Language Typology 4). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. ——. 1982. “Topicality, Ergativity and Trasitivity in Narrative Discourse: Evidence from Chamorro,” Studies in Language 6, 343–374. Cristofaro, S. 2003. Subordination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Croft, W. 2003. Typology and Universals, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 2001. Radical Construction Grammar: Syntactic Theory in Typological Perspective. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——. 1995. “Modern Syntactic Typology,” in Approaches to Language Typology, ed. by M. Shibatani and T. Bynon, pp. 85–144. Oxford: Clarendon. ——. 1994. “Voice: Beyond Control and Affectedness,” in Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27), ed. by B. Fox and P. J. Hopper, pp. 89–117. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1991. Syntactic Categories and Grammatical Relations: The Cognitive Organization of Information. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1990. Typology and Universals. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Croft, W., and D. A. Cruse 2004. Cognitive Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Croft, W., K. Denning, and S. Kemmer, eds. 1990. Studies in Typology and Diachrony for Joseph H. Greenberg (Typological Studies in Language 20). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Croft, W., H. Shyldkrot, and S. Kemmer. 1987. “Diachronic Semantic Processes in the Middle Voice,” in Papers from the 7th International Conference on Historical Linguistics, ed. by A. Giacalone-Ramat, O. Carruba, and G. Bernini, pp. 179–192. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Crystal, D. 2003. A Dictionary of Linguistics and Phonetics, 5th ed. Oxford: Blackwell. D’Agostino, F. 1991. “The Study of Sumerian Grammar at Ebla, Part I,” ASJ 13, 157–180. ——. 1990. Il Sistema Verbale Sumerico nei Testi Lessicali di Ebla (Studi Semitici N.S. 7). Rome: Università Degli Studi “La Sapienza.” Dayley, J. P. 1985a. Tzutujil Grammar (University of California Publications in Linguistics 107). Berkeley: University of California Press. ——. 1985b. “Voice in Tzutujil,” in Grammar Inside and Outside the Clause: Some Approaches to Theory from the Field, ed. by J. Nichols and A. C. Woodbury, pp. 192–226. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1978. “Voice in Tzutujil,” Journal of Mayan Linguistics 1, 20–52. Deimel, P. A. 1954. “Wie steht es heute um das Problem der sumerische Verbalpräfixe mu-, e-(i-)?,” Hebrew Union College Annual 35, 93–106. ——. 1939. Šumerische Grammatik, 2nd ed. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. DeLancey, S. 1987. “Transitivity in Grammar and Cognition,” in Coherence and Grounding in Discourse: Outcome of a Symposium, Eugene, Oregon, June 1984 (Typolocial Studies in Language 11), ed. by R. S. Tomlin, pp. 53–68. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1984. “Notes on Agentivity and Causation,” Studies in Language 8, 181–213. ——. 1982. “Aspect, Transitivity, and Viewpoint,” in Tense-Aspect: Between Semantics and Pragmatics (Typological Studies in Language 1), ed. by P. J. Hopper, pp. 167–183. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1981. “An Interpretation of Split Ergativity and Related Patterns,” Language 57, 626–657. Delitzsch, F. 1914. Grundzüge der sumerischen Grammatik. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Delnero, P. 2006. “Variation in Sumerian Literary Compositions: A Case Study Based on the Decad.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. Dijk, J. J. A. van. 1998. “Inanna raubt den ‘grossen Himmel’: Ein mythos,” in Festschrift für Rykle Borger zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Mai 1994: tikip santakki mala

bibliography

317

bašmu (Cuneiform Monographs 10), ed. by S. M. Maul, pp. 9–38. Groningen: Styx Publications. ——. 1983. LUGAL UD ME-LÁM-bi NIR-⁄GÁL: Le récit épique et didactique des Travaux de Ninurta, du Déluge et de la Nouvelle Création, 2 vols. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——. 1960. Sumerische Götterlieder II (Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Kl., Jahrgang 1960, 1). Heidelberg: Carl Winter UniversitätsVerlag. ——. 1953. La Sagesse suméro-accadienne. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Dixon, R. M. W. 1994. Ergativity (Cambridge Studies in Linguistics 69). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1980. The Languages of Australia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dixon, R. M. W., and A. Y. Aikhenvald, eds. 2000. Changing Valency: Case Studies in Transitivity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dryer, M. S. 1986. “Primary Objects, Secondary Objects, and Antidative,” Language 62, 808–845. Du Bois, J. W. 1987a. “The Discourse Basis of Ergativity,” Language 63, 805–855. Edzard, D. O. 2003a. Sumerian Grammar (Handbuch der Orientalistik 71). Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——. 2003b. “Zum sumerischen Verbalpräfix a(l),” in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke (Orientalia Biblica et Christiana 14), ed. by W. Sallaberger, K. Volk, and A. Zgoll, pp. 87–98. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. ——. 1997. Gudea and His Dynasty (RIME 3/1). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ——. 1993. “Gilgameš und Huwawa”: Zwei Versionen der sumerischen Zedernwaldepisode nebst einer Edition von Version ‘B’ (Sitzungberichte der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-Historische Klasse 4). Munich: Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. ——. 1991. “Gilgameš und Huwawa A. II. Teil,” ZA, 165–233. ——. 1990. “Gilgameš und Huwawa A. I. Teil,” ZA, 165–203. ——. 1976. “ ‘Du hast mir gegeben’, ‘ich habe dir gegeben’: Über das sumerische Verbum sum,” WO 8, 159–177. ——. 1968. Sumerische Rechtsurkunden des III. Jahrtausends aus der Zeit vor der III. Dynastie von Ur (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Klasse, Abhandlungen N. F. 67). Munich: Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Falkenstein, A. 1978a. Grammatik der Sprache Gudeas von Lagaš. Vol. 1: Schrift- und Formenlehre, 2nd ed. (AnOr 28). Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. ——. 1978b. Grammatik der Sprache Gudeas von Lagaš. Vol. 2: Syntax, 2nd ed. (AnOr 29). Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. ——. 1959a. Das Sumerische (Handbuch der Orientalistik 2/1). Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——. 1959b. Sumerische Götterlieder I (Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Kl., Jahrgang 1959, 1). Heidelberg: Carl Winter Universitätsverlag. ——. 1956–1957. Die neusumerischen Gerichtsurkunden, vols. 1–3 (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Klasse, Abhandlungen N. F. 39, 40, 44). Munich: Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. ——. 1954. “Tammuz,” in CRRA 3, pp. 41–65. Leiden: Nederlandsch Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. ——. 1950. “Sumerische religiöse Texte,” ZA 49, 80–150. Faltz, L. M. 1985. Reflexivization: A Study in Universal Syntax. New York: Garland. Farber-Flügge, G. 1973. Der Mythos “Inanna und Enki” unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Liste der me (Studia Pohl 10). Rome: Biblical Institute Press. Farrell, P. 2005. Grammatical Relations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ferrara, A. J. 1973. Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nippur (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 2). Rome: Biblical Institute Press.

318

bibliography

Fillmore, C. J. 2003. Form and Meaning in Language. Vol. 1: Papers on Semantic Roles (Center for the Study of Language and Information [CSLI], Stanford, CA, Lecture Notes 121). Stanford: CSLI. ——. 1997. Lectures on Deixis (Center for the Study of Language and Information [CSLI], Stanford, CA, Lecture Notes 65). Stanford: CSLI. ——. 1971. “ ‘How to Know Whether You’re Coming or Going’,” Kopenhagener Beiträge zur germanistischen Linguistik 2, 369–379. ——. 1968. “The Case for Case,” in Universals in Linguistic Theory, ed. by E. Bach and R. T. Harms, pp. 1–88. New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston. Finkelstein, J. J. 1963. “The Antediluvian Kings: A University of California Tablet,” JCS 17, 39–51. Flückiger-Hawker, E. 1999. Urnamma of Ur in Sumerian Literary Tradition (OBO 166). Friborg: University Press; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Foley, W. A. and R. D Van Valin Jr. 1984. Functional Syntax and Universal Grammar (Cambridge Studies in Linguistics 38). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Forrest, L. B. 1994. “De-transitive clauses in Bella Coola: Passive vs. Inverse,” in Voice and Inversion (Typological Studies in Language 28), ed. by T. Givón, pp. 147–168. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Fox, B., and P. J. Hopper. 1994. Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Foxvog, D. A. 1975. “The Sumerian Ergative Construction,” Or. NS 44, 395–425. ——. 1974. “The Sumerian Ventive.” Ph.D. diss., University of California at Berkeley. Frayne, D. R. [forthcoming]. Presargonic Period (2700–2350 BC) (RIME 1). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ——. 1997. Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC) (RIME 3/2). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ——. 1993. Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC) (RIME 2). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ——. 1990. Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC) (RIME 4). Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Gadd, C. J. 1924. A Sumerian Reading-Book. Oxford: Clarendon. Gelb, I. J. 1973. Review of W. von Soden, Ergänzungsheft zum Grundriss der akkadischen Grammatik (AnOr 33), BiOr 30, 249–251. Gelb, I. J., P. Steinkeller, and R. M. Whiting. 1991. Earliest Land Tenure Systems in the Near East: Ancient Kudurrus (OIP 104). Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. ——. 1955. “Notes on von Soden’s Grammar of Akkadian,” BiOr 12, 93–111. Geller, M. J. 1998a. “Reflexives and Antipassives in Sumerian Verbs,” Or. NS 67, 85–106. ——. 1998b. Review of P. Attinger, Eléments de linguistique sumérienne: La construction de du11/e/di “dire”, Or. NS 67, 129–132. ——. 1985. Forerunners to Udug-hul: Sumerian Exorcistic Incantations (FAOS 12). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Geniušienë, E. 1987. The Typology of Reflexives (Empirical Approaches to Language Typology 2). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. George, A. 1999. The Epic of Gilgamesh: The Babylonian Epic Poem and Other Texts in Akkadian and Sumerian. London: Penguin Books. Givón, T. 2001a. Syntax: An Introduction, vol. 1, 2nd rev. ed. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 2001b. Syntax: An Introduction, vol. 2, 2nd rev. ed. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1997. Grammatical Relations: A Functionalist Perspective (Typological Studies in Language 35). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1995. Functionalism and Grammar. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1994. “The Pragmatics of De-Transitive Voice: Functional and Typological

bibliography

319

Aspects of Inversion,” in Voice and Inversion (Typological Studies in Language 28), ed. by T. Givón, pp. 3–44. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1990. Syntax: A Functional-Typological Introduction, vol. 2. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1984. Syntax: A Functional-Typological Introduction, vol. 1. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1979. On Understanding Grammar. New York: Academic Press. ——. 1976. “Topic, Pronoun, and Grammatical Agreement,” in Subject and Topic, ed. by C. N. Li, pp. 149–188. New York: Academic Press. ——, ed. 1994. Voice and Inversion. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Gonda, J. 1960. “Reflections on the Indo-European Medium I (and) II,” Lingua 9, 30–67, 175–193. Gordon, E. I. 1959. Sumerian Proverbs: Glimpses of Everyday Life in Ancient Mesopotamia. Philadelphia: The University Museum. Gragg, G. 1973a. “A Class of ‘When’ Clauses in Sumerian,” JNES 32, 124–134. ——. 1973b. “Linguistics, Method, and Extinct Languages: The Case of Sumerian,” Or. NS 42, 78–96. ——. 1973c. Sumerian Dimensional Infixes (AOATS 5). Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener. ——. 1972a. “Sumerian and Selected Afro-Asiatic Languages,” in The Chicago Which Hunt. Papers from the Relative Clause Festival, April 13, 1972 (Para-volume to Chicago Linguistics Society 8), ed. by P. M. Peranteu, et al., pp. 153–168. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1972b. “Observations on Grammatical Variation in Sumerian Literary Texts,” JAOS 92, 204–213. ——. 1968. “The Syntax of the Copula in Sumerian,” in The Verb “Be” and its Synonyms, vol. 3, ed. by J. W. M. Verhaar, pp. 86–109. Dordrecht: D. Reidel. Green, M. W. 1984. “The Uruk Lament,” JAOS 104, 253–279. ——. 1978. “The Eridu Lament,” JCS 30, 127–167. Greenberg, J. H. 1985. “Some Iconic Relationships among Place, Time, and Discourse Deixis,” in Iconicity in Syntax: Proceedings of a Symposium on Iconicity in Syntax, Stanford, June 24–26, 1983, ed. by J. Haiman, pp. 271–287. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Gundel, J. K. 1999. “On Different Kinds of Focus,” in Focus: Linguistic, Cognitive, and Computational Perspectives, ed. by P. Bosch and R. van der Sandt, pp. 293–305. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Haiman, J. 1985. Natural Syntax. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1983. “Iconic and Economic Motivation,” Language 59, 781–819. ——. 1980. “The Iconicity of Grammar: Isomorphism and Motivation,” Language 56, 515–540. Hallo, W. W. 1977. “Seals Lost and Found,” in Seals and Sealing in the Ancient Near East (BiMes 6), ed. by M. Gibson and R. D. Biggs, pp. 55–60. ——. 1957. Early Mesopotamian Royal Titles: A Philologic and Historical Analysis (AOS 43). New Haven: American Oriental Society. Hanks, W. F. 1992. “The Indexical Ground of Deictic Reference,” in Rethinking Context: Language as an Interactive Phenomenon (Studies in the Social and Cultural Foundations of Language 11), ed. by A. Duranti and C. Goodwin, pp. 43–76. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Haspelmath, M. 1997. Indefinite Pronouns. Oxford: Clarendon. ——. 1994. Review of M. H. Klaiman, Grammatical Voice, Language, 70, 176–178. Hatcher, A. G. 1942. Reflexive Verbs: Latin, Old French, Modern French ( Johns Hopkins Studies in Romance Literatures and Languages 43). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press; London: Oxford University Press. Hawkinson, A. K., and L. M. Hyman. 1974. “Hierarchies of Natural Topic in Shona,” Studies in African Linguistics 5, 147–170. Hecker, K. 1968. Grammatik der Kültepe-Texte (Analecta Orientalia 44). Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum.

320

bibliography

Heimpel, W. 1994. “Meaning 5 of ba-al,” NABU 1994/82. Heine, B., and M. Reh. 1984. Grammaticalization and Reanalysis in African Languages. Hamburg: Helmut Buske. Hirsch, H. 2002. Gilgamesch-Epos und Erra-Lied: Zu einem Aspekt des Verbalsystems (AfO Beiheft 29). Vienna: Instituts für Orientalistik der Universität Wien. Hobbs, J. R. 1985. “Granularity,” in Proceedings of the Ninth International Joint Conference on Artificial Intelligence, vol. 1, ed. by A. Joshi, pp. 432–435. Los Altos, CA: International Joint Conference on Artificial Intelligence, Inc. Holisky, D. A. 1987. “The Case of the Intransitive Subject in Tsova-Tush (Batsbi),” Lingua 71, 103–132. Hook, P. E. 1991. “The Emergence of Perfective Aspect in Indo-Aryan Languages,” in Approaches to Grammaticalization. Vol. 2: Focus on Types of Grammatical Markers (Typological Studies in Language 19/2), ed. by E. C. Traugott and B. Heine, pp. 59–89. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Hopper, P. J. 1991. “On Some Principles of Grammaticalization,” in Approaches to Grammaticalization. Volume 1: Focus on Theoretical and Methodological Issues (Typological Studies in Language 19/1), ed. by E. C. Traugott and B. Heine, pp. 17–35. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Hopper, P. J., and S. A. Thompson. 1980. “Transitivity in Grammar and Discourse,” Language 56, 251–299. Hopper, P. J., and E. C. Traugott. 1993. Grammaticalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Horsnell, M. J. A. 1999. The Year-Names of the First Dynasty of Babylon. Vol. 1: Chronological Matters: The Year-Name System and the Date-Lists. Vol. 2: The Year-Names Reconstructed and Critically Annotated in Light of their Exemplars. Hamilton, Ontario: McMaster University Press. ——. 1977. “The Grammar and Syntax of the Year-Names of the First Dynasty of Babylon,” JNES 36, 277–285. Huehnergard, J. 2005. A Grammar of Akkadian, 2nd ed. (HSS 45). Atlanta: Scholars Press. ——. 2002. “izuzzum and itūlum,” in Riches Hidden in Secret Places: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Memory of Thorkild Jacobsen, ed. by T. Abusch, pp. 161–185. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Jacobsen, T. 1997. “The Sacred Marriage of Iddin-Dagan and Inanna (1.173),” in The Context of Scripture. Vol. 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, ed. by W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger Jr., pp. 554–559. ——. 1988a. “The Sumerian Verbal Core,” ZA 78, 161–220. ——. 1988b. “Sumerian Grammar Today” [Review of M.-L. Thomsen, The Sumerian Language], JAOS 108, 123–133. ——. 1987a. The Harps that Once . . . Sumerian Poetry in Translation. New Haven: Yale University Press. ——. 1987b. “Two bal-bal-e Dialogues,” in Love & Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope, ed. by J. H. Marks and R. M. Good, pp. 57–63. Guilford, CT: Four Quarters Publishing. ——. 1974. “Very Ancient Linguistics: Babylonian Grammatical Texts,” in Studies in the History of Linguistics: Traditions and Paradigms, ed. by D. Hymes, pp. 41–62 (= BSOAS 49 [1986]: 41–62). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. ——. 1965. “About the Sumerian Verb,” in Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday (AS 16), ed. by H. G. Güterbock and T. Jacobsen, pp. 71–102. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1956. “Introduction to the Chicago Grammatical Texts,” in MSL 4, ed. by B. Landsberger, et al., pp. 1*–50*. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. ——. 1939. The Sumerian King List (AS 11). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Jacobsen, T. and S. N. Kramer. 1953. “The Myth of Inanna and Bilulu,” JNES 12, 160–188.

bibliography

321

Jackendoff, R. 1987. “On Beyond Zebra: The Relation of Linguistic and Visual Information,” Cognition 26, 89–114. Jagersma, B. 2007. “A Concise Sumerian Grammar” (unpublished manuscript). ——. 2006. “The Final Person-Prefixes and the Passive,” NABU 2006/93. ——. 1993. Review of J. L. Hayes, A Manual of Sumerian Grammar and Texts, BiOr 50, 420–425. Jelinek, E. 1993. “Ergative ‘Splits’ and Argument Type,” MIT Working Papers in Linguistics 18, 15–42. Jespersen, O. 1924 [rev. ed. 1992]. The Philosophy of Grammar. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Jestin, R. 1976. “Quelques notes complémentaires sur le système préfixal sumérien,” in Kramer Anniversary Volume: Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer (AOAT 25), ed. B. E. Eichler, pp. 261–263. Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon & Bercker. ——. 1946. Le verbe sumérien: Préfixes, particules verbales et noms verbaux (Études Orientales 9). Paris: L’Institut français d’Archéologie de Stamboul. ——. 1943. Le verbe sumérien: Déterminations verbales et infixes (Études Orientales 7). Paris: L’Institut français d’Archéologie de Stamboul. ——. 1935. Textes économiques sumériens de la IIe dynastie d’Ur (Transcription et Traduction) avec étude grammaticale de ces texts. Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient, AdrienMaisonneuve. Jo, C. 1991. “Sumerian Verbal Prefixes: Structure, Function, and Meaning.” Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Johnson, C. J. 2004. “In the Eye of the Beholder: Quantificational, Pragmatic and Aspectual Features of the *bi- Verbal Prefix in Sumerian.” Ph.D. diss., University of California Los Angeles. Karahashi, F. 2000a. “Sumerian Compound Verbs with Body-Part Terms.” Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago. ——. 2000b [published 2005]. “The Locative-Terminative Verbal Infix in Sumerian,” ASJ 22, 113–133. Kapp, A. 1955. “Ein Lied auf Enlilbani von Isin,” ZA 51, 76–87. Katz, D. 1993. Gilgamesh and Akka (Library of Oriental Texts 1). Groningen: Styx. Keenan, E. L. 1985. “Passive in the World’s Languages,” in Language Typology and Syntactic Description. Vol. 1: Clause Structure, ed. by T. Shopen, pp. 243–281. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kemmer, S. 1994. “Middle Voice, Transitivity, and the Elaboration of Events,” in Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27), ed. B. Fox and P. J. Hopper, pp. 179–230. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1993a. The Middle Voice (Typological Studies in Language 23). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1993b. “Marking Oppositions in Verbal and Nominal Collectives,” Faits de langues 1, 85–95. Kienast, B., and K. Volk. 1995. Die sumerischen und akkadischen Briefe des III. Jahrtausends aus der Zeit vor der III. Dynastie von Ur (FAOS 19). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Klaiman, M. H. 1991. Grammatical Voice (Cambridge Studies in Linguistics 59). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1988. “Affectedness and Control: A Typology of Voice Systems,” in Passive and Voice (Typological Studies in Language 16), ed. by M. Shibatani, pp. 25–83. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Klein, J. 1997a. “The God Martu in Sumerian Literature,” in Sumerian Gods and Their Representations (Cuneiform Monographs 7), ed. by I. L. Finkel and M. J. Geller, pp. 99–116. Groningen: Styx Publications. ——. 1997b. “4. Pious Sufferer Compositions,” in The Context of Scripture. Vol. 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, ed. by W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger Jr., pp. 573–575. Leiden: E. J. Brill.

322

bibliography

——. 1990. “Šulgi and Išmedagan: Originality and Dependency in Sumerian Royal Hymnology,” in Bar-Ilan Studies in Assyriology Dedicated to Pinhas Artzi, ed. by J. Klein and A. Skaist, pp. 65–136. Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press. ——. 1981a. Three Šulgi Hymns: Sumerian Royal Hymns Glorifying King Šulgi of Ur. RamatGan, Israel: Bar-Ilan University Press. ——. 1981b. The Royal Hymns of Shulgi King of Ur: Man’s Quest for Immortal Fame (Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 71). Philadelphia: The American Philosophical Society. Kouwenberg, N. J. C. 2005. “Reflections on the Gt-stem in Akkadian,” ZA 95, 77– 103. ——. 2002. “Ventive, Dative and Allative in Old Babylonian,” ZA 92, 200–240. ——. 1997. Gemination in the Akkadian Verb. Assen, The Netherlands: Van Gorum & Comp. Kramer, S. N. 1980. “Inanna and the numun-plant: A New Sumerian Myth,” in The Bible World: Essays in Honor of Cyrus H. Gordon, ed. by G. Rendsburg, et al., pp. 87–97. New York: KTAV Publishing House; The Institute of Hebrew Culture and Education of New York University. ——. 1971. “u5-a a-u5-a: A Sumerian Lullaby (with appendix by T. Jacobsen),” in Studi in onore di Edoardo Volterra, vol. 6, pp. 191–205. Milan: Giuffrè. ——. 1969. The Sacred Marriage Rite: Aspects of Faith, Myth, and Ritual in Ancient Sumer. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. ——. 1955. “Man and His God: A Sumerian Variation on the ‘Job’ Motif,” in Wisdom in Israel and in the Ancient Near East Presented to Professor Harold Henry Rowley (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum 3), ed. by M. Noth and D. W. Thomas, pp. 170–182. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——. 1949. “Schooldays: A Sumerian Composition Relating to the Education of a Scribe,” JAOS 69, 199–215. ——. 1940. Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur (AS 12). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kraus, F. R. 1958. “Di til.la sumerische Prozessprotokolle und Verwandtes aus der Zeit der III. Dynastie von Ur,” BiOr 15, 70–84. Krebernik, M. 1998. “Die Texte aus Fara und Tell Abū alābi ” in Mesopotamien: Späturuk—Zeit und Frühdynastische Zeit (OBO 160/1), ed. by P. Attinger and M. Wäfler, pp. 237–427. Friborg: Universitätsverlag; Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Krecher, J. 1985. “Die /m/-Präfixe des sumerischen Verbums,” Or. NS 54, 133–181. Krispijn, T. J. H. 1990. “Beiträge zur altorientalischen Musikforschung 1. Šulgi und die Musik,” Akkadica 70, 1–27. Kryk, B. 1987. On Deixis in English and Polish: The Role of Demonstrative Pronouns (Bamberger Beiträge zur Englischen Sprachwissenschaft 21). Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Kuno, S. 1987. Functional Syntax: Anaphora, Discourse, and Empathy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1976. “Subject, Theme, and Speaker’s Empathy—A Reexamination of Relativization Phenomena,” in Subject and Topic, ed. by C. N. Li, pp. 417–444. New York: Academic Press. Kuno, S., and E. Kaburaki. 1977. “Empathy and Syntax,” Linguistic Inquiry 8, 627–672. Labat, R., and D. O. Edzard. 1974. Textes littéraires de Suse (MDP 57). Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner. Lafont, B. 1992. “La tablette ITT 944,” NABU 1992/57. Lakoff, G. 1987. Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1977. “Linguistic Gestalts,” Chicago Linguistics Society 13, 236–287. Lakoff, G., and M. Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live by. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

bibliography

323

Lambert, M. 1972–1973. “Probleme essentiel dans l’Étude du Sumerien,” Comptes rendus du Groupe Linguistique d’études chamito-sémitiques (G.L.E.C.S.) 17, 13–21, 97–104. Lambert, W. G. 1960. Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lambrecht, K. 1994. Information Structure and Sentence Form: Topic, Focus and the Mental Representation of Discourse Referents (Cambridge Studies in Linguistics 71). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Landsberger, B. 1923. “Der ‘Ventiv’ des Akkadischen,” ZA 35, 113–123. Langacker, R. W. 2002. Concept, Image, and Symbol: The Cognitive Basis of Grammar, 2nd ed. (Cognitive Linguistics Research 1). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. ——. 1991. Foundations of Cognitive Grammar. Vol. 2: Descriptive Application. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ——. 1987. Foundations of Cognitive Grammar. Vol. 1: Theoretical Prerequisites. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ——. 1976. Non-Distinct Arguments in Uto-Aztecan (University of California Publications in Linguistics 82). Berkeley: University of California Press. Langacker, R. W., and P. Munro. 1975. “Passives and their Meaning,” Language 51, 789–830. Langdon, S. 1911. A Sumerian Grammar and Chrestomathy: With a Vocabulary of the Principal Roots in Sumerian and a List of the Most Important Syllabic and Vowel Transcriptions. Paris: Librairie Paul Geuthner. Lazard, G. 1998. Actancy (Empirical Approaches to Language Typology 19). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Lenormant, F. 1873. Études accadiennes, vol. 1. Paris: Maisonneuve et Cie, LibrairesÉditeurs. Levin, B. 1987. “The Middle Construction and Ergativity,” Lingua 71, 17–31. Levinson, S. C. 1993. Pragmatics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lichtenberk, F. 1996. “Pattern of Anaphora in To’aba’ita Narrative Discourse,” in Studies in Anaphora (Typological Studies in Language 33), ed. by B. Fox, pp. 379–411. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1985. “Multiple Uses of Reciprocal Constructions,” Australian Journal of Linguistics 5, 19–41. Lieberman, S. J. 1986. “The Afro-Asiatic Background of the Semitic N-Stem: Towards the Origins of the Stem-Afformatives of the Semitic and Afro-Asiatic Verb,” BiOr 43, 577–628. ——. 1977. The Sumerian Loanwords in Old-Babylonian Akkadian. Vol. 1: Prolegomena and Evidence (HSS 22). Missoula, Montana: Scholars Press. Limet, H. 1968. L’anthroponymie sumérienne dans les documents de la 3e dynastie d’Ur (Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège, fasc. 180). Paris: Société d’Édition “Les Belles Lettres.” Loprieno, A. 1995. Ancient Egyptian: A Linguistic Introduction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1986. Das Verbalsystem im Ägyptischen und im Semitischen: zur Grundlegung einer Aspekttheorie (Göttinger Orientforschungen 4/17). Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. ——. 1982. “Afroasiatische Sprachwissenschaft in Bewegung,” Göttinger Miszellen 54, 85–94. ——. 1980. “The Form s mt.f: Verbal Predicate or ‘Transposition’?,” Göttinger Miszellen 37, 17–29. Ludwig, M.-C. 1990. Untersuchungen zu den Hymnen des Išme-Dagan von Isin (SANTAG 2). Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Lyons, C. 1999. Definiteness. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lyons, J. 1981. Language and Linguistics: An Introduction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1977. Semantics, 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1975. “Deixis as the Source of Reference,” in Formal Semantics of Natural Language:

324

bibliography

Papers from a Colloquium Sponsored by the King’s College Research Centre, Cambridge, ed. by E. L. Keenan, pp. 61–83. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1968. Introduction to Theoretical Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. MacLaury, R. E. 1991. “Prototypes Revisited,” Annual Review of Anthropology 20, 55–74. MacWhinney, B. 1977. “Starting points,” Language 53, 152–168. Marchesi, G. 2004. “Who Was Buried in the Royal Tombs of Ur? The Epigraphic and Textual Data,” Or. NS 73, 153–197. Martin, J. B. 2000. “Creek Voice: Beyond Valency,” in Changing Valency: Case Studies in Transitivity, ed. by R. M. W. Dixon and A. Y. Aikhenvald, pp. 375–403. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Matisoff, J. A. 1991. “Areal and Universal Dimensions of Grammaticalization in Lahu,” in Approaches to Grammaticalization. Vol. 2: Focus on Types of Grammatical Markers (Typological Studies in Language 19/2), ed. by E. C. Traugott and B. Heine, pp. 383–453. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Matthews, P. H. 1991. Morphology, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Merlan, F. 1985. “Split Intransitivity: Functional Oppositions in Intransitive Inflection,” in Grammar Inside and Outside the Clause, ed. by J. Nichols and A. C. Woodbury, pp. 324–362. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Michalowski, P. 2004. “Sumerian,” in The Cambridge Encylcopedia of the World’s Ancient Languages, ed. by R. D. Woodard, pp. 19–59. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1993. Letters from Early Mesopotamia (Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World Series 3). Atlanta: Scholars Press. ——. 1989. The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur (Mesopotamian Civilizations 1). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. ——. 1980. “Sumerian as an Ergative Language,” JCS 32, 86–103. ——. 1976. “The Royal Correspondence of Ur.” Ph.D. diss., Yale University. Molina, M. and M. Such-Gutierrez. 2004. “On Terms for Cutting Plants and Noses in Ancient Sumer,” JNES 63, 1–16. Mondloch, J. L. 1978. Basic Quiche Grammar (Institute for Mesoamerican Studies, State University of New York at Albany, Publication no. 2). Albany: Institute for Mesoamerican Studies, State University of New York. Moravcsik, E. 1978. “On the Limits of Subject-Object Ambiguity Tolerance,” Papers in Linguistics 11, 255–259. Nedjalkov, V. P., ed. 1988. Typology of Resultative Constructions (Typological Studies in Language 12). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Nedjalkov, V. P. and S. J. Jaxontov. 1988. “The Typology of Resultative Constructions,” in Typology of Resultative Constructions (Typological Studies in Language 12), ed. by V. P. Nedjalkov, pp. 3–62. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Nichols, J. 1992. Linguistic Diversity in Space and Time. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1984. “Functional Theories of Grammar,” Annual Review of Anthropology 13, 97–117. Noonan, M. 1994. “A Tale of Two Passives in Irish,” in Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27), ed. by B. Fox and P. J. Hopper, pp. 279–311. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Nuyts, J. and E. Pederson, eds. 1997. Language and Conceptualization (Language, Culture and Cognition 1). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Oberhuber, K. 1982. “Zum ‘Passivum’ im Sumerischen,” in Sprachwissenschaft in Innsbruck, ed. by W. Meid, et al., pp. 129–134. Innsbruck: Das Institute für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. ——. 1954. “Zur Struktur des Sumerischen,” OLZ 49, 5–20.

bibliography

325

Osgood, C. E., G. J. Suci, and P. H. Tannenbaum. 1957. The Measurement of Meaning. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Pallis, S. A. 1956. The Antiquity of Iraq: A Handbook of Assyriology. Copenhagen: Ejnar Munksgaard. Palmer, F. R. 2001. Mood and Modality, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1994. Grammatical Roles and Relations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. 1986. Mood and Modality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Payne, T. E. 1997. Describing Morphosyntax: A Guide for Field Linguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Payne, D., M. Hamaya and P. Jacobs. 1994. “Active, Inverse and Passive in Maasai,” in Voice and Inversion (Typological Studies in Language 28), ed. by T. Givón, pp. 283–315. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Perlmutter, D. M. 1978. “Impersonal Passives and the Unaccusative Hypothesis,” Berkeley Linguistics Society 4, 157–189. Poebel, A. 1931. The Sumerian Prefix Forms e- and i- in the Time of the Earlier Princes of Lagaš (AS 2). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1923. Grundzüge der sumerischen Grammatik. Rostock: A. Poebel. ——. 1908. “Das Verbum im Sumerischen,” ZA 21, 216–236. Polotsky, H. J. 1957. “The ‘Emphatic’ S M.N.F Form,” Revue d’Égyptologie 11, 109–117. Postgate, J. N. 1974. “Two Points of Grammar in Gudea,” JCS 26, 16–54. Reiner, E. 1970. Šurpu: A Collection of Sumerian and Akkadian Incantations (AfO Beiheft 11). Osnabrück: Biblio Verlag. Reisman, D. 1973. “Iddin-Dagan’s Sacred Marriage Hymn,” JCS 25, 185–202. ——. 1969. “Two Neo-Sumerian Hymns.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. Rice, K. 2000. “Voice and Valency in the Athapaskan Family,” in Changing Valency: Case Studies in Transitivity, ed. by R. M. W. Dixon and A. Y. Aikhenvald, pp. 173–235. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Römer, W. H. Ph. 2004. Die Klage über die Zerstörung von Ur (AOAT 309). Munster: Ugarit-Verlag. ——. 2001. Hymnen und Klagelieder in sumerischer Sprache (AOAT 276). Munster: UgaritVerlag. ——. 1999. Die Sumerologie. Einführung in die Forschung und Bibliographie in Auswahl, 2nd rev. ed. (AOAT 262). Munster: Ugarit-Verlag. ——. 1991. “Miscellanea Sumerologica II. zum Sog. Gudam-Text,” BiOr 48, 363– 378. ——. 1990. Review of T. Jacobsen, The Harps that Once . . . Sumerian Poetry in Translation, BiOr 47, 375–394. ——. 1989. “Zur sumerischen Dichtung ‘Heirat des Gottes Mardu’,” UF 21, 319– 334. ——. 1982. “Sumerische Hymnen I. Ein ér-šèm-ma-Lied für den Gott Iškur von Karkar,” in Zikir šumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, ed. by G. van Driel, et al., pp. 298–317. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——. 1980. Das sumerische Kurzepos “Bilgameš und Akka” (AOAT 209/1). Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. ——. 1969. “Einige Beobachtungen zur Göttin Nini(n)sina auf Grund von Quellen der Ur III-Zeit und der altbabylonischen Periode,” in lišān mit urti: Festschrift Wolfram Freiherr von Soden zum 19.VI. 1968 gewidmet von Schülern und Mitarbeitern (AOAT 1), ed. by M. Dietrich and W. Röllig, pp. 279–305. Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon & Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukichener Verlag. ——. 1965. Sumerische ‘Königshymnen’ der Isin-Zeit. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Rosch, E. 1978. “Principles of Categorization,” in Cognition and Categorization, ed. by E. Rosch and B. B. Lloyd, pp. 27–48. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

326

bibliography

——. 1977. “Human Categorization,” in Studies in Cross-Cultural Psychology, vol. 1, ed. by N. Warren, pp. 1–49. London: Academic Press. ——. 1975. “Cognitive Representations of Semantic Categories,” Journal of Experimental Psychology: General 104, 192–233. ——. 1973. “On the Internal Structure of Perceptual and Semantic Categories,” in Cognitive Development and the Acquisition of Language, ed. by T. E. Moore, pp. 111–144. New York: Academic Press. Roth, M. T. 1997. Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor (Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World Series 6), 2nd ed. Atlanta: Scholars Press. ——. 1979. “Scholastic Tradition and Mesopotamian Law: A Study of FLP 1287, A Prism in the Collection of the Free Library of Philadelphia.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. Rubio, G. 2007. “Sumerian Morphology,” in Morphologies of Asia and Africa, ed. by A. S. Kaye, pp. 1327–1379. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Sallaberger, W. 2005a. “The Sumerian Verb na de5(-g) ‘To Clear’,” in “An Experienced Scribe Who Neglects Nothing”: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Jacob Klein, ed. by Y. Sefati et al., pp. 229–253. Bethesda, MD: CDL. ——. 2005b. “ ‘bringen’ im Sumerischen: Lesung und Bedeutung von de6(DU) and tum2(DU),” in Von Sumer bis Homer: Festschrift für Manfred Schretter zum 60. Geburtstag am 25. Februar 2004 (AOAT 325),” pp. 557–576. Munster: Ugarit-Verlag. Sapir, E. 1921. Language: An Introduction to the Study of Speech. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Company. Sapir, J. D. 1965. A Grammar of Diola-Fogny: A Language Spoken in the Basse-Casamance Region of Senegal (West African Language Monograph Series 3). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Satzinger, H. 1971. “s mt.f ‘schliesslich hörte er’,” Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 57, 58–69. Sayce, A. H. 1871. “On an Accadian Seal,” The Journal of Philology 3, 1–50. Schachter, P. 1973. “Focus and Relativization,” Language 49, 19–46. Schenkel, W. 1973. “Das Ende des narrativen s mt=f,” Göttinger Miszellen 4, 23–28. Scholtz, R. 1934. Die Struktur der sumerischen engeren Verbalpräfixe (Konjugationspräfixe) speziell dargelegt an der I. und II. Form (E- und MU-Konjugation) (MVAG 39/2). Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Schulze, W. and W. Sallaberger. 2007. “Grammatische Relationen im Sumerischen,” ZA 97, 163–214. Sefati, Y. 1998. Love Songs in Sumerian Literature: Critical Edition of the Dumuzi-Inana Songs. Ramat Gan, Israel: Bar-Ilan University Press. ——. 1990. “An Oath of Chasity in a Sumerian Love Song (SRT 31)?,” in Bar-Ilan Studies in Assyriology dedicated to Pin as Artzi, ed. by J. Klein and A. Skaist, pp. 45–63. Ramat Gan, Israel: Bar-Ilan University Press. Selz, G. J. 1993. Altsumerische Verwaltungstexte aus Lagaš. Vol. 2: Altsumerische Wirtschaftsurkunden aus Amerikanischen Sammlungen (FAOS 15/2). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. ——. 1989. Altsumerische Verwaltungstexte aus Lagaš. Vol. 1: Die Altsumerischen Wirtschaftsurkunden der Eremitage zu Leningrad (FAOS 15/1). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Shaffer, A. 1969. “TA ša kīma A ītenerrubu: A Study in Native Babylonian Philology,” Or. NS 38, 433–446. ——. 1963. “Sumerian Sources of Tablet XII of the Epic of Gilgameš.” Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania. Shay, E., and U. Seibert, eds. 2003. Motion, Direction and Location in Languages: In Honor of Zygmunt Frajzyngier (Typological Studies in Language 56). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Shibatani, M., ed. 1988. Passive and Voice (Typological Studies in Language 16). Amsterdam: John Benjamins.

bibliography

327

——. 1985. “Passives and Related Constructions: A Prototype Analysis,” Language 61, 821–848. Shibatani, M. and T. Bynon. 1995. “Approaches to Language Typology: A Conspectus,” in Approaches to Language Typology, ed. by M. Shibatani and T. Bynon, pp. 1–25. Oxford: Clarendon. Shibatani, M., and S. A. Thompson, eds. 1996. Grammatical Constructions: Their Form and Meaning. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shopen, T., ed. 1985. “Introduction,” in Language Typology and Syntactic Description. Vol. 1: Clause Structure, pp. 1–2. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Siewierska, A. 1984. The Passive: A Comparative Linguistic Analysis. London: Croom Helm. Sigrist, M. and T. Gomi. 1991. The Comprehensive Catalogue of Published Ur III Tablets. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Silverstein, M. 1976. “Hierarchy of Features and Ergativity,” in Grammatical Categories in Australian Languages (Linguistic Series 22, Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies, Canberra), ed. by R. M. W. Dixon, pp. 112–171. Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Humanities Press. Sjöberg, Å. W. 1983. “The First Puskin Museum Elegy and New Texts,” JAOS 103, 315–320. ——. 1977. “A Blessing of King Urninurta,” in Essays on the Ancient Near East in Memory of Jacob Joel Finkelstein (Memoirs of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences 19), ed. by M. de Jong Ellis, pp. 189–195. Hamden, CT: Archon Books. ——. 1975a. “Der Examenstext A,” ZA 64, 137–176. ——. 1975b. “in-nin šà-gur4-ra. A Hymn to the Goddess Inanna by the en-Priestess En eduanna,” ZA 65, 161–253. ——. 1973a. “Nungal in the Ekur,” AfO 24, 19–46. ——. 1973b. “Miscellaneous Sumerian Hymns,” ZA 63, 1–55. ——. 1960. Der Mondgott Nanna-Suen in der sumerischen Überlieferung. I. Teil: Texte. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Sjöberg, Å. W. and E. Bergmann. 1969. The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns (TCS 3). Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin. Sladek, W. R. 1974. “Inana’s Descent to the Netherworld.” Ph.D. diss., Johns Hopkins University Press. Slobin, D. I. 2003. “Language and Thought Online: Cognitive Consequences of Linguistic Relativity,” in Language in Mind: Advances in the Study of Language and Thought, ed. by D. Gentner and S. Goldin-Meadow, pp. 157–192. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. ——. 1994. “Passives and Alternatives in Children’s Narratives in English, Spanish, German, and Turkish,” in Voice: Form and Function (Typological Studies in Language 27), ed. by B. Fox and P. J. Hopper, pp. 341–364. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1991. “Learning to Think for Speaking,” Pragmatics 1, 7–25. Smyth, H. W. 1956. Greek Grammar. (rev. ed. by Gordon M. Messing). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Soden, W. von. 1995. Grundriss der akkadischen Grammatik, 3rd ed., unter Mitarbeit von W. R. Mayer (Analecta Orientalia 33). Rome: Pontificio Instituto Biblico. ——. 1965. “Das akkadische t-Perfect in Haupt- und Nebensätzen und sumerische Verbalformen mit den Präfixen ba-, imma-, und u-,” in Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday (AS 16), ed. by H. G. Güterbock and T. Jacobsen, pp. 103–110. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——. 1950. “Verbalformen mit doppeltem t-Infix im Akkadischen,” Or. NS 19, 385– 398. Sollberger, E. 1973. “Problems of Translation,” Or. NS 42, 158–161. ——. 1966. The Business and Administrative Correspondence Under the Kings of Ur (TCS 1). Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin. ——. 1952. Le système verbal dans les inscriptions «royales» présargoniques de Lagaš: Contribution

328

bibliography

à la grammaire sumérienne. Geneva: Librairie E. Droz [Reprint: Niederwalluf bei Wiesbaden: Martin Sändig oHG, 1971]. ——. 1950. “Études de linguistique sumérienne,” Cahiers Ferdinand de Saussure 9, 51–88. Steible, H. 1982. Die Altsumerischen Bau- und Weihinschriften, 2 vols. (FAOS 5). Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. Steiner, G. 1994. “Die sumerischen Verbalpräfixe mu= und e= im sprachtypologischen Vergleich,” ZDMG-Suppl. 10, 32–48. ——. 1986. “Der Grenzvertrag zwischen Lagaš und Umma,” ASJ 8, 219–300. Steinkeller, P. 2004. “A Building Inscription of Sin-Iddinam and Other Inscribed Materials from Abu Duwari,” in The Anatomy of a Mesopotamian City: Survey and Soundings at Mashkan-shapir, ed. by E. C. Stone and P. Zimansky, pp. 135–152. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. ——. 1992. “Išbi-Erra’s Himmelfahrt,” NABU 1992/4. ——. 1990. “The Value surx of ÉREN in Third Millennium Sources,” NABU 1990/12. ——. 1989. Sale Documents of the Ur-III Period (FAOS 17). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Steinkeller, P. and J. N. Postgate. 1992. Third-Millennium Legal and Administrative Texts in the Iraq Museum, Baghdad (MC 4). Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Streck, M. P. 2003. Die akkadischen Verbalstämme mit ta-Infix (AOAT 303). Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. ——. 1999. “Das ‘Perfekt’ iptaras im Altbabylonischen der Hammurapi-Briefe,” in Tempus und Aspekt in den semitischen Sprachen: Janaer Kolloquium zur semitischen Sprachwissenschaft ( Janaer Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient 1), ed. by N. Nebes, pp. 101–126. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. ——. 1998. “The Tense Systems in the Sumerian-Akkadian Linguistic Area,” ASJ 20, 181–199. Steele, F. R. 1948. “The Code of Lipit-Ishtar,” AJA 52, 425–450. Sweetser, E. E. 1987. “Metaphorical Models of thought and Speech: A Comparison of Historical Directions and Metaphorical Mappings in the Two Domains,” Berkeley Linguistics Society 13, 446–459. Talmy, L. 2000a. Toward a Cognitive Semantics. Vol. 1: Concept Structuring Systems. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. ——. 2000b. Toward a Cognitive Semantics. Vol. 2: Typology and Process in Concept Structuring. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Thompson, C. 1996. “The Na-Dene Middle Voice: An Impersonal Source of the DElement,” International Journal of American Linguistics 62, 351–378. ——. 1994. “Passives and Inverse Constructions,” in Voice and Inversion (Typological Studies in Language 28), ed. by T. Givón, pp. 47–63. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. ——. 1989. “Voice and Obviation in Athabaskan and other Languages.” Ph.D. diss., University of Oregon, Eugene. Thomsen, M.-L. 1984. The Sumerian Language: An Introduction to its History and Grammatical Structure (Mesopotamia 10). Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Thureau-Dangin, F. 1907. “Sur les Préfixes du verbe sumérien,” ZA 20, 380–404. Tinney, S. 1996. The Nippur Lament: Royal Rhetoric and Divine Legitimation in the Reign of Išme-Dagan of Isin (1953–1935 BC) (Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 16). Philadelphia: The University of Pennsylvania Museum. Tsunoda, T. 1985. “Remarks on Transitivity,” Journal of Linguistics 21, 385–396. Valin, R. D. van and D. P. Wilkins. 1996. “The Case for ‘Effector’: Case Roles, Agents, and Agency Revisited,” in Grammatical Constructions: Their Form and Meaning, ed. by M. Shibatani and S. A. Thompson, pp. 289–322. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vanstiphout, H. 2003. Epics of Sumerian Kings: The Matter of Aratta (Society of Biblical Literature Writings from the Ancient World Series 20). Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. ——. 1997a. “5. Disputatons,” in The Context of Scripture. Vol. 1: Canonical Composi-

bibliography

329

tions from the Biblical World, ed. by W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger Jr., pp. 575–588. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——. 1997b. “6. School Dialogues,” in The Context of Scripture. Vol. 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, ed. by W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger Jr., pp. 588–593. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ——. 1985. “On the Verbal Prefix /i/ in Standard Sumerian,” RA 79, 1–15. Veldhuis, N. 2004. Religion, Literature, and Scholarship: The Sumerian Composition Nanše and the Birds, with a Catalogue of Sumerian Bird Names (Cuneiform Monographs 22). Leiden: E. J. Brill/Styx. ——. 2000. “Sumerian Proverbs in their Curricular Context,” JAOS 120, 383–399. ——. 1993. “An Ur III Incantation against the Bite of a Snake, a Scorpion, or a Dog (VS 10, 193),” ZA 83, 161–169. Volk, K. 1995. Inanna und Šukaletuda: Zur historisch-politischen Deutung eines sumerischen Literaturwerkes (SANTAG 3). Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Waetzoldt, H. 1987. “Knoblauch und Zwiebeln nach den Texten des 3. JT.,” BSA 3, 23–56. Wallace S. 1982. “Figure and Ground: The Interrelationships of Linguistic Categories,” in Tense-Aspect: Between Semantics and Pragmatics (Typological Studies in Language 1), ed. by P. J. Hopper, pp. 201–223. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Westenholz, A. 1975. Early Cuneiform Texts in Jena: Pre-Sargonic and Sargonic Documents from Nippur and Fara in the Hilprecht-Sammlung vorderasiatischer Altertümer Institut für Altertumswissenschaften der Friedrich-Schiller-Universität, Jena (Det Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab Historisk-Filosofiske Skrifter 7, 3). Copenhagen: Munksgaard Ltd. Whitney, W. D. 1896. Sanskrit Grammar: Including both the Classical Language, and the older Dialects, of Veda and Brahmana, 3rd ed. Boston: Ginn & Co. [Reprint: Dover publications, New York, 2003]. Wierzbicka, A. 1981. “Case Marking and Human Nature,” Australian Journal of Linguistics 1, 43–80. Wilcke, C. 1991. “Die Lesung von ÁŠ-da = kiššātum,” NABU 1991/16. ——. 1990. “Orthographie, Grammatik und literarische Form: Beobachtungen zu der Vaseninschrift Lugalzaggesis (SAKI 152–156),” in Lingering over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran, ed. by T. Abusch, J. Huehnergard, and P. Steinkeller, pp. 455–504. Atlanta: Scholars Press. ——. 1988. “Anmerkungen zum ‘Kunjugationspräfix’ /i/- und zur These vom ‘silbischen Charakter der sumerischen Morpheme’ anhand neusumerischer Verbalformen beginnend mit ì-íb-, ì-im- und ì-in-,” ZA 78, 1–49. ——. 1969. Das Lugalbandaepos. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. ——. 1968. “Das modale Adverb i-gi4-in-zu im Sumerischen,” JNES 27, 229–242. Witzel, M. 1912. Untersuchungen über die Verbal-Präformative im Sumerischen (BA 8/5). Leipzig: August Pries. Woods, C. 2001. “The Deictic Foundations of the Sumerian Language.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University. ——. 2000 [published 2005]. “Deixis, Person, and Case in Sumerian,” ASJ 22, 303–334. Yoshikawa, M. 1992a. “The Valency-Change System in the Sumerian Verbal Prefixes,” ASJ 14, 395–402. ——. 1992b. “The Verbs of Agentive-Oriented Infixation,” ASJ 14, 379–394. ——. 1991. “Focalization in Sumerian Verbs,” ASJ 13, 389–407. ——. 1989. “an-šè—a ( = è/e11) ‘to die’,” ASJ 11, 353. ——. 1979. “The Sumerian Verbal Prefixes mu-, ì- and Topicality,” Or. NS 48, 185–206. ——. 1978. “Sumerian Ventive and Ientive,” Or. NS 47, 461–482. ——. 1977a. “On the Sumerian Verbal Prefix Chains ì-in-, ì-íb-, and ì-im-,” JCS 29, 223–236.

330

bibliography

——. 1977b. “Some Remarks on the Sumerian Verbal Infixes -n-/-b- in the Preradical Position,” JCS 29, 78–96. Zgoll, A. 1997. Der Rechtsfall der En- edu-Ana im Lied nin-me-šara (AOAT 246). Munster: Ugarit-Verlag. Zólyomi, G. 2005. “Sumerisch,” in Sprachen des Alten Orients, ed. by M. P. Streck, pp. 11–43. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. ——. 1999. “Directive Infix and Oblique Object in Sumerian: An Account of the History of Their Relationship,” Or. NS 68, 215–253. ——. 1993. “Voice and Topicalization in Sumerian.” Ph.D. diss., Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest.

TEXT INDEX

The following index of passages cited refers to the corresponding example numbers, unless otherwise specified (i.e., pages and footnotes are indicated by p. and n. respectively): AAA 22 (1935) 82: 86–87 p. 291 Ai. VII iii 23–25 676 VII iv 13–19 678 Alberti and Pomponio 1986 no. 45 i 1–6 568 Amar-Sin 9: 32–33 514 AOAT 25 p. 445: 6 71 ASJ 7 (1985) 72 rev. 17–18 249 BE 3/1 1: 4–6 BIN 8 172: 17 BIN 10 190: 12 Bird & Fish 23 32 52 57 109 116–119 128 BWL p. 274: 10–18 (SP 3.179) Charpin 1992 12 l. 4′ 13 l. 7′ Code of Hammurapi §192 Cohen Eršemma 23: 11 23: 14 23: 26 32: 55 165: 5–7 Copper & Silver A91

431 494 445 337 77 84 91 428 254 54 670 672 671 674 97 460 118 439 303 45

Counsels of Wisdom 80 CT 16 44: 96–97 45: 122–123 Curse of Akade 7–8 29–33 59 70–71 77 88 92 92–93 118–119 181 193–194 209 218 222–224 240 255 258–259 262–263 273–274 279–280

83 p. 293 p. 291 331 633 283 423 585 379 78 262 411 507 332 389 291 298 p. 222 n. 2 100 338 101 527 218

Death of Gilgameš H11 [Me-Turan] p. 284 n. 21 Dialogue between Enkihegal & Enkitalu 221 466 Dialogue between Enkimansum & Girni-isag 5–6 pp. 273–274 n. 14 136 461 179–180 472 Dialogue between Two Women B 113 652 DP 31 adscription 1–4 493 107 vii 1–3 169 164 iii 5–9 70 260 i 1–2 354

332 343 ii 2–iv 2 392 i 4–ii 2 416 ii 1–iii 3 470 iii 1–5 614 iv 1–v 2 Dumuzi & Geštinana 18 Dumuzi-Inana B 13–14 Dumuzi-Inana C 3–7 16–17 Dumuzi-Inana D1 18 33–35 Dumuzi-Inana G 13 Dumuzi-Inana O 22 Dumuzi’s Dream 17 90 142–143 153 164

text index 154 237 355 p. 214 n. 26 153 60 79 182 189 469 327 240 p. 293 n. 24 166 162 321 44 403

Eanatum 1 ii 24–26 288 1 rev. i 16–19 177 1 rev. i 31–32 80 5 iv 12–19 37 6 iv 16–v 4 37 Edubba A 23 461 Edubba C 20 655 35 284 61 400 Elegy on the Death of Nannaya 15 505 Enanatum I 2 x 6–xi 2 49 3 i 7–ii 3 602 Enki & Ninhursag 13 117 74 482 30–31 95 97–99 224 167–168 187 179–183 225 195–197 344 219 650 222 217 272 p. 269 n. 12 275 491

228–230 188 254–256 345 Enki & Ninmah 24 407 72 342 79 65 Enki & The World Order 66–67 175 141–145 198 326 626 351 62 395–401 313 406–409 314 Enki’s Journey to Nippur 18–20 625, p. 277 n. 16 70 p. 277 n. 16 74 532 90–92 270 96 106 104–109 p. 170 n. 4 120–123 333 Enlil A 8–9 192 65–66 330 72 221 124–125 131 Enlil & Ninlil 20–21 227 23 186 24–28 253 30–33 645 38–40 228 44–47 229 55–58 325 68–70 161 113–114 226 Enlil & Sud A13 318 Enlil-bani 3: 12 515 1001 ii 11–12 657 Enlil-bani A 76–77 66 Enmerkar & Ensuhgirana A117 617 A132 648 A163–164 275 A248 476 A265 656 Enmerkar & the Lord of Aratta 164–165 242 193–194 294 291 639 292–293 264 297–299 115

text index 352–354 537–538 Enmetena 1 i 13–21 1 ii 4–8 1 ii 19–26 1 ii 36–37 1 ii 36–42 1 iii 1–4 1 iii 15–18 1 iii 25–27 1 iii 28–37 1 iv 19–33 26 iii 1–iv 8 Enšakušana 1: 6–9 1: 6–12 FAOS 12 p. 34: 278 p. 38: 320–321 p. 38: 323–324 p. 76: 808–810 FAOS 17 no. 20: 8 no. 94**: 8–11 FAOS 19 Ad 2: 5–8 Ad 15: 5–8 Gir 16 rev. 2′–3′ Gir 37: 3 Farmer’s Instructions 38–39 Flood Story A5–6 A11–12 D9–11 E11

197 483 144 p. 214 n. 26 551 618 143 346 133 p. 214 n. 26 307 289 603 38 51 442 581 544 259 p. 222 n. 2 518 430 420 628 669 368 360 34 340 61

Gelb Kudurrus 22: i 14–15 478 Genouillac Trouvaille 84: 2–6 158 Gilgameš & Aka 37 454 41 467 49 502 57 164 65–69 255 82–83 50 89 212 93–94 410 104 93 Gilgameš & the Bull of Heaven B51 613

333

B52–52A 456 D47 [Me-Turan] 370 D49 [Me-Turan] 500 D50 [Me-Turan] 438 Gilgamesh & Huwawa A 23–24 525 23–26 258 25 213 34 486 45B–47 274 48 p. 284 n. 21 50–51 607 52–53 608 62 319 70–71 409 94–95 265 98–99 69 107–108 513 112–114 511 152 473 179–181 341 193–194 623 Gilgameš & Huwawa B 9 458 29–30 110 135–136 277 137–138 90 152–155 260 Gilgameš, Enkidu & the Netherworld 32–35 252 42–44 334 127–128 557 149–150 p. 222 n. 2 161–163 610 166 215 166–167 276 174–175 609 177 475 198 p. 175 n. 7 205–220 232 230–231 279 233–236 356 287B 292 B69 [Me-Turan] 458 Gordon 1959: 456 K. 4954: 4 p. 293 n. 25 Gudea 17 147 69: 3′–5′ 597 82 125 99 ii 7–10 129 Gudea A 41 317 Gudea Cylinders Ai3 640

334 A i 26–27 A ii 20 A ii 21–22 A iii 14–15 A iii 29 A iv 25–v 3 A v 22–vi 4 A vii 3 A vii 22–23 A viii 13–14 A viii 20 A ix 17 A ix 18–19 A xi 7 A xii 16–17 A xiii 12–13 A xiii 18 A xiv 1–6 A xvii 26–28 A xvii 29 A xviii 6–9 A xviii 8–9 A xviii 21–22 A xix 3 A xx 17–18 A xx 21–23 A xxi 15 A xxi 17 A xxii 5 A xxii 9–10 A xxii 23 A xxiii 2 A xxiii 13–18 A xxiii 22–23 A xxiv 13–14 A xxiv 15–17 A xxiv 21–22 A xxv 22–23 B i 10–11 B i 12–15 B ii 5 B ii 23–iii 1 B iii 2 B iii 5–8 B iv 1–3 B viii 4 B xviii 6–7 B xviii 12–13 B xviii 17–18 Gudea Cylfrgm. 2 iii′ 2′ Gudea Statues A iii 1–3 A iii 5–iv 2 B iv 6

text index 149 573 480 205 573 p. 174 n. 6 p. 174 n. 6 481 349 148 616 75 241 624 128 357 641 273 679 422 246 208 p. 214 n. 26 540 31 190 397 30, 358 643 57 402 207 348 604 444 394 536 81 191 211 30 210 573 367 619 209 155 238 112 201 119 56 150

B iv 7–9 B iv 13–19 B v 21–22 B vi 59–62 B vi 77–vii 4 B vii 7–9 B vii 21–48 B vii 30 B vii 38–41 B vii 42–43 B vii 49–54 C ii 20–23 C iii 8–10 D ii 13–iii 2 E i 18–ii 4 E ii 5–8 E iii 13–15 E vii 15–21 E ix 1–2 E ix 3 F ii 2–5 F iii 3–5 G i 5–10 M ii 7–iii 3 Hallo 1977 55 ll. 1–3 Hammurapi 8: 12 9: 14 Hoe & Plow 7–8 46–47 78 80–81 122–123 143–144 151–152 155–158 170 Home of the Fish C4 C13–14 Iddin-Dagan A 22–23 29–30 120 182–185 187–188 187A Inana & An D43–44 Inana & Bilulu 113–114

p. 225 n. 3 74 126 p. 214 n. 26 136 208 328 572 267 155 576 537 642 644 604 268 642 p. 281 n. 20 596 129 206 642 123 393 522 516 516 p. 198 n. 20 311 309 661 132 309 350 560 63 p. 273 n. 14 p. 273 n. 14 484 195 43 184 111 111 554 376

text index Inana & Ebih 53–54 378 85–86 646 152 p. 198 n. 20 165 336 180–181 204 Inana & Enki B6–8 107 Inana & Gudam C8 p. 190 n. 15 C22–23 47 Inana & Šukaletuda 117 257 123–125 230 126 163 165–167 231 239 163 255 319 299 299 Inana B (Exaltation of Inana) 93 612 105 442 Inana C 105 449 Inana’s Descent 4 67 14–16 165 18–25 384 75 627 165–166 214 181–182 183 183–184 278 307–308 546 322–325 108 375 429 Instructions of Šuruppak 6 68 28 105 62 653 117 395 180 243 27′–28′ (Abu alābikh) 266 Instructions of Ur-Ninurta 66 83 Išme-Dagan Q B10–11 114 Išme-Dagan W A41–46 365 ITT 1 1104: 17–18 156 ITT 2 944b: 1–7 523 ITT 3 6225: 7–8 435

335

JCS 10 (1956) 30 no. 9: 1–3 Jean Šumer et Akkad pl. 65, 57: 2–3 Lament for A18 A25 A30 B5–6 C34–35 C44 Lament for 114 140 308 Lament for 37 60–61 62 63 65 80B 81–82 95–97 99 135 143 208 218 304 311 321 322 333 367–368 371–372 420 450 475 486–487 Lament for 64–67 104–106 136–138 141–142 144–148 211–212 230 254–256 352 367 413 432

Eridu

Nippur

Sumer & Ur

Ur

387 157 590 p. 222 n. 2 48 408 457 552 440 485 658 441 343 427 622 371 578 412 302 592 290 591 443 377 323 372 526 373 545 261 285 543 404 109 558 667 662 599 549 305 363 374 293 382 664 364 638

336

text index

Lament for Uruk A11 601 D 17 579 D15 p. 222 n. 2 D27 362 E25 59 E56 375 E68 42 Laws about Rented Oxen §7 580 Laws of Lipit-Ištar §32 490 Laws of Ur-Namma §1 134 Letter from Abaindasa to Šulgi 18 383 Letters from Early Mesopotamia 28: 5–6 39 77: 7–10 418 123: 4 359 131: 7–8 495 167: 8 479 190: 7–9 620 222: 1–3 p. 281 n. 20 224: 3–7 517 235: 3–6 496 Letter from Ibbi-Sin to Puzur-Šulgi [Version A] 6–9 256 Letter from Inim-Inana to Enlilmassu 3 668 Letter from Lugalnesage to a king radiant as the moon [Version A] 8 297 11 533 Letter from Lugalnesage to Enlilmassu 11 654 18 453 Letter from Sin-Iddinam to Utu 16 361 Lipit-Ištar C 8 216 Lipit-Ištar D 9–10 326 Lugal-Anda 2 iii′ 1′–4′ 52 Lugalbanda & the Anzu Bird 1 550 38–41 335 45–46 99 84–85 p. 198 n. 20 101 176 111–114 301 148 322 218–219 248

251–252 251 256–258 306 259 553 268–269 451 302 116 311–314 470 340–341 310 368 116 Lugalbanda in the Mountain Cave A42–43 250 A88–91 582 A213 474 A226 487 A340 390 A361–362 312 Lugal-e 40 405 160–161 p. 277 n. 16 168–170 315 261–262 634 422 459 567 p. 277 n. 16 615 p. 222 n. 2 619 p. 277 n. 16 649–650 300 698 46 Lugalzagesi 1 iii 19–21 p. 281 n. 20 MAD 4 151: 10–13 494 153 ii 4 494 A Man & His God 11 287 33–34 pp. 238–239 n. 4 69 539 The Marriage of Martu 28–29 492 138 506 MCS 9 247: 29–30 156 MVN 5 26: 5–6 73 MVN 10 105: 6 p. 142 Nabnitu I 157 Nammahani 16: 3′–5′ Nanna H B9 Nanna Hymn 6

451 598 193 281

text index Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nippur 35–35 529 36 381 Nanše C C5–6 102 NG 6: 5 575 16: 12–14 488 41: 2–4 140 41: 5–8 571 41: 10–12 432 42: 26–28 636 51: 16–17 637 62: 8 508 72: 20–22 433 80: 13–14 504 82: 6 171 99: 8–10 583 121: 10–13 172 126: 2–5 245 126: 12–13 635 127: 1 595 129: 3 434 138: 5–6 239 143: 10–12 421 189: 11–15 605 190: 23–27 417 191: 5–8 489 202: 15–18 139 203: 3–4 436 205: 23 p. 211 n. 25 Nik 8 v 3–vi 4 353 14 i 6–7 391 46 x 1–5 120 77 i 1–2 570 153 i 6–ii 4 386 161 i 1–v 1 235 162 i 1–5 503 179 i 1–3 569 284 i 1–2 72 293 416 Ningišzida A 12–15 88 Ninisina A 15–18 316 35 296 93–94 589 105–109 271 117 308 Ninurta & the Turtle B9 649 B13–14 468 B40 501 B42 304

337

Ninurta’s Return to Nippur 9–12 92 173 339 180–182 286 Nisaba B 8–9 528 29 463 NRVN 1 1: 1–8 606 6: 4–5 199 Nungal A 56 32 72 89 OBGT VI 58 366, 561 61 561 64 366 79 562 82 562 85 562 88 562 142 681 154 681 160 681 163 681 166 682 178 682 184 682 187 682 OBGT VII 34 233 46 233 52 233 62 233 90–92 413 The Old Man & the Young Girl 29′ 530 PBS 8/2 173 rev. 13′ 614 Public Announcement of the Loss of a Seal 1 521 2–3 p. 284 n. 21 Rim-Sin 5: 13–14 6: 28–31 13: 36–37 15: 9–10 Rimuš 18: 9–13 (Sum.) = 9–14 (Akk.)

663 222 p. 211 n. 24 174 142

338

text index

Römer 2001 61: 56 194 197: B31–34 185 Royal Correspondence of Ur 1: 11 462 1: 27–28 450 2: 8 424 10: 18 [Susa] 673 17: 15–16 247 17: 23 666 19: 9–10 324 19: 24–25 455 RTC 19 ii 1–iv 3 151 19 v 1–vii 5 152 Samsuiluna 3: 18–24 (Sum.) = 25–32 (Akk.) 680 3: 42–44 (Sum.) = 55–57 (Akk.) 574 Sargon 1: 12–15 (Sum.) = 12–17 (Akk.) 141 11: 6–7 141 Sargon & Ur-Zababa C7 399 Sheep & Grain 23 113 Sin-Iddinam 14: 28–31 p. 211 n. 24 14: 32–35 58 Steinkeller 2004 141 i 15–18 36 Sumerian King List 8–10 542 Sumerian Laws Exercise Tablet §4′ 675 Sumerian Laws Handbook of Forms v 27–31 509 viii 3–8 677 viii 11–15 419 Sumerian Proverbs 1.21 660 1.83 534 1.84 535 1.193+194 369 2.5 587 2.11 76 2.82 524 2.100 385 2.138 p. 281 n. 20 3.136 593 3.179 670 5.36 584

5.38 5.81 6.24 7.22 13.52 CT 58, 30: 1 UET 6/2, 271 UET 6/2, 276 STTI 26 l.e. 2–3 Šu-ilišu 1: 8–11 Šulgi 3 Šulgi A 2 23–25 43 44–45 60–61 70 88–89 Šulgi B 154–155 167–169 282 Šulgi C A25 A107 B9 Šulgi D 40–42 59 158 211–212 Šulgi N 10–11 Šulgi R 28–29 Šulgi U 19–20 Šulgi V 10 Šulgi X 57 The Šumunda Grass 2 20–21 27–28 35 Šurpu V/VI 17–18 Šu-Sin 3 iii 16–17 3 iv 2–7

64 137 401 202 437 512 p. 277 n. 16 651 160 173 53 586 471 380 104 406 452 499 621 647 448 447 82 272 33 396 96 352 98 103 282 588 665 594 556 220 594 259 41 329

text index 3 iv 2–7 3 iv 13–14 Šu-Sin A 1–4 Šu-Sin B 12 18–21 TCS 1 48: 3–5 139: 3–5 141: 3–7 151: 3–7 223: 3–9 Temple Hymns 138 254 386 TIM 9 94 v′ 10′–11′ TuM 1/2 24: 11–14 32: 7–10 47: 10–13 Tummal Inscription 6 UET 3 49: 2′–3′ Ur-Bau 5 ii 7–8 Ur-Namma 20 ii 85–86 24 28: 8–13 Ur-Namma A 12 15–16 45–46 65 76 164–165 182 B15 [Susa] C83 [Susa] Ur-Namma B 60–61 Ur-Nanše 14 17 iii 1–v 2 Ur-Ningirsu II 6 i 3–ii 2 Ur-Ninurta A 17–20

329 41 130 465 87 497 200 629 630 631 203 196 196 493 547 548 520 541 p. 245 n. 7 357 538 122 35 388 295 555 510 632 244 531 320 263 351 28 29 124 138

Ur-Ninurta C 15 Uruinimgina 1 viii 10–13 1 xi 20–31 2 iii 4′–11′ 2 vii 1′–5′ 3 ii 6′–9′ 3 iv 1′–4′ 3 iv 5′–9′ 3 iv 10′–12′ 4 ii′ 2′–3′ 5 iv 3–4 5 iv 9–10 5 vii 3–9 5 vii 10–viii 3 14s [= FAOS 5/1 Ukg. 53] UTI 4 2715: 1–5 Utu-hegal 4: 4–12 4: 103–105 4: 103–108 4: 121–122 VS 10 193: 15 VS 14 6 i 1–ii 3 16 iii 1–iv 3 19 i 1–iii 1 64 iii 3–v 4 139 i 1–ii 1 166 i 1–ii 4 177 ii 6–iii 3 178 iii 1–v 1 Warad-Sin 10: 32–33 18: 10–13 22: 39–41 27: 37–43 Watson Birmingham 1, 132: 5 2, 157: 3–6 Westenholz OSP 2 135: 1–8 Winter & Summer 227 243 260–261 289 297

339 86 498 135 127 477 611 170 288 347 464 145 145 146 600 392 179 426 425 559 55 577 121 234 167 414 168 415 p. 214 n. 26 236 516 269 p. 269 n. 12 223 446 180 159 398 p. 235 85 94 280

340 310 315 WO 8 (1976) 160: 19–22 Year Names Amar-Sin 2 Apil-Sin 1 Apil-Sin 2 Sabium 1 Sabium 10 Sin-muballit 1

text index 219 659, p. 222 n. 2 615 564, pp. 10–11 567 566 567 566 567

Sin-muballit 7 Sumulael 13 Sumulael (unidentified) Šulgi 37 Šulgi 46 Šu-Sin 8 YOS 4 29: 6–7 318: 3

566 567 566 563 40 565 519 181

ZA 61 (1971) 13: 7

p. 293

VERB INDEX

The following index of prefix and verb combinations refers to the corresponding page numbers: a—ru ‘dedicate’ mu146 a—tu5 ‘wash, bathe’ imma165, 166 a2—ag2 ‘order, instruct’ mu273 n. 14 imma277 n. 16 ba273 n. 14 a2—il2 ‘raise the arm’ ba229 a2—sud ‘swing the arms, run’ mu130 ad—gar ‘twitter, resound’ mu130 ad—gi4 ‘resound’ immi193 ak ‘do, act, make’ mu124, 212, 240, 272, 273 imma204 immi211, 214 n. 26 ba270, 273 i2 al—dug4 ‘desire, crave’ immi196 ba240 ara3 ‘grind’ ba263 aš—bala ‘curse’ imma199 ba-al ‘excavate, grub, recover’ mu113, 114, 115, 133, 134, 141 n. 10 imma182, 183, 251 i142 nu+i-/-Ø142 BAD ‘be anxious, worried’ ba238 bala ‘cross, transgress’ mu158 imma182, 184, 210 bu(r), bu15 ‘tear out’ i143 bu-lu-uh2 ‘tremble’ im156

bulug5 ‘grow’ ba222 n. 2 bur2 ‘release, loosen’ imma166 bur2 ‘convert’ ba256 dab5 ‘seize, hold’ mu118 imma175 n. 7, 176, 204, 205, 206, 214, 215 immi205 ba175 n. 7, 241, 242, 246, 247 i242 dah ‘add, increase’ mu133 ba281 n. 20 dal ‘fly’ imma184 ba234, 236, 300 dar ‘break, split’ mu257 ba257 de5 ‘collect, pick up’ imma203 de6 ‘bring, take, carry’ mu24, 25, 26, 127 n. 5, 128, 146, 148, 156, 157, 158, 159, 231, 232, 310 im154, 159, 160 imma181, 182, 209 immi209 ba24, 25, 26, 34 n. 9, 181, 206, 231, 232, 233, 234, 267, 310 i26, 152 dib2 ‘go, pass’ ba221 n. 1 dim2 ‘fashion, create’ mu113, 114, 115, 260 amma209 ba222 n. 2, 260, 263, 269 i142

342

verb index

dirig ‘float, drift’ ba190, 248, 252, 253 dirig ‘be excessive’ imma218 du3 ‘build, erect, work’ mu2, 7, 113, 114, 115, 119, 133, 136, 137, 139, 146, 147, 152, 159, 206, 207, 215, 222, 260, 262, 271, 303 im159 imma162, 206, 207, 213, 217, 222 immi206, 211 n. 24, 212, 216 ba7, 222, 243, 260, 261, 262, 265, 269, 271, 303 bi225 n. 3 i127, 136, 137, 138, 271 nu+i-/-Ø139 du3 ‘hold in possession, detain’ imma245 n. 7 amma245 ba241, 245, 246 du3 ‘fix, fasten, wear’ immi166 ba227 du7 ‘be suitable, fitting’ ba120, 293, 294 du7 ‘thrust, gore’ mu129 imma171 dub ‘pile, heap up’ immi214 n. 26 dub2 ‘tremble, shake’ mu231, 254 ba230, 254 dub3—bad ‘spread the knees, run’ mu130 dug3 ‘be good’ mu120, 293 imma170, 171 ba120, 222 n. 2, 292, 293 dug4 ‘speak’ mu32 im32 imma170, 197 immi161 n. 1, 197, 199 imma-/immi197, 198, 199, 200

ba32, 283, 297 bi161 n. 1, 196, 197 dugud ‘be heavy, weighty’ ba292 dul ‘cover’ ba227 dur2—gar ‘sit’ imma171 immi171 e-sir2—si ‘tie, put on shoes’ imma175, 176 e3 ‘go (out)’ im155 imma182, 184 ba206, 228, 234, 236, 237 e11 ‘go down (or up)’ imma182, 183 ba228, 236 en3—tar ‘inquire, examine’, ‘pay attention’ imma192, 193 er2—pad3 ‘weep, grieve, lament’ imma195 ba240 er2—šeš2 ‘weep, grieve, lament’ imma195 ba240 kuš

ga2/3(-la)—dag ‘stop, quit, cease’ ba255, 257, 298 gaba—tab ‘hold, press to the breast’ imma172 gal2 ‘be present, exist’ mu124, 141 n. 10, 293 n. 25 immi161 n. 1, 174 n. 6 ba293, 294 bi161 n. 1, 174 n. 6 GAM ‘bow, submit’ (see also gu2—GAM) mu127 n. 5 imma171 ba230, 283, 296 gar ‘place, establish’ mu153 imma176, 207, 209, 217, 300 amma217 immi211 n. 24, 214 n. 26 ba167, 217, 227, 259, 264, 300 nu+i-/-Ø- 153 a(l)259

verb index gaz ‘kill, crush’ muimmaammibaigen ‘go’ mu-

113, 118, 208 212 256, 138,

115, 116, 117, 140, 159, 303 263, 264, 265 141, 142

131, 132, 146, 148, 159, 275 im154, 155, 159 am177 imma170, 182, 184, 297 amma177 ba177, 221 n. 1, 231, 234, 275, 276 i148, 177 geštu2—ak ‘pay attention’ imma192 gi(n), ge(n) ‘be firm’, ‘fix, establish’ mu125 ba283 gi4 ‘turn, return’ mu232 imma175, 183 ba256, 269 n. 11 gid2 ‘gird, strap, tighten’ ba227 gid2 ‘transfer, supply’ ba263 gig ‘be sick, distressed, distraught’ ba238, 239, 240, 296 giri3—gub ‘step, stand’ mu130, 131, 132 immi168 amma184 giš—tuku ‘hear, listen’ ba221 n. 1, 263 giš3—du3/dug4 ‘copulate, have sex’ mu174 imma173, 174, 175 immi173 amma-/ammi173 ba174 na+i-/-Ø173 giškim—dug4 ‘identify, recognize’ imma176 gizzal—ak ‘pay attention’ imma192, 204 gu2—e3 ‘cover, dress’ ba226 gu2—GAM ‘bow, bend the neck’ ba296 gu2—la2 ‘lean over’ imma171

343

gu2—ra ‘kill’ mu133 gu2—si ‘assemble, gather together’ imma182, 183 gu3—de2 ‘call, address’ mu277 n. 16 imma198 n. 20, 277 n. 16 amma198 n. 20, 277 n. 16 ba224, 275, 276, 277, 279, 280, 281, 282 gu3—dug4 ‘cry out’ imma-/immi198, 199, 200 gu3—ra ‘shout, howl, cry out’ mu129 immi199 gu3—sum ‘speak, address’, ‘echo, reverberate’ imma277 n. 16 ba277 n. 16, 281 gub ‘stand’ mu119, 120, 228, 277 n. 16 imma166, 167, 168, 169, 218, 226, 228, 277 n. 16 amma168, 169 immi161 n. 1, 172 n. 5, 184 n. 11 ba120, 167, 226, 228, 229, 266, 289, 304 bi161 n. 1, 172 n. 5, 184 n. 11 gud3—gar ‘build a nest’ imma207, 208 gud3—us2 ‘build a nest’ imma207, 208 gug—ra ‘chew, gnash’ mu129 gul ‘destroy’ mu115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 133, 159, 295 imma217 ammi212 ba222 n. 2, 256, 261, 266, 267, 269, 295 i142, 143 gum ‘crush’ mu118 gur ‘turn, return’, ‘reject’ imma211 n. 25 immi211 n. 25

344 gur2 see GAM gur4 ‘be thick’ ba-

verb index

257

ha-lam ‘destroy’ mu113, 115, 116 haš ‘break’ ba296 hu-luh ‘be frightened’ imma193, 194 ba193, 194, 238, 239 hul ‘destroy’ mu10, 115, 116, 118, 159, 260, 269 ba11, 260, 262, 270 i142 hul—gig ‘hate’ ba240 hul2 ‘rejoice’ ba239, 240, 295 hul2-la-gim—gar ‘be happy, joyful’ imma194, 195, 299, 300 hun ‘hire’ imma161 n. 1, 210 ba161 n. 1 igi—bar ‘look at’ mu188, 283 imma188, 189 ba188, 283 i188 igi—du8 ‘see’ mu123 imma175, 188, 189, 190 immi191 ba123, 189 n. 14 igi—gar ‘look at’ imma190 igi—lib ‘be awake’ ba230, 231 igi—si3 ‘see’ imma190, 191 il2 ‘raise, carry’ mu128, 273 n. 14 isiš—gar ‘wail, moan’ mu130 izi—la2 ‘purify with fire’ imma215 izi—sum ‘set on fire’ ba280 kal ‘be scarce, rare, precious’ mu292 ba292

kar ‘escape, flee’, ‘take away’ imma184, 193 ba221 n. 1, 234, 235 keš2 ‘tie, bind’ imma209 ki—ag2 ‘love’ imma196 ba240 ki—us2 ‘prostrate oneself, touch the ground, submit’ immi170 ba230 kiri3 ki—su-ub ‘prostrate oneself, submit’ immi170 kiri3 šu—gal2 ‘pay homage’ mu146 imma170, 184 ku2 ‘eat’ ba264 ku4 ‘enter’ mu129, 132, 277 n. 16 imma183, 184 amma277 n. 16 ba183, 184, 256 ku10-ku10 ‘be dark’ ba241 kud ‘cut, separate’ imma209 ba295 nu+i-/-Ø250 kug ‘be pure, cleanse’ mu215 kur2 ‘change’ ba256, 295 la2 ‘stretch out, attach, hang’ mu273 n. 14 ba222 n. 2, 230, 273 n. 14 la2 ‘wear, don’ ba227 lul—si3(g) ‘lie, falsify’ mu127 me ‘be’ imma219 mi2—dug4 ‘adorn, care for’ mu277 n. 16 imma165, 277 n. 16 ba284 mi2—dug4 ‘flatter, praise’ imma-/immi199, 277 n. 16 mu—zal see ud—zal

verb index mu2 ‘grow, sprout’ mu119, 120, 172, 252 imma210, 252 ba120, 210, 218, 248, 252, 294, 303 bi172 mu4 ‘dress’ mu227 imma165, 175, 176 ba226, 227 mud ‘be scared, anxious’ ba238, 239 mul ‘glitter, shine’ ba121, 253 muš3—tum2 ‘cease, stop’ imma219 na—de5 ‘separate, remove’ imma214 ba263 bi214 n. 26 na—de5 ‘instruct’ mu123 naga—su-ub ‘rub with soap, wash, clean’ imma165 nam-erim2—kud ‘swear an oath’ mu127 ne—su-ub ‘kiss’ mu174 imma172, 173, 174, 175, 176 ammi173 ba174 na+i-/-Ø173 ni2—dub ‘relax’ ba229 ni2—te(g) ‘fear, be afraid’, ‘tremble’ mu119, 120, 237, 238 imma196 ba120, 162, 223, 236, 237, 238, 239, 303 ni2—te(n) ‘cool off, relax’ imma169 nig2—ra(h) ‘hit, strike’ imma176 nigin2 ‘encircle, return, roam’ imma176 nu2 ‘lie’ mu119, 120, 228 ba120, 226, 228, 289, 304 pad ‘break’ i-

143

pad3 ‘choose, find’ immaimmibabipeš5 ‘anoint’ imma-

345 204 204 270, 271 270, 271 166

ra(h) ‘hit, strike’, ‘drive animals’ mu118, 129, 141 imma182 ba264 ri ‘permeate, imbue’ mu124 sa2 ‘equal, attain’ ba256, 257 sa4 ‘call by name’ imma211 sa10 ‘buy, sell’ mu139 imma216 ba216, 222 n. 2, 263 nu+i-/-Ø139 sag—dug4 ‘do with the head’ immi204 sag—gid2 ‘frown, be angry’ imma170 ba240 sag giš—ra ‘kill’ nu+i-/-Ø138 sag—il2 ‘raise the head’ mu172 immi172 ba247 sag-ki—guruš3 ‘furrow the brow’ ba240 sag—sag3 ‘tremble’ imma172 sag—si3 ‘entrust’ mu146 sag3 ‘hit, strike’, ‘tremble, shake’ mu118 imma176 ba230, 261, 264, 266, 269 sag9 ‘be good’ ba239, 257, 293 n. 24 i137, 142, 293 n. 24 sar ‘write’ mu3 immi211, 214 n. 26 ba265

346

verb index

si(g) ‘fill, load’ immi214 n. 26 si(g) ‘place, cover, wear’ immi166 ba227 si gu3—ra ‘sound the horn’ ba284 n. 21 si—mul ‘make the horns radiate, shine’ ba253 si—sa2 ‘make straight, put in order’, ‘perform properly’ immi211 ba284 si3(g) ‘hurl, cast down’ mu133 sig7 ‘be green, verdant, beautiful’ imma166, 217 su, su3 ‘sink, submerge’ mu119, 120, 249 ba120, 218, 248, 249, 250, 289, 296, 304 nu+i-/-Ø250 su-ub ‘rub, sweep (away)’ ammi212 su—zig3 ‘have goose bumps’, ‘be terrified’ ba237, 238 sud ‘be long’ mu120 ba256 suh3 ‘be confused’ ba230, 241 sum ‘give’ mu128, 140, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 242, 275, 276, 279, 306, 307 imma205, 206 ba26, 145, 224, 263, 275, 276, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 307 i140, 148, 149, 150, 151, 242, 276 nu+i-/-Ø278 he+i-/-Ø282 sumun ‘be old, dilapidated’ mu250 ba248, 250 sun5 ‘be humble’ mu128 sur ‘press, plant’ mu133, 134, 141 n. 10 šag4—dab5 ‘be worried’ mu123

šag4—dar ‘be heartbroken’ ba239 šag4 hul—gig ‘be distraught, disheartened’ ba251, 252 šag4 hul-lu—dim2 ‘grieve’ imma196 šag4—hun ‘be calm’, ‘soothe, relent’ imma196 ba283 šag4—sag3 ‘be afflicted, distressed’ mu238 n. 4 imma238 ba238, 251, 252 šar2 ‘slaughter’ imma208 šeg3 ‘rain’ ba267 šeg10/šeg11—gi4 ‘shout, make noise’ mu129 immi199 šeš4 ‘anoint’ imma165, 175, 176 šid ‘count’ immi214 n. 26 šir3—dug4 ‘sing’ imma199 šu—dab5 ‘hold, seize, capture’ immi173 šu—du7 ‘perfect, complete’ mu120, 294 imma218 šu—du8 ‘hold’ immi174 n. 6 ba227 bi174 n. 6 šu—dub2 ‘flail, thrash about’ ba230 šu—dug4 ‘become, turn (into)’, ‘change’ imma219 ba266 šu—gar ‘carry out, perform’ immi170 šu—gid2 ‘inspect (extispicy)’ mu137 imma204, 205 amma205 i137 šu—gid2 ‘accept, take’ imma176 šu—kar2 ‘denigrate’ amma196 šu—nigin2 ‘return, hurry back’ imma182, 183 amma184

verb index šu si—sa2 ‘make straight, put in order’, ‘devise’ mu127 šu—tag ‘seize, take hold’ imma210 šu tag—dug4 ‘decorate, adorn’ ba284 šu—taka4 ‘send, deliver’ mu148 i148 šu—ti ‘receive, take’ mu7 imma13, 162, 202, 203, 204, 241, 242, 243, 246, 304, 309, 310 ba7, 13, 24, 26, 30, 35, 145, 162, 201, 202, 221 n. 1, 223, 227, 234, 241, 242, 243, 244, 246, 249, 304, 309, 310 šu—zig3 ‘raise the hand’ ba230 šub ‘fall, drop, throw’ mu119, 120, 123, 273, 274 imma206, 215, 218 immi216, 217 ba120, 162, 218, 221 n. 1, 230, 248, 254, 255, 256, 273, 274, 289, 304 i143 šud3—ša4 ‘pray’ mu146 tab ‘flatten, collapse’ ba222 n. 2 taka4 ‘abandon, leave behind’ amma173 te(g) ‘approach’ ba234, 296 til ‘end, be completed’ ba256, 265, 295 til3 ‘live, dwell’ mu117, 119, 120, 124, 125, 141 n. 10 tu-ra—ak ‘be sick, fall ill’ ba298 tu-ra—ku4 ‘be sick, fall ill’ ba298 tud ‘fashion, create’, ‘give birth’ mu113, 114, 119, 133 imma210

347

ba265, 266, 269 n. 12 i138 tuku ‘have, acquire’, ‘marry’ ba34 n. 9, 35, 241, 244, 245 i244 tur ‘be small, diminish’ ba256, 292 tuš ‘sit, dwell’ mu119, 120, 132 imma161 n. 1, 170 n. 4 immi170 n. 4, 171 ba120, 161 n. 1, 226, 228, 229, 289 u2(-gu/gu3)—de2 ‘be lost, disappear, vanish’ imma219 ba235, 248, 250, 251, 252, 255, 298 u3—ku4 ‘sleep’ imma169 u3-gul—gar ‘pray’ imma193 ud/mu—zal ‘pass days/years, spend time’ (see also zal) im155 imma169, 196 ba256, 257 ul—ti ‘be intoxicated’ imma173 ur5—BAD ‘despair’ mu238 n. 4 imma238 ba238 ur5—zalag ‘rejoice, brighten spirits’ ba240 us2 ‘follow’, ‘reach’ imma170 n. 4 ba256 uš2 ‘die’, ‘kill’ mu7, 113, 115, 116, 117, 130, 141, 249, 303, 309, 310 imma304 ba7, 8, 13, 34–35 n. 9, 35, 115, 162, 218, 223, 228, 234, 248, 249, 251, 255, 269, 289, 290, 298, 303, 304, 305, 309, 310 i141 nu+i-/-Ø138, 250

348

verb index

zah2/3 ‘flee, escape’, ‘disappear’ mu235 ba35, 234, 235, 236, 250, 271, 272, 298 i271, 272 zal ‘pass, flow’ (see also ud/mu—zal) ba257 zalag, zalag2 ‘shine, brighten’ mu119, 121, 253 ba121, 253, 254 zi—ir ‘be troubled, distressed’ ba237, 238 zi-ir ‘remove, erase’ ba228 zi—gi4 ‘be calm’ imma196 ba240 zi—tum2/tum3 ‘take refuge’ ba257 zig3 ‘rise’ mu146 im156

immabazu ‘know’, ‘learn’ muimmaba-

171, 210 230, 267, 268 112, 140, 310 192 125, 290, 142 140,

121, 125, 126, 187, 192, 290, 192, 237, 240, 291, 292, 310

inu+i-/-Ø290 zu2—du3 ‘bite’ ba264 zu2—kud ‘bite’ mu124 zu2—ra-ah ‘chew, munch, nibble’ mu124 zu2—zalag ‘bare the teeth’ ba240 zuh ‘steal’ mu130 ba183, 234, 235, 267