Reframing Biblical Studies: When Language and Text Meet Culture, Cognition, and Context 1575061821, 9781575061825

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Reframing Biblical Studies

00-vanWolde.book Page ii Thursday, November 12, 2009 9:53 AM

00-vanWolde.book Page iii Thursday, November 12, 2009 9:53 AM

Reframing Biblical Studies When Language and Text Meet Culture, Cognition, and Context

Ellen van Wolde

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2009

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ç Copyright 2009 by Ellen van Wolde. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wolde, E. J. van. Reframing biblical studies : when language and text meet culture, cognition, and context / Ellen van Wolde. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-57506-182-5 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc. 2. Bible. O.T.— Language, style. 3. Hebrew Language—Semantics, Historical. 4. Cognitive grammar. I. Title. BS511.3.W663 2009 221.6u6—dc22 2009045507

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. †‘

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Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ix

Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

xi

List of Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii Chapter 1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

1.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2. Frameworks of thinking in biblical studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.1. Literary studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.2. Linguistic studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.3. Historical studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.4. Archaeological studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.5. Integrated studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3. Reframing biblical studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4. Aims and structure of this book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1 2 2 5 8 10 14 17 19

Chapter 2 Mental Processing or Cognition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 2.1. 2.2. 2.3. 2.4. 2.5. 2.6. 2.7.

Cognition, categories, and culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cognition, embodied mind, and experiential realism . . . . . . . . . . . Cognitive Linguistics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cognitive Grammar: Symbolization and coding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Cognitive Grammar: Grounding and integration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Three examples: Moon, sea, and love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.7.1. The crescent moon in ancient Babylonia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.7.2. The sea in the ancient world . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.7.3. Love in English and in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

23 28 29 34 38 42 43 43 44 45

Chapter 3 Words as Tips of Encyclopedic Icebergs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 3.1. Words and meaning: A historical survey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2. Words, culture, and cognition: Explanatory concepts . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.2. Profile, base, region, and cognitive domain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3. Prototypical scenario . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3. Three examples: Scribe, anger, and city gate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3.1. The ancient Egyptian word zakhau . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3.2. Anger in English, Japanese, and Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . 3.3.3. The city gate in ancient Cisjordan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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51 54 54 56 59 60 60 62 72

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Contents

Chapter 4 Grammar as Cognition, Part 1: Nominal Profiles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104 4.1. 4.2. 4.3. 4.4. 4.5.

Nominal and relational profile, trajector, and landmark . . . . . . . . . Grounding and integration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Summary of chapters 4, 5, and 6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nominal profiles: Independent and relational nouns . . . . . . . . . . . . Relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.1. Nouns designating family and family in-law relationships . . 4.5.2. Nouns designating affiliation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.3. Nouns designating partial or spatial entities . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.4. Participial nouns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.5. Infinitives absolute . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6. Grounding of nominals in usage events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7. Integration of nominals in texts and valence relations . . . . . . . . . . 4.8. Example: The nouns “child” and dly yeled . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

105 108 109 110 114 114 117 119 119 120 121 123 124

Chapter 5 Grammar as Cognition, Part 2: Atemporal Relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130 5.1. 5.2. 5.3. 5.4.

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Simple atemporal relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Complex atemporal relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Atemporal relations in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.1. Prepositions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.2. Conjunctions, adverbs, and particles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.3. Adjectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.4. Participles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.5. Infinitives construct . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5. Example: The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5.1. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:2a . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5.2. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:2b . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5.3. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:20b . . . . . . . . . . 5.5.4. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:29 . . . . . . . . . . .

130 132 137 140 140 144 147 148 151 153 153 159 163 165

Chapter 6 Grammar as Cognition, Part 3: Temporal Relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 6.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2. Stative and dynamic verb types . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3. Stative and dynamic verbs in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.1. Definitions of terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2. Survey of Biblical Hebrew grammars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.3. Verb types in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4. Example: An analysis of the temporal and atemporal relations in Genesis 1 with an emphasis on the verb arb baraª . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.1. Atemporal and temporal relations in Genesis 1 . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4.2. The verb arb baraª in Genesis 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

169 171 176 176 177 180 184 185 197

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Chapter 7 Cognitive Method of Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 7.1. Reflections on the method of analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 7.2. Cognitive method of analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203

Chapter 8 Mental Processing Expressed by the Word amf †immeª . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206 8.1. The category of purity/impurity and its cognitive domains . . . . . . . 8.2. Eight biblical texts with amf †immeª . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.1. Leviticus 18 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.2. Leviticus 20 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.3. Numbers 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.4. Numbers 35 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.5. Deuteronomy 21 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.6. Ezekiel 18 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.7. Ezekiel 22 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.2.8. Ezekiel 33 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.3. Language and cognition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.3.1. The unification of profile-base-domain relationships . . . . . . 8.3.2. Prototypical scenario . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.3.3. The schematic meaning of †immeª Piel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.3.4. Language and history . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

207 211 212 220 226 234 236 238 241 248 251 252 259 263 267

Chapter 9 Mental Processing Expressed by Genesis 34 and Its Triple Use of amf †immeª . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 9.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.2. Genesis 34:1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.2.1. The nominals in Genesis 34:1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.2.2. The temporal relation in Genesis 34:1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.2.3. The composite semantic structure of Genesis 34:1 . . . . . . . . 9.2.4. The emergent picture of meaning in Genesis 34:1 . . . . . . . . 9.3. Genesis 34:2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.3.1. The nominals in Genesis 34:2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.3.2. Correspondences between the nominals in Genesis 34:1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.3.3. The temporal relations in Genesis 34:2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.3.4. The composite semantic structure of Genesis 34:2 . . . . . . . . 9.3.5. The emergent picture of meaning in Genesis 34:1–2 . . . . . . 9.4. Genesis 34:3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.4.1. The nominals in Genesis 34:3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.4.2. The temporal relations in Genesis 34:3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.4.3. The composite semantic structure of Genesis 34:3–4 . . . . . . 9.4.4. The emergent picture of meaning in Genesis 34:1–4 . . . . . . 9.5. Genesis 34:5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.5.1. The nominals in Genesis 34:5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.5.2. The atemporal relations in Genesis 34:5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.5.3. The temporal relation in Genesis 34:5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

270 271 271 272 276 278 278 279 283 283 295 296 296 298 303 308 309 310 310 311 313

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9.6.

9.7. 9.8.

9.9. 9.10. 9.11. 9.12. 9.13. 9.14.

Contents 9.5.4. The composite semantic structure of Genesis 34:5 . . . . . . . . 9.5.5. The emergent picture of meaning in Genesis 34:5 . . . . . . . . Genesis 34:6–7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.6.1. The nominals in Genesis 34:7a-b-c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.6.2. Atemporal relations in Genesis 34:6–7a-b-c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.6.3. The temporal relations in Genesis 34:7a-b-c . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.6.4. The nominals in Genesis 34:7d–e . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.6.5. The atemporal relations in Genesis 34:7d–e . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.6.6. The composite semantic structure of Genesis 34:7 . . . . . . . . 9.6.7. The emergent picture of meaning in Genesis 34:5–7 . . . . . . . Intermezzo I: Genesis 34:8–12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Genesis 34:13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.8.1. The nominals in Genesis 34:13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.8.2. Atemporal relations in Genesis 34:13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.8.3. The temporal relations in Genesis 34:13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.8.4. Correspondences in semantic substructures in Genesis 34:5, 7, and 13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intermezzo II: Genesis 34:14–17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intermezzo III: Genesis 34:18–24 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intermezzo IV: Genesis 34:25–29 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Genesis 34:27 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Intermezzo V: Genesis 34:30–31 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The emergent picture of meaning in Genesis 34 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

315 316 317 317 318 319 321 324 325 326 328 331 332 332 334 334 336 340 345 347 348 351

Chapter 10 Summary and Evaluation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354 10.1. Summary of the theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.2. Summary of the method of analysis and the analytical results . . . 10.2.1. The crescent moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.2.2. The in-law family . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.2.3. The city gate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.2.4. Differentiation and separation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.3. Evaluation in terms of set aims . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

354 362 364 364 365 367 370

Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 373 Indexes Index of Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391 Index of Scripture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 394

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Preface The landscape of the mind is fascinating. To follow the course of the ancient mind and consider the biblical texts to be its landmarks is a great challenge. The present book is the result of this trajectory. Although I have been the trajector along this path, its finalization was made possible by the support of many people. It is a pleasure to thank them here. I am indebted to the University of Tilburg (The Netherlands) for supporting me in writing this book. The academic environment of the Department of Religious Studies and Theology, its organizational and financial support, as well as its warm atmosphere of collegiality and shared responsibility for higher education have been inspiring indeed. Former and present members of the Hebrew Bible research program, Pierre Van Hecke, Albert Kamp, the late Ron Pirson (whose spirit is still present to the Tilburg faculty), Max van de Wiel, and Miranda Vroon-van Vugt each contributed his or her own competence to a climate of exchange and debate. The intense dialogues with my colleague from the New Testament department, Huub van de Sandt, evoked topics of a historical nature and resulted in a growing awareness of the embedding of concepts in ancient Near Eastern, biblical, and Jewish thought. I have been protected from the burden of management and deanship by Wim Weren, Professor of New Testament at Tilburg, who was so kind as to carry these responsibilities over many years, allowing me to concentrate on reading and research. I wish to express my special gratitude to Lut Callaert, my extra right hand and extended memory—an extension with many gigabytes—for commenting on previous versions, for checking and doublechecking references, and for her never-ending support. I could not have done without her. Peter Hammer’s production of the many figures in the book and Hanneke van Loon’s contribution to the Hebrew transliteration and coding made the book more accessible and attractive. Thanks are due for the skill and care with which my publisher Jim Eisenbraun and his staff handled my manuscript. I am privileged to have had Mrs. Beverly McCoy as the editor of my manuscript. The care and accuracy with which she worked, the attention she paid to even the smallest details, is amazing. It has improved the book’s style and accessibility. International experts have read and commented on earlier versions of this book. I received valuable comments from Ed Greenstein (Bar-Ilan University, Israel), who with endless care read and discussed its contents and details. His friendly advice and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. This is equally true of Professor Dirk Geeraerts (Leuven University,

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Belgium), whose impressive expertise in the field of cognitive linguistics has contributed to an improvement of the linguistic parts of this book. The scrutiny of my English by James Aitken (Cambridge, U.K.) helped to improve its style and readability. This was made possible by a grant from my present employer, the Radboud University in Nijmegen (The Netherlands). Their invitation to build up a research group in the biblical studies section is a great challenge for the near future. Other financial support furnished the practical means. Travel grants and subsidies provided by the Porticus Foundation in Amsterdam, their support and trust when time schedules happened to change, have been an ongoing encouragement. Time off from teaching classes was made possible by a replacement subsidy given by the Netherlands Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO). Residential stays at Sarum College in Salisbury (Wiltshire, U.K.) offered me the hideaway corners I needed during sabbatical leaves. The staff there provided lodging, comforting food and, most of all, supportive friendship, for which I am still grateful. However, stays abroad make you aware more than ever of what you are missing when away from home. This is why this book is dedicated to Frans, my husband, who supported and continues to support me over the years, even at moments, or rather episodes, when “writing a book” seems to take over my life. He shows me that a life set in the framework of the mind is not half as valuable as the life lived in the horizon of love. Ellen van Wolde

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Abbreviations General ANE AO b.c.e. fem. masc. njpsv

ancient Near East(ern) tablets in the collections of the Louvre Museum before the common era feminine masculine JPS Hebrew-English TANAKH: The Traditional Hebrew Text and the New JPS Translation. 2nd ed. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1999

Reference Works ABD

The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman et al. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1992 ANET Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, ed. J. B. Pritchard. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1957 BDB F. Brown, S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford: Clarendon, 1907. Repr. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1979 BHRG C. H. J. van der Merwe, J. A. Naudé, and J. H. Kroeze. A Biblical Hebrew Reference Grammar. Biblical Languages: Hebrew 3. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999 BHS K. Elliger and W. Rudolph, eds. Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1984 COS W. W. Hallo, ed. The Context of Scripture. 3 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2003 DCH D. J. A. Clines, ed. The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Vols. 1–6. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993– GKC E. Kautzsch, ed. Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar, rev. and trans. A. E. Cowley. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press 1910 HALOT L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm. The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, trans. and ed. under supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. Leiden: Brill, 1994–2000 IBHS B. K. Waltke and M. O’Connor. An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990 JM P. Joüon. A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew, trans. and rev. T. Muraoka. 2 vols. Subsidia Biblica 14/1–2. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1991; second edition: 1996 KAR E. Ebeling, ed. Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts. 2 vols. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1919–23 NIDOTTE W. A. VanGemeren, ed. New International Dictionary of Old Testament Theology and Exegesis. 5 vols. Carlisle: Paternoster, 1996 TDOT G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren, eds. Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974– THAT E. Jenni and ca. Westermann, eds. Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament. 2 vols. Munich: Chr. Kaiser / Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 1971–76

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List of Figures Fig. 2.1. The relation between a schema and its instances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 2.2. The relation between schema, prototype, and prototypical instance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 2.3. The relation between a type (T) and its instances (I) . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 2.4. The semantic structure of a grounded nominal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 2.5. A grounded nominal integrated in a composite semantic structure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 3.1. Profile and base . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 3.2. Profile, base, and domains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 3.3. Material remains of city gates in Iron Age II Cisjordan . . . . . . . . . Fig. 3.4. Occurrences of the word saºar in the Hebrew Bible . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 3.5. Distribution of the word saºar over three cognitive domains . . . . . Fig. 3.6. The city gate in the Torah, Former Prophets, Isaiah I, Amos, Job, and Ruth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 3.7. The city gate in the Latter Prophets and Writings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 4.1. Nominal profile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 4.2. A relational profile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 4.3. Nominal, atemporal, and temporal profiles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 4.4. Word classes: A summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 4.5. Nominal profile of the noun “father” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 4.6. (a) Nominal profile of an independent noun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (b) Nominal profile of a relational noun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 5.1. Atemporal relational profile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 5.2. “The ball is under the table” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 5.3. Cosmological levels in the Mesopotamian universe . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 5.4. The complex atemporal relation expressed by “over” in Gen 1:2a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 5.5(a) and (b). A complex atemporal relation (“over”) in two of its uses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 5.6. The complex temporal relation expressed by “fly across” . . . . . . . Fig. 5.7. A complex atemporal relation expressed by “over” in Gen 1:29c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 6.1. The stative temporal relational profile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 6.2. The temporal process expressed by the verb “enter” . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 6.3. The temporal process expressed by the verb “arrive” . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 6.4. The temporal process expressed by the verb “leave” . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 6.5(a), (b), and (c). The temporal processes expressed by the verbs “explore,” “search,” and “seek” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 8.1(a), (b), and (c). Classification of humans, animals, and land . . . . . Fig. 8.2. Milgrom’s compound category of holiness and purity . . . . . . . . . . Fig. 8.3. The profile-base-domain relationships of †immeª . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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24 27 37 39 41 57 58 78 83 99 101 102 105 107 110 111 112 113 113 133 134 155 159 161 165 168 172 173 173 174 183 208 209 258

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List of Figures

Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

8.4(a) and (b). The complex temporal process expressed by †immeª . . . 9.1(a), (b), (c). The relational nominals of “daughter” in Gen 34:1 . . . 9.2. The temporal process expressed by yaßaª ‘to go out’ . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.3. The temporal process expressed by yaßaª min ‘to go out from’ . . . . 9.4. The temporal process expressed by yaßaª ªel ‘to go out to’ . . . . . . . 9.5. ‘She [Dinah] went out to see in’ (watteßeª lirªôt bé) in Gen 34:1 . . . 9.6. “Dinah went out to see in the daughters of the land” (Gen 34:1) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.7(a), (b). The relational nominals of “son” and “father” in Gen 34:2 and 33:19 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.8(a) and (b). The relational nominals “Hivite” and “leader” in Gen 34:2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.9(a) and (b). The noun naºar in the absolute state and in the construct state . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.10(a) and (b). The noun naºårâ related to her father or to her future husband . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.11. The noun yaldâ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.12. The temporal process expressed by ªaheb . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.13. The meaning of the verb †immeª in Gen 34:5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.14. The temporal process expressed by the verb †immeª . . . . . . . . . . . 9.15(a) and (b). The relational nominals “sons” and “men” in Gen 34:7a and 7b . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.16. The temporal process expressed by the verb bôª ‘come [home]’ in Gen 34:7a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.17. The relational noun nébalâ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.18. The meaning of the verb †immeª in Gen 34:7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.19. The relational nominal of “sister” in Gen 34:13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.20. The meaning of the verb †immeª in Gen 34:13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.21. The meaning of circumcision in Genesis 17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9.22. The meaning of the verb †immeª in Gen 34:27c . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.1. The process of cognition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.2. Cognitive processing expressed in words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10.3. Cognitive processing expressed in texts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig. Fig.

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I used to think that language was what got in the way, that it was a screen, a dark glass. That you could not get at the world because you were stuck with language, but now I think that’s wrong. Now I think language is what connects us with the world. (The Scottish writer Kathleen Jamie in an interview in The Guardian, 18 June 2005, p. 22.)

Chapter 1

Introduction 1.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2. Frameworks of thinking in biblical studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.1. Literary studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.2. Linguistic studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.3. Historical studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.4. Archaeological studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.5. Integrated studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3. Reframing biblical studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4. Aims and structure of this book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1 2 2 5 8 10 14 17 19

1.1. Introduction A collection of meticulous analyses of minute details is the first impression one has when confronted with biblical studies. Although impressive in the scale of its results, the depth of its analyses, and the flood of its reconstructions and creative interpretations, the academic field as such appears to be highly fragmented, governed by experts who are confined within their own distinct discipline’s methodology and framework of thinking. Their investigations originate in diverse or even contrasting scholarly positions, in different ideas of what a historical text is or what a literary text is, in exclusive views on who is responsible for a language’s meaning or a text’s meaning. Is it the author, the narrator, or the text in its narratological or poetic structure; or is it the reader—that is, the implied or intended contemporaneous audience in its modern reconstruction? Or should we instead consider the historical context as the main determinant of meaning, at least as far as historians are able to reconstruct it on the basis of ancient Near Eastern written sources? Or is meaning grounded in material and cultural contexts reconstructed by archaeologists, iconographers, and cultural anthropologists?

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Choices have been and are being made out of these and other possibilities, which often have their origins in someone’s educational background. Recently some have opted for a combination of diachronic and synchronic approaches, but is this sufficient? Is not a new type of research asked for apart from these specialist investigations, research that is aimed at the entities in their intrinsic relations? And what would such a project look like? These kinds of questions have haunted me for years. It seems as if we are in a situation similar to that of the life sciences some decades ago. Until the 1970s, biologists aimed at detailed studies of single species (such as bacteria, fish, insect, plant cells) as entities in their own right. This is the so-called monocultural approach. Then, from the 1980s onward, this approach was extended by the study of biodiversity. In this approach, the variability and dynamic complexes of living organisms from different ecosystems were made the object of research. Similarly, until the end of the 1980s, neurophysiologists, psychologists, pediatricians, and linguists worked in complete isolation on aspects of the human brain. The cognitive sciences, from their very beginning in the 1990s, focused on the processes in the brain, thereby necessitating cell biologists, neurologists, psychiatrists, psychologists, linguists, and other relevant scientists to collaborate with each other. In their investigation of the brain, all kinds of information are integrated; if not, one would not be able to catch even a glimpse of the brain’s processing. By analogy, my proposal for biblical scholarship is to extend its examination of single species by an integrated approach in which one can examine the dynamic interactions of conceptual, textual, linguistic, material, and historical complexes. And I suggest considering cognition as the basis of this study, in which brain activities, individual sensations, and experiences as well as social and cultural routines are intimately intertwined. Because language is the connective tissue between the world and the people living in it, I will propose that language lies at the heart of this mental processing. Before substantiating this proposal, I will first sketch the present predominant approaches routinely applied in biblical and historical scholarship in order to be able to clarify what I mean by “reframing biblical studies.” 1

1.2. Frameworks of thinking in biblical studies 1.2.1. Literary studies Given the diversity of its origins and the long process of its composition, the Hebrew Bible inevitably exhibits a high degree of variation. To recover the historical background and to establish the chronological time frame of the various compositions has been the aim of literary-historical criti1. I will limit myself to the Hebrew Bible, although some suggest that the explanatory model and method of analysis presented in this book are applicable to the New Testament as well.

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3

cism, also called historical-critical criticism, which was predominant in the field of biblical studies in the twentieth century. 2 Compositional diversity is explained either by the fact that the biblical texts belong to distinct genres so that the differences of diction are due to the variety of literary forms employed, or by the fact that the texts were composed by individual authors or redactors so that the differences are due to their personal intentions, intended audiences, and historical environment. After Abraham Kuenen (1865) and Julius Wellhausen (1883) had formulated their documentary hypotheses, subsequent (German) scholars presented a series of refined redaction-critical studies and proposals for composition and dating, some of which have become standard in the academic teaching of the subject. This prevailing intellectual viewpoint stands in sharp contrast to the fundamentalist approaches to the Bible that are unaware of such research or unwilling to accept that the biblical texts derive from complex historical processes in ancient Near Eastern contexts. In academia, the historical-critical approach has created a broadly universal hermeneutical and historical awareness. Nevertheless, some serious questions can be and have been raised. First, the historical-critical approach poses a methodological problem. Is it possible to deduce from the final textual form its compositional history and date? Most proposals for the dating of the biblical documents are based on text-internal criteria, such as the designation of the deity, the concentration on cult or its lack thereof, the similarities and differences in genre, and so on. Still, after decades of profound and intensive investigation, a consensus on the dating of compositional layers has never been reached, and more seriously, a set of verifiable criteria has not yet been developed that can be tested against external evidence for date. Second, are not so-called inconsistencies attributed to these ancient texts arising from our modern views of textual coherence? And third, in its almost exclusive attention to compositional histories, minimal study is made of the texts’ final redactions. Should one not also pay attention to literary structure and textual coherence as they are transmitted to us in their final form? Synchronic literary research has evolved out of these shortcomings. Synchronic literary study started to distance itself from mainstream historical criticism in the 1970s and 1980s and to concentrate on the biblical texts’ stylistic, narratological, and rhetorical features. In time it evolved into a kind of biblical poetics. 3 Whereas historical-critical scholars were equating meaning with authorial intent and were seeking to establish these meanings in close relation to the historical textual development, synchronicallyoriented scholars came to consider meaning as the result of textual structures. Both approaches are rooted in the twentieth century’s modernist tradition, claiming (a certain degree of) objectivity. This claim has been criticized by 2. For a survey and bibliography, see Barton (1984) and Long (1996). 3. For an excellent survey and discussion of the literature, see Jobling (2001).

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reader-response and postmodern literary critics in the 1990s, acknowledging the subjective nature of all kinds of literary research and maintaining that there is no such thing as meaning in the text and even less an authorial meaning: every signification presupposes an interaction between text and reader. With the development in biblical studies of gender and postcolonial studies at about the same time, a growing awareness of the limited Western, white, male, heterosexual perspective on biblical texts led to the final decline and fall of the claim to objectivity in diachronic and synchronic literary studies and in all kinds of research dealing with meaning. At present some have come to accept both the accountability of biblical scholars for a verifiable explanation of textual features and their ethical responsibility to contemporary readers and students. This development may be characterized as beginning with object-driven research in modern literary studies, via interaction-driven research in readerresponse criticism, and moving to subject-driven research in postmodern and postcolonial literary studies. In all these types of synchronic literary research, the study of context, which proceeds from the historical context to the ancient Near Eastern literary context, has not received the attention one would have expected, since the examination of ancient literary compositional techniques and of cultural and literary influences could have enlightened synchronic literary Bible studies considerably. Did contextual literary studies help to correct these shortcomings? Contextual literary studies arose at the beginning of the twentieth century, when excavations and archaeological research in the Middle East brought to light a mass of ancient Near Eastern texts. A compilation of texts was published in 1957 under the title Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (ANET, ed. Pritchard), which was, and still is widely used to study ancient Near Eastern texts and to compare biblical texts with their ancient Near Eastern equivalents. Although the 1960s witnessed an increasing stream of publications of ancient Near Eastern texts (recovered, reconstructed, edited, and translated), these were somewhat reluctantly employed in biblical studies (Hallo 2003: xxv). In order to improve this situation, in 2003 a three-volume collection of ancient Near Eastern texts was published entitled The Context of Scripture. Its general editor, William Hallo, describes the aims of a contextual approach as follows: The “context” of a given text may be regarded as its horizontal dimension—the geographical, historical, religious, political and literary setting in which it was created and disseminated. The contextual approach tries to reconstruct and evaluate this setting, whether for a biblical text or one from the rest of the ancient Near East. (. . .) But a text is not only the product of its contemporary context, its horizontal locus, as it were, in time and space. It also has its place on a vertical axis between the earlier texts that helped inspire it and the later texts that reacted to it. We can describe this feature of its interconnectedness as its vertical or, in line with current usage, its intertextual dimension. (Hallo 2003: xxv–xxvi)

spread is 9 points long

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Hallo’s proposal is very commendable indeed. However, to my knowledge, there have so far been only a few literary analyses of ancient Near Eastern texts that live up to standards of modern literary (narratological, poetic, text-semantic) scholarship. 4 Studies of ancient Near Eastern texts are generally more of a descriptive rather than an analytical nature. Unfortunately, the selection of texts is also often thematic, thus presupposing an unverifiable interpretive activity. Even more regrettable is that so often these ancient Near Eastern texts are studied while taking the Hebrew Bible as a point of reference. This is already visible in the choice to call a collection of ancient Near Eastern texts “the context of Scripture” and in its subtitle “canonical compositions from the biblical world.” Collaboration with synchronic literary biblical scholars might inform scholars of ancient Near Eastern texts in their literary analyses; collaboration with a kind of upgraded contextual literary scholarship would illuminate synchronic literary biblical scholars and make them more aware of cultural constraints. Cognitive literary research could reframe the results of the various literary biblical studies in a dynamic network of meaning by examining literary texts and contexts as part of a historical mental processing, that is, as the results of constructive processes in the individual mind in interaction with social, historical, cultural, linguistic, and communicative determinants. This context would include the horizontal and vertical dimensions that Hallo mentioned but would also embed them in a broader view on how the human brain works and on how a culture classifies and how a language expresses the ancient perceptions, experiences, and knowledge of the world. A small example might elucidate this proposal, namely, the notion of perspective. In diachronic and comparative literary criticism, perspective is considered to be a device used by an author in relation to a text-external historical context, whereas in synchronic literary criticism it is considered in relation to the inner-textual narrator’s or characters’ position, with no link whatsoever to historical authors or readers. Conversely, from a cognitive point of view, perspective is viewed as a linguistic coding device that a community and culture has developed and that is applied in individual literary constructive processes, so that in every cultural category, in every linguistic word and concept, in every text or editorial composition, and in every context-bound communicative speech event, perspective is inherent. Thus, perspective transcends the created dichotomies between language, text, and context. 1.2.2. Linguistic studies In contrast to the scholars in literary-historical studies who have been taking literary features as criteria for dating biblical texts, historical Hebrew linguists attempt to find a more secure foundation for the dating of 4. Some first attempts are made in Sasson (1984); Reiner (1985); Abusch (1999; 2001; 2005); Abusch, Huehnergard, and Steinkeller (1990); Reinink and Vanstiphout (1991); Greenstein (1995; 2000); and Vogelzang and Vanstiphout (1996).

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biblical texts in the study of the Hebrew language found in those texts. From early on, Biblical Hebrew grammars have made a distinction between two major stages of linguistic development in the Hebrew Bible: Standard Biblical Hebrew of Iron Age II (ca. 1000-586 b.c.e.) 5 and Late Biblical Hebrew of the Persian and Hellenistic periods (ca. 515-200 b.c.e.). 6 The central idea is that the exile brought about great changes in the outward conditions of Hebrew as extensive exposure to Aramaic made its impact. Given the presence of phonological, lexicographic, morphological, and syntactic uniformities throughout the Hebrew Bible, the question arose whether there is a way of distinguishing formally between Standard Biblical Hebrew and Late Biblical Hebrew. Three types of linguistic criteria for the dating of biblical texts have been proposed in recent decades. Francis Andersen and Dean Forbes (1986) concentrated on changes in phonology and orthography. They demonstrated that the use of matres lectionis in the Hebrew Bible is far from uniform and that the books that are generally considered postexilic employ matres lectionis with greater frequency than do books that are generally considered preexilic. Since Hebrew inscriptions provide some external information as to when different matres lectionis entered Hebrew phonology, the Andersen-Forbes study provides a rough template for dating various sections of the Hebrew Bible. Avi Hurvitz (1974; 1982; 2000a; and 2000b), one of the pioneers of Biblical Hebrew historical linguistics, bases his dating proposals mainly (but not exclusively) on differences in vocabulary in biblical books and their source documents, and on inscriptions. 7 He has developed four well-defined linguistic criteria, which he describes as “conditions that must be met in order to substantiate the supposition that a given feature, or phenomenon, may be linguistically classified as ‘late.’” These criteria are: linguistic distribution, linguistic contrast, appearance in nonbiblical postexilic sources, and concentration of several expressions that are characteristic of Late Biblical Hebrew (Hurvitz 2000a: 148). 8 With these criteria, Hurvitz (1982) put to the 5. Also attested in some long Iron Age II inscriptions: Mesha Stele (ca. 840 b.c.e.); Siloam Tunnel Inscription (seventh century b.c.e.); Lachish Letter (ca. 600 b.c.e.); Yavneh Yam ostracon (ca. 630 b.c.e.). 6. Also attested in Qumran materials (200 b.c.e.–100 c.e.). 7. S. R. Driver (1956) was the first to offer a survey of postexilic Hebrew vocabulary; Rooker (1990) provides a good survey of the developments in the field from Driver to 1990. For Hurvitz’s bibliography, see Young (2003: 338-40). 8. Hurvitz (2000a: 148-50) describes them as follows: (1) Linguistic distribution: in order to prove that a particular linguistic expression is late, the linguistic item in question must occur exclusively or predominantly in indisputably postexilic texts. (2) Linguistic contrast: in order to prove that a particular linguistic expression is late, the linguistic item in question must differ from that item in earlier books, even if both designate the same or similar meanings and are used in similar contexts; that is to say, one must demonstrate that the linguistic item that is potentially late is equivalent to and used in place of an earlier expression. (3) Appearance in nonbiblical postexilic sources: in order to prove that a particular linguistic

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7

test the hypothesis that the Priestly material uses preexilic language only. Extrabiblical Hebrew and Aramaic inscriptions provide Hurvitz (2000a; 2000b) with further testing material. Thus, based on internally and externally datable evidence and on verifiable argumentation, Hurvitz is quite convincing in propounding that the Priestly Code is indeed preexilic. Although Hurvitz’s argumentation is concise and verifiable, some have criticized his approach because they think vocabulary constitutes an insecure basis for linguistic dating, due to the possibility of later authors’ having used anachronisms, especially in the traditional milieu of biblical writing under the influence of religious authorities. 9 When it comes to determining the relative age of a text, syntactic features are as useful as lexical features, as is shown in some recent syntactic studies. Mats Eskhult (1990; 2000; 2005) has investigated historically relevant contrasts in morphology and verbal syntax in the Hebrew Bible’s narrative prose. 10 Jan Joosten (1992; 1997; 2006) has examined historical differences in the use of modal and nonmodal verbal forms. 11 These syntactic changes offer scholars a valuable criterion for a preexilic or postexilic dating of biblical texts. “Although a later writer could have used archaizing devices, such as old-fashioned words, phrases, and forms, he could not possibly have archaised his syntax beyond the horizon of his own understanding of the language as system, so that syntax turns out to be a valuable tool in the dating of biblical texts” (Eskhult 2005: 368). In contrast to historical linguistics, synchronic linguistic studies investigate Biblical Hebrew as a coherent language system on its own and/or in comparison with other Semitic languages. In these studies, language is understood as a closed or autonomous system that functions on the basis of

expression is late, it must appear in postexilic sources other than the Hebrew Bible, such as Ben Sira, Qumran Hebrew, Tannaitic Hebrew, or Biblical Aramaic. (4) Only a concentration of several expressions that are characteristic of Late Biblical Hebrew can prove that a particular biblical text is late. 9. For critical appraisals, see Young (2003). 10. The most obvious syntactic difference is the marking of the direct object. In the books of Samuel–Kings, a direct object is 1 out of 2 times (25 out of 50 occurrences) indicated by a verb with ta plus suffix, in contrast to the uses of verb forms with direct object suffix; in the books of Chronicles, the ratio is 1:10 (14 out of 141 occurrences). In other words, the direct object marker ta ancient book > Hebrew book > Hebrew Bible > Codex Leningradensis

in which each term is schematic for the one that follows. A schema-instance relation is, therefore, the relation that holds between a more schematically or abstractly characterized unit and more fully specified units that count as instances of the schema (Taylor 2002: 123). As these terms imply, the relation is asymmetrical, because the schema serves as a baseline event or point of reference, relative to which the instance is evaluated. This categorization is expressed in schematic form by S > I, where S can be called the schema or standard of comparison and I the instance. 1 This is represented in fig. 2.1. 2 In fig. 2.1, unit [A] is schematic for [B] and [C], while [B] and [C] instantiate [A]. Both instances inherit the specifications of the schema but flesh out the schema in more detail. Different instances flesh out the schema in contrasting ways. Alternatively, we can say that the schema abstracts what is common to its instances. The instances are related by similarity; [B] and [C] are similar, precisely with respect to the fact that they both inherit the specifications of the schema [A]. Schema [A] encapsulates the way in which the instances are perceived to be similar (Taylor 2002: 125). The concept of categorization explains why mental processing cannot be viewed as a linear, progressive process, in which one begins from one entity and relates it to another entity or to other entities. Instead, it shows that mental processing is conditioned by a cluster of previous “thinking”—that is to say, by a schematic network of categories and relevant rules provided by culture, science, academic discipline, and so on, relative to which the instances are judged. When the cultural conditions change or when scientific schemas turn out to be incorrect, new schemas will start to develop, relative to which the instances will be judged. A correspondence may be noted between the scientific view of knowledge and the cognitive approach outlined above. Both stand in contrast to everyday common sense. In the latter it is thought that the facts as such—as being ontologically there—are expressed in language and culture and that nature as such is explained in the natural sciences, whereas the theory-laden approach of the sciences and the schematicity view of cognitive studies consider it only possible to relate to or to “know” phenomena and their dynamic relations relative to a previously defined theory (in the sciences) or a culturally entrenched routine or schema (in cognitive studies). 3 By rejecting strict determinism, according to which 1. Langacker (1987: 102) uses the term scanning for the operation represented by the symbol > . This term reflects the directionality of the operation: there is in some sense a “movement” from the Schema (S) to the Instance (I), with the value of the Instance depending on its degree of “departure” from the Schema. A distinction in terminology is to be noticed between Langacker and Taylor. Whereas Langacker distinguishes a “schema” or “standard” (S) from a “target (structure)” (T), Taylor opts for the more general terms “schema” (S) and “instance” (I). I follow Taylor in his nomenclature. 2. Figure 2.1 above is Taylor’s (2002: 125) fig. 7.2. 3. See Hulswit (2002) and van Wolde (2002b).

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the definiteness of the world is given throughout all time, the mind’s fundamental creativity is thus at the heart of a cognitive approach. It is precisely because of the mind’s dependence on categorizing and schematicity that prototypes of the schema—relative to which a specific event is related as a corresponding instance—are playing such an important role. Langacker (1987: 371) defines a prototype as “a typical instance of a category, and other elements are assimilated to the category on the basis of their perceived resemblance to the prototype.” Eleanor Rosch (1973, 1975), one of the originators in the field of prototypicality research, investigated among others the prototypical instances of a bird in different cultures and languages. She found that for people in England, robins tend to be the most representative instance of the category birds, whereas parrots or penguins are considered less prototypical instances. However, people in Australia consider parrots to be the prototypical instance of a bird, not robins. Dutch people, on the other hand, view the sparrow as the prototypical bird. Hence, prototype theory recognizes that in a culture, embedded in specific geographical, historical, and social contexts, some category members tend to be more prototypical than others. Conceptually salient prototypes thus anchored in specific contexts cannot, therefore, be viewed as representing arbitrary divisions of the world. 4 The prototypes or prototypical representations of the categories are in fact the points of reference in the formation of meanings that are culture-dependent, context-dependent, and mind-dependent. The conclusion is that a category should be considered a conceptual network that contains schemas, prototypes, and instances. The relationship between them is portrayed in fig. 2.2, which reduces, of course, the very detailed, rich, and complex relationships to a highly simplistic structure. 5 This figure can be explained by the following example of a prototype-based form of categorization, namely, music. In Western culture, the schema of classical music [A] consists of a certain tone system, musical notation, scores, musical instruments, and orchestras. This is conventionally elaborated in (among others) the symphony [B], which is one of its prototypes. The Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven symphonies are classical instances [C] of this prototype. Chinese classical music [A], on the other hand, has a different schema: it knows a different tone and notation system, score system, musical instruments, and orchestras. It is prototypically elaborated in (among others) the traditional Chinese opera [B]. Classical instances of this prototype are the Guan Hanqing and Bai Renfu operas [C]. Any Western or Chinese piece of

4. This explains why the prototypical representation in Western Europe of the category “human being” is a white man, not a white woman and not a yellow woman, whereas in Africa it is a black man. The prototype of the category “canal” in Amsterdam differs from that in Birmingham or that in Bangladesh. 5. Figure 2.2 is based on Palmer (1996: 97), which is an extension of Langacker’s (1987: 373) fig. 10.1.

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[A] (schema)

elaboration

elaboration

[B] (prototype)

[C] (instance) extension

Fig. 2.2. The relation between schema, prototype, and prototypical instance.

music is an instantiation of either a Western schema or a Chinese schema, although each unique musical piece will differ in its degree of similarity to the prototype, so that in practice the membership of the prototype is a matter of degree. So far, we have been dealing with cultural categorizations and their prototypical representations as they are conceptually construed. However, the concept of categorization also applies to perception through the senses. Commonly the notions of figure and ground (developed in Gestalt psychology) are implemented in cognitive studies to explain this phenomenon: human beings in all kinds of visual perception single out some thing(s) as a perceptually prominent figure or as a visual scene that “stands out” against its background. As you fix your gaze on the page you are now reading, you will be perceiving black marks (figure) on a white background; almost certainly, you will not be perceiving a complex white shape (figure) on a fragmented black background. (Taylor 2002: 10)

The figure-ground organization is a consistent characteristic not only of visual perception but also of auditory and olfactory perception. For example, the bass and drums or rhythm section in popular music or the basso continuo in classical music provide the baseline on which the melody builds. Analogously in olfactory perception, the distinction between a (familiar) background smell and a (newly perceived) salient smell allows our minds to have new olfactory experiences. Perceptual prominence can be viewed, therefore, not merely as a feature of that which is perceived but also as the effect of an activity in the mind: it is mentally construed. Prominence building or figure-ground alignment is, in fact, a specific case of the more general cognitive activity of categorization. In the perceived or conceptualized asymmetry between an instance and a schema, the instance is a kind of local figure relative to the ground provided by the schema. This explains why perceptive, experiential, and cognitive activities are not determined mechanically by the object, event, or situation they relate to but are

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partly dependent on the human ability to construe or to impose alternate structures on the perceived, experienced, or conceived phenomenon, which in its turn is considerably regulated by cultural prototypical schemas and schema-instance relationships.

2.2. Cognition, embodied mind, and experiential realism Cognitive studies object to a study of concepts as cultural construals alone. In the tradition of Plato, Descartes, and modern rationalism, the principle of a mind-body dichotomy has been a common assumption. In contrast, proponents of cognitive studies argue that it is not possible to study human cognition and language without taking into account the nature of the human body, the human brain, and its neurological structure. First, we are embodied beings, not pure minds. Our organic nature influences our experience of the world, and this experience is reflected in the language we use. (. . .) Second, however, we are not just biological entities: we also have a cultural and social identity, and our language may reveal that identity, that is, languages may embody the historical and cultural experience of a group of speakers (and individuals). (Geeraerts 2006: 5)

Cognitive neurology has demonstrated that a major task of the brain and central nervous system is to configure the way in which sensory information becomes linked to adaptive responses and meaningful experiences. 6 The brains of small animals are selectively tuned and less flexible in interpretation than human brains. In the frog, for example, the inner ear is selectively tuned to spectral and temporal properties of species-species mating calls. Although this type of automatic pattern detection maximizes the limited processing capacity of its brains, it also restricts the range of events that can be identified and the flexibility with which they become interpreted. Advanced mammals, such as human beings, are less vulnerable to the emergence of such inflexible patterns. With the exception of some automatic, brainstem, and spinal reflexes, the behavior of primates displays a far greater latitude in translating sensation into action, so that identical sensory events may potentially trigger one of many different reactions, depending on the peculiarities of the prevailing context. The loosening of stereotyped stimulusresponse linkages endows the organism with the biological freedom to choose one of many potentially available responses. In the human cerebral cortex, which contains ca. 20 billion neurons, the neural systems bridge the gap between sensation (the input of the senses) and brain action. They provide the substrates for “intermediary” or “integrative” processing. The behavioral outcome of intermediary processing is 6. The description of the neurological structure of the human brain in this paragraph is based on Mesulam (1998: 1014–15).

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known as “cognition” and includes the diverse manifestations of memory, emotion, attention, language, thought, and consciousness. These intermediary processes of the brain enable identical stimuli to trigger different responses depending on the situational context, past experience, present needs, and contemplated consequences. Thus, because of the greater potentiality of the human brain, selective and integrative processes are required to respond adequately to specific circumstances. This explains why cognitive scholars adhere to the view of experiential realism (see Johnson 1987; and Lakoff 1987). Far from being detached and autonomous, cognitive processing is identified with aspects of the functioning of the human body, which is fundamentally alike for all individuals, and thus both creates and delimits a common range of potential experience. Ronald Langacker (1997: 233) describes it as follows: Since abstract conceptions and imagined worlds are ultimately grounded in real-world bodily experience, the products of all minds and even the most diverse cultures are to a certain extent commensurable and mutually accessible. Moreover, a critical facet of environment in which we function and develop consists of interaction with other people and other minds. This leads to mutual recognition, accommodation, and instruction, as well as to substantial convergence in the mental worlds constructed.

Language forms an integral part of human cognition, and any insightful analysis of linguistic phenomena will need be embedded in what is known about human cognitive abilities.

2.3. Cognitive Linguistics Cognitive Linguistics is a descriptive label for a rather broad movement within modern linguistics. It includes a variety of approaches, methodologies, and emphases, which are, however, unified by a number of common assumptions. Dirk Geeraerts (2006: 3–6) characterizes them in four statements: (1) Linguistic meaning is perspectival. Language is not just an objective reflection of the outside world; it construes the world in a particular way. Thus, it embodies a perspective onto the world. (2) Linguistic meaning is dynamic and flexible. New experiences and changes in our environment require that we adapt our semantic categories to transformations of the circumstances. (3) Linguistic meaning is encyclopedic and nonautonomous. The meaning we construct in and through the language is not a separate and independent module of the mind, but it reflects our overall experience as human beings. (4) Linguistic meaning is based on usage and experience. Meaning is experientially grounded—rooted in experience; meaning is always part of actual utterances and actual conversations. The experience of language is an experience of actual language use. Since the 1980s, Cognitive Linguistics has developed into various schools and strands. Recent introductions and textbooks offer a survey of these

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schools and of their foundational texts. 7 To give an impression of the field, I will shortly summarize the analysis of the five strands in Cognitive Linguistics made by René Dirven (2005). At the end of his article, it turns out that the five described strands are more or less closely related to one of the two main streams: Ronald Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar or George Lakoff’s Cognitive Semantics. The first main stream Dirven describes is the Gestalt psychology–based orientation that is initiated and explored by Leonard Talmy (1972, 1988) and worked out in greater detail in Ronald Langacker’s (1987, 1991) Cognitive Grammar. Talmy applied notions from cognitive psychology such as ways of viewing a given scene, the figure-ground division of each perceptual field, and the “windowing” of attention, and he demonstrated that both lexical categories and the structure of grammar are intimately related to cognition. Langacker’s unique contribution to Cognitive Linguistics is to have worked these insights into a full-fledged grammar model, in which he relates both the lexicon and grammar to cognition. His seminal study, Foundations of Cognitive Grammar, has changed the field with its groundbreaking views. The second is the phenomenology-based orientation, which is inspired by Merleau-Ponty and explored by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson (1980) in the direction of embodied realism and developed by George Lakoff (1987) in Cognitive Semantics. Here belong prototype theory, lexical network theory, conceptual metaphor theory, and conceptual metonymy theory and imageschemas research. Recently, Eleanor Rosch (1999), the founding mother of prototype theory, has come up with a complete redefinition of categories, which are no longer seen as fixed mental representations but, rather, as a mediation between the mind and the world in concrete situations. Hence, concepts and categories are not conceived anymore as representations but as instruments for cognitive action in the world. One might say that this distances her from Lakoff’s views and brings her closer to Langacker’s. Others in Cognitive Semantics have also come to the conclusion that meaning is more operational than representational. These scholars emphasize the role of context, which largely determines which stretch of the total meaning potential of a word applies in a given sentence. Cognitive Linguistics is not only a lexico-grammatico-pragmatic theory of language, but it also embraces the textual levels of language structure. The third strand is, therefore, cognitive discourse. It developed in the direction of conceptual integration by scholars of mental space theory and blending theory in Gilles Fauconnier (1994, 1997), Gilles Fauconnier and Eve Sweetser (1996), and Gilles Fauconnier and Mark Turner (1998, 2002), and in the 7. To mention the most important recent ones: Janssen and Redeker (1999), Croft and Cruse (2004), Dirven (2005), Evans and Green (2006), Kristiansen (2006), Geeraerts (2006), Geeraerts and Cuyckens (2007), Evans (2007), Evans, Bergen, and Zinken (2007), and Robinson and Ellis (2008).

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direction of cognitive poetics in Margaret Freeman (2000, 2002), Elena Semino (2002) and Elena Semino and Jonathan Culpeper (2002). Mental space theory deals with the online processing of discourse via mental maps (“mental spaces”) and their conceptual blending. It is generally seen as complementary to the cognitive model theory propounded by Lakoff. According to Fauconnier and Turner (2002: 40), a mental space is a small conceptual packet built up provisionally as we think and talk for the purpose of local understanding and action. In it, temporary online discourse information is stored. Blending theory is a theory of conceptual projection and integration of mental spaces. Dirven (2005) describes it as follows: Each utterance, even each content word, in discourse reflects and evokes a mental representation of some situation. Discourse management is effected by keeping track of the mental spaces already opened and the new ones that can be opened at any time. (. . .). Each utterance is based on a basic mental space which is the speaker’s perspective, possibly shared by other participants in the speech event. (. . .) Fauconnier (1997), Sweetser (1996) and Fauconnier and Sweetser (1996) developed mental space theory into an encompassing cognitive theory of discourse and discourse management. In the development of the ongoing discourse, speaker(s) and hearer(s) have to keep track of all the mental spaces opened up and can at any time go back to any of them to elaborate them further. 8 Over time it gradually became clear that mental space theory was also applicable to the understanding of metaphor and metonymy (Fauconnier and Turner 1995). The important new insight was that many different domains or spaces are involved in metaphor understanding, not just the source domain and the target domain. In this view, both the source domain and the target domain are seen as input spaces whose relevant features are mapped into a ‘generic space’ containing the common elements of both. This generic space is mapped onto a ‘blended space’ which remains linked to the input spaces. (. . .) This approach to metaphor and metonymy became known as blending theory, which is, in fact, a theory of conceptual integration. (Dirven 2005: 33–34)

In cognitive poetics some have taken steps in line with George Lakoff, while others, such as Freeman (2000, 2002) and Semino (2002), go far beyond the common interest in conceptual metaphor theory, adopting a Langackerian view and investigating how the conception of language as the matching of phonetic form with conceptual content is reflected in poetic language. 8. For example, The utterance I dreamt I was Marilyn Monroe and kissed me, is based on a basic mental space which is the speaker’s perspective (base space or space 0). Here I dreamt is part of the base space and the verb dream is a space builder opening a new space (space 1) of an imagined world in which the second I (I was Marilyn Monroe) is no longer identical with the first I (I dreamt) in the base space; rather it is part of a new knowledge frame in which Marilyn Monroe is not kissing herself, but the speaker, i.e., the I in the base space. (Dirven 2005: 33–34).

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The usage-based conception of language, one of the major tenets of Cognitive Linguistics, is bound to be open to sociolinguistic problems such as language variation, the merging of language with ideology, and the link of language with culture, as laid down in the notion of cognitive cultural models. This has led to a fourth strand called cognitive sociolinguistics, which scouted for variation in sociolexical semantics in, among others, Dirk Geeraerts, Stefan Grondelaers, and Peter Bakema (1994), for ideology research in Dirven et al. (2001), and for cultural cognitive models in Pamela Morgan (1997, 2001). In a usage-based model, substantial importance is given to the actual use of the linguistic system and a speaker’s knowledge of this use. Recently, this has resulted in the conviction of a growing number of scholars that usage-data collecting requires the method of Corpus Linguistics. One of the schools in cognitive sociolinguistics focuses on cultural cognitive models. Discourse understanding is to a large extent based on the availability of cultural knowledge, which is represented in a number of cognitive models. “These models reveal that there are not just metaphors we live by, but that these may belong to clusters of metaphors expressing the cultural cognitive models we live by” (Dirven 2005: 45). The fifth and last strand in Cognitive Linguistics described by Dirven (2005) is the psycholinguistic strand, represented by Raymond Gibbs (1994) for figurative language-processing, and by Michael Tomasello (2000) for language acquisition. Because in Lakoff’s theories image-schemas are a central issue, cognitive psycholinguists have looked at ways to find evidence for their psychological reality. As to figurative language understanding, there has been a strong focus on metaphor comprehension, and recent psycholinguistic research shows that people understand both literal and figurative language in much the same way. This experimental research result refutes the standard pragmatic views held by Grice (1975) and Searle (1979) that metaphor and all other figurative language are deviations from normal, literal language use. 9 Michael Tomasello (2000) applied Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar to children’s language acquisition. His data-based approach makes Langacker’s usage-based model especially congenial for the analysis of children’s language, since children do not learn and use the same units as adults but create units of their own. Dirven (2005) concludes his survey of Cognitive Linguistics and points out that there is the highly conspicuous fact of the difference between Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar and Lakoff’s Cognitive Semantics. Langacker 9. Dirven (2005: 46–47) mentions some serious problems with these types of psycholinguistic experiment, one of which is that metaphors are studied out of context. Psycholinguists do not allow participants to interpret figurative language in the wider context in which metaphors naturally occur as an event in the ongoing discourse, and they are merely static objects out of any context.

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has never had to make major changes or revisions to this theoretical framework. (. . .) Furthermore, Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar proposals for the theory and description of language have elicited almost no negative responses from the other researchers working in the field of Cognitive Linguistics, neither from those outside it. In comparison with this relative stability, it is striking that Lakoff’s proposals have met with far more internal and external critiques concerning a number of his basic insights, tenets, and tools, with the result that certain changes of orientation and alliances have followed. (. . .) it is also remarkable that it is especially Langacker’s basic Cognitive Grammar assumptions that have so strongly contributed to the spread of Cognitive Linguistics insights into various linguistic approaches and into various disciplines. (. . .) Langacker’s view of grammar as a usage-based model of language has found its confirmation in corpus linguistics, in cognitive sociolinguistics, and in cognitive psycholinguistics focusing on child language acquisition. Even in cognitive poetics, Langacker’s postulate of the unity of the form/meaning relation is the central core of Freeman’s approach to poetics. Moreover, contrary to what could be expected, theoreticians in cognitive poetics attempt and manage to go far beyond the conceptual metaphor/metonymy approach to literary texts, and to find out what constitutes the very essence of literary creation. In a certain sense it is not astonishing that for this purpose literary theory specialists have chosen to turn to Cognitive Grammar rather than to Cognitive Semantics, since in the former more than in the latter the crucial linguistic question of the phonetic/semantic unity of symbolic forms is explored. We see in fact a similar tendency in Tomasello’s language acquisition research program. (Dirven 2005: 50–51)

The present book began life several years ago with the aim of offering a compact synthesis of the leading ideas of Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar as a concept- and grammar-oriented theory and Fauconnier’s mental space and blending theories as a text-oriented approach. As the project matured, the focus narrowed to Langacker’s theoretical model, because it turned out to be the most comprehensive and most fully articulated approach in Cognitive Linguistics. The scope and internal consistency of his theory are endorsed by many theoretical linguistic studies and applied with great success in studies of languages all over the world. However, his ideas are less well known in biblical studies and Biblical Hebrew linguistics. So far, the cognitive studies that have been presented in the field are mainly oriented toward metaphors and to a lesser extent toward mental space theory and blending. 10 Yet to 10. To the best of my knowledge, Sanders and van Wolde (1993), van Wolde and Sanders (1994), and van Wolde (1995, 2005) were the first to apply Fauconnier’s mental space theory in biblical studies, while Follingstad (2001) was the first to apply Fauconnier’s theory in Hebrew linguistics. Recently, Hayes (2008) offered a study of Jeremiah 1–6 based on Fauconnier’s mental space theory, while DesCamp (2007) published a study of mental spaces in relation to ancient interpretations of the Hebrew Bible. See also the SBL Cognitive Linguistics sessions at the SBL annual meetings in 2007, 2008, and 2009, which focused on

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combine and synthesize the text-oriented cognitive studies of mental space and blending and Cognitive Grammar appeared to be difficult. The two approaches demand an entirely different attitude. Mental space and blending theories offer a textual framework of thinking that allows us to concentrate on general textual mappings and (metaphorical) blending processes, and on how we obtain access to the information offered in the text’s mental spaces. This approach is focused on general traits and not culture- and languagespecific features, although metaphor studies seem to be more detailed. In contrast, Langacker’s theoretical model demands extreme concentration on very detailed interaction processes between language elements in their specific textual, historical, and cultural contexts of use. Each usage event, each cognitive interaction process is different in its own way. This kind of research forces you to examine the unique relations between language, culture, cognition, and context, and offers us the instrument to do so in verifiable steps. Because this book’s aim is to present a cognitive approach that allows biblical scholars to analyze words and texts as cognitive processes in relation to all kinds of experience and knowledge embedded in a specific ancient culture and historical context, I consider Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar to have the greatest value for biblical studies. Thus, in the end, I decided to address Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar only. Although Langacker limits himself in his Cognitive Grammar mainly to words, concepts, and phrases and seldom transgresses the border of a simple sentence, his ideas of valence relation and valence structure enable a text researcher to transcend the border of words and clauses into larger textual units. This also explains why scholars in cognitive poetics and in cognitive literary studies who tried to go far beyond the conceptual metaphor approach to literary texts do find in Cognitive Grammar the ideas and tools with which one can examine the very essence of literary creation.

2.4. Cognitive Grammar: Symbolization and coding Langacker (1987) characterizes a language as a structured inventory of linguistic units with which a (native) speaker or language user expresses more or less automatically his or her experiences, perceptions, thoughts, feelings, emotions, ideas, and so on. And he defines a language unit as a “structure that a speaker has mastered quite thoroughly, to the extent that he can employ it in largely automatic fashion, without having to focus his attention specifically on its individual parts or their arrangement” (Langacker 1987: 57). He explains these language units and their structures as fundamentally based on two types of mental processing, symbolization and coding (Langacker 1987: 58–68). mental space and blending theories only. The number of cognitive studies of metaphors is substantially larger; for a survey and bibliography, see Jindo (forthcoming).

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Language is, according to Langacker, essentially a means for relating phonological structures (that is, language in its perceptible form) to semantic structures (that is, meanings or conceptualizations). In language units, concepts are related to sounds so that language units symbolize or stand for concepts. Symbolic units provide the means for expressing ideas in linguistic form. This symbolic view of language places Cognitive Grammar in a semiotic or semiological tradition. 11 A sound as such is not necessarily a linguistic unit; only the sounds that with repeated use became automated in a social routine as a sound with a meaning are linguistic units. Furthermore, an idea as such is not necessarily a linguistic unit; only the concepts that with repeated use became automated in a social routine as a meaning related to a sound are linguistic units. A linguistic unit is, therefore, a symbolic structure in which two components, a semantic structure and a phonological structure, are related to each other, and this structure has become established through the frequency of successful use. This can be expressed in a formula as or [[semantic structure] / [phonological structure]] or, in short: or [[sem] / [phon]]. 12 For example, the symbolic unit “tree” associates a phonological structure [tri:] with a semantic structure [tree], hence [[tree]/[tri:]]. This composite structure has a unit status and can be accessed automatically as an integrated whole without a person’s having to pay attention to its internal composition. Or consider ba tyb bêt ªab (lit., ‘father’s house’) in Biblical Hebrew. This linguistic unit does not designate the semantic unit or concept [family] only or the phonological unit or sound [bêt ªab] per se. It designates, above all, the established symbolic relationship between the two, [[family]/[bêt ªab]]. Hence, a linguistic unit such as ba tyb bêt ªab is a symbolic unit with a conceptual pole and a phonological pole. All languages offer conventional linguistic units to its users. They are the types or schemata to be applied in usage events. The second fundamental aspect of language investigates the process of instantiation or coding, which includes evaluative activities. In using language, someone takes the correspondence between the conventional type and the specific instance as point of departure. This requires someone’s judgment or 11. Langacker (2002a: 1) characterizes his Cognitive Grammar as “conceived in full harmony with the semiotic function of language, that of allowing conceptualizations to be symbolized by phonological sequences.” Taylor (2002: 38–45) gives an extensive description of the Saussurian semiological roots of Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar. 12. Small capitalized words are used in linguistics as notations of concepts or cognitive semantic structures; lowercase representations are used in linguistics as notations for phonological structures. In this notation, the slash indicates a symbolic relationship between the semantic and phonological structures. The inner sets of square brackets mark [sem] and [phon] as units, while the outer set of square brackets specifies the unit status of their symbolic association (Langacker 1987: 67).

spread is 3 points long

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evaluation of an experience, event or situation as an instance (I) of a schematic type (T) as expressed in language conventions. This is expressed in the following formula: ([[semantic structure]/[phononological structure]] §((semantic usage eventu) / (phonological usage eventu))). or, in short: ([[sem]/[phon]] §((semu) / (phonu))). 13 Figure 2.3 presents the process of coding diagrammatically. 14 The schematic type T, defined in language as [[sem]/[phon]], is prototypically elaborated in the instances (I), defined as ((semu)/(phonu)). Thus, whereas fig. 2.1 showed the general cognitive relation between a schema and its instances, and fig. 2.2 the general cognitive relation between a schema and its instances mediated through a prototype, fig. 2.3 demonstrates the relation between a type (T) and its instances (I) in a domain of instantiation or usage event. In this activity of coding, paradigmatic relations are laid between the schematic types and their corresponding instances, mediated by the prototypical representation of this schema. For example, the linguistic schematic type (T) “house” by convention relates the phonological sounds [haws] to the semantic content [building in which people live]. In the process of coding, the language unit T can be applied in a particular set of circumstances and this instantiation is mediated by the prototypical representation of this schema. When used in Texas, the symbolic unit or schematic type [[house]/ [hawz]] would prototypically designate a house built of timber, in Europe it would prototypically designate a house built of bricks, and in Mali (the Dogun people) it would prototypically designate a house built of mud and reeds. These prototypical representations of the schematic type [house] function as the points of reference for a language’s coding. In Biblical Hebrew, the conventional linguistic unit ba tyb bêt ªab does not designate the concept [building in which people live] but the concept [extended family]. A native speaker or writer in ancient Judah in the seventh century b.c.e. would use this conventional schema to refer to his family. The thought processes that prompt this language user are obviously more detailed and elaborate than the conventional semantic value [family] 13. In this formulaic form, the small capitalized words stand for the concepts, and the lowercase words stand for the phonological structures. The words set between square brackets [ ] represent the schematic unit types, whereas the words set between parentheses ( ) represent the instances. The latter are less confined and distinct as units and actually have a nonunit status; they are not conventional units but created by the speaker as a specific usage event in a particular context. Observe that any structure Xu is a variant of the conventional conceptual unit X and that any structure xu is a variant of the conventional phonological unit x (Langacker 1987: 68). 14. Figure 2.3 here is Taylor’s (2002: 348) fig. 18.2.

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T

I I

I I

I domain of instantiation

Fig. 2.3. The relation between a type (T) and its instances (I).

of this linguistic unit. The family he or she has in mind has an exact number of persons and a precise set of family relations and is found in a specific place and in a particular setting. This specific family is the instance of the general family schema that the language user wishes to express; its formulaic form is: (familyu). Similarly, the user’s vocalization of this word, (bêt ªabu), is far more specific and elaborate in its articulatory and auditory details than is given by the phonological representation in the grammar of Hebrew. Nevertheless, the person who uses the linguistic unit ba tyb bêt ªab articulates in general terms the concept he or she specifically has in mind. Thus, he or she judges it as an instance of the conventional symbolic relation or schema: ([[family]/[bêt ªab]] §((familyu)/(bêt ªabu)))

This formula expresses the mental process of coding in which the schematic type (T) ba tyb bêt ªab is used in a usage event or instance (I) with reference to a concrete group of people. In other words, someone scans a specific assembly of people and judges it in terms of its belonging to a culturally defined category. In ancient Judaic society and culture, the conventional schema of [family] is prototypically defined as a hierarchical structure in which a male member (a father or brother, a husband or son) is placed in a central social and judicial position. Thus, the linguistic unit ba tyb bêt ªab is prototypically understood as [[patriarchal family]/[bêt ªab]], so that any use of the linguistic unit is an instance of this prototypical schema, hence ((patriarchal familyu)/(bêt ªabu)).

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It is important, therefore, to distinguish between symbolization, where a conventional correspondence is established between a semantic structure and a phonological structure, and coding, where an individual correspondence is established between a conventional unit and the instance in the usage event.

2.5. Cognitive Grammar: Grounding and integration The mental activities of symbolization and coding described above explain the paradigmatic inventories of a language. The actual usage events in texts concern the embedding of words in a specific context of use and their combination in syntagmatic relations. These are based on the mental activities of grounding and integration. 15 When individuals use language, schematic types of meaning are instantiated, and these instances of meaning are embedded in a context of usage that is grounded vis-à-vis the ground. The term ground refers to “the context of the usage event and comprises the participants in the event, its time and place, the situational context, previous discourse, shared knowledge of the participants, and such like” (Taylor 2002: 346). 16 Whereas in the activity of linguistic coding a conventional unit (as acknowledged by a culture) is selected and instantiated, and whereas in the activity of textual integration this unit is combined with other selected units, the activity of grounding explains the relationship between the designated entities and the situation of use. The word “picture,” for example, is as yet ungrounded and designates a general type or schema. “This picture,” on the other hand, is a grounded noun: it designates an instance, a specific painting, and this specification is dependent on the speech situation and on the proximity of the speaker to the designated entity. When someone writes in a newspaper about a theft and indicates that “the picture is a Picasso,” the definite article grounds the noun and profiles the designated entity that the writer has singled out for attention and allows the reader to identify it uniquely in its textual context. The actual usage event provides, therefore, the ground on which the instantiation functions. In conclusion, the process of grounding refers to the mental process that locates a designated entity with respect to the part of the context of speech that is construed as its ground. Consider another example, the verb “build,” which is as yet ungrounded and unspecified with regard to time, aspect, and agent, in contrast to “He built,” in which the grounded verb designates a specific instantiated action and relates it to the narrator’s or character’s viewpoint as an activity situated

15. Whereas the paradigmatic relations reflect the conventional types and their prototypical instantiations, grounded syntagmatic relations concern the way these instances are embedded in usage events and related with other instances in texts and discourses. 16. See Brisard (2002) for a collection of studies on grounding.

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T

S

I

H G domain of instantiation

Fig. 2.4. The semantic structure of a grounded nominal.

in the past. The actual speech event provides, therefore, the ground on which the instantiation functions. Figure 2.4 presents this process of grounding diagrammatically. 17 In fig. 2.4, the grounded language unit designates an instance represented by I. The instance is one that has been identified by speaker S and hearer H and belongs to schema type T, in which the speaker can also be instantiated in a written text in the position of the author, narrator, or speaking character; and the hearer can also be instantiated in the character addressed in the text, the implied or the ideally projected readers of the text. Both speaker and hearer are situated within the ground (represented by the ellipse on the left). The broken arrows pointing from S and H toward the instance represent the singling out, by S and H, of the instance for special attention (Taylor 2002: 349). Grounding thus reflects the epistemic footing of linguistic entities in usage events. It explains why conceptualization does not depend only on culture, language, and text but also on the conceptualizer—that is to say, on the person who pays attention to something and puts it onstage as the specific focus of attention, while other things are left offstage or unperceived, and who relates the addressee to what is put onstage. It specifies the relationship between some facet of the ground and the designated entity. Perspective is, 17. Figure 2.4 is Taylor’s (2002: 349) fig. 18.3.

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therefore, part of grounding, since it displays the way an instance is anchored to a specific viewpoint in a usage event. In a textual usage event or text, language units are not merely set alongside each other but are integrated into larger, hierarchically arranged compositions. These syntagmatic relations are as determinative for the mental image of a linguistic unit as the paradigmatic relations and their grounding in the usage event. One of the outstanding features of Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar is that he is able to explain the interdependence of the paradigmatic and syntagmatic axes through the concept of valence relation. He defines an item’s valence as its disposition to combine with other items. In chemistry it has long been recognized that the valence properties of atoms—their combinatory potential—can only be understood and explained with reference to their internal structure. The matter is not quite so clear-cut in linguistics owing to the prime importance of conventionality. How a symbolic unit interacts with others cannot be predicted in any absolute way from its internal structure alone, because at any one time the established conventions of a language strongly sanction only a relatively small proportion of the potentially available combinations. Nevertheless, it is the internal structure of component expressions that determines the vast range of potential combinations from which the selection is made, as well as the likelihood that particular sorts of combinations will actually be conventionally exploited. Valence relations between atoms are based on the sharing of electrons. The valence relations uniting linguistic expressions depend in similar fashion on the sharing of elements. It is only by virtue of having certain substructures in common that two component expressions can be integrated to form a coherent composite expression. To the extent that we regard the component structures as distinct and separable entities, we can speak of correspondences between their shared substructures, that is to say, between certain substructures within one and those substructures within the other to which these are construed as being identical. Such correspondences are found at both the semantic and the phonological poles, and they constitute the one invariant feature of valence relations. (Langacker 1987: 277–78, bold letters his)

When two or more linguistic units combine to form a more elaborate expression, they enter into a grammatical valence relation, in which an item’s valence is defined as its disposition to combine with other items. The structures that combine are called component structures or semantic substructures; the integrated entity that results is called the composite structure (Langacker 1987: 277). 18 Paradigmatically, words are viewed as distinct and separable seman18. “Composite structures are necessary because, quite obviously, linguistic convention cannot provide a fixed, unitary expression for every conceivable situation that a speaker might wish to describe. Instead it furnishes a limited inventory of fixed expressions, which are generally appropriate for designating only certain aspects of complex conceptualizations, together with a set of conventional patterns for combining these as needed” (Langacker 1987: 278).

spread is 9 points long

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I

41

T

I

I T S

H G

Fig. 2.5. A grounded nominal integrated in a composite semantic structure.

tic substructures. Syntagmatically, the sharing of corresponding elements in the semantic substructures allows for their integration into composite structures of meaning. This is diagrammatically represented in fig. 2.5. 19 In fig. 2.5, the grounded relations between the grounded language units represented by I are those that have been identified by speaker S and hearer H, in which the speaker can also be instantiated in a written text in the author’s, narrator’s, or speaking character’s position, and the hearer can also be instantiated in the addressed character’s position or in the implied or projected readers’ positions in the text. Both speaker and hearer are situated within the ground (represented by the ellipse on the left). The broken arrows point from S and H toward the syntagmatically related and grounded instances of the composite meaning structure. 19. Figure 2.5 is my own; it is based on a multiplication of fig. 2.4, which in its simple form is Taylor’s (2002: 349).

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Consider, for example, the sentence “the stone placed as a maßßebâ” in Gen 28:18. The phrase represents an integrated conception of two components: the noun hbxm maßßebâ and the verb μyc ¶îm. Schematically, the verbtype ¶îm ‘put’, ‘place’, ‘set’ can have either a horizontal orientation, ‘put down’ or ‘lay down’, or a vertical orientation, ‘set up’. Because of the maßßebâ’s semantic substructure of a vertical orientation in a spatial domain, this standing stone in Gen 28:18 can enter into a valence relation with ¶îm. There, the verb ¶îm merges its specification with the noun maßßebâ and comes to share the same element of vertically oriented space; hence, ‘set up’. The valence relation between the instances depends, therefore, on the sharing of corresponding elements. Linguistic units are the instances of schematic types (such as ‘stone’ or ‘set up’ in a dictionary), selected and grounded in usage events (such as ‘stone’ and ‘set up’ in Gen 28:18), and integrated into semantic substructures that enter into valence relations with other semantic substructures and thus build up composite structures of meaning in a text. In this way, in every text composite structures are formed by superimposing corresponding entities and by merging their specifications. And it is by virtue of their overlapping substructures that the components are integrated.

2.6. Summary Cognitive studies in general and Cognitive Linguistics and Cognitive Grammar in particular investigate language as a part of human cognition that is based on at least five mental processes. The first is the culture-based process of schematization and categorization (represented in figs. 2.1 and 2.2). It shows that perceptual and cognitive processing is dependent on brain capacities, such as perception, experience, and knowledge, and on the ability to compare and consider correspondences. It is based on cultural classifications, in which a certain number of correspondences are taken into consideration and judged as valuable, while other continuities and/or discontinuities are not acknowledged. Cultural prototypes specify the categories according to which people arrange and understand their experiences. These prototypical schemas are not the effect of human construal alone but are often influenced by the material, historical, geographical, biological, and other environments in which they figure. The second mental process is the process of symbolization, represented in the formula as [[sem]/[phon]]. A language by convention defines symbolic relations between phonological sounds and semantic concepts that function as schemata or schematic types (T) ready for language users to select as instances (I). The third is the mental process of coding, represented in fig. 2.3. A language user takes a correspondence between the conventional language type and the specific instance as point of departure. This requires of someone a

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judgment or evaluation of an experience, event, or situation as an instance of a schematic type as expressed in language conventions, which in their turn reflect culturally defined categories. This explains why a linguistic instance figures in both the paradigm of language and the categories of culture. Coding is represented in the formula: ([[sem]/[phon]] §((sem’)/(phon’))). The fourth is the mental process of grounding that explains the relationships between the designated entities and the usage event or the situation of speech. It is represented in fig. 2.4. It is a process that locates an entity with respect to the part of the communicative context that is construed as its ground. Most of all, it shows how a situation is viewed in relation to the viewpoint of the speaker, which explains why cognition always incorporates subjectivity. Every speech or usage event thus provides the ground on which the instantiation functions. The fifth is the mental process of integration in which the selected paradigmatic instances are set in (new) hierarchic syntagmatic relationships. It is represented in fig. 2.5. Integration is a predominant feature of texts and discourses: linguistic units are combined with each other and integrated in a completely new way. These syntagmatic relations are nevertheless understandable because of the valence relations employing the language-units’ integrative possibilities. In the following chapters of this book, I will show how the entangled phenomena of experiential reality, culture, and linguistic usage events—that is, words and texts—can be studied in more detail. Before doing so, I will present two short examples and one longer example of cultural differences between the mental processes of the modern Western world and of ancient Mesopotamia, and of linguistic/conceptual differences between modern English and Biblical Hebrew.

2.7. Three examples: Moon, sea, and love 2.7.1. The crescent moon in ancient Babylonia A first short example of differences in conceptualization can be found in the ancient Babylonian view of the crescent moon and our modern Western view. When people in northwest Europe or in the U.S. think of the crescent moon, they have a mental picture of a vertically standing crescent. When they read about it, they automatically construct such an image in their minds. However, a study of Babylonian iconographic and textual evidence reveals another image. 20 Every time the crescent moon is pictured in sculptural art or seals together with the sun and the planet Venus “high in the air,” the crescent moon is drawn horizontally, with the two points directed upward (Horowitz 1998). In some Babylonian texts, the crescent moon is called

20. See Stol (1992), Collon (1992), Colbow (1997), and Horowitz (1998).

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a “horn,” 21 whereas in others, such as texts from the Middle Babylonian or Kassite period, a “boat” stands for the crescent moon (Stol 1992: 247–49). These data lead to the conclusion that in ancient Mesopotamia the crescent moon was conceived horizontally. Even in present-day Muslim countries, one continues to view and represent the crescent moon horizontally. Astronomical research explains the origin of this sort of representation by geographical location: our position on earth in relation to the equator appears to determine the angle from which we view the moon. 22 If the moon ascends almost straight up from the horizon (as it does when seen from the equator), then the crescent appears to be horizontal. If the moon rises at a shallower angle (as seen far from the equator), then the crescent is for the most part vertical. Consequently, in the ancient Near East and in the present Middle East, people do perceive the crescent moon horizontally, so that their horizontal conceptualization has its ground in their geographical position. Thus it becomes clear that the cultural conceptualization of the crescent moon is partly based on the geographical circumstances in which it functions. 2.7.2. The sea in the ancient world A second short example of cultural differences in mental processing in the ancient and the modern world is the conceptualization of the sea. When we think of “ocean” and of “sea,” we have in our mind’s eye a world map with waters that separate continents or countries, and we define oceans and seas as water areas between continents or lands. However, maps in the ancient world, from the Babylonian map on BM 92687 to the Greek maps drawn by Anaximander and Herodotus, evidence a belief that the inhabited world was surrounded by water (Horowitz 1998: 41). In Greece, the cosmic ocean Okeanos, like the marratu in The Babylonian Map of the World, was believed to encircle the continental portion of the earth’s surface. 23 The Babylonian text Bilingual Creation of the World by Marduk demonstrates that the Babylonians believed that a cosmic ocean encircled the continental portion of the earth’s surface (Horowitz 1998: 325). In the Babylonian version of The Flights of Etana and the Eagle into the Heavens, the sea is described as encircling the land, just as the cosmic ocean marratu encircles the central continent on the world map (Horowitz 1998: 60). In a Neo-Assyrian version of The Flights of Etana and the Eagle into the Heavens, the cosmic ocean, which marked the boundary of the central portion of the earth’s surface, “was in ef-

21. For example, in Enki and Ninmah, “He comes up, Sîn, the Lord of the horn and the halo” (Stol 1992: 245–46). 22. See, for an astronomical explanation: www.astro.uu.nl. 23. See Horowitz 1998: 61. See also Pongratz-Leisten (2001: 275): “Dargestellt ist die Erde als schwimmende Scheibe in Aufsicht, die vom Salzwasserozean umgeben wird, der als Streifen um die Erdscheibe gelegt ist.”

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fect a cosmic boundary ditch marking the borders of the land” (Horowitz 1998: 62). A parallel couplet of the Middle Assyrian recension of The Flights of Etana seems to explain that the sea encircles the land, just as canals and boundary ditches often surrounded fields and gardens (Horowitz 1998: 63). There is evidence to believe, therefore, that in the ancient world the ocean and the sea were conceptualized as water surrounding the earth and not as “in-between” water, in the way that it is perceived in the modern world. Ancient and modern conceptualizations depend on what was or is known of the earth’s geography, which confirms a basic tenet of cognitive studies that cognition is very often intertwined with perception as governed by knowledge and with entrenched cultural routines. 2.7.3. Love in English and in Biblical Hebrew A third example concerns the differences in conceptualization of love in English and in Biblical Hebrew. As explained above, Cognitive Linguistics understands—in contrast to traditional lexicography—a linguistic unit, not only as a symbolic relation between sound and meaning that are defined internal to the language, but also as an instantiation or a specific case of a general cultural schema or schematic ensemble, in which repeated usage events and routines play an important role. In order to show how cultural differences in conceptualization have influenced standard lexicographical studies of words in Biblical Hebrew, I will analyze and compare the verb bha ªaheb, which is used in the Hebrew Bible to designate the concept of love between a man and a woman, to the modern English verb “to love.” 24 The verb ªaheb is used 252 times in the Hebrew Bible to designate the relationship between a man and a woman. In Biblical Hebrew lexicons, it is analyzed as follows. 25 (a) It is a stative, transitive verb that expresses the full range of love, from secular love between human beings to love between God and human beings to political loyalty; sometimes it is also used to indicate love for things or activities. (b) The secular use of the verb can mean a love relationship between a man and a woman. (c) Most dictionaries note the similarity in the range of meanings of ªaheb to the range of meanings of the English word “love.” (d) In other personal relationships, the love between parents and children, between family members, friends, neighbors, strangers, and political allies is expressed by the verb ªaheb. The conclusion of these lexicographical studies is that this verb, when used with reference to the relationship between a man and a woman, expresses the all-encompassing love 24. To use the Cognitive Linguistic concepts still to be explained in chap. 4 below, this short example concerns the valence structure of the verb ªaheb in usage events in which a single man and a single woman are involved and in which either of them takes the trajector (roughly, subject) position and the landmark (roughly, object) position. So, relations between family members, humans and the deity, and so on will not be considered. 25. Biblical Hebrew dictionaries, DCH 1.137–41, HALOT 1.18–19, THAT 1.60–73, TDOT 1.99–118, NIDOTTE 1.277–99, ABD 4.375–81.

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between a man and a woman, their affection for each other, and sexual intercourse itself. The range of meanings of ªaheb is (often implicitly) conceived in these biblical dictionaries as similar to that of the English verb “love.” A cognitive study of ªaheb in its textual contexts shows that in all narrative texts in which it occurs in reference to the relationship between a man and a woman, the verb is used in the third-person masculine singular only. 26 It thus appears that it expresses a man’s love for a woman, not a woman’s love for a man. In only one text is a third-person feminine the grammatical subject of ªaheb, namely, in 1 Sam 18:20, 28, which states that Michal loves David; the narrator does not use the verb for David (for discussion, see below). 27 In the book of Genesis, ªaheb appears in a more or less fixed series of actions, in which it does not precede marriage or sexual intercourse but is presented as a consequence of these events. 28 In other prose texts, such as Judges, Ruth, Joshua, Samuel, and Kings, very often sexual intercourse is said to precede love—also within marriage. Thus, it emerges that the verb ªaheb functions in a different cultural context and that it is an instantiation of a cultural schema different from our Western idea of love. In the Hebrew Bible, “love” is not described as reciprocal, not as love between a man and a woman, but as the sentiment, attitude, and behavior of a man toward a woman. “The geometry of love” often presupposed by the dictionaries and mostly deriving from a romantic idea of love is not present in the Hebrew Bible. Whereas in Western culture “love” is primarily associated with women, in the Hebrew Bible it is primarily associated with men. The occurrences of ªaheb in the Hebrew Bible (excluding the Song of Songs) with a male subject support this view. In Christian tradition, the general view of what is the acceptable sequence of actions is first love, then sex. In the ancient biblical narratives, sex very often precedes love. 26. Namely, Isaac–Rebekah, Jacob–Rachel, Shechem–Dinah, Samson–Philistine woman, Samson–Delilah, Elkanah–Hannah, Amnon–Tamar, Solomon–many foreign women, Rehoboam–Maacah, and Ahasuerus–Esther. 27. This study of ªaheb has not taken into account the Song of Songs. In the Song of Songs, this verb is attributed 4 times to a female singular subject (3:1, 2, 3, 4, “I sought/ must seek/found the one I love”) and 2 times to the maidens of Jerusalem (1:3, 4, in which the maidens are said to love the king). In the Song of Songs, in addition to ªaheb, many other terms designating aspects of erotic and sexual love are used in reference to both the female protagonist and the male protagonist. To address the cognitive framework of the usage of ªaheb in the Song of Songs would also necessitate a study of the other words associated with sexual love. This exceeds the scope of this section. 28. See Gen 24:67: Isaac went to the tent, took Rebekah to his tent, she became his wife, and he loved her; thus, the sequence of actions presented is: (a) go, (b) take (home), (c) have sex, and (d) love. Gen 29:18: Jacob saw Rachel, loved her; thus, the sequence of actions presented: (a) see, (b) love. Gen 29:20: Jacob worked seven years, but in his eyes they were as one day because of his love for her; thus, the sequence of actions presented is: (a) work, (b) see, (c) love. Gen 29:30: Jacob came into Rachel and loved her; thus, the sequence of actions presented is: (a) have sex, (b) love. Gen 29:32: (words of Leah) I bore him sons, and now he will love me; thus, the sequence of actions presented is: (a) bear, (b) love.

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English love perspective

direction

sequence

male subject female subject

female object male object

reciprocity

man’s physical attraction to woman’s physical attraction to

woman man

geometry of love

romantic idea of love

communication with each other

love preceding sex/marriage

Hebrew ªaheb perspective

direction

sequence

male subject

female object

no reciprocity

a man’s physical attraction to a

female body

no geometry of love

man’s seeing leads to

sexual intercourse

love is a consequence of sex

In other words, although the emotion or feeling at the base of the mental representation may display similar traits (although individuals may differ), the culturally-dependent cognitive conceptualization as presented in the Hebrew Bible is quite different from the conception in English with regard to perspective, direction, and sequence. Whenever the man–woman relationship is expressed by the verb ªaheb, the perspective of this verb’s action is male, its direction is oriented toward the female as an object of his love, and the sequence of actions indicates that love usually does not precede sexual intercourse but follows it. This stands in obvious contrast to the English conceptualization of love, as is represented in the two diagrams above. The cognitive schema and the prototypical uses of the Biblical Hebrew verb ªaheb to designate a relationship between a man and a woman and the cognitive schema against which the prototypical usage events of the modern English verb “love” figure are completely different. Only three aspects have been mentioned here: perspective, direction, and sequence. If more aspects were tested, a more complete picture would have been obtained. 29 However, 29. The legal import of the verb ªaheb has already been noted and discussed by scholars such as Moran (1963), Hugenberger (1994), and Malul (2002: 163 n. 46, 195 n. 157, 223

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the analysis so far illustrates that the standard schema of English could be called romantic, whereas Biblical Hebrew ªaheb is not romantic but presupposes hierarchical relationships between people of different positions and ranking. This may also explain the convention in the Hebrew Bible to use the verb ªaheb to express the relationship between God and human beings. In these usage events, God always obtains the hierarchically higher, male position, while the people (or, metaphorically, the city or the land) take the lower, female position. The problem with the translation of the Biblical Hebrew ªaheb by the English word ‘love’ is that one renders a term defined in a specific cognitive context with a term that in many respects (such as perspective, direction, and sequence) functions in a different cultural framework. If this is the prototypical usage of the verb ªaheb in the Hebrew Bible, one might wonder how 1 Sam 18:20, 28—where Michal is the subject of this verb—can be understood. What about the directionality of this love and what about the hierarchical ranking? In her study of the Michal story, Exum (1992: 81–109) argued convincingly that, in the book of 1 Samuel, Michal is placed in a binary opposition: as Saul’s daughter, she represents the House of Saul; as David’s wife, she represents the House of David, while the narrator’s agenda is to show that both houses exclude each other. Michal’s position is, therefore, an impossible one: in identification with her husband she leaves her father’s house, while in confrontation with David she identifies with her father’s house. In this overall context, vv. 20 and 28 in 1 Samuel 18 introduce Michal in her love for David with the verb ªaheb. 30 In the narrator’s description of her love for David, Michal is twice called Saul’s daughter. And in the very same chapter, David twice explicitly points to his lower position. 31 Hence, Michal’s position as King Saul’s daughter places her in a hierarchically higher position than David, who in this stage of the book is a man of no consequence at all. The attribution of the verb ªaheb to Michal marks her in her personal involvement with David, but the narrator also conceptualn. 281). They showed that, when used in reference to a relationship between men, the verb ªaheb often figures in treaty contexts with a clear legal sense. See 1 Kgs 5:15, which reports the treaty relationship that Hiram had had with David (“for Hiram had always loved David”), in which the verb ªaheb is used as a technical term from the vocabulary of treaties. Malul (2002) convincingly demonstrates the legal sense of Lev 19:18 (“Love your fellow as yourself”), in which he refers to Hugenberger (1994: 178) for the use of terms for friend or companion for denoting treaty partners (see also 1 Kgs 5:26 in comparison with 5:15). Hence, in man–man relationships, the verb ªaheb appears to designate some sociallegal meaning rather than a sense from the general psychological field of love (Malul 2002: 163 n. 46). 30. 1 Sam 18:20: “Michal, daughter of Saul, loved David”; 1 Sam 18:28: “When Saul saw and knew that Yhwh was with David, and that Michal Saul’s daughter loved him . . .” (translation Exum 1992: 82). 31. “Who am I and who are my kin that I should become your Majesty’s son-in-law?” (18:18), and “Do you think that becoming the son-in-law of a king is a small matter, when I am but a poor man of no consequence?” (18:23).

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izes her love in terms of ranking. Thus, Michal’s love for David is profiled in 1 Samuel 18 on the base of inequality and functions in the conceptual entourage of the two conflicting houses of Saul and David. In presenting David in the object position of Michal’s love, 1 Samuel 18 marks his lower status in the hierarchy, which is in itself unacceptable to David and will be challenged by David in the future. The description of Michal’s love for David in 1 Samuel 18 is, therefore, to be evaluated not as an exception to but a confirmation of the prototypical conceptualization of love. A next step in the analysis concerns the noun hbha ªahåbâ ‘love’. 32 Do the uses of this noun in the Hebrew Bible confirm the hypothesis formulated above that the verb ªaheb ‘to love’ between a man and a woman expresses his sentiment, attitude, or action toward her and not her sentiment, attitude, or action toward him and that this love is reflective of social ranking? 33 Four times the noun ªahåbâ ‘love’ is used in the Hebrew Bible to describe a relationship between a man and a woman. 34 Two times the texts clearly display a man’s feeling for a woman: in Gen 29:20, “Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of his love for her,” describing Jacob’s sentiment for Rachel; and 2 Sam 13:15, “His [Amnon’s] loathing for her was greater than the love he had felt for her [Tamar],” which expresses Amnon’s feelings toward Tamar. The other 2 times speak of Jonathan’s love for David. 1 Sam 20:17, which says: “Jonathan, out of his love for David, adjured him again, for he loved him as himself,” shows that Jonathan, King Saul’s son, loves a person who is as yet of lower status and a refugee who has fled from the king. 2 Sam 1:26 is a famous line: “I grieve for you, my brother Jonathan, you were most dear to me. Your love was wonderful to me more than the love of women” (njps). In the verbal clause “you

32. The noun ªahåbâ is used 40 times in the Hebrew Bible, 6 times to designate the relationship between Yhwh and Israel, 10 times (6 of which are in Song of Songs) to designate the relationship between a man and a woman, and 24 times to designate other human–human relationships or expressions of bond or adherence to more abstract notions such as “truth,” “myself,” etc. 33. The noun ªahåbâ is used 6 times in the Hebrew Bible to designate the relationship between Yhwh and Israel. In 5 cases (Isa 63:9; Jer 31:3; Hos 9:15, 11:4; and Zeph 3:17), the conceptual framework is clearly hierarchical, and love is directed from the deity to his people. In Jer 2:2, the collocation ªahåbat kélûlotayik ‘the love of your betrothal[-time]’, Yhwh is compared to the lover who loves the bride at the time they were engaged to be married (“I, Yhwh, was devoted to you in your youth and I, Yhwh, loved you at the time of betrothal”) so that it expresses the same directionality. Hence, all 6 uses of the noun ªahåbâ ‘love’ with the deity as subject designate his relationship to Israel, Jerusalem, or his people—a love that is oriented from the person in a socially higher-ranked position toward someone or some people in a lower rank. 34. The Song of Songs is excluded from this research. In it the noun ªahåbâ is attributed twice to a singular female subject (2:5; 5:8: “I am faint with love”) and four times to the plural maidens of Jerusalem (2:7; 3:5; 8:4: “do not wake or rouse love until it please”; 3:10 “it was decked with love by the maidens of Jerusalem”).

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were most dear to me’, dam yl tm[n naºamta lî méªod, Jonathan is the grammatical subject whose action concerns David. In the nominal clause “your love was wonderful to me’, yl ˚tbha htalpn nipléªatâ ªahåbatka lî, the nominal “your love’ expresses Jonathan’s love for David, in which Jonathan is the subject whose action concerns David. In the nominal phrase “more than the love of women’, μyvn tbham meªahåbat nasîm, the nominal “love of women’ refers to David’s love, in which he is conceived as the subject and the women as the object of his love. So the parallelism is not that David loved Jonathan more than he loved women or that women’s love was less precious to David than Jonathan’s love for him. What is expressed is that Jonathan’s love for David is more precious than David’s love of women. Another interesting question, which is still to be investigated further, is whether the verb ªaheb and the noun ªahåbâ express a mere state of mind or include aspects of its actualization, such as deeds of generosity (Kaufmann 1960: 320) or providing means of sustenance or assistance to someone (Malamat 1990). If Kaufmann and Malamat are right, then not only might the love of a man for a woman/his wife designate his feelings for her, but this love would automatically translate into his supporting her and supplying food, shelter, and garments for her. In sum, the analysis of the concept of love has given us a sense of how a sentiment is cognitively construed and lexicalized in different languages, such as English and Hebrew, and how they figure in distinct, culturallydefined, cognitive categorizations. It has been argued that the love between a man and a woman in English is prototypically conceptualized as romantic love between a man and a woman, whereas in the Hebrew Bible it is prototypically conceptualized as the love of a man for a woman in which the semantic values of this sentiment seem to materialize in a hierarchical framework of thinking.

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Chapter 3

Words as Tips of Encyclopedic Icebergs 3.1. Words and meaning: A historical survey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2. Words, culture, and cognition: Explanatory concepts . . . . . . . . 3.2.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.2. Profile, base, region, and cognitive domain . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.2.3. Prototypical scenario . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3. Three examples: Scribe, anger, and city gate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3.1. The ancient Egyptian word zakhau . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3.3.2. Anger in English, Japanese, and Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . 3.3.3. The city gate in ancient Cisjordan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

51 54 54 56 59 60 60 62 72

Words are the vehicles of experience and thinking. They enable (native) speakers to utter their most individual feelings, insights, discoveries, and ideas. 1 How does a language allow people to express themselves, to convey significance, and to be understood? Biblical words that originated in ancient Near Eastern mental processes are, though fossilized in ancient texts, still understandable to modern people living in a completely different historical setting. How is this possible? What determines a word’s meaning? The aim of this chapter is to answer these kinds of questions and to investigate words as integrated networks of meaning. Its object is the world of words as a living organism that feeds on culture, language, text, and context—in short, on cognition.

3.1. Words and meaning: A historical survey Words and their meanings have been addressed in history in multiple ways that can be reduced to three general approaches: the language-world approach, the language-internal approach, and the cognitive approach. 2 In the language-world approach, lexical meaning is studied as the relationship between linguistic expressions and states of affairs in the world. 1. In Cognitive Linguistics, the term speaker is used as a general term for someone who knows a language and who is capable of acting in the capacity of speaker or hearer, writer or reader (Langacker 1987: 57 n. 1). Analogously, speech is used as a general term for any language-usage event, including speaking or hearing, writing or reading. 2. §3.1, the historical survey of linguistic approaches to meaning, is based on Taylor (2002: 186–95).

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Suppose we are interested in the word “pen.” It is evident that the meaning of this word is rather closely tied up with writing. We can distinguish two perspectives, according to the direction of the relation between language and the world (cf. Taylor 2002: 187). The semasiological perspective goes from language to the world, and asks: “For this expression pen, what kind of object can be appropriately designated by it?” An answer to this question would be: the expression “pen” refers to a writing implement with which one writes on paper. The onomasiological perspective goes from the world to language, and asks: “For this object, what range of linguistic expressions can appropriately describe it?” Its answer could be: for the object designated, we can use the words ballpoint, ballpen or biro. Assuming an example in an ancient Near Eastern setting, the differences might become even more obvious. Say, in a site in southern Iraq, a sharp engraving tool is found. The archaeologists decide that it is a writing implement from the third millennium b.c.e. The question is then, Would the ancient Sumerians refer to this object with the word “pen,” “stylus,” “nail,” or “wedge”? This is the object of an onomasiological study. In the second case, Sumerologists may come across the word “stylus” in a Sumerian text and ask themselves, What kind of object could be designated by it? Does it designate an object comparable to the engraving tool found in the Iraqi site? This would be the object of a semasiological study. The obvious limitation of the language-world approach to meaning is that such an approach is applicable only to language units that designate “concrete” entities. We would not get very far if we tried to explicate the meaning of “soul” or “think” by pointing to entities that could be named by these words. More importantly, it is an error to suppose that words refer directly to the world at all. Rather, linguistic expressions refer to entities and relations in a mental space—that is, they refer to a mental image in the mind of their language users. For example, the expression “pen” used in 2007 would be visualized in someone’s mind as a pen with an internal ink reservoir, whereas in the Renaissance it would be mentally visualized or conceptualized as a feather with an external ink reservoir. Accordingly, the mental image of a “writer” in the Renaissance would be a man writing with a feather on paper while standing behind his table, and in 2007 the mental image of “writer” would be a man or woman who sits on a chair and who actively taps the keys of his or her personal computer or Mac. There is apparently more to the meaning of an expression than the relation between the expression and its referents. Taylor (2002: 190) evaluates this language-world approach, therefore, as follows. Matching up expressions with states of affairs in the world (. . .) is a valid technique of semantic inquiry. But language-world relations cannot be the whole story. Even if we can establish that a given expression regularly matches up with a certain kind of situation, this is at best symptomatic of

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the expression’s meaning, language-world relations are not to be equated with the meaning.

In the language-internal approach, words are studied in terms of relations between expressions within a language, in which one focuses both on paradigmatic relations—that is to say, on the relations between different units in a language; and on syntagmatic relations—that is to say, on the relations between items that co-occur within an expression (Taylor 2002: 189– 91). To determine, for example, the meaning of the Biblical Hebrew words btk katab and rps sapar, paradigmatically oriented research can offer the insight that these two verbs designate ‘to write’, although the participle of btk katab is never used as a noun to designate a “writer” or “scribe,” in contrast to the participle of rps sapar, which designates a ‘scribe’. A syntagmatic study of these words’ collocations and fixed-word combinations elucidates that the denominative rps soper is exclusively used to designate a ‘scribe’ in an official function, in contrast to the participle btk koteb that is used to designate the ongoing activity of ‘writing’. 3 Hence, in a language-internal approach, a word’s meaning is defined by its position in a paradigmatic and syntagmatic network. Entailment is fundamental to paradigmatic linguistic research, because it underlies many paradigmatic relations. If something entails something else, the second thing follows necessarily and inevitably from the first; for example, “The terrorists assassinated the president” entails “The president dies.” Entailment may be invoked to define synonymy (two expressions are synonymous if each entails the other) or to define opposites. For example, “The cat is dead” entails “The cat is not alive”; “John is taller than Mary” entails “Mary is shorter than John,” but it does not entail “John is tall” (Taylor 2002: 190–91). A question of entailment is, therefore, whether the verb rab (Piel) beªer ‘record carefully’ is a synonym of the verb rps sapar or a synonym of the verb btk katab or a synonym of both. The answer might be that the verbs rab beªer and rps sapar entail the making of official records or documents, so that they function as synonyms in the Hebrew Bible, whereas the verb btk katab does not entail a specific object or context, because it designates the activity of writing in general. As a crucial feature of meaning-building, entailment indicates that meaning is more than a language-internal phenomenon, because it is related to cognitive processing in a specific context. Writing in ancient Babylonia would not entail paper as writing material but a clay tablet. Consequently, the mental image evoked by a word is much more than its relationship to other words in a language. Taylor (2002) evaluates this language-internal approach to meaning, therefore, as follows: 3. Such as ˚lmh rps soper hammelek (‘the king’s scribe’) in 2 Kgs 12:11; 2 Chr 24:11; Esth 3:12, 8:9; and abxh rç rpsh hassoper ¶ar haßßabaª (‘the army commander’s scribe’) in 2 Kgs 25:19 and Jer 52:25; and ryhm rps soper mahîr (‘an expert scribe’, ‘a scribe expert in’) in Ps 45:2; Ezra 7:6.

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Chapter 3 To be sure, every linguist, when pursuing a semantic investigation, will collect information about collocations and will elicit judgments about entailments, antonyms, and other meaning relations. There can be no doubt as to the value of investigating meaning from the perspective of languageinternal relations. Indeed, in a very important sense, one aspect of knowing a word is to know how that word is used in relation to other words. The language-internal approach becomes problematic, however, if meaning is equated with sets of relations between linguistic expressions. On this approach, the semantic structure of a language becomes a vast calculus of language-internal relations, which makes no contact at all with the way speakers conceptualize the world. The question then becomes, how does a language learner bootstrap the conceptual content of linguistic expressions? (. . .) Once again, language-internal relations must be regarded as symptomatic of meaning, not as meaning itself. (Taylor 2002: 192)

In the cognitive approach, on the other hand, a word’s meaning is identified with cognition or mental processing in the broadest sense of that term, including both sensory and motor experience, as well as a speaker’s conception of the social, cultural, and linguistic context. Its basic assumption is that language is inherently symbolic or semiotic, thus emphasizing the mental nature of the linguistic sign in which a concept is related to an acoustic image. This sign does not associate a thing out there in the world directly but arranges it as a mental entity stored inside a person’s mind. A linguistic unit is thus not viewed as an expression of “something”—an idea, a view, an action, or an event—per se but as something or some relation that stands out as an instance on a certain ground or schema. More specifically, a linguistic unit is considered a symbolic entity in which a semantic unit [write] and a phonological unit [raIt] are related to express schematically a type of meaning. When this linguistic unit is used in a usage event, it stands out as an instance on this schema. For example, in order to recognize concrete instances of writing activities, one needs to have an idea of the more general schematic type of writing in a certain time and context. Thus, using or understanding the lexical item btk katab as an instantiation of a general schema implies that one must know what writing commonly or prototypically means at a certain time and place.

3.2. Words, culture, and cognition: Explanatory concepts 3.2.1. Introduction From a cognitive perspective, a word’s meaning is considered to be both conceptual and contextual. Because of the word’s conceptual character, meaning is dependent on construal—that is to say, on the human capacity for conceptualizing the same thing, event, or situation in alternate ways. Because of its contextual character, meaning is dependent on the setting in

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which the word is used: on the human capacity for relating a designated entity to the spatio-temporal, cultural, textual, and communicative context and for integrating and grounding it in the speech event, its participants, and their respective spheres of knowledge in the speech event situation. Thus, in a cognitive approach, four characteristics figure predominantly: a symbolic conception of language, an identification of meaning with conceptualization or mental processing, the important role of culture as a categorydefining guide, and the assumption that meaning is critically dependent both on individual and cultural construals and on their contexts of use. These are the basic tenets of a cognitive approach to meaning. The close link between culture, cognition, and lexical meaning can be clarified by the example of the word “war.” This lexeme does not merely express the semantic contents of “a period of fighting between countries or states when weapons are used and lots of people get killed” (Collins Cobuild 1638). War is warfare, weapons, troops, logistics; war is soldiers fighting each other and fighting tiredness and sleep. War is soldiers struggling on the battlefield with blood in their mouths and dust in their nostrils. War is friends dying before your eyes and fear of the next attack. War is generals, strategy, and the lack of it. War is politics, calculation, obedience to authorities, and resentment because of their lack of insight. War is aggression and the diminishment of civil rights. War is rape and the children born from it. War is hatred and terror. War is reluctance and indifference. War is fighting on horses or fighting in tanks. War is attacking with Spitfires, F-16s, or car bombs. War differs from place to place and from time to time. In short, the semantic concept [war] is a vast complex of experience and knowledge that resonates in someone’s mind. Persons who have fought in wars or lost a loved one in a war develop a much more refined mental image than those who only know it from television. This example may elucidate why Cognitive Grammar cannot accept a dictionary view of meaning but takes an essentially encyclopedic view of meaning in which even the meaning of everyday terms is seen as being supported by a vast network of interrelated knowledge (Taylor 2002: 197–98). linguistic semantics is properly regarded as being encyclopaedic in scope (. . .). There is no precise delimitation between semantics and pragmatics (or “linguistic” vs. “extralinguistic” knowledge). As the basis for its meaning, an expression invokes an open-ended array of conceptions pertaining in some fashion to the entity it designates. Any facet of this knowledge (essentially anything we know about the entity) may prove important on a given occasion or for a specific linguistic purpose. (Langacker 2002a: 3)

The cultural concerns of Cognitive Grammar are obvious. The study of dictionary and encyclopedia as closely related phenomena is, in fact, a study of the rich repository of cultural knowledge. Less commonly appreciated is the fact that such knowledge also has a variety of grammatical manifestations

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(Langacker 1997: 241). The grammatical aspects of culture and cognition will be the topic of chaps. 4, 5, and 6. The present chapter will focus on words as lexical manifestations of world experience and knowledge—that is, on words as lexical manifestations of cognition. 3.2.2. Profile, base, region, and cognitive domain Langacker’s cognitive approach to meaning implies that words, sentences, texts, and so on, are not considered to evoke a mental image in themselves but to figure in a larger configuration of meaning. Consider, for example, the concept behind the word “island.” In our common understanding, an island is a mass of land completely surrounded by water. In a sense, an island is nothing more than “land.” The land is what the word profiles, or designates. However, it is not the land as such, but the land enclosed by water that is designated. The water (of the sea, ocean, or lake) constitutes the base. In other words, the notion of surrounding water is intrinsic to the concept [island] in the sense that the island cannot be conceptualized without reference to a water mass. If there were no surrounding water, there would be no island. Consequently, the semantic unit [island] designates a profile-base relation, which itself presupposes the broader cognitive domain of the earth’s geographical features (Taylor 2002: 199). In an expert view on the earth, that is to say, not from a common-sense but from a geological perspective, an island is a mountain on the sea floor or on the ocean floor with its top above the water line. Hence, the semantic unit [island] profiles a mountaintop above the water line and includes in its base an under-sea mountain, and this profile-base relationship figures in the cognitive domain of historical geology. 4 This example elucidates how a word’s meaning is closely related to the cognitive domain in which it functions. A cognitive domain is defined as any knowledge configuration that provides the context for the conceptualization of a semantic unit. In this definition, a distinction is made between the domain against which concepts take shape and the base on which an entity is profiled. The base of an expression is the conceptual content that is inherently, intrinsically, and obligatorily invoked by the expression. It com4. An example given by Langacker (1988b: 59) and Taylor (2002: 192–93) is the word “hypotenuse.” A hypotenuse is the longest side of a right-angled triangle, the side that is opposite the right angle. In a sense, a hypotenuse is nothing more than a straight line. The straight line is what the word profiles, or designates. However, it is not the straight line as such but the straight line that functions as one side of a right-angled triangle that is designated. The right-angled triangle constitutes the base. In other words, the notion of a rightangled triangle is intrinsic to the concept [hypotenuse], in the sense that the hypotenuse cannot be conceptualized without reference to a right-angled triangle. There exists, however, a whole cluster of concepts, including [hypotenuse], [triangle], [right angle], and even [straight line], that can only be understood against general notions of planar geometry and of geometrical figures. Planar geometry constitutes the cognitive domain against which triangles and their properties are conceptualized.

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P designation B Fig. 3.1. Profile and base.

prises the full array of conceptual content that it specifically evokes and relies upon for its characterization. A cognitive domain is a more generalized “background” knowledge configuration against which conceptualization is achieved. The semantic unit “island” profiles the conceptual entity ([mass of land] or [top of mountain]), and this profiling takes place against a conceptual base ([surrounding water] or [mountain on sea-floor]), and the profile-base relation is what constitutes the semantic value of a word. The notion of designation indicates the special prominence of the profile and its base. 5 Perceived intuitively, the profile (. . .) “stands out in bas-relief” against the base. The semantic value of an expression resides in neither the base nor the profile alone, but only in their combination; it derives from the designation of a specific entity identified and characterized by its position within a larger configuration. (Langacker 1987: 183)

Figure 3.1 is the general expression of this profile-base relation, in which the bold circle represents the semantic unit profiling an entity (profile P), the box represents the base (base B), and the dotted line stands for the profilebase relation or designation. 6 Actually, base B belongs to a region that is selected from a larger cognitive domain. A region is one of the instantiated sets of the cognitive domain that is reflected in the linguistic expression’s base. Consider, for example, the cognitive domain of food preparation. This domain includes many possible regions such as kitchen, food, utensils, and chef. In using the word “saucepan,” someone profiles a cooking device on the base of pottery, metal, or any material the pan is made of, and this material component is inherently and obligatorily included in the word’s usage 5. “The verbs designate and profile are technical terms in Cognitive Grammar and are roughly equivalent—at least, with respect to what they profile. The verbs do differ slightly with respect to their base. Profile focuses more on the contrast between highlighted and backgrounded entities; designate focuses more on the process of picking out an entity” (Taylor 2002: 198 n. 7). Langacker (1987: 186–87) explains the term designation as “the internal relation within a semantic structure, holding between the full base and some substructure selected as the profile.” 6. Figure 3.1 is based on the central part of Taylor’s (2002: 197) fig. 10.2.

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d′′

d′

P B

d′′′ Fig. 3.2. Profile, base, and domains.

as its base. This base belongs to the region of kitchen equipment and the way it is shaped in a certain time and at a certain place where the word is used. In its turn, this region is but one of the instantiated sets of the larger knowledge configuration or cognitive domain of food preparation. Commonly, a word or semantic unit does not stand out against one domain only but against multiple domains that constitute configurations of knowledge. Typically, these cognitive domains overlap and interact in numerous and complex ways. Langacker (1987: 147) applies, therefore, the term matrix to such a set of domains, which provides the context for a full understanding of a semantic unit. This matrix of cognitive domains constitutes the general schema against which a word stands out as its instance and is represented in fig. 3.2. 7 In fig. 3.2, the three domains du, duu, duuu constitute the domain matrix against which the profile-base relation is conceptualized. Notwithstanding the fact that profiling takes place against this matrix of domains, the amount of domains actively invoked in a specific text or usage event is usually very limited. Thus it becomes clear that every word is indeed the tip of an iceberg. A word prominently designates a specific intersection of some cognitive domains, while leaving a mass of encyclopedic knowledge “under water.” This may explain why it is difficult to understand or analyze a word originating in a culture completely different from our own: when we start to dig up a word’s meaning in one simple occurrence, we soon have to progress to a 7. Figure 3.2 is Taylor’s (2002: 197) fig. 10.2.

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deeper level to understand what the intrinsic base is and to discover how the two figure in a matrix of cognitive domains; then it will turn out that each of the domains is linked to other levels of domains, so that we may end with a study of a culture’s whole hierarchically construed network of meanings in a multitude of cognitive domains. As Lawrence Barsalou (1992: 40), quoted by Taylor (2002: 198), put it: “It’s domains all the way down.” 3.2.3. Prototypical scenario It goes without saying that words do not function as stand-alone units in a rich network of domain-based knowledge. There is much cognitive activity behind events via a long chain of mental processes that is conceived of in a fixed series or pattern of events. This explains why, since the early days of cognitive research, attention has been paid to the context of events in which words function. In the 1980s, the notion of frame was introduced by Gilles Fillmore (1985), who also proposed the classic example of the “commercial event” frame (the English verb “buy” is used in a situation with a buyer, a seller, goods, and money, which together constitute the [buy] frame), in which a “frame” is a rather tightly organized configuration or “a specific unified framework of knowledge, or coherent schematization of experiences” (Fillmore 1985: 223). On more detailed inspection, it turned out that the concept frame exhibits a very predictable temporal structure in which one stage is often a prerequisite for the next stage. Viewed from such a sequential perspective, one goes beyond simple frames and moves into socalled scripts or prototypical scenarios—that is, knowledge structures that are particularly designed for frequently recurring event sequences (Ungerer and Schmid 1996: 214), for example the prototypical scenario of visiting a [restaurant], in which a series of sequential actions is described. The concept prototypical scenario is defined as the (narrative) pattern or chain of events that constitutes an action, idea, or sentiment. Since a prototype is the most representative instance of a schema, a prototypical scenario stands for the most representative series of actions, events, or behaviors in a culture that constitutes the content of an idea. 8 In this way, the concept of prototypical scenario is a reflection of the conventional behavioral sequences in a culture of the patterns of emotions, actions, situations, or events. An article in The Guardian offers a nice example of a present-day prototypical scenario in a TV crime series. 9 1. Whenever someone steals clothes from policemen/security guards/Nazi soldiers after knocking them unconscious, the uniforms always fit perfectly. 8. In the field of biblical studies, this concept of prototypical scenario is applied in Yri (1998) and van Wolde (2003). 9. The Guardian, The Guide, May 21, 2005. The article is written by Johnny Dee and is entitled “Trite and Tested.”

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Chapter 3 2. Shortly before killing a detective whom he has tied up in his basement, a serial killer will explain at great length the motivation for his crimes and how he committed them. 3. Contraband (money, cocaine, gold, bullion) is always stacked very, very, very neatly. 4. Pedestrians who get in the way of a high-speed car chase safely manage to avoid being run over—including the lady with the baby carriage who is halfway across the street. Street-market vendors, however, can kiss their fancy displays goodbye. 5. What is the point of road-blocks? Criminals in cars simply find the nearest available ramp and fly in slow motion over the dumbfounded police officers. 6. The only thing that can stop criminals escaping from a bank heist by car is an unfinished bridge. 7. Briefcases contain money or guns. Cocaine comes in suitcases.

Similarly, words of action, of emotion, of state, etc., often figure in an established series of actions or events. These prototypical series may differ in various cultures. In short, the pivotal view of a cognitive approach is that language does not express “something” (an idea, a view, an action, or an event), per se, but expresses things or relations that take their position in a configuration of general knowledge; that is to say, they stand out as figures on a ground (see chap. 2, §2.1). It is in this interaction between what is profiled on a base against a cognitive domain that meaning arises. Thus, in language, the general perceptual and conceptual principle of the figure-ground organization is instantiated in the profile/base-domain relationship in language. This explains why language is taken first and foremost as a conceptual organization, in which words receive meaning by profiling a certain entity on a certain base within a certain larger configuration or cognitive domain, in which a cognitive domain is the selection of the linguistically relevant portion of our knowledge and experience, and in which this portion stands out against the categorization offered by a culture in a certain time and place. A few more elaborate examples should make these notions clear.

3.3. Three examples: Scribe, anger, and city gate 3.3.1. The ancient Egyptian word zakhau In ancient Egypt, the word zakhau is quite often used for and its conceptual content is commonly described as [scribe]. Understanding this concept implies learning about the domains against which it stands out, such as the material domain, the activity of writing, and the social function of a writer. 10 10. The ancient Egyptian data are based on Wente (1995).

spread is 3 points long

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First, to understand the word zakhau in Egyptian and to recognize concrete instances of writing in ancient Egypt, we need to have an idea of what the action of writing entails. Iconographic and archaeological research of the Egyptian Bronze and Iron Age teach us that the scribe’s basic writing implement was the rush brush, of which one end was cut diagonally and then chewed to produce a suitable writing tip. 11 The two inks the scribe employed were black, produced from powdered carbon (commonly soot taken from cooking vessels), and red from red ochre. Both substances were mixed with gum and water and allowed to dry in the form of cakes. The scribe gripped the brush between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and, using water as a lubricant, handled the pigments in much the same manner as modern watercolors (Wente 1995: 2211). Preeminent as a writing surface was papyrus, manufactured seasonally in rolls from freshly cropped papyrus plants. 12 When represented in statues, the scribe is shown seated crosslegged on the ground, inscribing a papyrus roll that extends from his left hand across his lap (Wente 1995: 2213). In cognitive linguistic terms we could say, therefore, that the ancient Egyptian semantic unit [scribe] can only be understood against the general configuration of writing material, which constitutes the material domain against which scribes and writing are conceptualized in ancient Egypt. In a text, someone called a zakhau is a person who in accordance with Egyptian habits and prototypical routines would use black and red ink, a specific brush, and papyrus sheets and would write while seated cross-legged. The base of the linguistic expression zakhau is the conceptual content that is inherently invoked by the expression, such as the notion of paint, brush, ink, and papyrus. This profile-base relation of the semantic unit [scribe] functions in the material domain of ancient Egypt. Second, to understand the word zakhau in Egyptian, we need to have an idea of the conceptualization of this person’s activity. A zakhau is not conceived as ‘someone who writes’ but as ‘someone who paints’, and his use of a brush and ink is understood as a “drawing.” Hence, a “zakhau of contours” is found to designate a draftsman, who drew in outline the pictorial decoration of a tomb or temple wall, or a “column-zakhau” is ‘a painter of pillars’ (Wente 1995: 2211). Additionally, a scribe of text would commonly draw letters in hieratic script in columns on papyrus sheets, or, when preparing certain religious texts such as The Book of the Dead, he would paint cursive hieroglyphs. 13 In other words, to understand the semantic value of the 11. Not until Roman times did Egyptian scribes adopt the reed pen, which Greeks in Egypt had already been using for several centuries (Wente 1995: 2211). 12. Papyrus sheets were used in heights of 42–47 cm, while the length varied from 16 to 42 cm. These sheets were then glued together with a starch paste to create a normal roll of 20 sheets (Wente 1995: 2213). 13. In the Old and Early Middle Kingdoms, the scribe wrote in vertical columns, proceeding from right to left. During the Twelfth Dynasty, it became customary to inscribe

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linguistic expression zakhau in ancient Egypt as a scribe of texts, it is crucial to consider its meaning as an imposition of the profile “script painter” on the base of “hieratic script”—that is to say, as a selection of those portions of the domain of the Egyptian writing system that the designation actually invokes and requires: namely, the hieratic script that a zakhau paints in columns on a page. Third, to understand the linguistic expression zakhau in Egyptian, it does not suffice to have an idea of the scribe’s activities, and how they were conceived, but one also needs to have a mental image of the way this person functioned in ancient Egypt. And, indeed, it was usually a male person who occupied this function. Though modern scholars tend to equate scribes with officials (for the ability to read and write was a prerequisite to a career in the administration, and high officials proudly retained the title of scribe that they had acquired by virtue of their education), the title scribe did not necessarily indicate rank (Wente 1995: 2211). From the point of view of the bureaucratic elite, writing was something that subordinates should do. Like a modern executive, a ranking official had one or more secretaries to take care of correspondence and accounts. Some texts give an exalted account of the scribe’s life-style, whereas in others a more down-to-earth description is given of the scribe, whose wages were only 35 percent higher than a workman’s; that is, his wages were identical to those of two foremen, who were superior in rank to the scribe (Wente 1995: 2212–13). Sometimes, scribes became wealthy members of the community. In short, a scribe was a literate person but not necessarily someone of higher rank or status, and seldom someone of great wealth. More domains could have been added to these three cognitive domains, such as the domains of education, of the historical development of writing through the dynasties, of specializations in scribal activities, of the organization of scribal offices, and so on. With every new domain, we would gain a better view of the conceptual contents of [scribe] in ancient Egypt. Thus, a cognitive word study can make us aware of the reservoir of encyclopedic knowledge—represented by a matrix of multiple domains—that we can access through the work of specialists in a variety of academic disciplines. 3.3.2. Anger in English, Japanese, and Biblical Hebrew Emotions are not merely individual sensations or biophysical responses to external stimuli but are mediated by cognitive processes embedded in a particular culture. The variability in the understanding of anger in the various languages can be illuminating in this respect. Zoltán Kövecses (1987) was one of the first to examine emotions from a cognitive linguistic perspective. He considers emotions to be highly structured rather than amorphous. horizontal lines of fairly uniform length, a sequence from 7 to as many as 26 lines consti-

His rich range of evidence from emotive expressions in American English tuting a “page” (Wente 1995: 2213).

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underscores the critical role of metaphors and metonymies in organizing the concepts anger, pride, and love. In the present section, which serves as an example of the concept of the prototypical scenario, I will not refer to Kövecses’ discussion of metaphors and metonymies but, rather, focus on his introduction of the prototypical scenario to study anger in American English. Kövecses uses the term prototypical scenario to examine the patterns or chains of events that prototypically constitute the content of an emotion as expressed in language. In order to develop a mental picture of what “anger” means in American English, we must grasp its manifestation by characteristic behavioral patterns, including a particular series of expected actions. Kövecses calls this series the “anger scenario.” It consists of the following stages: Stage Stage Stage Stage Stage

1: 2: 3: 4: 5:

Offending event Anger Attempt at control Loss of control Act of retribution

The anger scenario differs from scenarios of fear and joy. And the English anger scenario may differ from anger scenarios in other languages and cultures. The cultural dimension of sentiments becomes clear in Keiko Matsuki’s (1995) study of anger in Japanese, in which she argues that the location of the sentiment of anger in the body is conceived differently in Japanese culture. The effect is that, in Japanese, the cultural anger scenario is prototypically partly similar to and partly different from the English scenario. In Japanese, hara is viewed as the container of the emotions in general and of anger in particular, in which hara denotes the areas surrounding the navel, corresponding in meaning to the English word “belly.” When a Japanese person is offended and gets angry, it is expressed in Japanese by saying that “his or her hara rises up.” Further, when a Japanese person attempts to control anger, he or she attempts to control anger by trying to keep it in hara. When a person needs to control his or her anger but still experiences the anger increasing, conflicts go beyond the belly (hara) and move to the chest (mune). Mune, English ‘chest’, never rises up in Japanese. Mune is the container for anger overflowing from hara. It is the seat of nausea; conflict and frustration caused by efforts to control rising anger stimulate nausea. When a person is about to lose control, rising anger comes to the head (atama). Atama ‘head’ does not rise up. Nor is atama responsible for nausea. It is the place that anger reaches after extreme internal conflict; it undermines mental faculties. When anger is in hara and/or mune, a person is still able to control it by rationalization. However, when anger reaches atama, one loses rationality. The adverb “finally” can index this prototypical scenario: “the anger finally has come to the head.”

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Matsuki describes the consequent stages of the anger scenario in Japanese as follows: Stage 1: Offending event Stage 2: Anger: belly (hara) rises up Stage 3: Attempt at control: 3a: Attempt at control in the belly (hara) 3b: Attempt at control in the chest (mune) 3c: Attempt at control in the head (atama) Stage 4: Loss of control Stage 5: Act of retribution In the first and second stages, anger is experienced in response to an offense. Stages 1 and 2 in the English anger scenario apply therefore to anger in Japanese. However, in Japanese, the English stage 3—the attempt at control—is more elaborate than in English and consists of three stages: an attempt at control in hara, an attempt at control in mune, and an attempt at control in atama. Anger that has risen up to atama has no time for rationalization but results in collision against the external offence. The consideration of the sociocultural context in which these notions function is fundamental to understanding the prototypical scenario of Japanese anger. “Even when a person gets angry . . . his anger may be kept inside; he may smile while fighting increasing anger” (Matsuki 1995: 144). But when anger reaches the head, it is out of control and the angry person loses the ability to behave rationally. However, the next-to-last stage of anger— that is, the stage in which the fury that reached the head led to the loss of control—and the last stage of retribution are in Japanese hierarchical society seldom connected with people in lower social positions vis-à-vis people in higher positions and are only connected with men and not with women. 14 “In today’s Japanese society women have no means of retribution, even when they get angry. Social conventions governing public life provide women with limited ways of communicating their anger. Although the legal rights of women have improved, gender roles have stayed relatively traditional” (Matsuki 1995: 149).

14. Matsuki (1995: 149) gives some additional examples of hierarchical patterns in Japanese society. A third informant told me that, as a rule, he does not express his anger and that he controls it especially in the public domain where he is part of a social hierarchy. He strives so hard to control his anger that the blood in his ‘atama’ becomes congested. In the prototypical scenario, one suffers loss of control after anger reaches ‘atama’. But, this informant continues to fight against his anger, making the blood in ‘atama’ congested (. . .). Another informant said that she used to be patient, controlling her anger when she was angry with her boss in the workplace. She expressed her dilemma, saying (. . . Japanese) [there is no vent]. (. . .) Her social status of being hierarchically inferior to her boss forces her to control her anger.

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In a review of Matsuki’s study, Jyh Wee Sew (1999: 103) shows that anger in Chinese exhibits a similar path: it begins at the stomach level and then goes to the chest, but when the fire of anger “topples the hat” it reflects the irrepressible rage that gushes out from the head. Here again, the head represents the last stage of anger. In their recent study, Dirk Geeraerts and Caroline Gevaert (2008) examine texts written in Old English. Similar to Biblical Hebrew, Old English is a dead language, so that one must use a historical type of cognitive linguistic research. Geeraerts and Gevaert demonstrate that in premodern times anger was not defined psychologically but understood as behavior. Because of the integrated conception of mental life and behavior, the Old English notion of anger appears not to represent an emotion alone but an attitude that includes cognition and volition. Anger stands for a complex of emotions, which they describe as (1) a strong emotion, (2) a wrong emotion, (3) fierceness, (4) unmildness, (5) affliction, (6) sadness, (7) insanity, (8) swelling, (9) heat, and (10) a synaesthetic experience, respectively. In Biblical Hebrew, eight pairs of terms (representing related verbs and nouns) are used to designate anger (see Baloian 1996). These words do not merely act as synonyms but define anger in different ways. They select a distinctive base on which anger is profiled and, therefore, construe this sentiment differently. The verbal collocation πa hrj ˙arâ ªap designates ‘to be angry’, while the nominal combinations πa ˆwrj ˙årôn ªap and πa yrj ˙ørî ªap designate ‘the burning of the face’ or ‘anger’. This term highlights anger on the base of [heat]. The same is true for hmj ˙emâ ‘heat’, ‘rage’, often in combination with πa ªap. The verb s[k kaºas ‘be irritated’, ‘annoyed’ and the noun s[k kaºas ‘irritation’, ‘anger’, on the other hand, relate anger to [jealousy]. Conversely, the pairs of π[z zaºap ‘be enraged’ and π[z zaºap ‘storming’, ‘raging’, ‘rage’; and zgr ragaz ‘be agitated’, ‘quiver’, ‘quake’ and zgr rogez ‘agitation’, ‘excitement’, ‘raging’ relate anger to the base of [agitation]. In contrast, the terms μ[z zaºam ‘curse’, ‘express anger in speech’ and μ[z zaºam ‘angry speech’, ‘indignation’ use [noise] and [stammering of the tongue] as the conceptual base of anger. 15 Different again are the terms πxq qaßap ‘be wroth’, ‘wrathful’ and πxq qeßep ‘wrath’, which construe anger from the point of view of its revengeful [reaction]. Finally, the terms rb[ ºabar ‘to show anger’, ‘be arrogant’ (Hithpael, ‘infuriate oneself’) and hrb[ ºebrâ ‘overflow’, ‘arrogance’, ‘overflowing fury’ take the metaphor of an [overflowing fluid] as the base of their conceptualization. In choosing one of these terms out of the language paradigm when portraying someone’s anger, the author of a biblical text presents anger on a certain base and from a certain perspective. Perspective is, therefore, more than point of view alone; it is also a

15. BDB 276 points to the fact that the Arabic cognate term for the Hebrew noun μ[z zaºam is an onomatopoeia for ‘roar of a camel’, hence, ‘angry speech’.

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reflection of the selection the writer makes out of the conceptual possibilities of Biblical Hebrew. In 1980, Mayer Gruber offered an in-depth analysis of Mesopotamian, Ugaritic, and Hebrew terms designating emotions. His study was followed in 1992 by Bruce Baloian, who focused on the concept of anger in the Hebrew Bible. Recently, Paul Krüger (2000a) made a cognitive analysis of the sentiment anger in Biblical Hebrew in which he applied Kövecses’ systematic treatment of metaphors and metonyms of anger. Acknowledgment of their results and a subsequent investigation of (1) the expressions most often used to designate anger, (2) the location of anger in the body, (3) the grammatical subject of the emotion of anger, and (4) the question whether anger expresses a feeling or something else will allow me to draw some provisional conclusions with regard to (5) the prototypical scenario of anger in the Hebrew Bible. The first aspect of the analysis has to do with the collocation of πa hrj ˙arâ ªap ‘the face burns’, πa ˆwrj ˙årôn ªap, and πa yrj ˙ørî ªap ‘burning of the face’, and also with the noun πa ªap in construct state with a personal name, such as ‘the anger of Yhwh’, because these words are most often used in the Hebrew Bible to express anger. Mayer Gruber (1980: 365–80) demonstrates convincingly that, in contrast to common belief, the verb hrj ˙arâ or the collocation wl hrj ˙arâ lô does not denote anger but ‘to be depressed’. 16 Only in combination with πa ªap ‘face’ or ‘nose’ do the verb hrj ˙arâ ‘to burn’ and the nouns ˆwrj ˙arôn and yrj hørî ‘burning’ denote anger. The expression may derive from the well-known reddening of the faces (including the nose) of angry persons. Out of the 47 cases in the Hebrew Bible in which πa hrj ˙arâ ªap expresses ‘be angry’, 17 times the fixed word combination hwhy πa rjyw wayyi˙ar ªap yhwh ‘the face of Yhwh became red’ is used, meaning ‘Yhwh was angered’. The word combination πa ˆwrj ˙årôn ªap is only used with Yhwh as subject, whereas πa yrj ˙ørî ªap applies to Yhwh’s wrath or mortals’ wrath (mostly adverbial ‘angrily’). Finally, πa ªap in construct state with a personal name is predominantly used with Yhwh hwhyAπa ªap-yhwh (41 times) and 8 times with human beings (Moses, Saul, David, and others). Gruber (1980: 502–53) discusses other expressions describing the appearance of the nose or face during anger. A number of them are related to heat. 17 Others correspond to fume or smoke. 18 Still others to foaming with rage or vent16. Gruber (1980: 365–80) discusses both Akkadian and Biblical Hebrew uses of the vocabulary of depression. His examination of the 23 attestations of wl hrj ˙arâ lô in the Hebrew Bible reveals that this expression always denotes ‘be/become depressed’ or ‘be/become chagrined’. 17. Related to heat are, among others, Isa 30:27: wpa r[b boºer ªappô ‘his (Yhwh’s) nose is aflame’; and Deut 32:22; Jer 15:14, 17:4: ypab ça hjdq qad˙â ªes béªappî, ‘a fire is kindled in my nose’. 18. See, among others, 2 Sam 22:9 and Ps 18:9: wpab ˆç[ hl[ ºalâ ºasan béªappô ‘smoke went up from his (Yhwh’s) nose’; in 2 Sam 22:9, the expression is followed by lkat wypm çaw wéªes mippîw toªkel ‘from his mouth came consuming fire’.

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ing. 19 Finally, some are related to the burning, overflowing, melting, and destructive power of anger’s heat. 20 The second aspect of the analysis attends to the location of anger in the human body in the Hebrew Bible. The bodily parts where this sentiment’s affect is located are: the ‘face’ or ‘nose’ (πa ªap), the ‘nostrils’ (μypa ªappayim), the ‘mouth’ (hp peh), the ‘lip’ or ‘lips’ (hpç ¶apâ, μytpç ¶épatayim), the ‘tongue’ (ˆwçl lasôn), and ‘breath’ (jwr rûa˙). 21 See, for example, Paul Krüger’s (2000b) translation of Isa 30:27–28. See, the name of Yhwh comes from afar, his anger (πa ªap) is blazing and his rage (haçm ma¶¶aªâ) is overwhelming. His lips (μytpç ¶épatayim) are filled with wrath (μ[z zaºam), and his tongue (ˆwçl lasôn) is like a devouring fire. His anger (jwr rûa˙), like an overflowing stream, shall reach the neck.

Anger in the Hebrew Bible appears to be located in the mouth, face, and head and is sometimes associated with the mouth when this anger is expressed in speech. Anger’s immediate effect is that the object of anger is burned, spurned, eaten, consumed, or devoured, and these metaphors presuppose anger’s location in the mouth, too. The fact that the sentiment of anger is located in the mouth, lips, and face is, therefore, a characteristic feature of Biblical Hebrew. 22 Put in cognitive terms: the Biblical Hebrew conceptualization of anger inherently includes the human body as its base; in the case of the deity’s anger, it inherently includes the divine body conceived of as if it were a human body. More specifically, anger presupposes a specific location in the upper part of the divine body or human body. Profiled on this base, anger is viewed as someone’s or the deity’s burning fire. A third aspect to consider is the grammatical subject of anger. Remarkably, out of the 714 occurrences of these words for anger in the Hebrew Bible, 518 have a divine subject and express divine anger, whereas merely 196 cases have a human subject (Baloian 1996). A study of the usage events in the Hebrew Bible describing human anger (see below) reveals that, whenever reference is made to human anger, the subject is someone in a higher social position who is angry with someone in a lower position. 19. See, among others, Ezek 5:13, ‘I will vent all my anger’ and Ezek 20:8, ‘to vent all my anger’. 20. In Ezek 22:20-21 and Nah 1:5-6, for example, the melting power of the anger of Yhwh is described as if it were a crucible: its blowing heat melts human beings. 21. The word hp peh is only used in relation to anger with the deity as subject, namely, in 2 Sam 22:9 and Ps 18:9. The word μytpç ¶épatayim is used in relation to anger in Isa 30:27–28. The word ˆwçl lasôn is used in relation to anger in Isa 5:24 and 30:27. And the word jwr rûa˙ is used in relation to anger in Isa 30:27–28. 22. In contrast to Smith (1998: 423), who states that “the fact that the sentiment of anger is located in the heart, face and throat (in the Hebrew Bible) correlates with crosscultural psychological information worldwide.” The studies by Matsuki and Sew mentioned earlier demonstrate that Smith’s claim is incorrect.

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The collocation πa hrj ˙arâ ªap is used in the Hebrew Bible to express human anger and almost always (one exception only) applies to someone in a hierarchically higher position. It is never used with a female subject. The usages are the following: Analysis In Genesis, Jacob is angry with his wife, Rachel (30:2), Potifar is angry with his servant Joseph (39:19), and Judah addresses Joseph and compares him with Pharaoh, begging him not to become angry at him for asking a favor (44:18). In Exodus, Moses is angry with his people because of their worship of the golden calf (32:19 and 32:22). In Numbers, Balaam is angry with his donkey (22:27), and Balak is angry with Balaam, his prophet (24:10). In Judges, Samson is angry at the men in Ashkelon for deceiving him, and he therefore kills them (14:19), whereas Governor Zebul of Shechem is angry with one of his rebelling servants (9:30). In 1 Samuel, the spirit of God that enrages Saul against those who defeated the Israelites (11:6); Eliab, David’s oldest brother, is angry with him (17:28); and King Saul is angry with his son Jonathan because of David (20:30). In 2 Samuel, David is enraged against the rich man in Nathan’s story (12:5). In Psalms, the enemies stronger than Israel are enraged against the Israelites and would have swallowed them if Yhwh had not saved them (124:3). In 2 Chronicles, the Ephraimites, who are at war (on the winning side) against the Judeans are angry with them (25:10). The only exception to this rule is Elihu in Job 32:2, 3, 5, who is angry with Job and his friends, although he is in a hierarchically lower position.

The verb μ[z zaºam ‘curse’, ‘be indignant’ appears 12 times with Yhwh as subject, once with a male subject, the king in Dan 11:30. It is never used with a female subject. The verb π[z zaºap ‘be angry’, ‘be enraged’ is 4 times used with a male subject and never used with a female subject. Analysis In Gen 40:6, the words “Joseph saw that they [the chief cupbearer and the chief baker] were very angry” do not point out Pharaoh’s courtiers’ distress; they express their anger. In Prov 19:3, “A man’s folly subverts his way, and his heart rages against Yhwh,” the situation is sketched of someone who turns the world upside down: this man becomes enraged at Yhwh instead of the usual order, which is that Yhwh rages at men. In 2 Chr 26:19 (twice), Uzziah trespasses against God by entering the temple, and “he got angry; he got angry at the priests,” who were confronting him.

The noun π[z zaºap ‘anger’, ‘rage’ occurs 5 times, either in reference to Yhwh’s fury, 23 the king’s fury, or the rage of people who behave in a superior way toward others. Analysis In Isa 30:30, “For Yhwh will (. . .) display the sweep of his arm in raging wrath,” and Mic 7:9, “I must bear the anger of Yhwh,” the anger is 23. Once, in Jonah 1:15, the sea’s rage is metonymically related to Yhwh’s rage.

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Yhwh’s. Prov 19:12, “The rage of a king is like the roar of a lion,” and 2 Chr 16:10, Asa “was in a state of anger with the seer,” refer to the king’s anger. In 2 Chr 28:9, the prophet Oded addresses the Israelites in Samaria who have just killed thousands of brave men in Judah. He says: “Because in fury [tmjb ba˙åmat] against Judah, Yhwh God of your fathers delivered them over to you, and you killed them in a rage [π[zb bézaºap] that reached heaven. Do you now intend to subjugate the men and women of Judah and Jerusalem to be your slaves?” The Israelites’ fury, which in the beginning represented Yhwh’s fury, ended in the humiliation of the Judeans, because they had treated Israelites as slaves.

The verb s[k kaºas ‘be angry’, ‘vexed’ is used 8 times in the Qal: twice in reference to divine anger (Deut 32:21 and Ezek 16:42) and 6 times in reference to human anger; it is used 46 times in the Hiphil to express divine anger (for divine anger, see below). When the verb s[k kaºas is used to designate human anger, it either refers to a king (in narrative literature) or to people in general (in wisdom literature). Analysis The instances are: Ps 112:10, “the wicked man shall see it and be vexed”; Eccl 5:16, “he eats in darkness with much vexation and grief”; Eccl 7:9, “don’t let your spirit be quickly vexed, for vexation abides in the breasts of fools”; Neh 3:33, “[King] Sanballat was extremely vexed” when he heard that the Judeans were rebuilding the wall of Jerusalem; and in 2 Chr 16:10, Asa “was vexed at the seer.”

However, the verb s[k kaºas and the noun s[k kaºas are used in reference to a female subject, Peninnah, in 1 Samuel 1 (v. 6 contains a Piel form and the noun; v. 16 contains the noun). Analysis In 1 Samuel 1, Penninah is said to taunt Hannah about her “failure” to bear children. However, the effect is not that Hannah becomes angry; rather, she cries and does not eat anymore, which is explicitly evaluated by Elkanah as an expression of her sadness (1 Sam 1:8). Whereas anger is directed against someone else, Hannah targets her emotion inward. Her prayer to Yhwh confirms this feeling of deep sadness, because she speaks of her suffering and does not refer to any wrath against Penninah whatsoever. The last feature showing that in this context s[k kaºas refers to Hannah’s sadness and not to her anger is her speech to Eli, where she uses the noun s[k kaºas in parallelism with anguish: “I have only been speaking all this time out of my great anguish [yjyç ¶î˙î] and distress [ys[k kaºsî)” (1 Sam 1:16).

Hence, in 1 Samuel 1 the verb s[k kaºas is not used to designate a form of anger with reference to a female subject. The same is true for the last two pairs denoting anger: zgr ragaz and zgr rogez, which express the idea of physical shaking; and πxq qaßap and πxq qeßep. The former pair is used in texts describing the shaking of the earth, mountains, heavens, nations,

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kingdoms, and their inhabitants—prototypically attributed to the wrath or anger of Yhwh, who is the reason for the shaking (1 Sam 14:15; 2 Sam 22:8; Ps 18:8). The shaking of human beings is sometimes related to trembling out of fear and to a rebellion or rage against a person or God. In the latter case, it most often concerns a nation that rebels against God (2 Kgs 19:27, 28; Isa 37:28, 29). The latter pair, πxq qaßap and πxq qeßep, is almost exclusively used with reference to Yhwh. In sum, none of the 8 pairs that designate anger in Biblical Hebrew is used with a woman as subject. Anger, wrath, curse, burning with anger, shaking from anger, or outbursts of anger are not sentiments attributed to a female person. This observation might be explained by the fact that biblical texts, because of their origin in patriarchal society, pay limited attention to women’s behavior, so we are not given access to women’s sentiments of anger. It might also be the result of social conventions, which provided women at the time with limited ways of communicating their anger (as in Japanese). But it might also be explained differently, a possibility to which I will return after the discussion of the other aspects. In the majority of the anger cases in the Hebrew Bible, Yhwh is construed as the grammatical subject of expressions of anger. He is the one experiencing and expressing anger. He is the lord in the highest position, whose anger is directed against human beings who do not live according to his rules. This is most often expressed by the collocation πa hrj ˙arâ ªap (see Gruber’s study presented above); this phrase designates Yhwh’s anger against human misbehavior. The verb s[k kaºas ‘be angry’, ‘vexed’, on the other hand, presents the same anger from a different perspective. It mainly occurs in the Hiphil form (causative, ‘to make angry’; 46 out of 54 occurrences), and Yhwh is often the object of the verb (38 times), the idea being that someone angers the deity. The primary reason for Yhwh’s indignation is Israel’s worship of other gods. Because of its use in parallelism with anq qanaª ‘to be jealous’, Yhwh’s anger seems to be closely tied to jealousy. Analysis The parallelism is clear in: Deut 32:16, “They incensed [anq qanaª Hiphil] him with alien things, vexed [s[k kaºas Hiphil] him with abominations”; Deut 32:21, “They incensed [anq qanaª Piel] me with no-gods, vexed [s[k kaºas Piel] me with their futilities; I’ll incense [anq qanaª Hiphil] them with no-folk, vex [s[k kaºas Hiphil] them with a nation of fools”; Ps 78:58, “They vexed [s[k kaºas Hiphil] him with their high places; they incensed [anq qanaª Hiphil] him with their idols.”

The fourth aspect of the analysis concerns the conceptualization of anger in the Hebrew Bible. Is it psychologically interpreted as a feeling in a way similar to our present-day Western view? A comparison of Geeraerts’s and Gevaert’s results with the usage events of anger in the Hebrew Bible teaches us that anger is valued in the biblical texts as a strong emotion but not as a wrong emotion. On the contrary, Yhwh’s anger and the anger of a (higher-

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placed) male person are always presented as a justified emotion. The deity’s emotion is construed as right and not wrong, for his rage is directed against the actions that he experiences as unrighteous or unlawful. Equally positive or neutrally valued are the human outbursts of anger, for their rage is based on what they experience as incorrect. The other characteristics—fierceness, intemperance, and affliction—do indeed characterize Yhwh’s anger and the human outbursts of anger in the Hebrew Bible. The location of anger in the head of the deity or of a man as well as the description of the immediately following actions of revenge—killing, breaking, or other punishments— show that they are acutely aware of the danger that threatens the situation so that an immediate response is required: the subject must punish the responsible people. Sadness comes into anger, but insanity is not part of the Hebrew language’s notion of anger, since the deity’s or the human’s behavior is evaluated to be correct. Thus, anger in the Hebrew Bible turns out to be a synaesthetic experience indeed. It cannot be understood as an individual feeling or as an individual behavior only, because it is incorporated into a social framework of thinking. When the social order is disrupted, anger is a justified reaction to repair the broken ties. Hence, even in a study of what at first seemed to be a very individual emotion, an integrated approach to feeling and behavior in a sociocultural network as well as to the conceptualization of (parts of) the human body appears to be required in order for us to obtain a clear picture of what the emotion entails. A short summary of the investigation of the emotion of anger so far is that: 1. heat is the predominant metaphor of the concept of anger in Biblical Hebrew; 2. anger is exclusively located in the upper part of the human body—that is to say, in the face, nose, or mouth; 3. anger is an emotion predominantly attributed to the deity and secondly to male protagonists who are placed in a socially higher position than the person with whom they are angry; anger is hardly ever attributed to male persons in a lower position; anger is never attributed to female characters to express their emotion of anger; 4. the notion of anger is incorporated into an integrated conception of mental and social life in which cognition, emotion, volition, and behavior occur side by side; the emotion of anger includes righteousness and fierceness and is preparatory to afflictive actions.

Based on these characteristics, one may draw the conclusion that the prototypical scenario of anger as it is represented in the Hebrew Bible consists of four stages. A report of an offense or wrongdoing arouses a response of anger in the deity or human being, which is manifested prototypically by an immediate rise of heat to the head and is expressed by the face or nose burning. It entails a willingness to correct the wrong that is felt by an adequate

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and immediate response of a destructive nature. In terms of Kövecses’s stages: Stage Stage Stage Stage

1: 2: 4: 5:

Report of an offense or offending event Anger rises to the head Willingness or eagerness to correct Act of retribution

The attempt at control—Kövecses’s third stage—is lacking in the anger scenario in Biblical Hebrew. Whereas in Japanese the control stage was dictated by strong social conventions and was linguistically more developed and elaborated than in American English, the opposite is true for Biblical Hebrew. Its direct or “primary” reaction is distinct from the American “secondary” reaction with a stage of attempting to control it, as opposed to the Japanese controlled or “tertiary” reaction. Together with the location of anger in the upper part of the body, the head, and mouth, and with the metaphor of heat, the prototypical scenario shows us what to expect when we come across a word designating anger, namely, an immediate reaction of a retributive nature. However, the lack of the stage of control in the Hebrew Bible does not express the notion of an explosive or short-tempered deity or human lord but a behavior that is evaluated as being the correct reaction to what is experienced as wrong. Hence, in contrast to both American English and Japanese scenarios, the emotion of anger in the Hebrew Bible is positively evaluated. Because this concept of anger is embedded in a hierarchical framework and because the authors of the biblical texts share the point of view of the deity (or higher-placed humans), anger is valued differently in Biblical Hebrew. This may also explain why the Hebrew Bible pays no attention at all to the sentiment of anger with reference to women. It is not likely that Hebrew language and social conventions provided women with even limited ways of communicating their anger (as in Japanese). Rather, the social categories in which anger is embedded make it impossible to think of anger and relate it to a man in a lower social position (for example, a slave or servant) or to relate it to a woman. Socially irrelevant people are not thought of in terms of anger. In other words, the construction of the emotion of anger in a language is also a social strategy by which a community contributes to the endless constitution and maintenance of a specific social order. 3.3.3. The city gate in ancient Cisjordan In chap. 1, I expressed the intention of integrating the various types of modern biblical and ancient Near Eastern scholarship, and proposed considering mental processing to be a global emergent behavior and using Cognitive Linguistics in general and Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar in particular as a suitable instrument for analyzing linguistic emergent structures. The

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concepts introduced in this chapter—cognitive domain, base, and profile— allow us to gain a first impression of this kind of integrated approach. In the following example of the city gate, archaeology will meet linguistics. Concepts deriving from reconstructed artifacts will meet concepts expressed in language. Their point of connectivity is, as will become apparent, the linguistic expression’s base. The base is the materially, culturally, and historically defined region in a cognitive domain that is inherently and obligatorily included in the semantic content of the linguistic unit and that is the access point of the emergent structure of material and conceptual culture. 3.3.3.1 Archaeological reconstructions of Iron Age IIB–III city-gate structures in Cisjordan Archaeological studies of the Cisjordan city in the Iron Age reveal that the city gate was one of its main components. 24 I will concentrate here on the Cisjordan city-gate structures that are attributed to the ninth–fifth centuries b.c.e. (Iron Age IIB, IIC, and III) in Tel Dan, Hazor, Tel Kinrot, Tel Dor, Tel Megiddo, Tell en-Nasbeh, Gezer, Tel Batash, Lachish, and Tel Beersheba. 25 Reference will be made to Samaria and Jerusalem (below) to explain why the gate structures of these two cities are not included in this archaeological survey. The sites will be discussed briefly, in geographical order from north to south. 26 Located at the northern end of the Hulah Valley and at the foot of Mount Hermon lies Tel Dan at the headwaters of the Dan River, one of the major tributaries of the Jordan River. At the southern edge of the mound, surviving material remains of architectural structures were found and identified as city-gate complexes dating to the ninth–eighth centuries b.c.e. (stratum III) and to the eighth century b.c.e. (Stratum II). Tel Dan’s Stratum III gate structure consists of a main inner gate, an outer gate, and a paved 24. The Iron Age in Cisjordan is divided archaeologically into six periods: Iron Age IA or the twelfth century b.c.e., Iron Age IB or 1150–1000 b.c.e., Iron Age IIA or the tenth century b.c.e., Iron Age IIB or the ninth and eighth centuries b.c.e., Iron Age IIC or the seventh–sixth centuries b.c.e., and Iron Age III or the sixth–fourth centuries b.c.e. 25. The names of the archaeological sites are those commonly used (see Herzog 1997), although some are geographical names and others, biblical names. The biblical names correspond to the following geographical names: Tel Dan—Tell el-Qadi; Hazor—Tell el-Qeda˙; Tel Kinrot—Tell el-ºOreme; Tel Dor—Tel Dor; Tel Megiddo—Tell el-Mutesellim; Mizpah— Tell en-Nasbeh; Gezer—Tell Jezer; Timnah—Tel Batash; Lachish—Tell ed-Duweir; and Tel Beersheba—Tel Beersheba. 26. The archaeological data are based on (in chronological order) McCown (1947), BenTor (1993), Dever (1993), Herzog (1993; 1997), Mazar and Kelm (1993), Shiloh (1993a; 1993b), Stern (1993), Zorn (1993), Biran (1993), Ussishkin (2004), and Finkelstein (2008). Some of them use the biblical terms “Ancient Israel,” “the Kingdom of Israel,” “the Kingdom of Judah,” “the United Monarchy” (“House of David”), “the Kingdoms of David and Solomon,” whereas I prefer not to use these terms deriving from the Hebrew Bible but the geographically defined term “Cisjordan.”

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inner courtyard between the two. The inner gate is of the four-room type and measures 29.50 m x 17.80 m. During the eighth century b.c.e., the city was rebuilt. The major alteration is seen in the addition of a new four-chambered gate measuring ca. 18 m x 12 m at the top of the sloped approach way; no outer gate or paved courtyard between the two gates has been found (Herzog 1997: 222). Remains of a later, Iron Age III city-gate structure have not been found. The site of Tel Hazor in Upper Galilee, some 14 km north of the Sea of Galilee, comprises two distinct areas: the mound proper and a lower city (Ben-Tor 1993: 595). Six strata (X–V) have been ascribed to the tenth to eighth centuries b.c.e. 27 Throughout this period, it has the same sixchambered city-gate structure (Ben-Tor 1993). Hazor was completely destroyed in 732 b.c.e., and its city gate no longer played any role. Tel Kinrot, a small fortified town built at the beginning of the eighth century b.c.e. on the northwestern side of the Sea of Galilee, has at the top of the mound a solid wall encircling a small area. In the middle of the wall on the southeastern side, archaeologists have uncovered a single gate chamber and interpreted it as belonging to a simple, two-chambered gate structure from the beginning of the eighth century b.c.e. (Herzog 1997: 235). After its destruction in the late eighth century, it remained in ruins. The mound of Tel Dor is located on the coastal plain south of the Carmel range, and its Iron Age IIB city gate is dated to the ninth century b.c.e. (Herzog 1997: 236). It consists mainly of a four-room gate of 20.5 m x 16.5 m, which is built of huge blocks of hard limestone quarried from the Carmel range. After its destruction at the end of the eighth century, the city was rebuilt. A new wide, two-room city gate with an Assyrian-style doorsocket was constructed over the earlier four-room gate. This gate was used continuously until late Iron III (Herzog 1997: 257). Tel Megiddo is one of the most important city mounds in Cisjordan. 28 It rises 40 to 60 m above the surrounding plain at the point where Wadi ºAra enters the Jezreel Valley, and this location gave it strategic control in ancient times over the international Via Maris (Shiloh 1993b: 1003). Megiddo IVA (ninth century b.c.e.) has a four-chambered main gate. The city was totally 27. In traditional or high chronology, Hazor Stratum X is attributed to the tenth century, Stratum IX to the late tenth–early ninth century, Stratum VIII to the first half of the ninth century, Stratum VII to the second half of the ninth century; Strata VI–V to the eighth century. In new or low chronology, as defended by Finkelstein and others, Stratum X is attributed to the early ninth century, Stratum IX to the first half of the ninth century, Stratum VIII to the late ninth century; Strata VII–V to the eighth century. 28. In traditional or high chronology, Megiddo Stratum VA–IVB is attributed to the tenth century, and Stratum IVA to the first half of the ninth century. In new or low chronology, as defended by Finkelstein and others, Megiddo Stratum VA–IVB is attributed to the early ninth century and Stratum IVA to the late ninth century. In Stratum III, Megiddo became the center of the new Assyrian province (780–650 b.c.e.).

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rebuilt at the beginning of Iron Age IIB (stratum IVB). At the northern edge of the mound, excavators uncovered material remains of an architectural structure and identified them as parts of a monumental city gate. Herzog (1997: 226) describes this stratum IVB city gate as follows: “The gate complex is composed of an inner main gate, an outer gate and a sloping approach way connecting them which had an additional tower at its bend. The main gate (19.75 m x 17.50 m) consisted of three pairs of chambers each 4.80 m x 2.80 m in size and two solid front towers (. . .). Additional rooms for the city guard were annexed to the western side of the gate. The outer gate had four jambs to form two chambers of unequal size.” In Stratum III, Megiddo became the center of a new Assyrian province (780–650 b.c.e.) built on an entirely new, orthogonal city plan, quite uncommon in Cisjordan before that time. The city was entered through a new, smaller, twochambered main gate, which incorporated parts of the older outer gate (Herzog 1997: 255). In Strata II and I, the city is unfortified and shows clear signs of decline. Samaria was a major city that spread over 40–50 ha. So far, in their excavations of this large site, archaeologists have concentrated on the summit of the hill, where the monumental acropolis stood (Herzog 1997: 229). The possible gate areas have not been excavated. Tell en-Nasbeh is located south of the modern Palestinian town of Ramallah, approximately 12 km northwest of Jerusalem. The city was continuously occupied throughout the tenth, ninth, and eighth centuries b.c.e. without any major destruction. At the northeastern and eastern edge of the mound, surviving material remains of a two- and four-chambered city gate were uncovered. The mutual relationship between the two gates has puzzled scholars, because the four-chambered gate was located approximately 60 m south of the two-chambered gate. McCown (1947) argues that the fourchambered gate was constructed in the ninth century and that, after its destruction in the late eighth century b.c.e., the two-chambered city gate was built. In contrast, Zorn (1993) asserts that both gates were part of a single inner–outer gate complex built in Stratum 3B (first half of the ninth century b.c.e.) and that the four-chambered inner gate was replaced in Stratum 2 (sixth–fifth centuries b.c.e.) by new architectural constructions, whereas the two-chambered outer gate continued in use until the fifth century b.c.e. Herzog (1997) considers Zorn’s proposal untenable and concludes that clear occupational strata cannot be defined (Herzog 1997: 237). Situated on the last of the foothills in the Hills of Judea, which slope down to meet the northern Shephelah, is Gezer. Ascribed to Stratum VIII (tenth century b.c.e.) is a six-chambered city gate; the stone units are interpreted as benches running around the three walls of each of the inner chambers. A plastered downspout drain at the rear corner of the gate structure is interpreted as an indication of a roof construction over these inner chambers (Dever 1993: 505). Shortly after its construction, in about the mid-tenth

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century b.c.e., an outer two-roomed city gate was added downslope. In Stratum VII (ninth–eighth centuries b.c.e.), the inner gate was rebuilt as a fourroom gate, identical to that of Megiddo IVA. The gate was destroyed in the late eighth century. In Strata VI and V (late eighth–seventh centuries b.c.e.), the gate apparently was converted into a two-chambered gate like that of Megiddo III. Shortly thereafter, it was badly destroyed and never rebuilt. Tel Batash is located on an almost square-shaped mound in an alluvial plain in the northern lower Shephelah. On the eastern side of the mound, remains of city-gate structures were uncovered. There is some evidence of a Stratum IV gate (tenth century b.c.e.). The presence of a city gate in Stratum III (eighth century b.c.e.) is generally accepted (Mazar and Kelm 1993). It consists of a six-chambered inner gate of 16.7 m x 13 m and an outer gate. In Stratum II (seventh century b.c.e.), the previous outer gate remained in use, whereas the inner gate became smaller. Although only two chambers were uncovered, these were understood as the material remains of a fourchambered gate structure. The city was partially destroyed in the late eighth century b.c.e., and the Stratum II gate complex stood in ruins during later centuries, whereas its gate passage (not a proper city-gate structure) came to be reused in Stratum I (fifth–fourth centuries b.c.e.). Jerusalem’s urban nature reaches back to the Early Bronze Age on the (south-)eastern ridge and its slopes and in Iron Age IIC extended to the southwestern hill. 29 Intensive archaeological research in Jerusalem in the past 40 years has shown that the southwestern hill was part of the fortified city in Iron Age IIC (seventh–sixth centuries b.c.e.) and the late Hellenistic periods (first half of the second century–first half of the first century b.c.e.) but that it was not inhabited in the Persian and early Hellenistic periods (sixth century–first half of the second century; Finkelstein 2008: 504). 30 The southeastern ridge was inhabited in Iron Age II, while the Temple Mount and the northern and southern part of the ridge of the City of David were uninhabited in the Persian and early Hellenistic periods. “The Persian and Early Hellenistic settlement was confined to the central part of the ridge

29. The eastern ridge includes the hill of the City of David (top 690 m) in the south, the Ophel (705 m), and the Temple Mount (743 m) in the north. The southwestern hill (773 m) is separated from the eastern ridge by the Central Valley (Tyropoeon Valley; Shiloh 1993a: 699 and 701). 30. Archaeologists have discerned ten strata in Jerusalem in the Iron Age II and III periods (including the Persian and Hellenistic periods). Stratum 14: Iron II (tenth cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 13: Iron II (ninth cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 12: Iron II (eighth cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 11: Iron II (seventh cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 10B: Iron II (second half of seventh cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 10A: Iron II (sixth cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 9: Iron III or Persian Age (sixth–fourth cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 8: early Hellenistic (fourth–second cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 7B: Hellenistic (Hasmonean; second half of second cent. b.c.e.), Stratum 7A: Hellenistic (Hasmonean—first half of first cent. b.c.e. to 37 b.c.e.; Shiloh 1993a: 701).

spread is 12 points short

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(. . .). The settlement was located on the ridge, with the eastern slope outside the built-up area” (Finkelstein 2008: 506). 31 Finkelstein (2008) presents the following demographic calculations. In Iron IIB–IIC, the population in Judah reached its height, ca. 45,000–60,000 inhabitants, of which ca. 12,000–15,000 lived in Jerusalem (ca. 3,000 adult men); the maximal size of Jerusalem in this period is ca. 600 dunams. In Persian and early Hellenistic times, on the other hand, the population in Yehud decreased to ca. 15,000 people. Jerusalem counted merely ca. 400–500 inhabitants, of which ca. 100 were adult men. The maximum size of Jerusalem in these periods is ca. 20–25 dunams (240 m x 120 m). The conclusion is remarkable and unavoidable: Jerusalem was in the Persian and early Hellenistic periods but a small village on the southeastern ridge. It was too small, and the depleted hinterland was too poor, to be engaged in the reconstruction of a long wall. There is no archaeological evidence at all for city walls from the second half of the sixth century to the beginning of the second century b.c.e. Finkelstein (2008: 514) concludes therefore that “the archaeological evidence from Jerusalem casts severe doubt on the notion that much of the biblical material was composed in the Persian and Early Hellenistic periods.” For our study of the city gate, Jerusalem cannot be of much help. Very little of the infrastructure of the Iron Age II city survived the destruction process in the sixth century or the reconstruction processes in Hasmonean and Roman times. Although several elements from the seventh and sixth centuries b.c.e. have been uncovered, no remnants of Iron Age IIC city-gate structures have been exposed, because they have been used and reused from the second centuries b.c.e. to the present day. The city of Lachish was located in the Shephelah on a prominent hill with steep natural slopes on three sides; on the less-pronounced western side, a moat was cut to add to its height (Herzog 1997: 162). The Iron Age city at Lachish reached its peak of urban development in the ninth–eighth centuries b.c.e., represented by Levels IV and III. The date of construction of Level IV is still debated. However, the city’s existence during most of the ninth century b.c.e. and the reuse of its elements in the eighth century b.c.e. until Level III was destroyed at the end of the eighth century b.c.e. are well established and agreed upon (Herzog 1997: 239). Level III shows a city that covered an area of 7 ha, with fortifications consisting of a 4-m-wide solid city wall with towers and sparse remains of what is considered to be a six-chambered city gate on the western edge of the mound; its reconstructed 31. And he continues: “Even in this restricted area, a century of excavations, by a number of archaeologists, failed to yield even a single (!) house or proper floor from the Persian period, and only one structure from the Early Hellenistic period was found” (Finkelstein 2008: 506).

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Cisjordan

Inner Gate a

Outer Gate

Inner and Outer Gate Not Distinct

9th c. b.c.e.

Dan III

4 ch.; 29.5x17.8 m

Dan III

Hazor IX–VIII

6 ch.

Iron IIB

Megiddo IVA

4 ch.

Megiddo IVA

Tel Dor

4 ch.

Gezer VII

4 ch.

Gezer VII

Tell en-Nasbeh

?

Lachish III

6 ch.; 25x24.5 m

Lachish III

4 ch.; 20.8x12.6 m

Beersheba IV

8th c. b.c.e. Dan III–II

Beersheba IV

4 ch.; 18x12 m

Dan III–II

Iron IIB

Kinrot II

2 ch.

(< Assyrian

Megiddo IVB

6 ch.; 19.75x17.5 m

occupation)

Gezer VII

4 ch.

Batash III

6 ch.; 16.7x13 m

Batash III

Lachish III

Hazor VII–V

6 ch.

Tel Dor

4 ch.

Megiddo IVB

Tell en-Nasbeh

?

Gezer VII

Beersheba III

4 ch.

6 ch.; 25x24.5 m

Lachish III

8th c. b.c.e. Dan I

—

Dan I

Hazor

—

Iron IIB

Kinrot I

—

Megiddo III

Tel Dor

2 ch.

(>Assyrian occupation)

Megiddo III

2 ch. (incorporates outer gate)

(incorporated in inner gate)

Tell en-Nasbeh

?

Gezer VI

2 ch. (incorporates outer gate)

Gezer VI

Batash II

2–4 ch.

Batash II

Lachish III

6 ch.

Lachish III

Beersheba II

—

Beersheba II

—

Beersheba II

—

—

Dan I

—

Hazor

—

Megiddo III

2 ch.

Megiddo II/I

—

Tel Dor

2 ch.

Gezer V

2 ch.

Gezer V

—

Tell en-Nasbeh

?

Batash II

2–4 ch.

Batash II

Lachish II

single entry

Lachish II

single entry —

7th c. b.c.e. Dan I Iron IIC

—

6th c. b.c.e.

Dan I

—

Dan I

—

Hazor

Iron IIC

Megiddo II

—

Megiddo II/I

—

Tel Dor

2 ch.

Iron III

Gezer

—

Gezer V

—

Tell en-Nasbeh

?

Batash I

single entry

Batash I

single entry

Lachish II–I

single entry

Lachish I

single entry

5th c. b.c.e. Dan I

—

Dan I

—

Hazor

—

Iron III

Megiddo I

—

Megiddo II/I

—

Tel Dor

2 ch.

Gezer

—

Gezer V

—

Tell en-Nasbeh

?

Batash I

single entry

Batash I

single entry

Lachish I

single entry

Lachish I

single entry

a. Number of chambers (ch.) and available measurements; — = gate in ruins or absent.

Fig. 3.3. Material remains of city gates in Iron Age II Cisjordan.

spread is 12 points short

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measurements are 25.0 m x 24.5 m (Ussishkin 2004). An outer gate constructed as a large projecting bastion provided additional protection. Following the total destruction of the Level III city by Sennacherib, Lachish was rebuilt in the seventh century b.c.e. In Level II, Lachish lost much of its previous glory. The city gate, rebuilt at a higher level, consisted of a single-entry inner gate, a smaller courtyard, and an outer gate in the form of a citadel with a paved internal courtyard surrounded by rooms (Herzog 1997: 250). In the sixth–fourth centuries b.c.e. (Level I), the single-entry inner gate and the outer gate kept their simple form. Tel Beersheba is located at the heart of the Beersheba Valley, north of the Negev Desert. At the southeastern edge of the mound, archaeologists uncovered material remains that they ascribed to a Strata V–IV city-gate complex (mid-tenth–early ninth centuries b.c.e.). It is composed of an inner gate of 20.8 m x 12.6 m, an outer gate complex of 37 m x 10 m, and a piazza 6 m wide (Herzog 1993). The inner gate is an impressive four-chambered gate; each of the chambers is 6 m long and 2.8 m high x 3.0 m wide. Northwest of the inner gate, a 6-m-wide piazza was uncovered at which four streets converge. Strata III–II (ninth–eighth centuries b.c.e.) show that the outer gate disappeared, while the main entrance into the settlement remained a four-chambered city gate. The destruction of the Stratum II city at Beersheba in the late eighth century b.c.e. is identified by the thousands of pottery vessels found in its debris (Herzog 1997: 247). No later gate structures were found. Consequently, the archaeological reconstructions of Iron Age IIB–III Cisjordan city-gate structures reveal their developments through time. This is summarized in fig. 3.3. 3.3.3.2 Evaluation of archaeological data from a historical perspective In the ninth century b.c.e., the city-gate structures in Cisjordan are monumental and impressive, consisting of a six- or four-chambered inner gate and an outer gate linked by a courtyard or piazza. In the eighth century b.c.e., before the Assyrian domination of the Levant (ca. 740–640 b.c.e.), the gate complexes remain large architectural complexes. They have a six-chambered inner gate or a four-chambered inner gate, an outer gate, and a courtyard linking the two; or they have a gate complex in which the inner gate and the outer gate cannot be distinguished but in which the material remains point to six-chambered or four-chambered gate structures. Only Tel Kinrot II’s gate is smaller. Times changed. In 734–33 b.c.e., the Assyrian emperor Tiglath-pileser III destroyed the cities of Dan (II), Hazor (V), Megiddo (IV), and Dor; captured Galilee; and divided it into the Assyrian provinces Megiddo and Dor. Later, Shalmaneser V besieged Samaria, which capitulated in 721 b.c.e., and

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deported 27,290 Samaritans (Liverani 2005: 145). 32 Samaria became an Assyrian province. As part of the Assyrian Empire, the cities in the three provinces were not allowed to rebuild their architectural defense structures. No city gates have been found in this period in Dan, Hazor, or Kinrot, while in Megiddo III and Gezer VI the inner and outer gate were reconstructed into one gate. The gate in Tel Dor was smaller. From the seventh century onward, the complex city-gate structure ceased to exist in the northern part of Cisjordan. The southern part of Cisjordan remained unscathed during the reigns of Tiglath-pileser III through Sargon II, although the king of Judah paid tribute to the Assyrian emperors. When Hezekiah (716–687 b.c.e.) began to withhold the payment of tribute to the Assyrians and to provide Jerusalem with walls, fortifications, and waterworks, Sennacherib intervened with an army in 701 b.c.e. During his campaign, all the cities of Judah were destroyed and their city walls and city gates were ruined, but Jerusalem beat off the attack. Judah without Jerusalem became an Assyrian province. Even when some of its cities were rebuilt, they had much smaller city gates. The six-chambered inner gate and outer gate of Lachish IV–III were knocked down in the seventh century, and the city retained but one simple, single-entry gate. The 4chambered gate of Beersheba III–II was destroyed and never rebuilt after the seventh century. Gezer VII’s four-chambered gate was demolished and replaced at the end of the eighth century and in the seventh century by a smaller two-chambered gate. It disappeared from the sixth century onward. What the gate structure in Tel Batash II in the seventh century looked like is uncertain because only two chambers have been uncovered there, although some archaeologists consider it a possibility that the city gate included another two chambers. From the seventh century onward, the complex citygate structure ceased to exist in the southern part of Cisjordan outside Jerusalem. Only the city walls and gates of Jerusalem (after being destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 b.c.e.) were rebuilt again in the Persian period (ca. 450 b.c.e.) and have since survived. The archaeological data are consistent with historical data that reflect the administrative, military, judicial, social, economic, and religious functions of the cities and its city gates in this period. “The plan of the city in Israel during the Iron IIB is a bold declaration of its role as a ‘container of power’. (. . .) Although lacking in luxurious attributes, the cities of Judah did contain the same practical aspects for serving the administrative and military needs as its northern neighbor” (Herzog 1997: 234–35, 249). The decline and fall of the cities in Iron Age IIB/IIC had the effect of changing the role of the city gate over time as well. Its administrative functions disappeared, and the gate became a mere passageway.

32. Sargon II claimed this victory as his (Liverani 2005: 145).

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Consequently, it can be expected but still must be proven that the inhabitants of Cisjordan in the tenth, ninth, and eighth centuries b.c.e. construed a mental image of the city gate that differs considerably from the mental image of the city gate in the seventh, sixth, and fifth centuries b.c.e. Nevertheless, a distinction can be made between people living in the northern region that became a province under Assyrian rule in 732 b.c.e. and those living in the southern region, who—after Sennacherib’s campaign in 701 b.c.e. through the increasing influence of the Babylonian Empire in 610 b.c.e.—were still able to rebuild their settlements with city gates in simpler forms. After the Babylonian conquest, the mental image of complex citygate structures would have faded from the people’s minds in the southern area as well. In sum, people living in the entire Cisjordan area in the sixth, fifth, and fourth centuries b.c.e. could never have dreamed of a six- or fourchambered inner gate, a courtyard, and an outer gate. These gates had long vanished in the past. This leads to the hypothesis that earlier, tenth–eighth century b.c.e. mental concepts of the city gate expressed in Biblical Hebrew linguistic units would include in their base a complex architectural gate structure and/or an important administrative, judicial, military, or religious function, whereas later, seventh–fifth century b.c.e. mental concepts of the city gate expressed in linguistic units would not include a complex architectural gate structure or power-related function in their base. This hypothesis will be tested in the following cognitive linguistic analysis of uses of the word r[ç saºar in the Hebrew Bible. 3.3.3.3 Cognitive linguistic analysis of the word r[ç saºar The word r[ç saºar 33 is used 373 times in the Hebrew Bible to express an [entrance structure] in an enclosing structure of an [architectural complex]. One of the three following bases is included in its meaning structure: I.

[entrance structure] / [city] gate in a city wall, city gate

II. [entrance structure] / [tabernacle] gate in a tabernacle’s enclosure, tabernacle gate or [entrance structure] / [temple] gate in a temple’s courtyard, temple gate III. [entrance structure] / [palace] gate in a palace’s courtyard, palace gate 33. The translations of the biblical texts in this section are from the njpsv, except the Tetragrammaton, which is rendered Yhwh and not “the Lord’, and with the exception of the phrases in which the word saºar occurs and where njpsv chooses to translate metaphorically (e.g., ‘settlements’ instead of ‘gates’).

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The distribution of the uses of saºar in the Hebrew Bible is apparent in fig. 3.4. To specify the base included in the mental concept of the city gate, I studied all 249 occurrences of saºar I (first category, city gate) in the Hebrew Bible. 34 In the book of Genesis, the word saºar is used 9 times, always in the singular construct state. In the first appearance, in Gen 19:1–2, “Lot was sitting in the gate of Sodom,” it is obvious that the concept city is included in the gate’s base. The use of the verb and preposition “sitting in” indicates a sitting place or at least some sitting space in the gate area. In the second text, Gen 22:17, God promises to make Abraham’s descendants as numerous as the stars of heaven: ‘your seed shall seize the gate of its enemies’ wybya r[ç saºar ªoybayw, in which the city gate stands for both the city and its inhabitants. Here, no reference is made to a specific city and its leaders, but people are imagined as enemies of the Abraham clan, and the city gate represents these fiendish (Canaanite) people. In the third speech event, in Gen 23:10, Abraham asks Ephron to sell him a burial site for his deceased wife, Sara: “Ephron the Hittite answered Abraham in the hearing of the Hittites, all who entered the gate of his city [wry[Ar[ç yab lkl lékol baªê saºar-ºîrô], (. . .) I give it to you in the presence [lit., ‘in the eyes’] of my people.” The “hearing” and “seeing” of Ephron’s fellow townsmen assembled in the city gate suggest an architectural structure of a certain size and with an administrative and judicial function. Gen 23:18 repeats the phrase in Gen 23:10 (except for the preposition), ‘all who entered the gate of his city’ [wry[Ar[ç yab lkb békol baªê saºar-ºîrô], and Gen 24:60 speaks of ‘the gate of their haters’ (wyanç r[ç saºar ¶onªayw), this time from Rebekah’s offspring’s point of view. In the sixth text, Gen 28:17, Jacob evaluates the place of his dreams as ‘heaven’s or heavens’ gate’, μymçh r[ç saºar hassamayim. Since the word saºar profiles an entrance structure in an enclosing architectural structure, the question is: What does the text presuppose as its base: is heaven conceived as a city where deities live or as a palace or as a temple? Or is it used metaphorically? In this context, it is not possible to pay more attention to these intriguing questions. The seventh, eighth, and ninth usage events are part of the Dinah story in Genesis 34. The word saºar is used three times, once in v. 20 and twice in v. 24: ‘Hamor and his son Shechem went to the gate of their city’ (rwmj abyw μry[ r[çAla wnb μkçw wayyaboª ˙åmôr ûsékem bénô ªel-saºar ºîram) and “all who went out of the gate of his city (wry[ r[ç yaxyAlk kol-yoߪê saºar ºîrô) listened to Hamor and his son Shechem, and all males, all those who went out of the gate of his city (wry[ r[ç yaxyAlk kol-yoߪê saºar ºîro) were circumcised.” The city 34. Because of the considerable length of this study, readers may wish to turn past the description of all the texts at this point and read only the summary paragraphs on the Torah, Former Prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, the Minor Prophets, and the Writings, or turn directly to the succeeding section on the evaluation of the textual data.

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I

II

included base

included base

included base

City

Tabernacle or Temple

Palace

total: 249 Gen Exod Deut

Josh Judg 1 Sam 2 Sam 1 Kgs 2 Kgs Isa Jer

Ezek Amos Obad Mic Nah Zeph Zech Ps Prov Job Song Ruth Lam Neh

1 Chr 2 Chr

19:1; 22:17; 23:10, 18; 24:60; 28:17; 34:20, 24, 24; 20:10; 32:26, 27, 27; 5:14; 6:9; 11:20; 12:12, 15, 17, 18, 21; 14:21, 27, 28, 29; 15:7, 22; 16:5, 11, 14, 18; 17:2, 5, 8; 18:6; 21:19; 22:15, 24; 23:17; 24:14; 25:7; 26:12; 28:52, 52, 55, 57; 31:12; 2:5, 7; 7:5; 8:29; 20:4; 5:8, 11; 9:35, 40, 44; 16:2, 3; 18:16, 17; 4:18; 9:18; 17:52; 21:14; 3:27; 10:8; 11:23; 15:2; 18:4, 24, 24; 19:1, 9, 9; 23:15, 16; 8:37; 22:10; 7:1, 3, 17, 17, 18, 20; 9:31; 10:8; 14:13, 13; 23:8, 8, 8; 25:4; 14:31; 22:7; 24:12; 26:2; 28:6; 29:21; 45:1; 54:12; 60:11, 18; 62:10; 1:15; 14:2; 15:7; 17:19, 19, 20, 21, 24, 25, 27, 27; 19:2; 22:19; 31:38, 40; 37:13; 38:7; 39:3, 4; 51:58; 52:7; 21:20, 27; 26:10; 40:3; 48:31, 31, 31, 31, 31, 32, 32, 32, 32, 33, 33, 33, 33, 34, 34, 34, 34; 5:10, 12, 15’ 1:11, 13; 1:9, 12; 2:13; 2:7; 3:13; 1:10; 8:16; 14:10, 10, 10; 9:14, 15; 24:7, 9; 69:13; 87:2; 107:18; 118:19, 20; 122:2; 127:5; 147:13; 1:21; 8:3; 14:19; 22:22; 24:7; 31:23, 31; 5:4; 29:7; 31:21; 38:17, 17; 7:5; 3:11; 4:1, 10, 11; 1:4; 2:9; 4:12; 5:14; 1:3; 2:3, 8, 13, 13, 13, 14, 15, 17; 3:1, 3, 6, 13, 13, 14, 15, 26, 28, 29, 31, 32; 6:1; 7:3; 8:1, 3, 16, 16; 11:19; 12: 25, 30, 31, 37, 37, 39, 39, 39, 39, 39; 13:19, 19, 22; 11:17, 18; 6:28; 8:14, 14; 18:9; 25:23, 23; 26:9, 9; 32:6; 33:14; 35:15, 15

III

total: 109 Tabernacle: Exod 27:16; 35:17; 38:15, 18, 31; 39:40; 40:8, 33; Num 4:26 Temple: 2 Kgs 11:6, 6, 19; 15:35; Jer 7:2, 2; 20:2; 26:10; 36:10; Ezek 8:3, 5, 14; 9:2; 10:19; 11:1, 1; 40:6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 9, 9, 10, 11, 11, 13, 14, 15, 15, 16, 18, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 23, 23, 23, 24, 27, 27, 27, 28, 28, 32, 35, 38, 39, 40, 40, 41, 44, 44, 44, 48; 42:15; 43:1, 1, 4; 44:1, 2, 3, 4, 11, 17, 17; 45:19; 46:1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 8, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 12, 12, 19; 47:2, 2; Ps 100:4; 1 Chr 9:18, 23; 16:42; 22:3; 26:13, 13, 16; 2 Chr 23:19, 20; 24:8; 27:3; 31:2

Fig. 3.4. Occurrences of the word saºar in the Hebrew Bible.

total: 15 Jer Esth

22:2, 4; 2:19, 21; 3:2, 3; 4:2, 2, 6; 5:9, 13; 6:10, 12; 2 Chr 23:5, 15

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gate is associated with the assembly of the inhabitants of the city of Shechem and their leader, Hamor. Pictured is an assembly of male citizens, which convenes in an official manner to decide on the important occasion of the marriage of their leader’s son, with considerable consequences for the city’s property and inheritance. Hence, the concept of city gate includes in its base the notions of a city-gate structure of a reasonable size and with an official function. The first characteristic that emerges out of these nine uses in the book of Genesis is that citizens are described by their ethnic name, as “all those who entered the city gate” or as “all those who went out of the city gate.” Apparently, the city gate is considered the defining element of the non-Israelite citizen. A second characterizing feature is that in Gen 23:10 the narrator in the presentation of Yhwh’s words and in sharing his viewpoint represents the citizens as those who enter the city: the profiled situation presupposes a starting point outside the city. In contrast, the narrator of Gen 34:20 shares Hamor’s and Shechem’s viewpoint and represents the citizens as those who leave the city: the profiled situation presupposes a starting point inside the city. In both cases, the point of reference is the collective of Canaanite citizens defined in terms of the city gate. The third characteristic is that in these Genesis texts the city gate is either marked by a city name (the city of Sodom) or by a possessive suffix. It is, therefore, always conceived as someone’s city gate. This person is either the city’s leader or the city’s inhabitants, and the latter are sometimes defined from the Israelite viewpoint as the city’s fiendish inhabitants. Consequently, in Genesis, a city, and a fortiori its city gate, is conceived as the main representative of its citizens—often ethnically defined—and their leader(s), so that we can conclude that the word saºar profiles an [entrance structure] or an [exit structure], depending on the viewpoint shared in the usage event, and includes in its base the notion of the [Canaanite city]. This profile-base relation stands out against the matrix of two cognitive domains: (Canaanite) [habitation] and (Canaanite) [administration]. In these domains, two regions are instantiated, namely, [living] and [jurisdiction]. In the book of Exodus, the word saºar is used 12 times, in 8 of which cases it is in the fixed-word combination “the gate of the tabernacle enclosure” (category II). 35 In 4 texts, it is employed differently. Once, in Exod 20:10, it occurs in the plural with a possessive pronoun: “[on the sabbath] you shall not do any work—you, your son or daughter, your male or female slave, your cattle, or the stranger who is within your gates.” The narrator presents Yhwh’s words to Moses on Mount Sinai and shares his viewpoint, although the Israelites do not yet have settlements in the land of Israel, but the situation profiled presupposes the existence of Israelite cities with gates. 35. Num 4:26 is the only other text with this word combination.

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In this projected situation, the Israelite cities are said to include gates that enclose its inhabitants and resident aliens. In Exod 20:10 the word saºar thus designates [entrance structure]/[Israelite city] and figures in the cognitive domains of (Israelite) [habitation] and (Israelite) [administration] and their regions of [living] and [religious regulation]. Three times, in Exod 32:26 and 36:27 (twice), the word saºar is used in reference to the gate of the Israelite camp in the wilderness: “Moses stood up in the gate of the camp and said, ‘Whoever is for Yhwh, come here!’ And all the Levites rallied to him.” The term “rally” or “collect” suggests a large public meeting in the camp gate and a gate structure of considerable size, which in fact could not have been the case in a tent encampment in the wilderness. The same is true for the next verse: “He said to them, ‘Thus says Yhwh, the God of Israel: Each of you put sword on thigh, go back and forth from gate to gate throughout the camp, and slay brother, neighbor, and kin.’” Here again the spatial situation imagined is of a land with a number of cities with their city gates. The concept of later Israelite cities is retrojected onto the encampment in the wilderness, with the city gates representing the Israelite tribes’ cities. This is a clear case of blending: the image of the camp and the image of the city are mixed into a composite semantic structure. In Exodus 32, the word saºar profiles an [entrance structure] on the two overlapping bases of [Israelite camp] and [Israelite city], which figure in the cognitive domain of (Israelite) [habitation] and [administration], in which the region of [religious regulation] is instantiated. In the book of Deuteronomy, the word saºar is used 34 times. It occurs 4 times in the singular. Deut 21:19 describes the case of an insolent son who does not obey his parents: “his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders of his town to the city gate of the place.” The city gate is the place where the elders convene to discuss all kinds of affairs of public interest, apparently even questions of pedagogy. Deut 22:15 presents the judicial case of a woman who, according to her husband, at the time of marriage is not a virgin: “In such a case the girl’s father and mother shall bring out the evidence of the girl’s virginity before the elders of the town at the gate.” The city gate is the place where the elders convene to discuss judicial matters, in this case the proof of innocence of the girl’s virginity. Another case is described in Deut 22:24 and concerns a virgin who is engaged to a man but with whom another man has already slept. Thus, the property of the fiancé is damaged. The verdict is clear: “You shall take the two of them out to the gate of that town and stone them to death.” This time, the meeting of the elders in the city gate is not mentioned, yet their death penalty outside the gate is depicted. On all three occasions in Deuteronomy, the viewpoint shared is that of the citizens, as is visible in the words ‘go out’, ‘bring out’. The last occurrence of the word saºar singular is in Deut 25:7, where someone’s refusal to perform the duty of a levir is discussed before the elders in the city gate: “his brother’s widow shall appear before the elders in the gate,” and

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the word saºar expresses the same profile-base relationship. In these four texts, saºar singular is used in an absolute state and profiles an [entrance structure] on the included base of [Israelite city] in the cognitive domain of the (Israelite) [habitation] and [administration], in which the region of [ jurisdiction] is instantiated. The other 30 usage events in Deuteronomy all contain the plural noun in the construct state with the possessive suffix “your” in combination with the preposition “in”: “in your gates” or “in any of your gates.” In these usage events, the city gates represent the Israelite settlements or cities. As such, the word saºar in Deuteronomy profiles an [entrance structure] on the inherently included base of the [Israelite city], in which the city is representing the center of power and administration, and the city gate is representing the city. Since the gate is used as a metaphor for the city, the word saºar has come to designate [Israelite city]/[land of Israel]. Actually, the same is the case in the book of Genesis, where the word saºar designates in the first instance [entrance structure]/[Canaanite city] and in the second instance [Canaanite city]/[land of Canaan]. In both books, the city gate is considered the defining element of the non-Israelite and Israelite cities and citizens. In Deuteronomy, it stands out against the cognitive domain of Israelite [habitation] and [administration] with their regions of [living] and [religious regulation]. Consequently, in the books of the Torah, the city gate mainly figures in the cognitive domain of the city’s inhabitants—that is, Canaanite or Israelite citizens. Three prototypical scenarios are associated with the city gate, depending on the regions in which the word saºar is employed. In the region of (every day) [living], prototypically one would perform acts of sitting— looking—speaking and/or of going in or going out. When the word saºar figures in the region of [regulation], [decision making], [ jurisdiction], the prototypical series of actions would include convene (particularly said of the city elders or city leaders)—sit—discuss—judge—decide. When it figures in the region of religion (within the cognitive domain of the Israelite city’s inhabitants), then the prototypical scenario would include the acts of convene—proclaim religious laws and sanctions. The mental picture that emerges from the interaction of these profiles, bases, regions, actions, and cognitive domains is that of a city-gate structure of a certain architectural magnitude. It entails notions of size, spatiality, room for sitting and convening, and administrative and judicial functions that are coherent with a picture of the city as a seat of power. In the book of Joshua, the word saºar occurs 5 times. Four times it is used in the context of war. The story of Rahab and the Israelite spies in Josh 2:5 and 2:7 describes the situation in the city of Jericho as follows: “at dark, when the gate was closed, the men left” and “and no sooner had the pursuers gone out than the gate was shut behind them.” It is remarkable that the city gate is not related to its inhabitants and therefore not called “their

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gates,” as would have been expected. Profiled is the [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of Jericho]. Two other texts tell about Joshua and his troops in relation to the city of Ai: Josh 7:5, “The men of Ai killed thirty-six of them, pursuing them outside the gate as far as Shebarim,” and Josh 8:29, “[the king’s corpse] was left lying at the entrance of the city gate.” Again, in Josh 7:5 the gate is not called “their gate,” and Josh 8:29 does not state that the king of Ai is hanged in “his” city gate. By not combining the city gate with a possessive pronoun, the Canaanites’ habitation in the city may be criticized implicitly and its ownership denied to the king. The word saºar profiles the [entrance structure] of the [city of ai], but not in the cognitive domain of (Israelite) [habitation] but of [war]. The last use of saºar is Josh 20:4: “He shall flee to one of those cities, present himself at the entrance to their city gate and plead his case before the elders of that city.” This time, the text refers to a future situation, in which Joshua is allotting land to the Israelite tribes, each of which will have its own settlements. Some of the tribes will have been assigned refugee cities for all Israelites ( Josh 20:9). The person responsible for unintentionally killing may flee to one of these cities for refuge and plead his case before the elders in the city gate. The gates are this time called “their city gates.” It seems as if the non-Israelite city gates are already disowned and are in the possession of Israelite citizens and their assemblies. Thus, the word saºar designates [entrance structure]/[Israelite city] against the region of [jurisdiction] in the cognitive domains of (Israelite) [habitation] and [administration], and its region of [jurisdiction]. The author of the book of Joshua construes the city gate in such a way that it is not linked to the Canaanites by possessive pronouns. He does, however, project a future Israelite state with refugee cities with “their city gates.” This tiny element shows how even city gates with or without possessive pronouns might figure in the discussion over the possession of the land. In the book of Judges, the word saºar occurs 9 times. Twice it is used in the plural in the Song of Deborah in Judges 5: “Was there war in the gates?” (5:8), and “Then did the people of Yhwh march down to the gates” (5:11). The city gate is the [entrance structure] and includes in its base the notion of the [Canaanite city]. At the same time, the city gate is metaphorically conceived as the main representative of its citizens, hence [Canaanite city]/[land of Canaan]. These profile-base relations stand out against the cognitive domain of [war]. Seven times it is used in the singular, and in these 7 occurrences the noun also refers to the city gates in a military context. In these texts, either people are standing in the city gate, preparing themselves for the fight to come, with an army ready to attack, or they wait for the enemies’ army or retreat to the entrance of the gate. 36 In the Samson 36. Judg 9:35: “When Gaal son of Ebed went out and stood at the city gate, Absalom and his army with him emerged from concealment”; 9:40: “Abimelech pursued him, and

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story, the protagonist takes out the doors of Gaza’s city gate (16:3). In the book of Judges the word saºar designates [entrance structure]/[city] and stands out against the cognitive domain of [war]. It reflects that part of the cognitive domain of [war] that is selected as base for its uses in Judges, namely, the regions of [military defense] or [military attack], which begins and ends at the city gate. These regions are the instantiated sets of a larger knowledge configuration that constitutes the cognitive domain of war. In the book of 1 Samuel, the word saºar is used 4 times. In 1 Sam 4:18, “Eli fell backward off the seat beside the gate, broke his neck and died,” the preposition “beside” suggesting a space beside the city gate of Shiloh that is not very well defined. The preposition “in the middle of” the gate in 1 Sam 9:18, “Saul approached Samuel in the middle of the gate and said to him,” evokes a mental image of Ramah’s city gate of a certain size and extent. In both instances, the word saºar designates the [entrance structure] of an [Israelite city] in the cognitive domains of (Israelite) [habitation] and [administration], the prepositions used suggesting an architectural structure of some substance. The plural form séºarîm in 1 Sam 17:52, “they pursued the Philistines all the way to Gai and up to the gates of Ekron; the Philistines fell mortally wounded along the road,” links the gates to the Philistines and designates [entrance structure]/[city of Ekron] in the cognitive domain of [war] and the region of [military attack] that ends at the city gate. Finally, in 1 Sam 21:14, David takes refuge in Gaza and feigns madness: “He scratched marks on the doors of the city gate and let his saliva run down his beard,” where the singular form saºar designates the [entrance structure] of the [city of Gaza] and also figures in the cognitive domain of [war] and its region of [refuge]. Hence, in 1 Samuel the city and its gate are defined in relation to its inhabitants. When the city gate belongs to one of the Israelite tribes, it is construed in terms of habitation and administration, and when it belongs to the Philistines it is construed in terms of war and military activities. The book of 2 Samuel contains the word saºar 12 times. Four of them figure in a context of warfare. The first use is in 2 Sam 3:27: “Joab took Abner to the middle of the gate [of Hebron] to talk to him privately; there he struck him in the belly.” The noun ‘the middle of the gate’ (r[çh ˚wt tôk hassaºar) suggests an architectural structure for a city gate of some magnitude. The other 3 uses are in 2 Sam 10:8, “The Ammonites marched out and took up their battle position at the entrance of the gate [of the city of Medeba]”; 37 many fell slain, all the way to the entrance of the gate”; 9:44 “[they] took up a position at the entrance of the city gate”; 16:2: “they lay in ambush for him in the city gate the whole night”; 18:16: “Their army of six hundred men stand at the entrance of the gate”; and 18:17: “The priest is standing at the entrance of the gate, and the six hundred men girt with their weapons of war.” 37. In 2 Sam 9:6–12, the name of the city is not mentioned. 1 Chr 19:6-15, which retells the story of 2 Samuel 9, calls it Medeba (19:7).

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2 Sam 11:23, “Then we drove them back up to the entrance of the gate [the city of Rabbah],” and 2 Sam 18:4, “[David] standing beside the gate as all troops marched out.” These figure in the cognitive domain of [war], in the region of [military attack], in which saºar designates the [entrance structure]/[city]. Again it appears that the city gate is the place where wars are begun or ended. Eight occurrences of saºar figure in the context of peace. 2 Sam 15:2 describes Absalom standing by the road to the city gate (of Jerusalem), waiting for someone “who had a case that was to come before the king for judgment.” The preposition is locative but does not give a proper description of the gate’s spatial configuration. However, the context suggests the city gate’s judicial function and implies, therefore, a larger gate structure. The most explicit architectural description of the city gate is 2 Sam 18:24, where twice it mentions: ‘David was sitting between the two city gates’, ynçAˆyb bçwy dwdw μyr[çh wédawid yoseb bên-sénê hasséºarîm; and ‘the watchman walked over the roof of the city gate to the city wall’, hmwjhAla r[çh ggAla hpxh ˚lyw wayyelek haßßopeh ªel-gag hassaºar ªel-ha˙ômâ. Five elements—the preposition “between,” the “two city gates,” the verb “sit,” the reference to the “roofed city gate,” and the fact that you can “walk over it”—indicate that the base included in this concept of the gate is of a complex architectural structure. From this usage event emerges a picture of a city gate that consists of an inner and outer gate (hence two gates), a courtyard between (hence the preposition “between”), and a roofed courtyard. 2 Sam 19:1 suggests a similar complex gate structure, when David is said “to go up to the upper chamber of the gate to weep,” and in 2 Sam 19:9, David is described as sitting in the gate. Finally, 2 Sam 23:15, 16 locate a cistern in the neighborhood of the city gate of Bethlehem without further information. In these 8 usage events, the word saºar designates [entrance structure]/[city] standing out against the cognitive domains of (Israelite) [habitation] and [administration] and its regions of [family life] and [jurisdiction]. In the book of 1 Kings, the word saºar occurs only twice, in 8:37 and 22:10, respectively. In chap. 8, Solomon sketches many possible disasters that may strike Israel. He describes one of them in v. 37, “if there is a pestilence, blight, mildew, locusts or caterpillars, or if an enemy oppresses them [= the people of Israel] in any of their gates in the land.” Here, the word saºar plural with possessive plural pronoun refers metaphorically to the Israelite cities in times of war: it profiles the [Israelite city] on the included base of the [land], in the cognitive domain of [war], and in its region of [oppression]. The subsequent use in 1 Kgs 22:10, “The king of Israel and King Jehoshaphat of Judah were seated on their thrones, arrayed in their robes, on the threshing floor at the entrance of the gate of Samaria; and all the prophets were prophesying before them,” portrays a scenario of two kings sitting outside Samaria’s gate complex. Here, the word saºar profiles the [entrance structure] on the included bases of the [city of samaria] in the cognitive

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domain of (Israelite) [administration] in which the region of [consultancy] is instantiated. In the book of 2 Kings, the word saºar is used 18 times, in 14 of which the included base is [city]. Six times, reference is made to Samaria’s city gate (7:1, 3, 17 [2x], 18, 20), twice to the city gate of Jezreel (9:31; 10:8), and once to the city gate of Jerusalem (25:4). Thus the [entrance structure] is profiled on the included base of the [city of Samaria], the [city of Jezreel], and the [city of Jerusalem], respectively. Three other references to a city gate in 2 Kgs 23:8 (3x) figure in the context of the destruction by King Josiah of the shrines in the towns of Judah where the priests had been making offerings: “He also demolished the shrines of the gates (μyr[çh twmb bamôt hasséºarîm) that were at the entrance of the city of Joshua, which were on a person’s left [upon entering] the city gate.” The word saºar designates [entrance structure]/[ Judahite city] in the cognitive domain of ( Judahite) [religion] in which the region of [cult] is instantiated. The city gate appears to play an important religious function, for the shrines are located at the city gate’s entrance. It presupposes a complex city-gate structure, with a courtyard or piazza. In 2 Kgs 14:13, the word saºar refers twice to named gates in Jerusalem’s city wall: “King Jehoash and his army make a breach in the wall of Jerusalem from the Ephraim Gate to the Corner Gate.” It thus profiles [named entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of Jerusalem]. Consequently, in the books of the Former Prophets, the word saºar figures in the context of either peace or war. In the former situation, it stands out against the cognitive domains of (Israelite) [habitation] and [administration] in which the regions of [ jurisdiction] and [living] are instantiated, or it stands out against the cognitive domain of ( Judahite) [religion] and its region of [cult]. In these uses, the cities are always related to the Israelite or Judahite citizens, and the city gate is called their gate. Conversely, when the word saºar stands out against the cognitive domain of [war] and its region of [military attack], the cities and city gates involved are either Canaanite/Philistine or Israelite, but the gates of the Canaanites are never called their gates. The prototypical scenarios related to the (Israelite/Judahite) city gate in a situation of peace depend on the region in which the term is used. In the region of living, the prototypical scenario is: someone stands or sits in the gate / between the gates—waits—looks or listens. In the region of jurisdiction: elders/the king sit in the gate—someone stands before them pleading his case—elders/the king make a final judgment. In the region of cult, someone offers a sacrifice at the shrine of the gate. In the context of war, the prototypical scenario related to the city gate is the following: warriors stand or take up their battle position at the entrance of the gate (once, while the king, David, is standing beside the city gate)—gird themselves with weapons of war—go out to assault the enemy—utter a war cry at the moment of at-

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tack—drive the other troops back—pursue them—kill them or slay them along the road—defeat them at the entrance to the city gate—mortally wound them or kill them. In other words, in the cognitive domain of [war], the prototypical scenarios linked to the city gate represent either the first stage or the final stage of warfare. In all usage events described in the Former Prophets and their prototypical scenarios, the word saºar profiles the [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city], from which emerges (both in times of peace and of war) a complex architectural structure in close relation to its administrative, judicial, and religious function or to the assembling and lining up of military troops. The use of saºar in the Former Prophets is distinct from its use in the Torah, because the Former Prophets associate both government and warfare with the city elders in the books of Judges and Joshua and with the king (or a would-be king, Absalom) in the books of Samuel–Kings. The only exceptions to the prototypical uses in the Former Prophets are the two usages of the word saºar in 2 Kgs 14:13, where it profiles a single [named entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of Jerusalem]. In the Latter Prophets, the word saºar occurs altogether 153 times; in 68 occurrences it is on the included base of the city, hence “city gate.” It is used 11 times in the book of Isaiah, always with the meaning of city gate. Isaiah I (chaps. 1–39) employs it 6 times. In Isaiah 14–25, the prophet makes a series of pronouncements that he dates “in the year that Ahaz died,” that is, 716 b.c.e. He paints a picture of an avalanche of destructions to come, from Philistia to Moab; from Damascus, Ephraim, and Aram to Jacob/Israel; from Egypt and Tyre to Judah; all cities will be destroyed, and the land will lie bare. Three times he uses the word saºar to designate the destruction of the city gates and the cities. The first time, in Isa 14:31, he addresses the cities of Philistia: “Howl, O gate; cry out, O city; quake, all Philistia!” He describes how the Philistine cities and gates will be demolished. The second time, in Isa 22:7, the prophet evokes the picture of a future event in which foreign troops will “storm at the gate in Judah.” The third time is Isa 24:12, where he refers to towns and cities in general, but again the context is one of military destruction: “Towns are broken, empty; every house is shut, none enters. (. . .) Desolation is left in the town and the gate is battered in ruins.” In all these cases, the word saºar is used in reference to unspecified city gates. It designates, therefore, the [entrance structures] on the included base of [cities] that stand out in the cognitive domain of [war]. The region to which this base belongs is [destruction]. In the other 3 uses in Isaiah I, the prophet addresses Jerusalem, while describing Yhwh’s future actions. He presents in Isa 26:1–2 a vision of the city of Jerusalem with its walls and gates: “In the land of Judah, ours is a mighty city; he makes victory our inner and outer wall. Open the gates, and let a righteous nation enter.” In this text, the word saºar profiles an [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of Jerusalem], and although

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the cognitive domain is [war], its region is one of [liberation]. The metaphorical usage in Isa 28:6 expresses a similar view: “In that day, Yhwh of hosts shall become a crown of beauty and a diadem of glory for the remnant of his people, and a spirit of judgment for him who sits in judgment and of valor for those who repel attacks at the gate.” The name “Yhwh of hosts” describes Yhwh as the military leader of his heavenly armies. He rewards those who sit in the gate as judge and those who repel the attack at the city gate. Hence, again the cognitive domain of [war] is undeniable; the word saºar profiles an [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of Jerusalem] in the region of [victory]. A comparable function is presupposed in Isa 29:21: “For the tyrant shall be no more (. . .) those who cause people to lose their lawsuits, laying a snare for the arbiter at the gate, and wronging by falsehood the one who was in the right.” The word saºar profiles an [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of Jerusalem], in the cognitive domain of [war] and its region of [liberation] of a tyrant who has wiped out righteousness in the gate. Isaiah II (chaps. 40–55) tells of the period immediately after the war and uses the word saºar twice. In Isa 45:1, Yhwh addresses the Persian ruler Cyrus, “whose right hand I have grasped, treading down nations before him, ungirding the loins of kings, opening doors before him, and letting no gates stay shut,” thus evoking a picture of the liberation of the cities occupied by the Babylonians. The plural séºarîm designates the [entrance structures]/ [cities] against the cognitive domain of [war] in which the region of [liberation] is instantiated. In Isa 54:12, in a vision, the prophet depicts Zion as a postwar city: “I will make your battlements of rubies, your gates of precious stones” and employs the plural séºarîm to designate the [entrance structures] of the [city of Zion] against the cognitive domain of [(post)war] and the region of [safety]. Isaiah III (chaps. 56–66) recounts the postwar situation, 3 times using the plural séºarîm. In Isa 60:11, “Your gates always stay open, day and night they shall never be shut,” the war is over and the gates of Zion, a glorious city, are open at all times for the nations who want to praise the Lord. Nevertheless, in postwar times, war is still present in the background, as is apparent from Isa 60:18, “The cry ‘Violence!’ shall no more be heard in your land or ‘Wrack and ruin!’ within your borders. And you shall name your walls ‘Victory’ and your gates ‘Renown.’” Expectation and jubilation are clearly visible in Isa 62:10, “Pass through, pass through the gates! Clear the road for the people.” The gates of Zion have lost their function as constructions of defense. The cognitive domain is [freedom], the region is [openness to all nations]. Its usage is, therefore, a metonym of the gate’s openness. Consequently, in the book of Isaiah, the word saºar figures in distinct stages of the cognitive domain of [war]: in wartime—Isaiah I; immediately after the war—Isaiah II; and in a postwar situation—Isaiah III. When used in Isaiah I (Isa 14:31; 22:7; 24:12) in relation to any [city] at all, it stands out

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against the region of [destruction], but when it is used in Isa 26:1–2; 28:6; 29:21 in relation to the [city of Jerusalem], it stands out against the region of [victory]. The same contrast in usage is visible in Isaiah II. In Isa 45:1, it is used to designate [entrance structures] of [cities] in the region of [liberation], while in Isa 54:12 it is used in reference to the [entrance structures] of the [city of Zion], and it figures in the region of [safety]. Finally, in Isaiah III (Isa 60:11, 18; and 62:10), it is used in relation to the city of Zion only, where it figures in the region of [openness]. The prototypical scenarios presupposed in these three parts of the book of Isaiah differ. On the one hand, Isaiah I visualizes towns and cities at the end of a lost war. The city gates are located in the land of Philistia, Judah, and all over the earth. The prototypical series of actions is: destruction of houses— empty places—no happiness—cries of sadness—desolation—destroyed gates—no one enters the city and its houses anymore. On the other hand, Isaiah I projects onto the city of Jerusalem another series of actions: singing a song of victory—opening of the gates—letting in a righteous nation— glory—safety—a spirit of judgment for those who sit in judgment in the city gate—courage for those who repel attacks at the gate. Isaiah I presupposes, therefore, the destruction of the other cities and the other city gates but not Jerusalem. In Isaiah II, a distinction is also made between the cities other than Zion and Zion itself. The projected prototypical scenarios differ, too: the city gates of all cities are opened, whereas those of Zion are closed, made firmer and more glorious than ever. The safety of Zion’s gates is emphasized: the walls encircling the city are made of gems, the city gates of precious stones, so that no one shall have fear. Isaiah III suggests a prototypical scenario for postwartime Zion in which the gates stay open: they are never closed but open at all times for the nations who want to praise the Lord, and all righteous nations are allowed to pass through the gates. Twenty-eight times the word saºar is used in the book of Jeremiah, in 21 of which it is used in reference to the city gate, where the word saºar predominantly profiles an [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of jerusalem]. Once, in Jer 51:58, it is used on the included base of the [city of Babylon], “Thus said Yhwh of Hosts: ‘Babylon’s broad wall shall be knocked down, and her high gates set afire.’” Once, in Jer 14:2, it is used on the included base of the [ Judahite cities] that languish owing to famine and drought. And once, in Jer 15:7, “I will scatter them through the gates of the earth,” it is used on the included base of all [cities]. These uses thus stand out against the cognitive domain of [war] and its regions of [fire], [famine], and [dispersion]. When the word saºar is used in reference to the city gate of Jerusalem (18 times), a distinction can be made between the usage events in which saºar designates unnamed city gates in Jerusalem and events in which it designates a single named gate in Jerusalem. Instances of the former are 1:15, which concerns the placing of seats in the entrance of the city gate, 17:19

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(2x), 20, 21, 24, 25, and 27 (2x), where the word is used in the cognitive domain of [administration] and its region [Sabbath regulations], and 22:19, where it is employed in the cognitive domain of [administration] and its region of [burial organization]. Instances of the latter are the Corner Gate in 31:38, the Horse Gate in 31:40, the Benjamin Gate in 37:13 and 38:7, the Middle Gate in 39:3, and the “gate between the double walls” in 39:4 and 52:7. In Jer 19:2, it remains unclear which city gate is referred to. When the word saºar is used to designate an unnamed city gate in Jerusalem, the word derives its meaning from the cognitive domain of [administration] and its region of [religious regulations] in contrast to the cases in which saºar is used to refer to a named city gate, where it merely figures in a topographical sense. The book of Ezekiel contains 99 occurrences of the word saºar and is therefore one of the word’s most frequent users. In 78 cases (mainly in chaps. 40–47), Ezekiel employs the word saºar on the included base of the temple, hence “temple gate.” In the other 21 usage events, it designates the [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city]. Twelve times it profiles a named city gate of Jerusalem: the Reuben Gate, the Judah Gate, the Levi Gate (48:31); the Joseph Gate, the Benjamin Gate, the Dan Gate (48:32); the Simeon Gate, the Issachar Gate, the Zebulun Gate (48:33), and the Gad Gate, the Asher Gate, and the Naphtali Gate (48:34). These gates do not refer to real, existing gates in Jerusalem but are closely linked to Ezekiel’s vision of a future with the twelve tribes of Israel and their territories, a future in which each of them will enter its own gate—that is, the gate named after the tribe—into the city of Jerusalem. These named city gates function as toponyms. This is different from the other 3 uses of the word saºar in reference to unnamed city gates. In Ezekiel 21, the prophet addresses the chieftains of Israel in v. 20: “at all their gates I have appointed slaughter [by the sword].” In vv. 26–27: “For the king of Babylon has stood at the fork of the road, where two roads branch off, to perform divination (. . .). In his right hand came up the omen against Jerusalem—to set the battering rams, to proclaim murder, to raise battle shouts, to set battering rams against the gates, to cast up mounds, to erect towers.” This is a perfect description of the prototypical scenario of Assyrian and Babylonian warfare. Finally, in Ezek 26:7, 10, the prophet addresses Tyre: “For thus said Yhwh God: I will bring from the north, against Tyre, King Nebuchadrezzar of Babylon, a king of kings, with horses, chariots, and horsemen—a great mass of troops. (. . .) Your wall shall shake—when he enters your gates.” These 3 uses designate an [entrance structure] on the base of [city], [city of Jerusalem], or [city of Tyre]; this profile-base relation functions in the cognitive domain of [war] and its region of [destruction]. The fourth text, in Ezek 40:3, tells of a man “who shone like copper standing at the gate with a cord of linen and a measuring rod.” This divine messenger will help measure the plans for the new temple.

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The cognitive domain is [building] in which the region of [measurement] is instantiated. Consequently, in the book of Ezekiel, the 12 named city gates of Jerusalem designate an [entrance structure]/[city of Jerusalem] in the cognitive domain of [tribes of Israel], whereas the 3 unnamed gates figure in the cognitive domain of [war] and its region of [destruction]. In the former, no prototypical scenario is projected; in the latter it is explicitly expressed in Ezek 20:27. In the book of Amos, the word saºar occurs 3 times. In chap. 5, the prophet pictures the leaders of Samaria as a people who “hate the arbiter in the gate and detest him whose plea is just” (5:10). He accuses them, “you enemies of the righteous, you takers of bribes, you who subvert in the gate” (5:12), and, finally, calls them to “hate evil and love good, and establish justice in the gate” (5:15). This implies that he refers to the city gate as the seat of power and jurisdiction. In this triple use of the word, saºar designates the [entrance structure] of the [city of Samaria], which stands out against the cognitive domain of [administration], in which the region of [jurisdiction] is instantiated. The prototypical series of correct actions in this region would include convene—sit—discuss—love good, hate evil—judge righteously—establish justice in the gate. However, the negative prototypical scenario is also present: convene—sit—discuss—love evil, hate good—take bribes—judge falsely—establish injustice in the gate. In the book of Obadiah, the term saºar is used twice with reference to the city gates of Jerusalem. It designates, therefore, the [entrance structures] of the [city of Jerusalem]. Obad 1:11, “when foreigners entered his gates and cast lots for Jerusalem,” and Obad 1:13, “how could you enter the gate of my people,” speak about foreigners (Babylonians) as those who enter the gates of Jerusalem and the gates of “my” people. It seems to refer to the destruction of Jerusalem by Nebuchadrezzar. The cognitive domain is [war] and the regions of [invasion] and [destruction]. In the book of Micah, the prophet speaks of Samaria, Jerusalem, the shrines in Judah, and the transgressions of Israel. In Mic 1:9, “the wound (of the nation) is incurable; it has reached Judah; it has spread to the gate of my people, to Jerusalem.” It is not clear whether “the gate of my people” and “Jerusalem” are in parallelism with each other. If so, the gate includes the [city of Jerusalem] as its base; if not, it includes every [city in Judah] as its base. In 1:12, “yet disaster from Yhwh descended upon the gate of Jerusalem,” the object is unambiguous, and the gate stands for the inhabitants of this city: [entrance structure]/[city of Jerusalem]. Finally, Mic 2:13 speaks about the assembling of the remnant of Israel (after the Assyrian occupation of Israel) in a place that “they enlarge [. . .] to a gate,” in which the word saºar represents the place where these people live. In this verse, saºar profiles the [entrance structure] of a [city]. The bases included in the word saºar vary in Micah from the city of Jerusalem to the cities in Judah to

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an undefined city. They all seem to stand out against the cognitive domain of [war] and its region of [disaster]. The prophet Nahum prophesies about Nineveh and uses the metaphor “the gates of the rivers will be opened, so that the palace of Nineveh will be flooded” (Nah 2:7). Here, saºar designates the [exit structure]/[rivers], which is a somewhat exceptional use of the term, as if the rivers were enclosed by walls that are breached, so that the palace in Nineveh is overrun. It seems, therefore, very likely that it is meant metaphorically: the cognitive domain of [war] and its destructive forces are the source domain that are transferred to the target domain of the water and its destructive forces. The effect is that the seat of power in Nineveh is demolished. In Nah 3:13, “the gates of your land have opened themselves to your enemies; fire has consumed your gate bars,” the gates stand for the Assyrian cities. The word saºar profiles therefore [entrance structures] on the base of [Assyrian cities]. Here again the cognitive domain is [war], the region [destruction]. The prophet Zephaniah refers in Zeph 1:10 to a single named city gate in Jerusalem: the Fish Gate. The prophet Zechariah uses the word saºar 4 times. In 8:16, “speak the truth to one another; render true and perfect justice in your gates,” the prophet seems to express a general wisdom, as the first two clauses, “speak the truth” and “render true,” indicate. In the same way, “render perfect justice in the city gate” does not imply a reference to a city gate as such. In 14:10, the prophet refers to three named city gates in Jerusalem: the Gate of Benjamin, the Old Gate, and the Corner Gate. Consequently, the books of the Minor Prophets differ in their use of saºar. Amos is the only one who does not refer to the gates of Jerusalem but to the gates of the city of Samaria and their administrative function, while Nahum refers to Assyrian cities and to Nineveh in times of war and destruction. The others, Obadiah, Micah, Zephaniah, and Zechariah, refer to the gates of Jerusalem in times of war, while the last two refer to single named gates in Jerusalem. Zechariah presupposes on one occasion an administrative function for the city gates of Judah and Jerusalem. In the collection of books known as the Writings, the variation in the ways the word saºar is used is still greater. The 13 uses in the book of Psalms are often metaphorical, such as “the gates of death” (9:14; 107:18), in opposition to “the gates of Zion” (9:15; 87:2; see also 118:19, 20), which include the base of [the city of Zion] that stands for life. In “O gates, lift up your heads” (24:7, 9), the gates represent the inhabitants of the land and their cities. Uses that are not metaphorical are Ps 69:13, “Those who sit in the city gate talk about me,” in Ps 122:2, “Our feet stood inside your gates, O Jerusalem,” and in Ps 147:12–13, “O Jerusalem, glorify Yhwh; praise your God, O Zion! For he made the bars of your gates strong, and blessed your sons within you,” where the word saºar profiles an [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city of jerusalem]. Ps 127:5, “when they contend

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with the enemy in the gate,” entails the [city] as base in the cognitive domain of [war], the region of [attack]. Finally, it remains unclear whether Ps 100:4, “Enter his gates with praise, his courts with acclamation,” profiles an [entrance structure]/[city] or a metaphorical meaning. In the book of Proverbs, no metaphorical use can be detected. In Prov 1:21, “At the head of the busy streets, she [wisdom] calls; at the entrance of the gates, in the city, she speaks out,” and in Prov 8:3, “Near the gates at the city entrance, at the entryways, she [wisdom] calls,” the word saºar profiles the [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city]. These uses do not imply an extensive city-gate function. The same is true for the other 5 uses: 14:19, “Evil men are brought low before the good; so are the wicked at the gates of the righteous”; 22:22, “Do not crush the poor man in the gate” designates the same contents; 24:7, “A fool does not open his mouth in the gate”; 31:23, “[a capable wife] her husband is prominent in the gates, as he sits among the elders of the land”; and 31:31, “let her work praise her in the gates”; in all of these cases, the word saºar profiles the [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city] without specifying a certain cognitive domain. In the book of Job, the word saºar is used 5 times. In 5:4, Job curses a fool: “May his children be far from success; may they be oppressed in the gate with none to deliver them,” which suggests the gate as a seat of power, a place where leaders discuss matters of importance, in which the fool plays no role at all. In the second use, in Job 29:7, the character Job gives a very flattering description of his position in the past, “When I passed through the city gates to take my seat in the square, young men saw me and hid; elders rose and stood; nobles held back their words.” This text presupposes a gate structure with ample space for people to sit, to speak justice, to administer. Both social function and spatial organization necessitates a city gate of some architectural spaciousness and social-administrative function, with the city as container of power. The same is true for Job 31:21, in which Job offers a conditional inference: “If I raised my hand against the fatherless, looking to my supporters in the gate, may my arm drop off my shoulder.” His rhetorical strategy is clear: He did not raise his hand against someone, he did behave correctly; hence, he should not have been punished. The situation requires Job’s function as judge in the city gate in the presence of some bystanders. In all three uses, the word saºar profiles the [entrance structure] on the included base of the [city] in the cognitive domain of [administration] and the region of [ jurisdiction]. Finally, in the speech from the whirlwind, God speaks metaphorically about the gates of death and the gates of deep darkness. Song 7:5, “Your neck is like a tower of ivory, your eyes like pools in Heshbon by the gate of Bath-rabbim,” contains a named city gate. The 4 uses in the book of Ruth (3:11; 4:1, 10, 11) are unambiguous and clear. The gathering of city elders in the gate of Bethlehem and the presence

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of other witnesses suggest enough space for at least 12 people. The verb “turn aside,” used twice when Boaz asks the kinsman to turn aside and sit down, expresses in language what we can visualize easily: the person coming in must turn from the causeway to the gate chamber, where matters of public interest are discussed. In Ruth 4:1–2 and 9–10, the same thing is expressed. All uses profile the [entrance structure] on the included base of [city], and this profile-base relationship stands out against the cognitive domain of ( Judahite) [administration] and its region of [ jurisdiction]. The 4 occurrences in Lamentations, on the other hand, include the city of Zion in its base (1:4; 2:9; 4:12; 5:14). The book of Nehemiah recounts the destruction and rebuilding of the walls and gates of Jerusalem. It includes 41 occurrences of the word saºar. After an introduction that describes the destruction of the wall and gates of Jerusalem in general terms (Neh 1:3; 2:3, 13, 17), in which the word is used to designate the [entrance structures] on the base of the [city of Jerusalem], Nehemiah starts to tell in chap. 3 of the reconstruction of the destroyed parts of the walls and of a series of named gates, such as the Sheep Gate, the Fish Gate, the Jeshanah Gate, the Valley Gate, the Dung Gate, the Fountain Gate, the Water Gate, the Horse Gate, the East Gate, the Muster Gate, and the Sheep Gate again. 38 On all these occasions, the word saºar profiles a single [named gate] on the base of the [city of Jerusalem]. Subsequently, the scribe Ezra reads the Torah in the square in front of the Water Gate (8:1, 3, 16) and in front of the Ephraim Gate (8:16). After some general references in chaps. 11 and 12, 39 the procession on the walls and the gates is described as passing by the following named gates: the Dung Gate, the Fountain Gate, the Water Gate, the Gate of Ephraim, the Jeshanah Gate, the Fish Gate, the Sheep Gate, and the Gate of the Prison Compound. 40 The last uses reflect the practice of closing the gates and keeping them closed on the Sabbath. 41 Thus, we may safely conclude that the word saºar 12 times profiles the [entrance structures] on the base of the [city of Jerusalem], which stand out against the cognitive domain of [building], and 29 times it profiles a single [named gate] on the base of the [city of Jerusalem]. In the chronological retelling of Israel’s history in 1 Chronicles, the names of past persons and their descendants lead to a historical blending. Thus, the gatekeepers of the Levite camp in the wilderness are blended with the gatekeepers of the King’s Gate, and the gatekeepers of the House of the Tent in the wilderness is synchronized with the gatekeepers of the House of the Lord or the temple (9:23; 16:42; 22:3; 26:13 [2x], 16). The word saºar pro38. Neh 3:1, 3, 6, 13 (2x), 14, 15, 26, 28, 29, 31, and 32. 39. Neh 11:19 and 12:25: “the gatekeepers who stood watch at the gates.” Neh 12:30: “the priests and the Levites purified themselves; then they purified the people, and the gates, and the wall.” 40. Neh 12:31, 37 (2x), and 39 (5x). 41. Neh 13:19 (2x), 22.

spread is 6 points long

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99

Habitation

Administration

War

Prototypical Scenario

Citizens pass through their gates: go out or go in, or sit—look at passersby

Elders convene—sit— discuss—judge—decide

Warriors take up battle positions—gird their weapons—or follow other armies up to their city gates

Bible book

regions

regions

regions

Genesis

Canaanites

living jurisdiction

Exodus

Israelites

living religious regulation

Deuteronomy

Israelites

living jurisdiction religious regulation

Joshua

Canaanites Israelites

Judges

war jurisdiction

Canaanites

military defense military attack military defense military attack

Israelites 1 Samuel 2 Samuel

Philistines

refuge

Israelites

meeting place

Ammonites Israelites

1 Kings 2 Kings

oppression consultancy

Samaritans Judeans

Isaiah I

military attack jurisdiction family life

Enemies Israelites

military attack

military defense religion, cult (destruction of)

military defeat

Philistines

destruction

Judeans

military defeat destruction

Amos

Samaritans

jurisdiction

Job

Citizens

jurisdiction

Ruth

Judeans

jurisdiction

Fig. 3.5. Distribution of the word saºar over three cognitive domains.

files in these cases and in 22:3 the [entrance structure] on a base that changes from [tent of meeting] to [temple]. Only in one place is its meaning different, namely, in 11:17, 18, where David asks for some water from the cistern “by the gate of Bethlehem.” Here the word saºar includes in its base the concept of a gate in Bethlehem. This text is repeating 2 Sam 23:13–16. In the book of 2 Chronicles, the word saºar occurs 19 times; 12 times it includes the city in its base structure, 5 times the temple, and twice the palace. In the prayer of Solomon in 6:28, 1 Kgs 8:37 is cited, “if an enemy oppresses them in any of the gates of their land,” in which the gate stands for

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the city. The usage in 18:9, “The kings of Israel and King Jehoshaphat of Judah, wearing their robes, were seated on their thrones situated in the threshing floor at the entrance of the gate of Samaria,” is a direct quotation from 1 Kgs 22:10. The word saºar designates [entrance structure]/[city of Samaria]. In contrast, in 8:14 (2x); 32:6; and 35:15 (2x), this word includes the base of the city of Jerusalem and designates, therefore, [entrance structure]/[city of Jerusalem]. Finally, named city gates of Jerusalem are presented 5 times: the Ephraim Gate and Corner Gate in 25:23 (2x); the Corner Gate and the Valley Gate in 26:9 (2x); and the Fish Gate in 33:14. 3.3.3.4 Evaluation of textual data This extensive study of the biblical usage of the word saºar has given a good impression of the aspects of city life associated with the city gate. The various cognitive domains show the culturally and historically defined mental configurations of experience and knowledge in ancient Cisjordan. The prototypical series of actions, events, and behavior in relation to the city gate elucidate its most representative functions. Consequently, in a historical context in which the inhabitants of a city are identified with the city gate and are conceptualized as those who are going in and going out through the gate, who sit in it and look at the passersby, or in a historical situation in which the administration of a city is associated with the elders or kings sitting in its gate to convene, discuss, and decide public matters; or in a historical situation in which the preparations in times of war are linked with the lining up of the army at the entrance to the city gate—on all these occasions, the notion of an architectural structure of some substance is entailed in the meaning of saºar. If they were not included in this linguistic unit’s base, these prototypical actions and semantic content could not have materialized. The distribution of the word saºar over these three cognitive domains is revealing, as fig. 3.5 shows (p. 99). It thus appears that the uses of saºar in the books of the Torah and the Former Prophets, in two books of the Latter Prophets (Isaiah I, Amos), and in two books of the Writings ( Job, Ruth) include in their base a link to 1. city inhabitants who lived in preexilic periods—namely, Canaanites, Philistines, Samaritans, and Judeans 2. cities in Canaan, Philistia, Israel, Samaria, and Judah that became of lesser importance after the Assyrian occupation 3. an administrative and judicial function that presupposes a gate structure of some substance 42 4. war-related prototypical scenarios that presuppose a gate structure of some substance 42. The book of Genesis is the only book in the Hebrew Bible in which the Canaanites and their cities and city gates are explicitly associated with the cognitive domain of administration. In all the other books of the Hebrew Bible, administrative activities in the city gates are exclusively related to Israelites, Judeans, or inhabitants of Jerusalem.

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Administration

P B

War P = [ ENTRANCE STRUCTURE ] B = [ CITY ] Fig. 3.6. The city gate in the Torah, Former Prophets, Isaiah I, Amos, Job, and Ruth.

Distributional data of this sort make it highly plausible indeed that these biblical texts represent views and concepts that go back to a preexilic period. In the Latter Prophets and Writings, on the other hand, the word saºar is either used to designate the city gates of Jerusalem or it is used to designate named city gates in Jerusalem. Almost nowhere in the Latter Prophets and Writings (with the exception of Isaiah I, Amos, Ruth, and Job, and with the exception of 2 Chr 18:9, which quotes 2 Kings 22) is reference made to a city gate in Canaan, Philistia, Israel, Samaria, or Judah outside Jerusalem, nor is their complex gate structure implied. Thus, it turns out that the meaning of the word saºar in the books of the Torah and the Former Prophets differs from the meaning of the word saºar in the books of the Latter Prophets and Writings. Although in all usage events it designates [entrance structure]/[city], the profile-base relation itself stands out against two different matrices of cognitive domains, as represented in figs. 3.6 and 3.7 (pp. 101–102). 3.3.3.5 Archaeological and cognitive linguistic data: Some conclusions A comparison of the results from the textual and cognitive linguistic analyses with the results from the archaeological investigations of the city-

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Gate of Jerusalem Named Gate of Jerusalem P B

P = [ ENTRANCE STRUCTURE ] B = [ CITY OF JERUSALEM ] Fig. 3.7. The city gate in the Latter Prophets and Writings.

gate structure in ancient Cisjordan shows remarkable correspondences. The conceptualization expressed by the linguistic unit saºar in the Torah, Former Prophets, and the books of Isaiah I, Amos, Job, and Ruth, which includes in its base a complex architectural city-gate structure and an administrative and/or military function, confirms the archaeologically reconstructed Cisjordan architectural structures of Iron IIB city gates before the Assyrian occupation, which consisted grosso modo of 6-chambered or 4-chambered city gates. And the disappearance of the use of the linguistic unit saºar in the Latter Prophets and Writings in the cognitive domains of habitation, administration, and war with respect to cities other than Jerusalem coincides with the disappearance of city gates in the Northern and Southern regions of Cisjordan after the Assyrian and Babylonian occupations. The references to Jerusalem’s city gates in the Latter Prophets are either metaphorical (Isaiah II, Isaiah III, Ezekiel) or fit the archaeologically reconstructed Iron IIC city gates in Jerusalem ( Jeremiah and Obadiah). Archaeological evidence forces us to understand the list of Jerusalem’s city gates in Nehemiah 3 as an inaccurate historical description of the rebuilding of the city walls in the Persian period or in the early Hellenistic period. It is, therefore, plausible to conclude that Nehemiah 3 is a late text inserted into the book of Nehemiah (Finkelstein 2008). Consequently, while referring to the “first wall”—that is, the building of the walls of Jerusalem in the Hasmonean period—Nehemiah 3 transfers this construction to the Persian pe-

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riod. The acceptance of a Hasmonean reality behind the city-wall account in Nehemiah 3 would call for a drastic new approach to the entire book of Nehemiah. In sum, the material development of Cisjordan Iron Age city-gate structures is reflected in the conceptual development of the word saºar. The consequences of these insights are considerable, both for the understanding of biblical texts and for questions of dating. Take, for example, the 4 uses of the word saºar in the books of 2 Samuel, Isaiah I, Amos, Ruth, and Job. In 2 Sam 18:24, David is sitting between the two gates. The word saºar profiles the entrance structure to a city and includes the inherent semantic base of a complex gate structure: an inner gate and outer gate and a space between. In other words, the preposition between would have been inexplicable, were it not entailing a complex city-gate structure. In order to create a mental image of Ruth’s spatial organization, knowledge of the city gate is indispensable. Without it, one could not grasp the conceptual content of the word saºar. The same is true for the books of Isaiah I, Amos, and Job and their uses of saºar. Job’s conceptual image of a city-gate structure, in which he takes a seat in the gate square, in which the city’s leaders discuss matters of public importance and youngsters withdraw from the sight of the city elders, fits an early dating perfectly. The conclusion can, therefore, be drawn that Biblical Hebrew lexemes can be used as a tool to study the evolution of views and concepts through time. It might be one of the instruments for the historical dating of texts in the Hebrew Bible. My proposal is, therefore, to add a cognitive linguistic study of the Hebrew Bible based on language usage to diachronic lexicographical studies and diachronic syntactic studies. 43 Such a cognitive approach provides both the theoretical concepts and the instruments to allow us to analyze the interconnectivity of the various types of data from varied origins. As a result, references to natural, material, cultural, social, and other phenomena that are accessible to us only in the reconstructions of modern geography, biology, archaeology, anthropology, cultural, and social studies are included in the base structures of words. Hence, a study of the way experienced phenomena are conceived in language and expressed in profiles and inherently included bases will also enable us to grasp the evolution of concepts through time. 43. Diachronic lexicographical research as practiced by Hurvitz (see chap. 1, §1.2.2, p. 6); diachronic syntactic research as practiced by Eskhult and Joosten (again, see chap. 1, §1.2.2, p. 7).

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Chapter 4

Grammar as Cognition, Part 1: Nominal Profiles

4.1. Nominal and relational profile, trajector, and landmark . . . . 4.2. Grounding and integration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3. Summary of chapters 4, 5, and 6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.4. Nominal profiles: Independent and relational nouns . . . . . . . 4.5. Relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.1. Nouns designating family and family in-law relationships 4.5.2. Nouns designating affiliation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.3. Nouns designating partial or spatial entities . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.4. Participial nouns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.5.5. Infinitives absolute . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.6. Grounding of nominals in usage events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.7. Integration of nominals in texts and valence relations . . . . . . 4.8. Example: The nouns “child” and dly yeled . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

105 108 109 110 114 114 117 119 119 120 121 123 124

Someone shouts at you: “You are a loser.” You feel offended. It would have been different had that person said: “You have lost.” The words “loser” and “lose” express the same concept in the same cognitive domain; nevertheless, their meanings are completely different. Or, compare “He is a doctor” with “She works as a librarian,” in which his profession is expressed as a nominal to the effect that he is conceived as essentially being defined by the unity he is part of, whereas her profession is expressed by a verb and thought of as a temporary occupation. The nominal-verb distinction contributes, therefore, to the way a situation is viewed. This explains why meaning cannot be restricted to lexical concepts alone but extends to word classes, which traditionally are studied in morphology in distinction from semantics, and extends to word combinations, which traditionally are studied in syntax in distinction from semantics. Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar explains how grammatical components of thought contribute to meaning configurations in the mind. The integration of meaning and grammar is Cognitive Grammar’s main characteristic. It will become clear that it has considerable consequences for integrated linguistic, textual, and historical studies.

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P B Fig. 4.1. Nominal profile.

4.1. Nominal and relational profile, trajector, and landmark Let me begin with a recollection of Cognitive Grammar’s point of departure. Cognitive Grammar considers a word’s meaning to be both conceptual and contextual. Meaning is not objectively given, but constructed, even for expressions pertaining to objective reality. We therefore cannot account for meaning by describing objective reality, but only by describing the cognitive routines that constitute a person’s understanding of it. The subject matter of semantic analysis is human conceptualization, and the structures of concern are those that a person imposes on his mental experience through active cognitive processing. Coherent mental experience is structured with reference to previous experience. The activation of a previously established cognitive routine serves as standard (S) for an act of comparison in which some facet of current experience functions as target (T).1 (. . .) the overall event is one of recognition, and T is thereby interpreted as an instance of S. (Langacker 1987: 194)

A language’s grammar expresses culturally and socially entrenched cognitive routines and serves as the schemata to its language users. Each text or speech event is thus the instance of such a linguistic schema. Most languages know in their grammar a distinction between nouns and verbs. Nouns profile an entity as a unity, as “some thing” or a “thing,” and have a nominal profile. They enable their users to construe their perceptions, experiences, knowledge, or ideas as single meaning configurations in the mind. Someone who is called “a terrorist” is tagged in our minds and the tag will determine its profile all the way through. Pronominals and proper names also construe something as a thing and have, therefore, a nominal profile. Figure 4.1—which is the same as fig. 3.1—is the diagrammatic representation of these nominal profiles, in which the bold circle represents the profiled “thing,” and the box represents the inherently included base that figures in a region of a cognitive domain (not included in fig. 4.1). 1. “Standard” is a synonym of schema, and “target” is a synonym of instance (see chap. 2).

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So far we have concentrated on words that profile an entity as a unity. But many words, such as verbs, prepositions, adjectives, or adverbs have a different kind of profile. They put interconnections among conceived entities in profile and have, therefore, a relational profile. Consider the following example given by Polinsky (1996: 401). 2 (1)

a. Dr. Jekyll is near Mr. Hyde. b. Mr. Hyde is near Dr. Jekyll.

The proper names Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde profile two persons as two “things” or unities, and the preposition “near” profiles the spatial relation between the two. Although sentences (1a) and (1b) could be used to talk about exactly the same situation, they differ in that they construe the situation differently. The difference has to do with the relevant prominence of the two nominal entities. In (1a), Mr. Hyde provides a reference point with respect to which Dr. Jekyll is situated: Dr. Jekyll stands out as the entity being assessed, and this assessment takes the form of a relationship to Mr. Hyde, and in (1b) the reverse is expressed. In Langacker’s terminology, in (1a) Dr. Jekyll is referred to as a “trajector” and Mr. Hyde as the “landmark” or point of reference, whereas in (1b) Mr. Hyde is referred to as a “trajector” and Dr. Jekyll as the “landmark.” In other words, in prominence-building and its resulting relational profiles, one element is singled out as the primary focus of attention. 3 The trajector, or tr, is the more prominent entity within the conceptualization of a relation and the primary focus of attention, whereas the landmark entity, or lm, has secondary focus. Hence, a trajector is defined as the figure in a relational profile. Other salient entities are identified as landmarks or ground. The trajector/landmark asymmetry is, therefore, a special case of the figure/ground alignment (Langacker 1987: 231). Figure 4.2 is the diagrammatic representation of these relational profiles. 4 In this diagram, the two circles (“things”) stand for the trajector (tr) and the landmark (lm) of the relation; the line joining the circles stands for the relation between the trajector and the landmark. The surrounding box represents the domain (D) against which the relation is conceptualized. The profiled elements are in bold (Taylor 2002: 207). This diagram shows that in every relation one 2. It is common in linguistics to refer to a group of example sentences that are compared as (1a), (1b), (1c) and begin the numbering anew in each chapter. If sentences or words are marked with an asterisk *, they are incorrect as to grammar or lexical usage and are therefore not used in common language usage events but for the sake of clarification only. 3. Another example of prominence-building is currency exchange. When we say 1 Euro = 1.52 U.S. dollars, the Euro is the trajector and the dollar the landmark; in 1 dollar = 0.65 Euros, the dollar is the trajector and the Euro the landmark. 4. Figure 4.2 is Taylor’s fig. 11.1 (Taylor 2002: 207).

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tr

lm D Fig. 4.2. A relational profile.

element is construed as trajector and “tracked” against the background provided by another element (or other elements), which is construed as its landmark. Relational profiles can either be of a temporal or an atemporal nature. Temporal profiles designate processual relations and correspond to the class of verbs; they express an action or an event as a process and follow its evolution through time. Atemporal profiles correspond to the classes of prepositions, adjectives, conjunctions, adverbs, particles, and participles. They do not follow a sequential series of states but designate a connection in a single picture. The major word classes in a language can, therefore, be characterized in general terms by reference to the nature of their nominal or relational profile. This gives us a first glimpse of meaning as expressed in grammar, which is the result of both construal and perspective. Nominal meaning is construed to the extent that something is categorized, conceived as a unity, and expressed as a thing. It is perspectivized to the extent that the profiled entity, although inherently including a relation to the unprofiled base, does so from the perspective of the profiled entity only. Relational meaning is construed to the extent that an interconnection is profiled between a trajector and a landmark, whereas everything else is left unprofiled. It is perspectivized to the extent that in the interconnection only the trajector’s path (trajectory) is followed, whereas the path of the landmark is not followed and serves merely as the ground or landmark. Construal and perspective are not predictable in absolute terms but constitute a dimension of conventional imagery (Langacker 1987: 232). Every language offers people the cognitive ability to focus attention on different components of thought, to construe them as

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a thing, and to express them in nominals, pronominals, or proper names, or to relate them mentally and consider them from different perspectives—thus selecting one component as the trajector and the other as the point of reference or landmark—and to trace trajectories between them.

4.2. Grounding and integration Someone who is speaking or writing does not use grammatically isolated elements—bare nouns (“house,” “school”) or bare verbs (“live,” “teach”)— but uses clauses such as “the house he used to live in” or “Yesterday, I taught at school.” In these, the elements are grounded conceptually with respect to the speech event and integrated in composite structures. The process of grounding, in general terms described in chap. 2, §2.5, and represented in fig. 2.4, reflects the “epistemic grounding” of linguistic entities in the usage event. “An entity is epistemically grounded when its location is specified relative to the speaker and hearer and their spheres of knowledge. For verbs, tense and mood ground an entity epistemically; for nouns, definite/indefinite specifications establish epistemic grounding. Epistemic grounding distinguishes finite verbs and clauses from nonfinite ones, and nominals (noun phrases) from simple nouns” (Langacker 1987: 489). Taylor explains the notion of nominal grounding as follows: The difference can be summarized as follows: A noun designates a kind, or type of thing; a noun phrase designates an instance of the type. Compare house and the house. House designates a type of entity. There exist countless instances of the type, present and past, real and imaginary, actual and potential. The contribution of the in the noun phrase is to convey that out of the countless number of instances, just one has been selected for attention. The also conveys that the designated instance is one that both speaker and hearer are able to uniquely identify. (Taylor 2002: 343; bold and italics his)

A noun is always ungrounded (hence, also a “bare noun”) and designates a type of entity; it is the grammatical element that facilitates language users to single out general, understandable words or word types. A noun categorizes something as a thing—or thing type—not included in a context of speech; these lexical items were the object of study in chap. 3. Conversely, a nominal designates the instances of a type in a concrete speech event. It is, therefore, grounded and expresses the word type as an individual instance in relation to a specific setting, which is identifiable from the perspective of the speech-act situation. Both noun and nominal have a nominal profile, because they categorize and conceive of something as a unity and express it as a thing. Similarly, a distinction can be made in the temporal relations between an ungrounded or bare verb, which designates a type of process, and a grounded

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or finite verb, which designates a more specified instance of a process related to a context of speech. The verbal aspects of time, gender, number, and modality are identifiable from the perspective of the speech-act situation. Thus, a bare verb such as “walk” expresses a type of process, and a finite verb such as “(Louise) walked (to the store)” specifies an instance of this process in a specific setting, while both have a temporal relational profile. On the other hand, atemporal profiles such as prepositions, adverbs, adjectives, and the like designate a type of atemporal relation that cannot be grounded, so that all atemporal profiles are by default ungrounded. The process of integration described in general terms in chap. 2, §2.5 and represented in fig. 2.5 accounts for the combination of simpler linguistic units into larger and internally more-complex units in a text or discourse. This integration is based on the cooperation of operations on the paradigmatic and syntagmatic axes. Whereas the selection of independent and relational nouns constitute the vertical, paradigmatic axis—that is to say, the relations between words characterized as schemas or thing types in the language paradigm—the integration of the instances of the thing type in a textual context constitutes the horizontal or syntagmatic axis—that is to say, the valence relations between items in a text. Nominal and relational items have a disposition to combine with other items. It is only by virtue of having certain substructures in common that two component expressions can be integrated to form a coherent composite expression. When two or more linguistic units combine to form a more elaborate expression, they constitute a composite structure. In a text, composite structures are formed by superimposing corresponding entities and by merging their specifications. And it is by virtue of their overlapping substructures that the components are integrated.

4.3. Summary of chapters 4, 5, and 6 In this and the following two chapters, the grammatical components of thought, in language generally and in Biblical Hebrew specifically, will be discussed in order to elucidate how the grammatical word classes in the Hebrew Bible construe an event or situation in a specific way. Subsequently, their grounding potentials will be discussed as well as the valence relations in texts. Attention will be paid to nominal profiles, atemporal relational profiles, and temporal relational profiles, respectively. In each of these chapters, first the ungrounded items will be discussed and second the grounded items. The table presented in fig. 4.3 may serve as a survey of these grounded and ungrounded items. The table offered in fig. 4.4 may serve as a summary of the cognitive explanatory model and of the grammatical manifestations of knowledge and experience in the various word classes that will be explained in more detail in chaps. 4, 5, and 6.

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Ungrounded expressions

Grounded expressions Nominal profiles

nouns or bare nouns

nominals

• designate a thing-type

• designate instances of a thing-type in concrete speech events

• are ungrounded

• are grounded

• two types: (1) independent nouns, e.g., house, man (2) relational nouns, e.g., home, father

• two types: (1) independent nominals, e.g., my house, that man (2) relational nominals, e.g., my home, his father

Temporal profiles verbs or bare verbs

finite verbs

• designate a process-type

• designate instances of a processtype in concrete speech events

• are ungrounded e.g., to walk, to speak

• are grounded, e.g., she walked, they spoke

Atemporal profiles atemporal relations • designate a type of atemporal configuration • are always ungrounded, e.g., under, big Fig. 4.3. Nominal, atemporal, and temporal profiles.

4.4. Nominal profiles: Independent and relational nouns Words such as “beginning,” “God,” “heaven,” and “earth” are bare nouns that designate a type of entity as yet ungrounded—that is, not yet incoporated into a speech context. These words have a nominal profile: they categorize and designate something as a “thing” on an inherently included base in a region of a cognitive domain. A distinction should be made between bare nouns that are independent (for example, “a beginning”) and bare nouns that include a relation (for example, “the beginning of”). Independent nouns are conceptually independent because their profiles include a base that displays a rather high degree of conceptual autonomy.

ytyb bêtî, ˆb ben, μlx ßelem Relational nominals Grounded in speech events by definite article, demonstrative, qualifier, or quantifier

tyb bayit, çya ªîs, ≈[ ªeß

Independent nominals

Grounded in speech events by definite article, demonstrative, qualifier, or quantifier

Expressed by:

tr

lm

“over”

tr

lm

tr

lm

tr

lm

time

ynpAl[ ºal-pénê, la ªel, ˚lh holek —

—

e.g., to, over, walking

tr

lm

l[ ºal, b bé, lwdg gadôl

e.g., in, above, great

lm

tr

time

enter

e.g., enter, make, kill

time

lm

tr

Dynamic verbs

Expressed by:

Dynamic temporal process

Grounded in speech events by tense, aspect, binyan, modality gender number

Finite stative verb forms

Grounded in speech events by tense, aspect, binyan, modality gender number

Finite dynamic verb forms

hyh hayâ, dbk kabed, )awb bôª, hç[ ºa¶â, bçy yasab lfq qa†al

e.g., be (heavy), live

lm

tr

Stative verbs

Expressed by:

Stative temporal process

Designates something as a temporal process that involves a change over time.

Grammar as Cognition: Nominal Profiles

Fig. 4.4. Word classes: A summary.

e.g., home son, picture

lm

e.g., house, man, tree

B

P

Relational Noun Nominalized Participle Infinitive Construct

Noun Pronoun Proper name

tr

Expressed by:

Expressed by:

Expressed by:

Complex atemporal relation

Designates something as a multiple consistent configuration; the evolution through time is left unprofiled.

Preposition Preposition Adjective Participle of a dynamic Participle of stative verb verb Conjunction Infinitive construct Adverb Particle

Simple atemporal relation

Relational noun

Independent noun

Designates something as a single consistent configuration.

Designates something as a thing; the inherent relation to a landmark is left unprofiled.

Temporal Relation Designates something as a simple temporal relation not involving a change over time.

Relational Profile Atemporal Relation

Designates something as a thing; profiles something on a base in a region of a cognitive domain.

Noun

Nominal Profile

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tr

F

lm

O

KINSHIP Fig. 4.5. Nominal profile of the noun “father.”

Relational nouns are conceptually dependent in that the concept necessarily invokes in its base another entity and the relation to that entity. For example, the noun “man” designates a thing type, and its conceptual content [male adult person] is unconnected to something else. The noun “father,” however, is a relational noun. It designates a thing type that includes the concept of a “father-of” relation in the cognitive domain of kinship. The concept [father] necessarily invokes at least one other person, a son or daughter, and the relation of that person to the profiled father. This relational noun is represented in fig. 4.5. 5 In this diagram, the noun “father” (F) profiles a thing, and the profiled entity is the trajector (tr). In addition, the profile of father bears on an unprofiled father-of relation to unprofiled offspring (O), which is its landmark. The whole is understood against the cognitive domain of kinship (Taylor 2002: 210). The difference between an independent noun in general and a relational noun in general is diagrammatically represented in fig. 4.6(a) and (b), which shows that both independent and relational nouns construe something as a unity or thing. However, in the relational noun the profiled entity participates in an unprofiled relation to another entity, whereas the independent noun merely designates the entity itself. Every noun’s semantic content is determined by the entity it profiles on a base. In addition, relational nouns specify the profile-base relation in a more detailed trajector-landmark relation. Relational nouns are quite numerous. Apart from the kinship terms mentioned above, Taylor (2002: 209–10) offers an inventory of the following relational nouns: 5. Figure 4.5 is Taylor’s (2002: 210) fig. 11.3.

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tr

P

lm

B (a)

(b)

Fig. 4.6. (a) Nominal profile of an independent noun. (b) Nominal profile of a relational noun.

1. “nouns which construe a human being in terms of a social or professional relation: friend, enemy, neighbour, colleague, boss, rival. If a person is designated as a ‘friend’, there must be some other person(s) to whom the designated person stands in a ‘friend-of’ relation. Both the relation as such and the landmark of the relation are unprofiled; 2. “nouns which designate an entity which exists only as a part of a larger entity: top, side, inside, edge, corner. If something is designated as the ‘top’, there has to be some entity of which it is the top; 3. “nouns which designate a representation of something: statue, photograph, biography, story, description. A statue is necessarily a statue of someone, otherwise we should probably call it a sculpture, not a statue.”

“Another important category of relational nouns is those derived from verbs. Agentive nouns, for example, are typically derived from a verb through the suffixation of -er. Singer, dancer, reader, writer, murderer, killer all construe the profiled individual as the trajector of an unprofiled activity.” As said, the main characteristic of relational nouns is that they include an inherent relation to another entity or other entities in which the relation itself is left unprofiled. Prominence-building is, therefore, included in relational nouns: an event is construed and profiled as a thing-trajector, whereas something else serves as its point of reference or landmark. A “singer,” for example, does profile a type of person who makes musical sounds with his or her voice, but it also includes a relation to the landmark of a professional activity, because a singer especially profiles a person who earns a living by singing (Collins Cobuild 1357). Someone who is designated an “enemy” includes in the designation’s nominal profile some other persons to which the designated person stands in an “enemy” of relation. Someone designated as a “terrorist” includes in its nominal profile a violent action with an ideological

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motive, which is not targeted at the victims themselves but aimed at persons other than the victims in its intent to create fear. Hence, the relational noun “terrorist” includes in its profile two unprofiled relations to the landmarks: victims and general public. Every language offers its users the cognitive ability to focus attention on different components of thought, to relate to them mentally and consider them from different perspectives (thus selecting one component as the trajector and the other as the point of reference or landmark), and to create distinct single or multiple relations between them.

4.5. Relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew Languages do vary in their selection and construal of independent nouns or relational nouns and the mental images they express. A short study of the relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew will demonstrate some remarkable differences from English. 4.5.1. Nouns designating family and family in-law relationships The first group of relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew are nouns that construe a human being in terms of family relationships, such as ba ªab ‘father’, μa ªem ‘mother’, ja ªa˙ ‘brother’, twja ªa˙ôt ‘sister’, ˆb ben ‘son’, tb bat ‘daughter’. The number of usages in the Hebrew Bible is illustrative. The noun ba ªab ‘father’ occurs 1,215 times, which is not very different from μa ªem ‘mother’, with 1,071 occurrences. The noun tb bat ‘daughter’, on the other hand, occurs 584 times, which is merely 11.9 percent of the number of uses of ˆb ben ‘son’, which is used 4,889 times. 6 All of these relational nouns stand out against the cognitive domain of the ‘family’ (baAtyb bêt-ªab). 7 They are conceptually dependent in that their semantic contents necessarily invoke in their base another entity and the relation to that entity. Someone who is called a “sister” is implicitly related to the family member whose sister she is and functions as the landmark in this relationship. In English, this is prototypically the family member born of the same parents. In Biblical Hebrew, however, the landmark person is prototypically either someone born of the same parents or someone with whom the trajector shares one parent, either the father or the mother. 8 In fact, the cognitive domain of the family on which it stands is not a “monogynous family” but a “polygynous family.”

6. Numbers are DCH’s. 7. See van der Toorn (1996: 197): “In most instances, then, the bêt ªab consisted of a compound of two, three or four houses (. . .). The one ‘house of the father’ consisted of more than one actual house. While it is true that most Israelites lived in small nuclear families, it is equally true that most bêt ªabôt were expanded or joint families. (. . .) The regular cluster of two or three houses, attested for the Early Iron Age, suggest an average of about fifteen persons per bêt ªab.” 8. See Deut 27:22, “Cursed be he who lies with his sister, whether daughter of his father or of his mother.”

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One region in the cognitive domain of the family is the in-law family, which will be studied below. Various relational nouns figure in this region, such as mother-in-law, father-in-law, and daughter-in-law. They designate members of the in-law-family and include cultural and cognitive boundnotions. When we hear in a modern English dialogue someone speaking about “my mother-in-law,” we immediately know that this person is married; hence, marriage is included as a base in this word’s profile. More precisely, the noun’s profile includes a relation to the mother through the husband or the wife to whom the speaker is married. Therefore, in English, the reference point or landmark of someone who is called a “mother-in-law” is either the husband or the wife whose mother she is. In contrast, in Biblical Hebrew, the noun twmj ˙amôt ‘mother-in-law’ is exclusively used in relation to the husband’s mother. In 10 instances in the Hebrew Bible—9 in the book of Ruth and 1 in Micah—the link between the older woman and the younger woman is established through the husband. 9 This relation is made explicit in Boaz’s words in Ruth 2:11: “I have been told of all that you did for your mother-in-law after the death of your husband.” Mic 7:6 describes the family members in a man’s household, in which the noun ˙amôt designates a female person who is the mother-in-law of a woman through her marriage to her husband. The conclusion is obvious: in the Hebrew Bible, the son—who is someone’s husband—functions as the landmark of the relational noun “mother-in-law,” in contrast to the daughter, who never functions as the landmark of the noun “mother-in-law.” More precisely, two relations are included in the noun’s ˙amôt profile: the relation between the husband’s mother (trajector) and the son (landmark), and the underlying relation between the husband (trajector) and his wife (landmark). The relational noun μj ˙am ‘father-in-law’ occurs 4 times in the Hebrew Bible, namely, in Gen 38:13, 25, and 1 Sam 4:19, 21. 10 It profiles a male person who is the father of someone’s husband. The relation is, therefore, constituted through the husband. Here again, a twofold relation is included: a relation between the husband’s father (trajector) and the husband as son of the father (landmark), on the one hand, and the underlying relation between 9. In Ruth 1:14, Naomi is called the mother-in-law of Orpah, and in Ruth 2:11, 18, 19, 23; 3:1, 6, 16, 17, Naomi is called the mother-in-law of Ruth. Mic 7:6: “For son spurns father, daughter rises up against mother, daughter-in-law against mother-in law—a man’s own household are his enemies” (njpsv). 10. Gen 38:13, 24–25: “And Tamar was told, ‘Your father-in-law is coming up to Timnah for the sheep shearing.’ (. . .) About three months later, Judah was told, ‘Your daughter-inlaw Tamar has played the harlot; in fact, she is with child by harlotry.’ ‘Bring her out,’ said Judah, ‘and let her be burned.’ As she was being brought out, she sent this message to her father-in-law. . . .” 1 Sam 4:19, 21: “His daughter-in-law, the wife of Pinehas, was with child. When she heard the report that her father-in-law and her husband were dead, she was seized with labor pains, and she crouched down and gave birth. (. . .)—referring to the capture of the Ark of God and to the death of her father-in-law and her husband.”

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the husband (trajector) and his wife (landmark), on the other. Finally, the noun hlk kallâ ‘daughter-in-law’ is used 36 times in the Hebrew Bible. In all its uses, the noun kallâ profiles a female person (trajector) in relation to her husband’s parents, in which the husband is the landmark. These data lead to the hypothesis that in Biblical Hebrew in-law-family members are conceptualized and expressed in relational nouns in such a way that a male family member always functions as the landmark in the unprofiled relation. The fact that the Hebrew Bible lacks a relational noun expressing the semantic content [son-in-law] does confirm the way that inlaw-family is sketched. It is precisely because the family-related relational noun “son-in-law” would have included a link with the parents via the wife that it is an unsuitable notion. And it is exactly through the inherent inclusion of a trajector’s relation to a landmark that social and cultural categorizations enter grammar and meaning. However, 18 times in the Hebrew Bible reference is made to Moses’ fatherin-law (called Jethro, Jether, or Hobab) expressed by the noun ˆtj ˙oten. 11 Does this relational noun falsify the hypothesis presented here? The answer is no. In fact, the noun ˙oten is related to the verb ˆtj ˙atan ‘to circumcise’ and to the noun ˆtj ˙atan ‘bridegroom’. 12 The three terms refer to the act of circumcision performed on young men just before marriage (BDB 368). 13 The circumciser is the wife’s father and the circumcised the bridegroom. Hence, the relational noun ˙oten designates the person we in Western cultures would conceive of as the daughter’s father but who in Biblical Hebrew is not thought of in relation to his daughter but to the act of circumcision at the time of marriage. This is confirmed by the use of ˙oten in Judg 19:4, the story about the Levite concubine who has left her husband and returned to her father’s house. She receives her (former) husband in her father’s house, and the story continues as follows: “when the girl’s father saw him, he received him warmly. His father-in-law [˙oten], the girl’s father, pressed him and he stayed with him three days” (njpsv). First, the father-in-law of the Levite is called “the girl’s father.” Then, for the second time, the ˙oten is explained to be “the girl’s father.” If the noun ˙oten designated the Levite’s father-in-law via the daughter, then it would have been unnecessary to repeat the description “the girl’s father,” for it would already have been present in the term. Therefore, the relational noun ˙oten designates an in-law-family member that in Biblical Hebrew is conceptualized in relation to the act of circumcision at the time of marriage. This does not imply that, whenever some-

11. Exod 3:1; 4:18; 18:1, 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 12 (2x), 14, 15, 17, 24, 27; Num 10:29; Judg 1:16; 4:11. 12. Once, in Song 3:11, the noun hntj ˙åtunnâ is used to designate marriage or wedding (“on the day of his wedding”). 13. For literature on this topic, see Mitchell (1969), Middelkoop (1967), and Propp (1993).

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one uses the Hebrew noun ˆtj ˙atan, he or she thinks of the act of circumcision. No, the schematic meaning of the bare noun ˙oten includes an unprofiled relation to the time of marriage, just as the English relational noun “father-in-law” includes an unprofiled relation to the conceptual base of marriage, and still one would not think of marriage every time one referred to his or her father-in-law. Nevertheless, a key distinctive feature is that in Biblical Hebrew the bride’s father’s circumcision of the groom is considered to be the profiling determinant of the marriage, because by circumcising he would include the young man as a new male member in his bêt ªab. Similarly, whenever reference is made in the Hebrew Bible to someone whom we would call a son-in-law, this person is called ˆtj ˙atan. 14 This person is not conceived of in relation to his wife’s parents but in relation to the act of circumcision. Only once, in Deut 27:23, is the noun tntj ˙otenet “mother-in-law’ used: “cursed be he who lies with his mother-in-law.” The point of reference is the man to whom prohibitions regarding sexual intercourse with a family member are being addressed. His mother-in-law is not conceptualized with regard to his wife but with regard to the circumciser’s wife. In short, the relational nouns expressing the semantic content of the region of in-law family members demonstrate that in ancient Near Eastern cognition and patriarchal culture reflected in the Hebrew Bible, it is inconceivable to think of or construe a man in terms of his wife, his sister, his mother, or any other woman. It explains why the female person to whom one is married and who is the main reason for becoming a member of the in-law family is left out in Biblical Hebrew mental processing. Cultural selection, context-bound perspective, and linguistic construal and expression are thus present and active in the (male) Hebrew mind’s apprehension of everyday life. 4.5.2. Nouns designating affiliation A second group of relational nouns is terms of affiliation. Alison Grant (1977) was the first to make an extensive linguistic study of the noun çya ªîs, commonly translated ‘man’ in the sense of an adult male individual. She showed that in 74% of all its uses in the Hebrew Bible, this noun refers to a member of a defined group or class, whereas only 20% of all its uses refer to a particular individual (definite or indefinite). 15 David E. S. Stein (2008) elaborated on her work and demonstrated convincingly that ªîs is not an independent noun but a relational noun and a term of affiliation; that is, the

14. Gen 19:12, 14 (2x); Exod 4:25, 26; Judg 15:6; 19:5; 1 Sam 18:18; 22:14; 2 Kgs 8:27; Isa 61:10; 62:5; Jer 7:34; 16:9; 25:10; 33:11; Joel 2:16; Ps 19:6; Neh 6:18; 13:28. 15. The rest: 4% refer to anyone (undefined group), and in 1% of its uses it has a general human reference (Stein 2008: 6, based on Grant 1977).

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word denotes relationship either to a group or to another party. 16 Interestingly Stein (2008: 10ff.) makes a distinction between a direct referent and an indirect referent: the direct referent is the individual; the indirect referent is the group or situation or party with which ªîs is affiliated, which is comparable to Langacker’s trajector-landmark distinction. Stein (2008: 9–10) discerns three semantic nuances in the relations included in the noun ªîs. Expressed in Langackerian terms, these can be described as follows: 1. As a participant member of a group or one member of a specified group (often with the preposition min), the noun ªîs construes a human being in terms of a part of a larger entity or group. This man only exists as part of this larger entity. Hence, the man is the trajector; the entire group is the landmark. Both the relation between trajector and landmark and the landmark of the relation are unprofiled. 2. As a representative member, the noun ªîs construes a human being in terms of a typical or characteristic exemplar of the group in question: the man is a representation of the group. The noun ªîs profiles the individual male as the trajector but includes in this profile a relation to the group (the landmark) of which he is a member. Both the relation as such and the landmark of the relation are unprofiled. 3. As an authoritative member, the noun ªîs construes a human being in terms of leadership: he has the authority to stand for the group or to act on behalf of the group or to act on behalf of another party. The group almost disappears behind the man’s back. Hence, the man is the trajector, and his representational leadership of the group is the landmark. Both the relation as such and the landmark of the relation are unprofiled.

Every time one comes across a Biblical Hebrew usage event of the noun ªîs, one must determine its landmark—that is, the collective it indirectly refers to—because the relation to this collective is inherently included in the man’s profile. Finally, Stein points to the fact that the results of this linguistic analysis seem to confirm the insights independently acquired in socialscientific scholarship: “Various scholars have applied social science methodologies to reconstruct the society of ancient Israel and its neighbors. They have consistently concluded that ancient Near Eastern societies were grouporiented rather than individual-oriented, and personal identity was viewed in relational terms” (Stein 2008: 4–5). Closely related to the nouns of affiliation are the relational nouns that construe human beings in terms of authoritative relationships, in which some are subordinates construed in relation to hierarchically higher authorities and others are authorities, such as ˚lm melek ‘king’, db[ ºebed ‘male16. “The noun ªîs hardly behaves like the independent noun ªadam, whereas it characteristically behaves like the relational term ben (. . .). That is, both nouns relate individual members to a group, and vice-versa. (. . .) The usage rule in Biblical Hebrew seems to be: whenever a member is typifying or representing such a group, this is conveyed via ªîs, not via ben” (Stein 2008: 18).

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servant’, hjpç sip˙â ‘maid-servant’, l[b baºal ‘master’, ‘lord’, ˆwda ªadôn ‘lord’. It might be possible that they are originally construed in the cognitive domain of the bêt ªab ‘household’, in which superiors are seen as fathers or masters or kings and the subordinates as children or servants. 4.5.3. Nouns designating partial or spatial entities A third group of relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew designates an entity that includes a relation to a landmark in a spatial sense or in a partitive sense. In the latter group of relational nouns, an entity is construed as something that exists only as a part of a larger entity, such as πk kap ‘palm’, [bxa ªeßbaº ‘finger’; if something is designated a ‘palm’ or ‘finger’, there has to be a hand of which it is a part. An example of the former group is the noun r[ç saºar ‘gate’, which includes a relationship to the entity of which it is a gate: a city gate, a gate of the palace, or a gate of the temple (see chap. 3, §3.3.3). Another example is μwrm marôm ‘height’. When related to a mountain, its meaning differs from when it is related to a hill, house, or wall. The inherent relation to a mountain, hill, house, wall, or other landmark is, therefore, included in the conceptualization of the noun ‘height’, although the relation itself is left unprofiled. This is equally true for the relational noun hdm middâ ‘measure’, which differs greatly when used as a measure of length or as a measure of distance, as a measure of some size or as a measured portion. It is with regard to the instance to which it is related that its profile may be fully understood. The same is true for the noun hl[m maºålâ ‘step’, which may designate a step of an altar, a step of a throne, or a step of a gateway and thus may differ greatly in altitude. Consequently, it is precisely through the inherent inclusion of a relation to a landmark that “knowledge of the world” enters grammar. 4.5.4. Participial nouns Another group of relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew is participial nouns. A Hebrew participle is a verbal noun and can be used either as a verb or as a noun; however, there is a strong tendency to treat the participle as a noun ( JM §121k). If a participle functions as a noun, it displays all the characteristics of a noun. That is, it appears in the absolute or construct state and is used with or without a pronominal suffix. Cognitive Grammar can refine our understanding of the participle in Biblical Hebrew and can demonstrate that it is used either (1) as a participial noun—that is to say, a participle with a nominal profile; or (2) as a participle with an atemporal relational profile (see chap. 5, §5.4.4). The participial noun is a relational noun derived from a verb, in which the verbal action itself is present but left unprofiled. An example of a group of participles with a nominal profile is the agentive noun, which construes the profiled individual as the trajector of an activity that is conceived of as being in a continual, uninterrupted exercise of the activity, although the activity as action itself is left unprofiled.

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The noun described above, ˆtj (˙oten) ‘father-in-law’, belongs to this group, originally meaning ‘circumciser’. Other examples are: fpç sope† ‘judge’; rps soper ‘writer’; hmjlm hç[ ºo¶eh mil˙amâ ‘able to make war’, ‘warrior’; brj πlç solep ˙ereb ‘able to draw a sword’, ‘swordsman’; bwya ªiyyôb ‘enemy’; ≈rahAybçy yosbê-haªareß ‘those who live on the land’, ‘inhabitants’; and ˚mçAybha ªohåbê sémeka ‘those who love your name’, ‘believers’. Agentive nouns construe the profiled individual as the trajector of an activity. This confirms Gesenius’s statement that a participial noun designates the subject of the action (GKC §83b) and that this person is “conceived as being in the continual uninterrupted exercise of an activity” (GKC §116a). In addition, Cognitive Grammar explains that the activity as action itself is left unprofiled: the relation of the profiled individual to the landmark is presupposed but is not active in the agentive participial noun itself. 4.5.5. Infinitives absolute A fifth group of relational nouns in Biblical Hebrew is infinitives absolute. In conventional grammars, they are described as independent nouns, that is as verbal nouns of action (in active verbs) or in verbal nouns of state (in stative verbs; JM §123a). 17 “The infinitive absolute is employed (. . .) to emphasize the idea of the verb in the abstract, that is, it speaks of an action (or state) without any regard to the agent or to the circumstances of time and mood under which it takes place” (GKC §113a). 18 The usual nominal use of the infinitive absolute is that of an accusative of internal object either before or after the verb; for example, twmt twm môt tamût ‘you will surely die’. 19 The usual nominal use of an infinitive absolute is as subject of a nominal clause (for example, wdbl μdah twyh bwfAal loª-†ôb héyôt haªadam lébaddô ‘it is not good that the human being is alone’) or as object (for example, abw tax [da al loª ªedaº ßeªt waboª ‘I do not know how to go out or how to come in’), or as a genitive (for example ˚lka μwyb béyôm ªåkolka ‘on the day of your eating’; see JM §124b–d). From a cognitive point of view, these infinitival nouns can be explained as relational nouns. The infinitive designates some action but conceives of it as a thing and expresses it as a unity. In this way it is related to an agent and not to temporal or aspectual circumstances. For example, in “eating is good,” the action of eating is evoked, but as an activity it is left unprofiled. Its active part is merely used as its point of reference or landmark. 17. “That is why some of its uses are similar to those of a noun, and why some others are similar to those of a verb. Thus an inf. abs. such as awpr rapoª corresponds both to Lat. sanatio ‘act of healing’ and sanare ‘to heal’ (n: Originally, it corresponds rather to sanatio)” ( JM §123a). 18. “As regards their meaning, it follows from the nature of the case that nouns which have the form of the infinitive regularly denote the action or state, with other closely related ideas, and are therefore mostly abstract; while the participial nouns, on the contrary, denote for the most part the subject of action or state, and are therefore concrete” (GKC §83b). 19. It is also used as subject (for example, ‘eating much honey is not good’) or as object (‘learn to do good’) but rather rarely (JM §123b).

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Or see the nominal profile of the grounded infinitive absolute twyh héyôt in ‘it is not good for a human being to be alone’ (Gen 2:18). It does not conceive “being alone” as an action that is performed in time but profiles it as a single configuration. On stage is “aloneness” expressed as a whole, and the decor of activity is left out of the spotlight. What is the value of this kind of knowledge? First, it appears that even a simple word class such as the noun includes historical knowledge, which asks from us a willingness to open up Biblical Hebrew grammar to semantics. Second, a study of the semantic aspects of the Hebrew noun, participial noun, and infinitive absolute has improved our understanding of their inherent relational components. Thus, we are better informed about the relational noun’s trajector and its implicit relation to the landmark. Third, Cognitive Grammar offers us an instrument to study Biblical Hebrew grammatical routines in their dependence on experiential and cultural processes of cognition. Finally, this cognitive approach informs us about the selections made in a particular language, as the short sketch of the relational nouns expressing in-law family relations has shown: it allows us a glimpse of the manifold differences in view between Biblical Hebrew and our own linguistically and culturally conditioned notions.

4.6. Grounding of nominals in usage events The distinction between a bare noun such as “sister” and the nominal “my sister” or between “scholar” and “that scholar” is that the first designates a thing-type, whereas the second designates the instance of a thingtype in contexts of use. Nominals are, by definition, grounded—that is, located with respect to an event or situation in which they are used, including its participants. This grounding is marked by a determiner, that is, a definite article (“the house”), a demonstrative (“this house”), or a pronominal possessive (“our house”); or it is marked by a specifier, that is, an adjective (“that big house”); or by a quantifier, which includes items such as “many,” “most,” “a few,” “several,” “one,” “two,” or “three” (by default, quantifiers are indefinite). 20 Determiners pick out the profiled instances, specifiers qualify the profiled instances, and quantifiers characterize the profiled instances in terms of number or quantity. The definite determiner has the specific function of grounding a nominal. A demonstrative or a pronominal possessive does the same, but in addition it profiles an instance that the language user has singled out for attention and allows the participants of the speech event to identify uniquely the instance in its context of speech. In “three Rembrandts were stolen,” the 20. A distinction can be made between absolute quantifiers—they simply give a notion of quantity and nothing else—and relative quantifiers—they give a notion of quantity but at the same time make implicit reference to a presupposed “reference mass” (Taylor 2002: 350–57).

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speaker singles out an instance of a certain number (“three”), which entails that the exact number of paintings stolen has become the focus of the speaker’s conscious awareness. If the phrase were “many Rembrandts are stolen,” the very fact that the speaker singled out an instance of a certain magnitude (“many”) entails that the instance has become the focus of the speaker’s conscious awareness, and it simply gives an idea of a large number. In “most Rembrandts are stolen,” a certain number is also profiled and drawn attention to, but this time it is implied that the majority (“most”) with respect to a larger set (“all”) is profiled. The essential property of a grounded nominal is that it not only profiles an instance of a thing but indicates the status of this instance vis-à-vis the ground. It is the determiner, specifier, or quantifier that gives a nominal its grounding properties; that is why Langacker calls it the profile determinant. Consider, for example, “[Jacob took] the stone” in Gen 28:18. The word ˆba ªeben is an independent noun. Its schematic, ungrounded meaning designates a [stone] thing-type. In order to construe a proper mental image of this type, the reader must know what it profiles and in which cognitive domain it could possibly stand. If it expresses a stone standing out against the cognitive domain of building material, it profiles a [brick] or a [building stone], with a [rectangular form] as its implicit base. If it figures in a natural environment, it depends on the geographical location and the reader’s knowledge of it to understand its profile as [rock], [limestone], [marble], [pebble], or [boulder] on the included base of an [irregular form]. Thus, the profile-base-cognitive domain relationship constitutes the meaning of this thing-type called ˆba ªeben. With respect to ˆbah haªeben in Gen 28:18, 22, the determiner “the” gives the stone its grounding properties. It fills the conceptual material of the noun as a thing-type and designates it as a specific instance of this stone type. The profile determinant “the” makes it identifiable for the reader. Through this grounding procedure, the stone in v. 18 is linked to the stone in v. 11, where it was for the first time introduced in μwqmh ynbam jqyw wayyiqqa˙ meªabnê hammaqôm ‘[he took] from the stones of that place’, that is, ‘[he took] one of the stones of that place’. Thus, the instance of this stone is conceptualized against the appropriate topographical and natural domain situated in the usage event of Genesis 28. Second, the instance of this stone in this natural domain is marked as one of a substantial size (and, therefore, not a pebble) and without many sharp edges, so that it could function as a cushion under Jacob’s head or as a protective stone next to his head. 21 Since it figures in the natural geographic domain of the Bethel area, it would des21. The term wytçarm méraªåsotayw occurs nine times in the Hebrew Bible (Gen 28:11, 18; 1 Sam 19:13, 16; 26:7, 11, 12, 16; 1 Kgs 19:6) and as μkytwçarm marªåsôtêkem in Jer 13:18. The general meaning is ‘at the head’ or ‘next to the head’. Thus, it is likely that Gen 28:11 is saying that Jacob placed the stone next to his head.

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ignate a stone quite common in that area, because it is said that Jacob just picked it at random from a certain number of stones. Thus, the ground relates the participants in this usage event to what is profiled on stage as an instance of a nominal type, in such a way that they can locate and relate it to what is placed on stage in the text. “A stone” could have been anything. “The stone” can only be one thing, because it has to be equated with “one of the stones” in v. 11. The profile determinant thus reduces the number of possibilities and enables them to create a mental configuration of this specific instance in Genesis 28. It is the process of grounding that allows us to achieve a better grasp on the differences in contents in the uses of the noun r[ç saºar, previously studied in chap. 3, §3.3.3. As a noun, saºar designates a type of thing: its profiled entity [entrance structure] participates in an unprofiled relation to another entity, [city], and stands out against the region of [city architecture] in the cognitive domain of [ancient cisjordan city]. The individual instances of this type are nominals, grounded in the contexts of use of the books of the Torah and Former Prophets, Latter Prophets, and Writings. Compare, for example, “gate,” “your gates,” “the gates of Jerusalem,” and the “Sur Gate of Jerusalem.” “Gate” designates a type of entity. There exist countless instances of the type, present and past, real and imaginary, actual and potential. The contribution of “your” or “the” in the nominal phrases “your gates” or “the gates of Jerusalem” is to convey that, out of the countless number of instances, just a couple have been selected for attention, and these are identifiable from the perspective of the speech-act situation (comparable to “the stone” in Gen 28:18). “The Sur gate” conveys the notion that the designated instance is a single gate that the language users (writers and readers) are able to identify uniquely. Although an individual instance, it is not grounded in a specific setting of speech but in convention. The name is the strongest profile determinant, because it overrules the generic content of the schematic type to the effect that in the mind of its users the named gate refers to a unique instance rather than the conceptual contents of the city entrance structure. It refers to the standard expression, not to the architecture of the city gate.

4.7. Integration of nominals in texts and valence relations Grounded nominals (which is a pleonasm) are integrated into composite structures in texts and other usage events. An independent nominal has a different disposition to combine with items than a relational nominal. The possibility of entering into composite structures depends on the nature of the nominal profile, as is clear from the following examples: 22 22. The examples and their explanation are taken from Taylor (2002: 227).

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a. A tree blew over in the storm. b. There’s a tree growing in the yard.

(3)

a. ?A father entered the room. b. ?There’s a father waiting in the lobby.

The sentences in (2) would be perfectly intelligible, even if uttered “out of the blue,” with no special contextual support. Without further context, those in (3) are odd. This is because the sentences, as they stand, introduce a conceptually dependent unit but give no clue how the unit should be conceptualized. One is inclined to ask: “Whose father?” “Why is the person referred to as ‘a father’?” The valence properties of a relational noun such as “father” (which includes in its semantic structure a relation to an unprofiled landmark—that is, a son or daughter) requires that it be embedded in a context that elaborates elements of this semantic substructure, such as the introduction of a son or daughter. The valence properties of the relational noun “singer” include the unprofiled landmark of the act of singing and often co-occur with an overt mention of a verb such as “sing,” “chant,” “perform,” “make music,” and so on. In another example, the valence properties of the relational noun “path” include the unprofiled landmark of motion, so that it might be expected that the textual context would elaborate on it in a verb such as “walking,” “riding,” “going,” or the like. Thus, the concept of valence makes it understandable why independent nouns, which are, by default, conceptually autonomous (their valence does not depend on other units) need not be elaborated in conceptual contexts of usage. Relational nominals, on the other hand, are conceptually dependent and embedded in syntagmatic conceptual combinations by using their valence properties. 23 An analysis of the valence relations between nominal substructures that are shared and combined into composite structures can examine either their fixed word combinations or their free combinations with adjectives or appositions; it can relate to the combinations of nominals with prepositions or to the fixed or free combinations of nominals with verbs. All the time, the correspondences in semantic structures of the components are used to build up composite semantic structures.

4.8. Example: The nouns “child” and dly yeled Differences between an independent and a relational noun type in various languages may show the different ways that people experience and understand the world. People using English and Biblical Hebrew independent and relational nouns express their ideas differently. To demonstrate some of their similarities and distinctions, I will analyze the English word “child” and the Biblical Hebrew word dly yeled. 23. Although valence properties are present in relational nominals, they are more strikingly present in temporal and atemporal relational profiles, hence, in verbs, prepositions, adjectives, adverbs, and so on. In the next sections, I will, therefore, return to the concept of valence relations.

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In English, the term “child” is used both as an independent noun to designate a person of a young age and as a relational noun in which the inherent relation to a parent is implied but left unprofiled. 24 The question is whether this is true for Biblical Hebrew as well. Do the Biblical Hebrew words dly yeled, hdly yaldâ, μydly yéladîm, and twdly yéladôt represent the same independent and relational noun types as the English nouns “child” (male and female) and “children” (male and female)? And do the instances of these noun types in nominal clauses in Biblical Hebrew texts explain their combinatory nature? In other words, do the concepts offered by Cognitive Grammar improve our understanding of the conceptual meaning of these nominal profiles and of the mental pictures they create? In the Hebrew Bible, dly yeled ‘male child’ occurs 88 times, whereas hdly yaldâ ‘female child’ only occurs 3 times. 25 Although THAT (1:545) claims that the male noun can be contrasted directly with the female noun, from merely a statistical point of view this is not true. As to the meaning of these nouns, the dictionaries offer comparable results: ‘boy’ or ‘male child’ for yeled, and ‘girl’ for yaldâ. These lexicographical studies presuppose logical oppositions such as /child/ versus /adult/, /boy/ versus /girl/, /young/ versus /old/, /male/ versus /female/, in which the singular yeled is seen as referring to the first term in this opposition, whereas the plural μydly yéladîm is seen as covering the whole range from male to female. 26 Thus, these studies project a view that is very similar to our present-day view of children and the way the word “child” is expressed in English nominal profiles. A study of the biblical occurrences of the masculine-singular yeled shows that: 1. It is almost always used with a definite article (37 out of 40 occurrences). 27 The word dlyh hayyeled refers to a specific individual, who is either introduced by name or defined earlier in the text. 28 24. Some examples of young age are: “Save the women and children first.” “Think of the unborn child!” “He is only a six-year-old child!” Some examples of a relation to a parent are: “He has a wife and four children.” “A mother and her teenage children live in that house over there.” “Their children are all married.” 25. In Gen 34:4; Joel 4:3; Zech 8:4–5 (plural). 26. BDB (409) translates ‘child, son, boy, youth; child = son’; DCH (4:220) proposes the translation ‘male child’ for dly yeled and ‘girl’ for hdly yaldâ. THAT (1:545) states that yeled refers to ‘boy’, frequently used in a manner similar to ben ‘son’, except that ben describes the relationship to the father or mother more exactly than the neutral yeled; yeled as a masc. term contrasts directly with the fem. yaldâ ‘girl’ but is also used more generally in the meaning ‘child’. The plural form yéladîm means the ‘youths’, particularly in contrast to the “elders.” 27. The three uses of yeled without a definite article are: Gen 4:23, “And Lamech said to his wives, ‘(. . .) I have slain a man for wounding me, and a boy for bruising me’”; Isa 9:5, “for a child has been born to us, a son has been given to us”; and Eccl 4:13, “Better a poor but wise youth than an old but foolish king.” 28. Gen 21:8 (Isaac); 21:14, 15, 16 (Ishmael); 37:30; 42:22 ( Joseph); Exod 2:3, 6, 7, 8, 9 (2x), 10 (Moses); 2 Sam 12:15, 18 (4x), 19 (2x), 21 (2x), 22 (2x) (the dying child of David and

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2. It never refers to a female person but always exclusively to an individual male person of a young age. 3. It never contains a pronominal suffix and is never used to designate a relationship. Therefore, it cannot be considered a parallel to ‘child of’ or ‘son’. In the Hebrew Bible, whenever reference is made to a child in relation to its parents, ˆb ben with a pronominal suffix is used instead of yeled. 29 4. It almost always functions grammatically as subject in a patient position. 30 And it is very often used in relation to “dying” or “death.”31 5. If it functions grammatically as the object of the action, the situation is life-threatening (death/killing and illness).32

These data indicate that yeled is an independent noun in Biblical Hebrew and not a relational noun. It categorizes someone as a unity and describes him as a male person of a young age without an inherently included relation. It profiles, therefore, a “male child” (see fig. 4.1), not “the child of” or “son of” his parent(s) (as in fig. 4.2). Whereas the independent noun yeled designates in Biblical Hebrew a type of entity in a schematic region consisting of male human beings of a young age, the instances of this type in the Hebrew Bible are predominantly indicated by dlyh hayyeled, which occurs 37 times. In all speech events, this grounded nominal is not located in the cognitive domain of offspring, as it might have been in English contexts. It is also rarely located in contexts of play, joy, or whatever might be deemed cheerful in life, as it might be in English discourses, but quite often in the context of life and death. Thus, the Bathsheba); 1 Kgs 3:25 (the living child of one of the two prostitutes); 1 Kgs 14:12 (the son of Jeroboam); 1 Kgs 17:21 (2x), 22, 23 (the child and Elijah); 2 Kgs 4:18, 26, 34 (2x) (Elisha and the son of the Shunammite woman); Ruth 4:16 (Naomi took the child = Obed); Joel 4:3 (the child in a proverb). 29. See 1 Kgs 17:17–24: when Elisha refers to the boy on his own, he uses “the child,” but in relation to his mother, he calls him “her son” or “your son.” 30. It occurs only 3 times as a grammatical subject in an active agent-position (twice in Gen 21:8; Exod 2:10) as subject of the verb “to grow up.” 31. “I cannot look on the death of the child” (Gen 21:16); “let life return to this child,” and “the child’s life returned to his body” (1 Kgs 17:21, 22); “the child became ill, the child died, the child was dead, the child was alive, the child is dead, the child was dead, is the child dead, the child is dead, the child was alive, the child is dead, the child was alive, the child may live, the child is dead” (2 Sam 12:15–23); “the child will die” (1 Kgs 14:12); “the child cried, ‘Oh, my head, my head!’ . . . and he sat upon her lap . . . and died” (2 Kgs 4:19– 20); “Elisha placed himself over the child . . . and the body of the child became warm again” (2 Kgs 4:34). 32. “I have killed a man for wounding me, a child for bruising me” (Gen 4:23); “Abraham placed the child [upon Hagar’s shoulder] and sent him away” (Gen 21:14, 15); “she placed the child [Moses] in the basket” (Exod 2:3); “they saw the child” (Exod 2:6); “take the child and nurse it” (Exod 2:9, 9); “God afflicted the child whom the wife of Uriah had borne to David” (2 Sam 12:15); “cut the living child in two” (1 Kgs 3:25); “he stretched out over the child three times” (1 Kgs 17:21); “they gave the child for a prostitute [sold the girl for wine]” ( Joel 4:3).

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epistemic grounding of this nominal becomes visible: in a time and place where the struggle for life and death is daily fought and of which a child is often the victim, the experience of the death of a child is much more common than in modern Western society. The instances of the nominal hayyeled in the Hebrew Bible offer glimpses of these life-threatening circumstances and testify to these epistemic grounds. On the other hand, the biblical occurrences of the masculine plural μydly yéladîm show that the plural nominal: 1. Designates a collective of either exclusively male persons, or of male persons including female persons; it never designates a collective of exclusively female persons. 2. Designates a group of persons of a very young age, of young age, or a group of youngsters. 3. Is used 6 times without a definite article. 33 It is used 20 times with the definite article. 34 Hence, in the majority of these cases it occurs as a nominal in which the definite article facilitates the construction of the special conceptual status of the child in its context of use. 4. Is used 11 times with pronominal suffixes that relate the children to their parents. 35 In these cases it is a relational nominal with the parents as landmark. 5. Functions sometimes as a grammatical subject, either in a patient-position or in an agent-position. In the former position, the children are described in relation to their parents as part of a collective of men, women, and children. In the latter position, which occurs 4 times, they figure as youngsters who “speak” or as children who “rejoice” or “play.” 36 6. Functions more often as a grammatical object. The Jacob cycle alone contains 4 occurrences of yéladîm in object-position, in which Jacob’s children are the object of Jacob’s actions. 37

Hence, the conceptualization of the plural yéladîm is different from its singular form, yeled. In the plural form, it functions both as an independent noun and as a relational noun, similar to the English noun “children.” It profiles a collective of young persons, either of exclusively male gender or of male and female persons standing out against the cognitive domains of age and gender, playing, and/or offspring. When grounded in the context of offspring, the parental relationship is left unprofiled but inherently implied.

33. 1 Sam 1:2 (2x); 2 Kgs 2:24; Ezra 10:1; Zech 8:5; Dan 1:4. 34. Gen 33:1, 5 (2x), 13, 14; Exod 1:17, 18; 1 Kgs 12:8, 10, 14; 2 Chr 10:8, 10, 14; Isa 8:18; 57:5; Neh 12:43; Dan 1:10, 13, 15, 17. 35. In Gen 30:26; 32:23; 33:2 (2x), 6; Exod 21:22; 2 Kgs 4:1; Isa 11:7; 29:23; Lam 4:10; Ruth 1:5; in these texts, the plural nominal with pronominal suffix designates “my,” “his,” “her,” or “their” children. 36. They “speak” in 1 Kgs 12:10, 14; 2 Chr 10:10, 14. They “rejoice” in Neh 12:43. They “play” in Zech 8:4–5. 37. Gen 30:26; 32:23; 33:2, 7.

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The feminine-plural twdly yéladôt occurs only once in the Hebrew Bible, in Zech 8:4–5, which says that “There shall yet be old men and women in the squares of Jerusalem, each with a staff in hand because of their great age. And the squares of the city shall be crowded with boys [yéladîm] and girls [yéladôt], playing in the squares.” Here, the independent noun designates male and female youngsters in opposition to old men and women. Together the two age groups constitute a merism in which the two extremes represent the whole spectrum. The feminine-plural yéladôt does not include, therefore, a relation to a family member but is used here as an independent noun. The feminine-singular yaldâ occurs twice in the Hebrew Bible. In Gen 34:4, it is used with a definite article and a demonstrative, hdlyhAta ylAjq hçal tazh qa˙-lî ªet-hayyaldâ hazzoªt léªissâ ‘get me this girl as a wife’, in reference to a specific female individual, who is previously introduced by her proper name as Dinah. In Joel 4:3, the noun figures in hdlyhw hnwzb dlyh wntyw wtçyw ˆyyb wrkm wayyitténû hayyeled bazzônâ wéhayyaldâ makrû bayyayin wayyistû ‘they bartered a boy [dlyh hayyeled] for a whore, and sold a girl [hdlyh hayyaldâ] for wine, which they drank’, in which the parallelism indicates that reference is not being made to a specific individual, but a general comparison is being expressed to support a previous general statement. Apparently, the single instance of yaldâ in Gen 34:4 stands out as extraordinary, because the definite article and the demonstrative label Dinah as a specifically identified individual. She is profiled merely on the basis of her young age and gender. In conclusion, this study of the noun types yeled, yaldâ, yéladîm, and yéladôt in Biblical Hebrew and their independent and/or relational profiles shows that: 1. For a native speaker of Biblical Hebrew, the concept [child] is different from a native English speaker’s concept [child]; the concepts differ with reference to the schematic nature, and they differ with reference to singular/plural and male/female instances. 2. Biblical Hebrew and English differ with reference to the schematic nature of the concept [child]. By virtue of having the concept of [child], a Hebrew native speaker is able to recognize yeled as an independent noun that profiles someone of young age and male gender, in a region of illness/death and survival/dying rather than joy and playfulness, and thus it stands out against a matrix of cognitive domains of age, gender, and life-threatening circumstances. In contrast, an English native speaker is able to recognize [child] as both an independent and a relational noun that profiles someone of young age and male gender or as a male child whose profile includes an inherent relation to his parents and stands out against a region of offspring and a cognitive domain of family relationships. 3. The two languages do not differ with reference to the schematic nature of the concept [children]. Native speakers of English and Biblical Hebrew are able to recognize the word “children” or yéladîm either as an

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independent noun or as a relational noun. In a context in which the word “children” or yéladîm is grounded through a pronominal suffix to the parents, it is a relational noun designating the concept [the children of]. In a context where no reference is made to parents or kinship relations, it is an independent noun designating [children]. 4. They differ with reference to the schematic nature of the concept [female children]. English language does not make a distinction between male and female “children,” whereas Hebrew knows the feminine-plural nominal yéladôt. A Hebrew native speaker is able to recognize it as an independent noun of an unspecified feminine nature. 5. They differ with reference to the schematic nature of the concept [female child]. English does not distinguish a masculine or feminine “child,” whereas Hebrew knows the feminine-singular nominal yaldâ, which is an independent noun profiling an unidentified individual and profiles her as “young” and “female” on the basis of age and gender. It occurs once in Joel 4:3. 6. However, in one text in the Hebrew Bible, Gen 34:4, the independent noun hayyaldâ is used in reference to a specified young female who is not thought of in terms of her parents or family but in a way that is similar to hayyeled. Therefore, this instance stands out as an atypical categorization of that person. As an independent noun, she could have figured in a nonspecified way (parallel to Joel 4:3) or, as a specified person, she could have served to elaborate certain kinship relations (parallel to tb bat ‘daughter’). However, such a relational elaboration is absent in this context of speech. As a consequence, it challenges the native speaker to infer and create a new coherent interpretation to fit with this irregular usage of the noun.

Thus, the simple category of an independent and a relational noun-type and its cognitive explanation can have a considerable effect on linguistic studies of Biblical Hebrew and on our understanding of biblical texts and of the way people behind the texts considered the world.

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Grammar as Cognition, Part 2: Atemporal Relations 5.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.2. Simple atemporal relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.3. Complex atemporal relations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4. Atemporal relations in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.1. Prepositions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.2. Conjunctions, adverbs, and particles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.3. Adjectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.4. Participles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.4.5. Infinitives construct . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5. Example: The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1 . . . . . . . 5.5.1. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:2a . . . . . . . . . 5.5.2. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:2b . . . . . . . . . 5.5.3. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:20b . . . . . . . . 5.5.4. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:29 . . . . . . . . .

130 132 137 140 140 144 147 148 151 153 153 159 163 165

What does it mean for a native English speaker or for a native Hebrew speaker to know prepositions? To know them means to be able to make the appropriate categorization of a spatial relation such as “in” or “on,” or of a temporal relation such as “before” or “after.” To know the meaning of the preposition “in” means being able to categorize the spatial or temporal disposition of one object vis-à-vis another object or situation. But is that all there is to say about atemporal relations?

5.1. Introduction After Ernst Jenni (1992, 1994) analyzed the prepositions b bé and k ké in two volumes and demonstrated their multiple meanings, some interpreted this as a sign of Biblical Hebrew’s rather poor semantic specialization as far as prepositions are concerned. 1 It made them wonder how native speakers 1. DCH (2:82–86) gives the following meanings for b bé: ‘in’, ‘inside’, ‘within’, ‘into’; ‘on’, ‘onto’, ‘upon’; ‘through’, ‘throughout’, ‘by’, ‘at’; ‘when’, ‘whenever’, ‘during’; ‘on account of’, ‘because of’, ‘for’; ‘by’, ‘with’, ‘through’; ‘(any) of’, ‘(some) of’, ‘from (among)’; ‘(more) than’; ‘according to’, ‘in accordance with’; ‘at the cost of’, ‘as the price of’, ‘at the

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of Biblical Hebrew were able to categorize with such vaguely defined prepositions and how they could build up detailed spatial and temporal configurations in the mind. A comparison of modern languages will be helpful to answer this question. The English preposition “on” is for its part rather ambiguous when compared with other modern languages such as Dutch and German: 2 English

German

Dutch

handle on pan bandaid on leg ring on finger fly on door picture on wall cup on table

an an an an an auf

aan op om (= ‘around’) op op op

Does a native speaker of English think that she cannot construe a detailed spatial image in her mind because of the limited specialization of “on” in English? In fact, like most words of high frequency, “on” is polysemous; that is to say, it has a range of related senses, and a native speaker is easily capable of selecting one of these meanings in the context of use. Another preliminary remark relates to the influence of prepositions in the cognitive construal and conceptualization of the world. This may sound unlikely, because we hardly notice prepositions, but they appear to be very powerful indeed. An example to illustrate this point is the following crosscultural study of Korean and English prepositions executed by Soonja Choi and Melissa Bowerman (1991) and later by Melissa Bowerman alone (1996), as described by René Dirven and Marjolijn Verspoor (1998: 140–41). These scholars demonstrated convincingly that English- and Korean-speaking children of 20 months of age classify their environment differently because of the different categorizations of prepositions within their languages. Whereas English children arrange and think with the English prepositions “in” and “on,” Korean children classify their environment in accordance with the Korean prepositions “tight in/on” and “loose in/on.” [The children] respond quite differently in experiments which require them to compare and group together actions such as (a) placing pieces in a puzzle, (b) putting toys in a bag or (c) putting a cap on a pen, and (d) putting a hat on a doll’s head. The English children classify the relations between the pieces of a puzzle and their “fixed” position in the puzzle as an in relation just like the “loose” relation of toys in a box. That is, they assign (a) and (b) to the in group. risk of’, ‘in exchange for’; ‘despite’; ‘in respect of’, ‘concerning’; ‘against’; ‘over’, ‘in charge of’; and ‘from’. 2. Based on Bowerman (1996: 154–55), as cited in Taylor (2002: 59).

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Similarly, they make a different group for the “fixed” relation of a cap on a pen or the “loose” relation of a hat on a head, and consequently assign (c) and (d) to the on group. Note that this classification is entirely forced on these children by the contrast between the English prepositions in and on. But the Korean children have learned different words, i.e., kkita for something that has a “firmly fixed” or “tight fit” position, and different other verbs for things that are loosely put in or on other entities. Consequently, the Korean children group the equivalent of (a) “tight in” and (c) “tight on” together as a first group, and (b) “loose in” and (d) “loose on” as a second group. In other words, both groups of children construe the relations between objects in the world on the basis of their language-specific categories (. . .). (Dirven and Verspoor 1998: 140–41)

In the past, research into the relationships of language, cognition, and culture was predominantly oriented to universals, that is to say, features shared by everyone and anyone. Concepts and descriptively adequate methods for analyzing the similarities and differences between the systems of meaning in different languages were not yet available. Cognitive Grammar has delivered a valuable key to achieving the necessary rigor in grammatical research (which explains the choice of concepts and method in this chapter on grammar), a key that does not relate to nominals and verbs only but also to “smaller grammatical entities” such as prepositions and adjectives.

5.2. Simple atemporal relations A language offers people the cognitive ability to focus attention on different components of thought, to consider them from different perspectives, to relate them mentally, to trace paths through them, to consider one as a container in which the other is placed (the preposition “in”), to zoom in on an element related in time to another element (the preposition “after”), and so on. Thus we create simple or complex mental images about situations or events. So far, in chaps. 3 and 4, we have only dealt with nominal profiles— that is to say, with construals of entities, events, or states—as a thing and as expressed in a noun or nominal. Relational profiles, on the other hand, designate relations, and these are either of a temporal or of an atemporal nature. Temporal relations correspond to the class of verbs and will be discussed in chap. 6. The object of the present chapter is the atemporal relation, which corresponds to the classes of prepositions, adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, particles, and the like. Atemporal relations are relations whose profiles do not include a span of time over which the relation holds but that consist of a single configuration. They represent an event, an action, or a situation as a state in which a trajector is related to a landmark in such a way that the trajector is the more prominent participant and the landmark the less prominent participant. A distinction can be made between simple atemporal relations, which define a state and whose profile consists of a single consistent configuration, and complex atemporal relations, which define a single compound or

spread is 9 points long

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tr

lm D Fig. 5.1. Atemporal relational profile.

a multiple configuration. Prepositions such as “in,” “on,” and “before,” adjectives such as “tall,” “ugly,” and “impressive,” and adverbs such as “again” and “secondly” express simple configurations; and prepositions such as “into,” “toward,” “until,” and “across” designate complex configurations. Reduced to its most elementary form, a simple atemporal relation can be diagrammatically represented as in fig. 5.1 (which is the same as fig. 4.2). An example of a simple atemporal relation is the sentence “the ball is under the table,” which designates the atemporal relation between the trajector “the ball” and the landmark “under the table.” 3 Consider just one small part of this expression, the prepositional phrase “under the table.” In this prepositional phrase, “the table” is the trajector and “under” the landmark. Of the two semantic components [under] and [the-table], [under] profiles a stative relation in the domain of a vertically oriented space. The semantic content of [the-table] is more complex and includes such domains as threedimensional space (for a prototypical shape specification), oriented space (for a prototypical orientation), and the abstract domain supporting the designation of contextual uniqueness, identifiable by both speaker and hearer. 4 3. This example and its explanation are based on Langacker (1987: 279–85). 4. Three-dimensional space: a table is a piece of furniture with a horizontal surface of which to put things. Prototypically, a table is made of timber, and it is standing on four legs. In modern design, however, these prototypical forms have come to be rethought and redesigned, so that in present-day Europe or the U.S. a table made of glass or metal is quite common, as well as a table standing on one leg. With regard to oriented space, in Europe and the U.S. a table has the prototypical height of 75–80 cm, whereas in Japan a table’s height is 30 cm. Observe that the aspect of grounding is not present in the atemporal relation (the preposition “under”) itself but in the nominal: the determiner “the” in “the table” makes the composite semantic structure [under-the-table] identifiable for the speech participants in the context of the speech event.

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under-the-table

(a)

(b) lm

tr

vertical

vertical

lm

tr

Fig. 5.2. “The ball is under the table.”

This is represented in fig. 5.2, in which any indication of contextual uniqueness is omitted. 5 Observe, next, that the composite structure in fig. 5.2(a) is rather more specific than anything necessarily implied by its components. For example, it shows the table resting in its prototypical orientation on a horizontal surface. In contrast, fig. 5.2(b) shows the table in a nonprototypical spatial orientation. 6 The semantic component structures constitute the paradigmatic axis. In the English language paradigm, the semantic component [under] is defined as profiling something’s stative relation in the domain of oriented space; its orientation is vertical and expresses this relation from a position below. It is this preposition’s schematic meaning. Similarly, the semantic component [table] is paradigmatically (schematically) defined as a piece of furniture in the three-dimensional space described above. The combination of these components as instances in a syntagmatic relation, the prepositional phrase “under the table,” requires an integration of these semantic substructures with a single composite semantic structure [under-the-table], which conceives of the situation in one picture. Thus, the composite structure entails an integrated conception of the two components; they share the same element of vertically oriented space: [the-table] includes the domain of [under] as vertically oriented space. The valence relations between the instances depend, therefore, on the sharing of elements: they have certain substructures in common so that the two components can be integrated to form a coherent composite expression. Paradigmatically, the component structures are viewed as distinct and separable entities with valence properties. Syntag5. Figure 5.2(a) and (b) is Langacker’s (1987: 280) fig. 8.1(a) and (b). 6. The scene in fig. 5.2(b) would be quite plausible (even prototypical) in the context of describing the wreckage left by a tornado.

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matically, the correspondences between the shared substructures integrated in one composite structure constitute the one invariant feature of the instances’ valence relation. This explains why in the prepositional phrase “under the sun,” the semantic component [under] which profiles paradigmatically or schematically the same distinct semantic contents as [under] in “under the table,” nevertheless differs as to the semantic contents of its composite structure. Hence, [under-the-sun] profiles a vertical relation to the trajector the sun, in which the sun is a long distance away, in contrast to [under-the-table] which profiles something directly below the table at some small distance. [Under-the-book] in “the paper under the book” profiles an even shorter distance, because the paper is in direct contact with the book. [Under-thecollapsed building] in “the dead bodies under the collapsed building” profiles a vertical relation in which the distance is still smaller, because the bodies are allegedly crushed underneath the building. Consequently, although the linguistic expression “under” does profile a place in a vertically oriented space, its specific content depends on the correspondences of the components’ shared substructures. So far, attention has been paid to the preposition “under” in designating a spatial relation. But there are additional simple atemporal relations expressed by prepositions, conjunctions, particles, adjectives, and adverbs. These will now be discussed. 7 (1) a. b. c. d. e.

“[We had dinner] before [the play]” “[We had dinner] before [the play started]” “[We had dinner] again” “[A] delicious [dinner]” “[We enjoyed the play] tremendously”

In (1a), the preposition “before” is of a temporal nature but still expresses a single image. It does not refer to a temporal process in its development through time but views it in terms of stativity. The valence of the preposition [before] is based on this conceptual substructure, in which time is conceived of as a stative relation in the domain of oriented time. This semantic substructure is used in the preposition’s syntagmatic combination with “the play,” so that the play is also conceptualized in these concepts of time. In grasping the meaning of (1a), we do not create a mental picture of the play as such but construe a picture of a situation “before the play.” Thus, [before] is the profile determinant of [the play], and the conceptual content of [before] guides the profile of (1a). The conjunction “before” in (1b) once more profiles a relation of temporal succession. But now the event to which it is related is also a relation. Hence, this conjunction “before” does not profile a thing—“the play” as in 7. The examples are inspired by Taylor (2002: 205–22).

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(1a)—but the event of our having dinner and construes it in relation to a subsequent event (“the play started”; Taylor 2002: 216). The difference between a preposition and a conjunction is that the landmark of a preposition is a thing, while the landmark of a conjunction is a temporal relation (Taylor 2002: 222). The particle “again” in (1c), on the other hand, indicates an atemporal relation similar to prepositions. In fact, most particles are identical in form and related in meaning to prepositions but appear in grammatical constructions in which the landmark happens not to be elaborated, as it otherwise normally is (Langacker 1987: 243). The adjective “delicious” in (1d) profiles the dinner and expresses its quality in one mental image. Taylor clarifies this category of adjectives as follows. As a matter of fact, what are called adjectives constitute a fairly heterogeneous class of items which by no means share the same set of properties. Still, let us consider what we might regard as a prototypical adjective, the word tall. Tall may be used both attributively and predicatively, as in a tall man and The man is tall. What does tall mean? The word involves the vertical dimension of an entity; specifically, an entity is tall if its height exceeds by some unspecified amount the norm for that kind of entity. Tall, in other words, turns out to be a relational term: it profiles the relation between its trajector (the entity that is claimed to be tall) and a region in excess of some norm, with respect to the vertical dimension (. . .). A tall man and The man is tall differ in the usual way; the former has a nominal profile—it profiles the man, not the tallness of the man—while the latter profiles a stative temporal relation. (Taylor 2002: 220)

Similarly, the adjective “delicious” in (1d) is a relational term: it profiles the relation between the dinner that is claimed to be good and a region in reference to some prototypical norm with respect to dinners. Hence, “delicious” in “a delicious snack” means something different from “a delicious dinner.” Expectation, experience, and knowledge of cultural habits play, therefore, an important role in the mental image evoked by the adjective, and it includes the prototypical norm of the relation to a specific entity that is profiled. In the same way, the adjectives “beautiful” in “a beautiful face,” “a beautiful horse,” “a beautiful city,” and “a beautiful night” as four instances of the schema “beautiful” differ to the extent that the contents they profile depend both on the norm for the specified entity and the norm of beauty in relation to this entity. The difference between the four interpretations is dependent on whether or not there is a second correspondence— namely, between the scalar norm implied by “beautiful” and the category norm that functions as one specification in the encyclopaedic conception that constitutes the meaning of “face,” “horse,” “city,” and “night,” respectively. Hence, the nominal phrase with an adjective and nominal requires correspondences between their substructures that are the invariant feature of valence relations. Since valence relations provide for the linguistic coding spread is 9 points long

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of a unified conceptualization, it is not surprising that many such relations involve multiple correspondences. The adverb “tremendously” in (1e) takes a temporal relation (“we enjoyed”) as its point of reference or landmark and not a nominal as in the case of the adjective. It relates this temporal relation to a region that contains a sort of set of norms for enjoyment. In comparison to this norm, our pleasure is qualified as exceeding the norm of what can be expected. Here again, the prototypical norm of the verbal content and the prototypical norm of the adverbial relation to this content do play an important role. Societal, cultural, and material habits play a part in these norms. For example, the meaning of “intelligently” in “the pupil answered the question intelligently” depends on the age of the pupil (intelligent means something different in the case of a pupil who is 5 years old, compared with one who is 15), the school type (an elementary school pupil who answers her questions intelligently means something different from a high school pupil who answers her questions intelligently), country (is intelligence evaluated the same in China, England, and Botswana?), social conventions (is a female pupil expected to answer the questions less or more intelligently than a male pupil in order to be evaluated as answering her questions intelligently?), and so on. In conclusion, the word classes of prepositions, particles, conjunctions, adjectives, and adverbs all express a simple atemporal relation as a single consistent configuration. Because of their inherent relational nature, one of the related entities is singled out as the primary focus of attention, or trajector, whereas the other is construed as the secondary focus, or landmark. This explains why perspective and prominence-building are incorporated in such a single configuration. In order to describe the semantic contents of prepositional phrases, nominal phrases, adverbial phrases, and the like, it is necessary to analyze both the valence properties of the distinct separate components and the invariable features of the valence-relations built upon correspondences of the component substructures. Thus, the account of valence relations explains the necessity of acknowledging historical and cultural prototypical conceptualizations and offers the possibility of understanding the influence of encyclopaedic knowledge on atemporal relations.

5.3. Complex atemporal relations A complex atemporal relation designates a single compound scene, and its profile consists of multiple configurations. Prepositions such as “into,” “toward,” and “across”; active participles such as “writing” (in “a person writing”); and passive participles such as “written” (in “a written letter”) designate such complex scenes and will be discussed below. (2) a. b. c. d.

the gate in the garden the gate into the garden water all over the floor soldiers posted all over the city

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Expressions (2a) and (2b) designate atemporal relations in which the former profiles the gate as being located at a place “in the garden,” while the latter profiles a gate, which if a person were to go through it, moving from a location that is “not in the garden,” he or she would end up at a place “in the garden” (Taylor 2002: 219). “Into” brings in the notion of a potential path through the gate and into the garden. Following the path (if it is followed) would necessarily involve time. However, the path is not in profile, nor does the expression profile the movement of a trajector along the path. Both expressions are quintessentially atemporal. Analogously, the preposition “toward” invokes the notion of motion along a directed path and inherently profiles a series of locations that collectively make up a path. However, while the inherently profiled path of “into” terminates in the interior of the landmark entity, the path profiled by “toward” stops short of the landmark entity (Taylor 2002: 218). Rather more complicated are prepositions such as “around,” “across,” “over” (in some of its uses), “all over,” “through,” “throughout,” and “along.” These require that their trajector is either a spatially extended entity, which can assume the appropriate configuration vis-à-vis the landmark, or a multiplex entity whose various components can take a characteristic disposition vis-à-vis the landmark (Taylor 2002: 217). For example, in (2c), for something to be “all over” a landmark entity (here, “the floor”), the trajector (“water”) must be spatially dispersed. Or it must be, as in (2d), a multiplex entity (“the soldiers”): its various components can be distributed so as to “cover” the landmark (“the city”) in the appropriate way. These examples show that trajector, landmark, and their relation are part of the profile of the preposition. In other words, a preposition always includes in its profile the two related entities and the relation itself. Hence, the profiles of “into the house,” “into the city,” and “into the body,” though including the same preposition, “into,” have a (slightly) different semantic content. The notion of valence-relations clarifies why certain prepositions can only be used with some nominals and not with others. For example, some prepositions in complex atemporal relations require that their trajectors are spatially extended. The valence or disposition of these prepositions to combine with other items is based on the sharing of semantic substructures of spatiality and extensiveness, so that they can assume the appropriate configuration vis-à-vis the landmark. “We can speak, for example, of a fence around the garden, in which case the fence ‘wraps itself’, so to speak, around the landmark, or of trees around the garden, where the set of trees encircle the landmark. We cannot speak of *a tree around the garden, since a tree lacks the required spatial configuration” (Taylor 2002: 217). This also explicates the landmark’s partial dependence on the profiled trajector, because they both share in the semantic content of the complex prepositional relation. Not only prepositions but also participles designate complex atemporal relations. 8 Although a participle as such designates a relation, it lacks a tem-

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poral profile. It does not inflect for tense, nor does it exhibit number agreement with its subject. An active participle profiles the continuation over time of a stable relation; it construes a situation both as internally homogeneous and as progressive or still ongoing: for instance, “the child is sleeping,” or “she is writing a book” (Taylor 2002: 399–400). A passive participle only designates the final state in an overall process (Langacker 1987: 221). Consider, for example, the participle “broken” in “a broken cup” or in “this cup is already broken.” Whereas the preposition is always used attributively, a participle can be used either attributively (as an adjective) or predicatively (in a nominal clause). Participles play an important role in languages, but they are quite difficult to grasp. They define a complex of sequential scenes but do not scan the relationship sequentially during its evolution through conceived time but simultaneously, as a multiple configuration, which makes the derived expression atemporal (Langacker 1987: 221). For example, in “she is writing a book,” the subsequent states or events are not instantiated by the participle “writing”; what is represented, however, is the perception of constancy through time instead of change. A participle does not include the end point of the process it designates, which is represented by the finite verb form “is” or “was” in the example “she is/was writing.” In this sense, participles are similar to imperfective verb forms. They differ, however, from imperfective verb forms to the extent that they do not designate a process through time but designate the process as a continuous situation or multiple configuration. The evolution of a situation through time is thus a prominent facet of this participle’s meaning, but it is confined to the base and left unprofiled. Another point is that the participle says nothing at all about how long the process or situation it describes may endure. Its complex atemporal profile implies only that the specifications of the profiled situation can all be satisfied in an atemporal construal of that situation. In conclusion, someone who uses a preposition, present participle, or past participle classifies a situation, action, or event and construes it as an atemporal situation whose profile consists of simple or multiple configurations. In these configurations, an event or situation is construed from the perspective of one entity, the trajector, which is related to another, the landmark, while excluding or including a potential path; in the latter case, the evolution through time, though part of its base, is left unprofiled. In using an active participle, an action is classified not as an action per se but as an internally homogeneous complex of scenes from the perspective of a trajector vis-à-vis the landmark, in which one focuses on its continuous and stillongoing presence; again, the evolution through time is left unprofiled. With the use of a past participle, an action is classified in its final state; in this final 8. The preceding section offered an analysis of participial nominals (participles that function as nominals). This section deals with participles that designate atemporal relations.

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state, the preceding temporal process itself is included schematically but left unprofiled.

5.4. Atemporal relations in Biblical Hebrew In the Hebrew Bible, certain situations are construed as atemporal relations, and these instances are expressed by prepositions, conjunctions, adverbs, adjectives, particles, participles, and infinitive constructs. All these atemporal relations elaborate on the valence properties of the items concerned, and the relations of the trajector entity and landmark entity are construed with reference to a prototypical norm of this relation. Construal in atemporal relations and prototypical routines therefore go hand in hand. Some of the main grammatical conventions used to express these routines in Biblical Hebrew will be described in this and the following sections. 5.4.1. Prepositions Prepositions constitute simple or multiple configurations construed from the perspective of a trajector in reference to a landmark. They enter into a valence relation with the trajector vis-à-vis the landmark. Thus, prepositions such as ta ªet ‘with’, b bé ‘in’, and μ[ ºim ‘with’, which are related to simple rather than compound nominals, designate a simple atemporal relation. Prepositions such as la ªel ‘to’, d[ ºad ‘up to’, and ˆm min ‘away from’ collocated with verbs, on the other hand, designate a complex relation in which an evolution through time or a path through space is included and expressed as part of the preposition’s base or substructure. Finally, prepositions such as l[ ºal ‘upon’, ynpAl[ ºal-pénê ‘over’, and bybs sabîb ‘around’, which are related to spatially extended entities or multiple entities, designate a complex relation. The atemporal relations expressed by Biblical Hebrew prepositions are rather limited: they usually express spatial relationships, and most of these could also apply to temporal relationships (BHRG §39.1). The prepositions used in the Hebrew Bible are the following: 9 1. rja ªa˙ar and yrja ªa˙årê (hinder part*) ‘behind’ or ‘after’ indicate a spatial or temporal positioning of a tr relative to a lm: tr ‘behind’ lm; tr ‘after’ lm. They have either a simple atemporal relational profile expressing a single configuration or a complex atemporal relational profile that invokes the notion of motion along a directed path. The compound prepositions yrjam meªa˙årê ‘from behind’ and yrjaAla ªel-

9. A profound and detailed cognitive study of prepositions in Biblical Hebrew has yet to be made. The alphabetical list presented here is based on BHRG §39, JM §133, and GKC §§101–2, extended with the cognitive explanation of prepositions described above. According to GKC §101a, the prepositions were originally substantives; in this list, these substantives are placed between parentheses and marked with an asterisk. Morphologically the prepositions are still considered nominals and take suffixes in analogous fashion ( JM §103e). The information on compound prepositions is based on JM §133j.

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ªa˙årê ‘behind’ include the notion of motion and have, therefore, a complex relational profile. la ªel (direction*) ‘to’, ‘into’, ‘within’, ‘unto’, ‘toward’ localizes (mainly) the goal of a movement or process with respect to a specific person or place: tr ‘to’ lm. It has a complex relational profile, expressing inherently a series of locations that collectively make up a path. This path either terminates in the interior of the lm entity (‘into’, ‘within’) or stops short of the lm entity (‘to’, ‘toward’). 10 Compare with h(he)-locale, which expresses direction in a way similar to la ªel. lxa ªeßel (side*) ‘beside’, ‘close by’ indicates a spatial positioning: someone (tr) in the proximity of someone else (lm). It expresses a single configuration and has, therefore, a simple relational profile. ta ªet (proximity*) ‘with’, ‘together with’ indicates a spatial positioning in the sense of proximity: tr ‘with’ lm. The compound preposition tam meªet ‘from near’, ‘from with’ includes the notion of motion, and its path begins with the tr and leads away from it; it has, therefore, a complex relational profile. b bé (container*). In the first place, bé expresses the fact of finding oneself (tr) ‘in’ or ‘within’ a place (lm), in which case it has a simple relational profile. It may express the fact of moving oneself (tr) ‘into’ a place (lm), of moving oneself (tr) ‘within’ a spatial area (lm), and moving oneself (tr) ‘through’ a place (lm), and in these cases it inherently includes the notion of motion and path, and it thus profiles a complex atemporal relation. In the second place, bé indicates a temporal frame in which an event or state of affairs needs to be positioned: ‘in’, ‘on’, in which case it has a simple relational profile. In the third place, bé indicates someone (tr) ‘with’ an instrument (lm), or someone as an agent (tr) ‘by’ whom something is realized, so that it has a simple relational profile expressing a single instrumental configuration. ˆyb bên (intermediate space*) ‘between’ indicates localization in space between two or more points, in which the first entity is tr and the second lm. It has a simple relational profile. The compound prepositions ˆybm mibbên ‘from between’ and ˆybAla ªel-bên ‘between’ include the notion of motion and have, therefore, a complex relational profile. d[b baºad (localization*) ‘against’, ‘across’, ‘for’ indicates spatial localization; after verbs that refer to a process of closure: shut ‘in’; after verbs that refer to movement through an opening: ‘through’; after verbs of supplication: ‘for the sake of’; tr ‘in’ or ‘through’ or ‘for the sake of’ lm. It usually includes the notion of motion and has, therefore, a complex relational profile. rwb[b baºåbûr (motive*) indicates cause: ‘because’; or purpose: ‘in order to’. It has a simple relational profile.

10. See JM §133b: “Ala ªel- properly means towards. It expresses motion towards, with exclusion, or with inclusion (= b) of the destination, and the direction towards. (. . .) Sometimes the idea of motion completely disappears, and the meaning simply is near, at (= l[) (as for Lat. ad).”

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9. k ké (matter, kind*) ‘like’, ‘as’, ‘according’ is, unlike most other prepositions, not a local preposition, and it does not belong to the construction of any verb (JM §133g). It expresses likeness, similitude, resemblance, or approximation between otherwise dissimilar and nonidentical entities ( Jenni 1994: 11), that is, the two parts of the comparison are semantically distinct and referentially unrelated (Garr 2003: 98). The preposition k ké profiles a simple relation between a tr and a lm entity, in which a configuration of correspondence is construed from the perspective of the tr in reference to the lm. Whereas tr ké-lm forms a unilateral comparison, ké-tr ké-lm designates a reciprocal comparison: the tr is comparable to the lm to the same extent as the lm is comparable to the tr; they are comparable to one another ( Jenni 1994: 52). 10. l lé (direction, relation, belonging*) ‘to’, ‘of’, ‘for’ has a highly nonspecialized meaning; it is a preposition that indicates in a very general way the relationship between two entities that can at best be described as ‘tr “as far as” lm is concerned’. Some of its main uses are: (a) It expresses a direction in space, although less specified than la ªel ‘tr “to” lm’, in which the notion of motion is included; in this case it has a complex atemporal relational profile. (b) It expresses the idea of relation without any direction or motion. In this case it has a simple atemporal relational profile. (c) It expresses possession, ‘tr “of” lm’. In this case it has a simple atemporal relational profile as well. 11. ˆ[ml lémaºan (purpose*) ‘for the sake of’, ‘so that’ indicates purpose; it includes the notion of motion or goal and profiles a complex atemporal relation. 12. yny[l léºênê (eye*) ‘before’, ‘in the sight of’ indicates a visual spatial relation of a tr relative to the lm, in which the lm is a person. It thus profiles a simple atemporal relation. 13. ynpl lipnê (face*) ‘in front of’, ‘before’ indicates a spatial or temporal positioning of the tr relative to the lm. It thus profiles a simple atemporal relation. The compound prepositions ynplm millipnê ‘from before’ and ynpm mippénê ‘away from’ include the notion of motion and have, therefore, a complex relational profile. They indicate a spatial positioning moving away from someone’s (= lm) immediate presence. The compound preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê ‘in front of’ or ‘upon the face’ 11 indicates a spatial or temporal positioning of the tr relative to the lm and thus profiles a simple atemporal relation; used after verbs of motion, it means ‘over’ and expresses a complex relational profile that designates a spatial positioning in a constant movement relative to someone’s or something’s (= lm) immediate presence. The compound preposition ynpAl[m meºal-pénê ‘from before the face’, ‘from off the surface’ expresses a complex relational profile and designates a spatial positioning in a constant movement away from someone’s or something’s (= lm) immediate presence.

11. The first meaning, ‘in front of’, derives from the sense of face; the second meaning, ‘upon the face’, derives from the sense of surface (BDB 818–19).

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14. ˆm min (separation*) ‘away from’; the basic spatial function is movement: ‘tr “away from” lm’. It has a complex relational profile. 15. dgn neged (coming in front, that which is over against*) ‘before’, ‘against’ indicates spatial positioning: ‘tr “before/against” lm’. It has a simple relational profile. 16. bybs sabîb ‘around’ indicates spatial positioning: ‘tr “around” lm’. This requires that the tr is a spatially extended entity that can assume the appropriate multiple configuration vis-à-vis the lm and has, therefore, a complex relational profile. 17. d[ ºad (progress, duration*) ‘up to’ indicates spatial or temporal positioning, marks a point up to which a movement occurs: ‘tr “up to” lm’. It has, therefore, a complex relational profile. 18. l[ ºal and the poetic form yl[ ºålê (height, upper part*) ‘upon’, ‘over’, ‘above’ profile a vertical spatial relation, with its starting point at the upper part of the vertical relation. Their main meanings are ‘on’, ‘over’, ‘in front of’, ‘above’, ‘against’, ‘toward’: ‘tr “on/over” lm’. It has either a simple relational profile or, when it includes the notion of motion, a complex relational profile; the compound preposition l[m meºal ‘from above’, ‘from beside’ has a complex relational profile. 19. μ[ ºim (connection*) ‘with’ indicates the joining together of entities: ‘tr “with” lm’; it has a simple relational profile. It designates the atemporal relation of ‘being with’ of a tr in reference to a lm either in relation to persons (companionship ‘with’) or in relation to a location (‘close to’, ‘beside’). The compound preposition μ[m meºim ‘from near’, ‘from with’ includes the notion of motion and has a complex relational profile. 20. tjt ta˙at (under part*) ‘under’ indicates a vertical spatial positioning, which takes the lower point as its starting point: ‘tr “under” lm’. It has a simple relational profile; the compound prepositions tjtm mitta˙at ‘from under’ and tjtAla ªel-ta˙at ‘under’ include the notion of motion and have, on the other hand, a complex relational profile.

What is outlined here in general terms concerns the schematic semantic meaning of prepositions in Biblical Hebrew. The instances of these prepositions in biblical texts are more specific, since the preposition enters into a valence relation with nominals in trajector and landmark positions. It is by virtue of their overlapping substructures that the meaning components of prepositions and nominals are integrated into a composite structure. 12 Consider, for example, Job 29:5, “when Shaddai was still with me [ydm[ ºimmadî], when my lads surrounded me [ytwbybs sébîbôtay].” Both prepositional phrases express the atemporal relation of the connection of a trajector vis-à-vis a landmark: “Shaddai (tr) with me (lm)” and “my lads (tr) around me (lm).” The preposition μ[ ºim ‘with’ in v. 5a has the possibility of combining with or has the valence property of entering into a syntagmatic relation either with a person or with a location. Here it enters into a valence 12. See also BDB 818, “[the preposition] has different meanings according to the different senses of the noun and the preposition.”

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relation with the trajector Shaddai or Almighty—which, as a relational nominal, inherently includes in its base an unprofiled, higher hierarchical position with regard to human beings. To be designated as someone joined to someone more powerful than you implies that the person who is with you is of help to you or is able to protect you. Hence, the atemporal relation expressed by the preposition ºim is filled with the semantics contents of [assistance] or [protection]. The preposition ºim in Job 29:5a does not, therefore, designate [friendship] or [companionship], because this would suggest equality and would contrast to the nominal Shaddai. 13 The preposition bybs sabîb’ ‘around’ schematically requires a multiple entity as trajector, because a single entity could not be thought of as surrounding something. Here, the plural entity “lads” fits schematically to act as a trajector of the atemporal relation construed with the preposition “around.” The relational noun r[n naºar either designates a young man, as opposed to an adult or older man, or a servant, especially when it is used in the construct state or with a possessive pronominal suffix. 14 Here it is used with a possessive suffix, so it reveals a relationship of dependency to a master or lord. In v. 5b, the preposition sabîb ‘around’ enters into a valence relation with yr[n naºåray ‘my servants’, so those who are surrounding the hierarchically higher person are dependent on him for help or protection. Hence, the atemporal relation expressed by the preposition sabîb is filled with the semantic content of [dependence]. This semantic content is not expressed by the preposition and its schematic meaning in Biblical Hebrew but is constituted by its valence relation with the nominal. If the composite structure had been “the sons of God were around me” (instead of “my lads were around me”), the opposite would have been the case, and the preposition sabîb would have been filled with the semantic content of [protection]. This example is meant to elucidate the fact that in a prepositional relation both the preposition’s schematic meaning in Biblical Hebrew and the specified instantiation in a biblical text contribute to its meaning. Indeed, it is in the integration of the components’ semantic substructures into one composite structure that meaning arises. 5.4.2. Conjunctions, adverbs, and particles A second group of atemporal relations in Biblical Hebrew consists of conjunctions, adverbs, and particles. In contrast to prepositions, which have things or nominals as landmark, the landmark of a conjunction is a temporal relation. Conjunctions have clausal landmarks. They identify a clause 13. Although this could have been the semantic content of the preposition μ[ ºim in other textual instantiations. 14. For an extensive analysis of naºar, see chap. 9, §9.4, where it is shown that this noun is never used in a lexical collocation with ‘father’; if such a relation were required, the noun ˆb ben ‘son’ would be employed.

spread is 6 points short

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as a complement and are, therefore, also called complementizers. 15 For example, the expression ‘he heard that [yk kî] she had come’ profiles the event of someone’s (trajector) hearing and characterizes the event as one that is connected with someone else’s (landmark) coming. And it is this atemporal relation between trajector and landmark that is expressed by the conjunction yk kî. In another example, “I ate of all before [μrfb bé†erem] you came” (Gen 27:33), the conjunction μrfb bé†erem profiles the event of Isaac’s eating and characterizes it as an event that occurred before the temporal relation expressed by the verb “you [= Esau] came.” In Biblical Hebrew, the conjunctions w wé ‘and’, wa ªô ‘or’, ˆkl laken ‘therefore’, ˆkAl[ ºal-ken ‘therefore’, μrfb bé†erem ‘before’, ˆp pen ‘lest’, ˆ[ml lémaºan ‘so that’, yk kî ‘because’, ‘surely’, rça ªåser ‘which’, and μa ªim ‘if’ connect temporal relations in which the temporal relation before the conjunction is usually taken as the trajector, and the relation following the conjunction is usually taken as its point of reference, that is, the landmark of the connection. Actually, it is this atemporal relation between trajector and landmark that is expressed by the conjunction. Follingstad (2001) carried out an elaborate and profound cognitive study of four conjunctions in Biblical Hebrew, yk kî, rça ªåser, hnhw wéhinneh, and rmal leªmor, and demonstrated that they share two features: they all have a deictic function and all are complementizers that are related to the narrator’s or character’s mental awareness. Their use appears to be closely linked to a distinct language function: the function of describing situations, events, actions, and so on—that is, the “use” de re; or the function of mentioning or using language in a self-reflexive way—that is, the “use” de dicto. Follingstad cogently argues that in Biblical Hebrew the first is expressed by rça ªåser and the second by yk kî. yk [kî] is a type of discourse deictic which signals that a proposition is implicitly mentioned, rather than used to describe something else. yk [kî] metarepresents a thought about another attributed thought (. . .). yk [kî] decouples a proposition from its normal “use” function and profiles language itself in a self-reflexive, metalinguistic (or de dicto) manner. The language itself is focused on as the object of attention (discourse). Throughout its uses, yk [kî] has this “mention” function. (Follingstad 2001: 151–52; italics and bold his) Semantically, yk [kî] complements do not mark “public facts known to all” as much as private inferences, conclusions, and knowledge acquired from the senses about states of affairs in the text world. (. . .) Semantically, yk [kî]

15. Noonan (1985: 44), cited by Follingstad (2001: 152) defines complementizers in the following manner: “Complement types often have associated with them a word, particle, clitic, or affix whose function it is to identify the entity as a complement. Such forms are known as complementizers.”

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and hnhw [wéhinneh] complements tend to mark different types of perceptions. yk [kî] marks what appear to be private and cognitive thoughts, whereas hnhw [wéhinneh] complements typically indicate newly apparent visual physical perception. (Follingstad 2001: 154) Semantically, rmal [leªmor] constructions typically indicate a speech act which is transferred. Though rmal [leªmor] constructions keep intact the reported speakers’ deictic center with respect to deixis and illocutionary force, closer investigation reveals that they may be non or semi-factive (i.e., presumed to be true). Moreover, there are significant changes to the direct speech material marked by rmal [leªmor] which are not present in direct speech without it. In fact, rmal [leªmor] specifically marks the fact that significant recontextualization of apparent verbatim speech has been done. This recontextualization may be evident in addition, change, omission, or combinations thereof of the intentions reflected in original direct speech material. (Follingstad 2001: 155; bold his)

Adverbs also express an atemporal relation. Adverbs are manifold in Biblical Hebrew. From primitive adverbs such as al loª ‘no’, ‘not’, μç sam ‘there’, za ªaz ‘then’; to adverbs such as hk koh and ˆk ken ‘so’; to adjectives br rab ‘much’, ‘greatly’, qwjr ra˙ôq ‘far’ and substantives djy ya˙ad ‘together’, μwlçb bésalôm ‘peacefully’ functioning as adverbs, they do not designate the manner of something in general but describe the manner of the action to which the verb refers (JM §102). The negative adverb al loª does not express negation in general but modifies the temporal relation designated by the finite verb form in the sense of negation. Spatial and temporal adverbs such as hp poh ‘here’, μç sam ‘there’, za ªaz ‘then’, and μrf †erem ‘before’ describe the time and place of the temporal process designated by the verb. Hence, adverbs take a process expressed by a finite verb form as their point of reference and profile its specific quality, degree, manner, or condition. Often adverbs are more specific, and their semantic content depends on their relation to the prototypical norm of the verbal content. The adverb dam méªod, for example, expresses the notion of ‘exceedingly’, ‘greatly’, ‘very’, but the semantic content that it profiles in Gen 1:31, dam bwfAhnhw wéhinneh-†ôb méªod ‘and behold, it was very good’, differs greatly from that in Gen 4:5, dam ˆyql rjyw wayyi˙ar léqayin méªod ‘and Cain was exceedingly depressed’. The content that the adverb profiles depends on the verb it is related to and on the expected culturally defined norm or degree of this relation; this degree and the surpassing of it is expressed by the adverb méªod. Thus, many adverbs in Biblical Hebrew have a specific lexical meaning and need to be analyzed in their context of use. The distinction between adverbs and particles in Biblical Hebrew and in Biblical Hebrew grammars is not very clear. They all express atemporal relations and include focus particles such as ht[w wéºattâ ‘now’ and hnhw wéhinneh ‘behold’ and also modifiers such as μg gam ‘also’, ‘even’, ‘moreover’. The word gam profiles its semantic content relative to the expectation of the au-

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dience and indicates that a specific something or someone must be added to something or someone referred to in the preceding content (see BHRG §41.4). Here again, the prototypical norm of what to expect and of what may be added to it forms the inherent base of the participle’s profile. 16 5.4.3. Adjectives A third group of atemporal relations in Biblical Hebrew is constituted by adjectives. “Adjectives are relatively rare in Biblical Hebrew” ( JM §141a). Traditional grammars limit their explanations of adjectives to syntactic remarks such as, “The adjective generally agrees in gender and number with its noun, whether the adjective is used as an attribute or as a predicate” ( JM §148a). “The participle used predicatively has become, in Hebrew, a temporal form (. . .). On the other hand, when used attributively, i.e., in a quasiadjectival function, the participle is atemporal” ( JM §121a). These remarks are understandable from a cognitive point of view, for adjectives and participles both express atemporal relations. Adjectives are relational terms that profile a schematic semantic content as well as the quality of a noun. Hence, the relation between the adjective and the noun it qualifies and with which it agrees in number and gender is included in the adjective’s profile. It is hardly possible, therefore, to determine an adjective’s meaning except in relation to the noun it qualifies. “An important reason for this is that most nouns and most adjectives have rather complex semantic structures. The complexity resides, not so much in the nature of the profile as in what is not profiled—the things, relations, or processes that constitute the background against which profiling takes place. (. . .) Consequently, putting an adjective alongside a noun can trigger a complex interaction between the semantic structures of the two items” (Taylor 2002: 449–50). 17 Consider, for example, the adjective ayrb barîª, which schematically designates ‘fat’ in Biblical Hebrew. Its instances in the Hebrew Bible show a range of applications. In Genesis 41 it is related to cows and represents fleshy, nourished, healthy cows. Knowledge of cattle in ancient Egypt may help us to understand what fat cows might have looked like, assuming that it was the kind of cow that Joseph had in mind. It would also allow us to understand that the cows in Genesis were probably fat from the Egyptian point of view, but from a modern Dutch perspective with meadows full of big healthy dairy cows, “fat in relation to cows” means something completely different. And this differs still from the meat cows in France, who also are 16. For a brief sketch of some other adverbs and particles in Biblical Hebrew, see BHRG §41. 17. And he gives the following adjective-noun combinations with “red”: “red wine,” “red hair,” “red eyes,” “red lettuce,” and “red fire-engine.” “Red hair is probably orangeybrown, rather than red, and none, I suspect, would fancy drinking a red wine that had the color of blood” (Taylor 2002: 449).

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healthy and nourished but are more muscular than dairy cows. Other instances of barîª in the Hebrew Bible show that the word is also related to food (Ezek 34:3; Hab 1:16) in which fat plainly represents good. Fat food is good food, which is also the reason why only fat animals should be sacrificed. It is clear, therefore, that the interaction between the semantic substructures of the adjective and the noun includes the prototypical norm in accordance with which it is profiled. And it is obvious that sensing what is prototypical entails knowledge of the world and classification of the world in a specific culture and language. 5.4.4. Participles Participles constitute a fourth group of atemporal relations in Cognitive Grammar. In standard Biblical Hebrew grammars, a distinction has been made between active and passive participles and their predicative or attributive usage. Active participles are commonly explained as temporal forms that express a state. GKC §116a offers an almost cognitive definition: “The participle active indicates a person or thing conceived as being in the continual uninterrupted exercise of an activity.” And it adds that “the period of time indicated by a participle active, either as an attribute or predicate, must be inferred from the particular context” (GKC §116d). 18 JM §121a explains the active participle used predicatively as a temporal form to be “like a substitute for yiqtol.” “The participle shares something of the nature of the adjective. In most cases it represents an action as a state, as durative in aspect. The temporal value of the participle is mainly and, as it were, naturally that of the present. It is by extension of its use as present that the participle is fairly often used for the near future, or even for the future in general. Finally, the participle, like the yiqtol can express the past in a past context” ( JM §121c). These explanations meet some problems. If the active participle is viewed as a temporal form, how is it possible that it shares some characteristics with the adjective that represents an atemporal state or quality? How can the participle combine the two characteristics of an action in time and a durative state, although these are commonly understood to be irreconcilable? Langacker’s Cognitive Grammar can, in my view, solve these problems. First, it confirms that the active participle represents an action as a state. Second, it denies that the active participle expresses a temporal value; instead it 18. GKC §107d: “Driver (Tenses3, p. 35f.) rightly lays stress upon the inherent distinction between the participle as expressing mere duration and the imperfect as expressing progressive duration.” GKC §116d: “The period of time indicated by (a) a participle active (. . .) must be inferred from the particular context.” GKC §116m–p: “The use of the participle as predicate is very frequent in noun clauses (which, according to §140e, describe established facts and states), in which the period of time intended by the description must again be inferred from the context. Thus: (a) As present, in speaking of truths which hold good at all times (. . .). (b) To represent past actions or states (. . .). (c ) To announce future actions or events. . . .”

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explains it as an atemporal relation. Third, it explains how the participle derives its temporal value from the context, “to the extent that the process invoked by the participle is located in time, this property is contributed by the tense of the main clause (. . .) not by the participle as such” (Taylor 2002: 400). Fourth, it explains the similarities between imperfective forms (such as yiqtol) and the participle. In this explanation, Cognitive Grammar comes close to GKC §116a’s definition of the participle but differs from some of its additional temporal explanations, and it comes close to JM §121’s explanation of the participle as representing an action as a state but differs from JM’s definition of the participle as a temporal form. From the perspective of Cognitive Grammar, the participle in Biblical Hebrew can be divided into two main categories: 19 1. A participle with a nominal profile a. construes the profiled individual or entity as the trajector of an unprofiled activity; b. is a relational noun that is derived from a verb in which the verbal action itself is present but left unprofiled; c. an example is the agentive noun, which construes the profiled individual as the trajector of an activity that is conceived of as being in a continual, uninterrupted exercise of the activity, although the activity as action itself is left unprofiled: e.g., fpç sope† ‘judge’. 2. A participle with an atemporal relational profile a. profiles the continuation over time of a stable relation and construes a situation both as internally homogeneous and as progressive or still ongoing; b. defines a complex of sequential scenes but does not scan the relationship sequentially during its evolution through conceived time but scans it simultaneously, which makes the derived expression atemporal; c. can be distinguished in two types: • participles that designate something as a simple, consistent configuration, commonly participles of stative verbs; these are parallel to adjectives and sometimes even difficult to distinguish from adjectives; for example, μt tam ‘complete’, arwn nôraª ‘awesome’; • participles that designate something as a multiple configuration involving a complex relational profile, commonly participles of verbs of movement or motion; for example, ˚lh holek ‘going’.

19. In fact, the first category of a participle with a nominal profile belongs to and was described in chap. 4, §4.5. It is included here in order to provide a summary of all types of participles in Biblical Hebrew.

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Hence, the base of the active participle in Biblical Hebrew is the processual designation of the verb. This profiles a continuous series of states distributed through time, of which the participle gives an atemporal construal in one coherent picture; at the same time, the active (and present) participle indicates that this process is still going on and fully instantiated at the moment of speaking or narrating. The participle has, therefore, the overall effect of “imperfectivizing” the process (see also JM’s view of the participle as a substitute for a yiqtol). The participle can be used either attributively (as an adjective) or predicatively (in a nominal clause). In both cases, it construes a homogeneous picture of a complex of sequential scenes as an atemporal relation. Thus, in the active participle the perception of an action’s constancy through time is represented. For example, in Gen 2:10a, ˆghAta twqçhl ˆd[m axy rhnw wénahar yoßeª meºeden léhasqôt ªet-haggan ‘and a river was issuing from Eden to water the garden’, the participle axy yoßeª ‘go out’ represents the atemporal relation of the river relative to Eden in a homogeneous image of a continuous, uninterrupted stream. Conversely, the yiqtol form immediately following, drpy yippared ‘it parted into’, describes how the parting of its waters is always taking place afresh (compare GKC §107d). Consequently, the participle axy yoßeª in v. 10a does not instantiate the subsequent states in which the waters originate in the garden but represents the perception of duration, in which the end point is not included—in contrast to v. 10b, where the subsequent states are instantiated by drp parad. This explains the differences between participles and the imperfective verbal form in general: (a) the imperfective designates a process through time, whereas the participle does not designate the process but a continuous situation; although the evolution of a situation through time is a prominent facet of this participle’s meaning, it is confined to the base and left unprofiled; and (b) the endpoint of a scale marked by the imperfective (yiqtol) is still part of it, whereas in the participle the endpoint of the scale marked by the verb is not part of it (Langacker 1987: 255). Another point is that the participle says nothing at all about how long the process or situation it describes may endure. Its complex, atemporal profile implies only that the specifications of the profiled situation can all be satisfied in an atemporal construal of that situation (Langacker 1987: 221). Consider another example, Gen 18:2, wyl[ μybxn μyçna hçlç sélosâ ånasîm nißßabîm ºalayw ‘three men were standing in front of him’, in which the participle does not include the span of time in which the relation between the three visitors and their position in front of Abraham last but merely represents their standing as a coherent and continuous picture. Since the participle designates an atemporal relation, it is akin to both prepositions and adjectives. Like adjectives and prepositions, it can enter a valence relation with the copula ‘be’ (hyh hayâ), which profiles the continuation of a stable relation over time, so that a nominal clause with a participle designates the continuation over time of the relation profiled by the parti-

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ciple. “Given that be is a stative verb, the beginning and end-point of the profiled relation is not at issue” (Taylor 2002: 400). A nominal clause with an active participle plus the copula hyh hayâ profiles, therefore, an imperfective process that is construed as being internally homogeneous. 5.4.5. Infinitives construct The infinitive construct constitutes the fifth group of atemporal relations in Biblical Hebrew. Joüon and Muraoka define the infinitive construct as follows: Like the infinitive absolute, the infinitive construct is a verbal noun of action (in the active verbs) or of state (in the stative verbs). Thus some of its uses are similar to those of the noun and some to those of the verb. It corresponds rather well to the infinitive of many modern European languages. We shall make a distinction between A) the nominal uses and B) the verbal uses. (JM §124a) 20

It is exactly this positioning between nominal and verb that Cognitive Grammar explains by the notions of atemporality and complexity. An infinitive construct does not inflect for tense, gender, or number and is therefore not a finite verb form marking a process tracked through time. It does not, like a noun, express a single homogeneous picture but designates a complex configuration that is composed of various sequential stages that are not “highlighted on stage” (as in finite verb forms) but are left unprofiled in the background. Thus, the infinitive construct has a relational profile and scans a relation in summary rather than in sequential fashion. It contrasts with the infinitive absolute in terms of relation: the infinitive absolute is unrelated and has a nominal profile (see chap. 4, §4.2), whereas the infinitive construct is related and has a complex atemporal relational profile. Its similarity with a noun is that it can be combined with a preposition and a pronominal suffix; its similarity to a finite verb form is that it can govern a noun or a pronoun in the accusative. In the latter case, the object is preceded by the particle ta ªet or marked by the pronominal suffixes attached to the infinitive construct ( JM §124f and i). In Biblical Hebrew, the infinitive construct is often combined with a preposition (GKC §114d). See, for example, Num 35:19, wbAw[gpb bépigºô-bô ‘in his meeting of him’; or Gen 27:45, bwçAd[ ºad-sûb ‘until the decrease of your brother’s anger against you’. The meeting in Num 35:19 is not expressed as a temporal process followed through its subsequent stages, but it is construed as a unity or whole in which the meeting constitutes one atemporal mental picture. The decrease in Gen 27:45 is not expressed by a finite verb form but profiled in a complex atemporal configuration. This use of the infinitive construct is especially frequent in connection with the prepositions b bé and k ké 20. See also GKC §114a: “The infinitive construct, like the infinitive absolute, may also represent a nomen verbale, but of a much more flexible character than the infinitive absolute.”

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to express time determinations (GKC §114e). Consider, for example, Job 29:3–7, in which Job pictures his past: “[O that I were as in months gone by, in the days when God watched over me,] when his lamp shone [wlhb béhillô] over my head (. . .), when my feet were bathed [≈jrb bir˙oß] in cream, . . . when I passed [ytaxb béßeªtî] through the city gates” (njpsv). In English the infinitive construct is resolved into temporal clauses, which represent the past events as actions and temporal processes. In Biblical Hebrew, however, Job pictures the past in four compound “stills,” in which the infinitive construct profiles the event as an atemporal relation. Hence, the illumination of God’s lamp (tr) on Job’s head (lm), the bath of Job’s feet (tr) in cream (lm), and Job’s departure (tr) through the city gate (lm) are expressed as events or situations in the past in which the time itself is left unprofiled. The illumination, grace, bath, and departure are profiled as complex but atemporal configurations. By far the most frequent is the connection of the infinitive construct with the preposition l lé, which are very often used after a verb ( JM §124o). 21 The infinitive with lé is used in these cases “to express an action which gives more details about or explains the preceding action” ( JM §124o). 22 See, for example, Gen 31:19: wnaxAta zzgl ˚lh ˆblw wélaban halak ligzoz ªet-ßoªnô ‘now Laban had gone to shear his ewes’. The finite verb form ˚lh halak grounds Laban’s action of going in the past and profiles it as a completed temporal process. The preposition l lé in zzgl ligzoz derives a designation from the verb ˚lh halak that makes the infinitive “to shear” both relational and atemporal. That is to say, “to shear” profiles an atemporal relation between the trajector Laban and the landmark sheep. In this profile, some idea of action is included, but its temporal aspects are copied from ˚lh halak. Thus, it does not tell whether the action of sheep-shearing is completed; it even remains unclear whether the shearing has already been started or whether it is still going on. In this way, the action of shearing is present but is not expressed as in a film (a process) but as in a picture, as the aim of Laban’s action of going, which is placed more prominently on stage. 23 In this way, Cognitive Gram21. GKC §114f: “Starting from the fundamental meaning of l, i.e., direction towards something, infinitives with l serve to express the most varied ideas of purpose or aim, and very commonly also . . . to introduce the object of an action, or finally even . . . to state motives or attendant circumstances.” JM §124l, n. 1: “In Late Biblical Hebrew and Mishanic Hebrew the Lamed is almost an integral part of the inf. cst. as in contemporary Aramaic.” 22. Thus twç[l laºå¶ôt is quite often found after the verb rmç samar: Exod 31:16, wrmçw twç[l tbçhAta wésamrû ªet-hassabbat laºå¶ôt ‘and they shall keep the sabbath by celebrating the sabbath in all their generation’ ( JM §124o). See also Jer 44:3, “the evil which they have done resulting in my being angry by going, by burning incense, by serving other gods” ( JM §124o). 23. If it had been presented with a noun (“Laban was on his way to the shearing of the sheep”), the sheep-shearing would have been conceptualized as a unity, without including the notion of action.

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mar explains both the nominal and verbal aspects of the infinitive construct in Biblical Hebrew in an integrated way.

5.5. Example: The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1 In Genesis 1, four verses contain the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê ‘over’, each time in a different construction. In v. 2a it is used in a prepositional phrase, in v. 2b in a participial phrase, in v. 20 in a verbal phrase, and in v. 29 in a nominal phrase. Although the very same preposition is used, different spatial configurations are construed, and each of them will be studied in order to understand its contribution to the text. Gen 1:2a

μwht ynpAl[ ˚çjw wé˙osek ºal-pénê téhôm and darkness was over the surface of the deep

Gen 1:2b

μymh ynpAl[ tpjrm μyhla jwrw wérûa˙ ªélohîm méra˙epet ºal-pénê hammayim and God’s breath/wind was hovering over the waters

Gen 1:20

μymçh [yqr ynpAl[ ≈rahAl[ πpw[y πw[w wéºôp yéºôpep ºal-haªareß ºal-pénê réqîaº hassamayim and birds will fly above the earth across the expanse of heaven

Gen 1:29

≈rahAlk ynpAl[ rça [rz [rz bç[AlkAta μkl yttn nattatî lakem ªet-kol-ºeseb zoreaº zeraº ªåser ºal-pénê kol-haªareß I give you all seed-sowing plants over all the earth

The preposition type ynpAl[ ºal-pénê schematically profiles a spatial position of the trajector relative to the landmark. It designates either a single consistent configuration, in which the landmark’s (sur)face is taken as the point of reference relative to which the spatial position is construed in a simple atemporal relation, or it designates a multiple consistent configuration, in which the action expressed by the verb form conveys the trajector’s spatial position in a constant movement relative to the landmark’s (sur)face. This multiple configuration requires that the trajector is either a spatially extended entity or a plural entity whose various components can take a characteristic disposition vis-à-vis the landmark. 5.5.1. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:2a Gen 1:2a

μwht ynpAl[ ˚çjw wé˙osek ºal-pénê téhôm and darkness was over the surface of tehom

The first instantiation of the preposition type ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in v. 2a focuses on a noun, “darkness,” which is the trajector, and specifies it through an

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atemporal relation to the landmark, “tehom.” If the situation were viewed from the lower position, tehom would have been the trajector, and darkness would have been the landmark, such as in ‘tehom was covered with darkness’. Darkness is therefore the most prominent participant in this atemporal relation, and the situation is viewed from its perspective. Because the preposition ºal-pénê schematically designates either a simple or a complex configuration, it very much depends on the trajector’s semantic content to understand whether this verse expresses a simple configuration or a complex configuration. The semantic content [darkness] appears to be indefinite as to its spatial expansion. The meaning of the atemporal relation, therefore, does depend heavily on the landmark μwht téhôm. However, the semantic content of [tehom] is rather complex and necessitates a closer analysis. Analysis In our present-day view of the cosmos or universe, it is only natural to make a distinction between heaven and earth. However, this is not as selfevident as it appears. The endless universe is in fact continuous and not split up into a heaven and an earth; the choice for just these two terms is based on the cultural categorization of the universe in which we are educated and which we therefore conceive to be self-evident. However, in the ancient Near East, the “natural” categorization is at least tripartite: heaven, earth, and “level under the earth.” Horowitz (1998) made an extensive study of Mesopotamian texts from all periods dealing with or referring to cosmic geography. And he demonstrated that in all kinds of texts, from the earliest phases of cuneiform writing through to the late period, the universe is conceived of as consisting of superimposed levels separated by open space, as represented in fig. 5.3. 24 The longest single surviving account of the building of the universe is found in the Babylonian epic Enuma Elish, which was, in the form available to us, composed in the late second millennium. 25 At the beginning of Enuma Elish, the universe is composed of water. Only Apsu and Tiamat, the deified underground waters and deified waters of the sea, were in existence. The first couplet explains that even heaven and earth did not exist at this early time. The evolution of the universe begins with the mixing of the waters of Apsu and Tiamat. The final result in Enuma Elish is a cosmos that consists of three heavens and two earths. The three levels of heaven are the Higher Heaven (samû/samamu) consisting of water, the Heaven where Anu the Upper God lives; the Middle Heaven, that is, the level of the winds and the storms; and the Lower Heaven or visible sky, with the sun, moon, stars, and constellations. Hence, the level of the winds (Middle Heaven) is conceived as higher than the level of the stars (Lower Heaven). Apart from the three 24. Figure 5.3 is based on Horowitz 1998: xii. 25. A complete edition and translation of Enuma Elish is available in Talon (2005). Foster (2003) gives a translation with textual notes. An extensive explanation of Enuma Elish is found in Horowitz (1998).

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A View of the Mesopotamian Universe Higher Heavens (Heaven of Anu) Middle Heavens (Winds) Lower Heavens (Sky and Stars) Upper Earth (Earth’s Surface) Middle Earth (Apsu) Lower Earth (Underworld) Fig. 5.3. Cosmological levels in the Mesopotamian universe.

levels of heaven, two levels of earth are distinguished: the Upper Earth or the earth’s surface, where Marduk settles the spirits of mankind (with the city of Babylon located at its center); and the Middle Earth or Apsu, the water region where the deity Ea reigns. No other god than Marduk resides permanently on the earth’s surface (Upper Earth). There is no Lower Earth or Underworld in Enuma Elish, because no human beings have died yet, and the king and queen of the Underworld do not appear in the epic (Horowitz 1998: 125). In another tablet, KAR 307 30–38, a religious explanatory text that dates to the first millennium and was written in the Neo-Assyrian script of Assur, three sets of heavens and three earths are listed; while AO 8196 iv 20–22, a late astrological-astronomical tablet also from the first millennium, lists the three heavens but does not list the earth (because it is an astronomical text). KAR 307 offers a description of the three heavenly regions and the three earthly regions. The Upper Earth is the earth’s surface, where Marduk settles the spirits of mankind; the Middle Earth is the Apsu of Ea; and the Lower Earth is the underworld, where 600 Anunnaki (gods of the Underworld) are imprisoned. In sum, the ancient Near East categorizes the universe in distinct levels at a maximum of three heavenly and three earthly levels. This categorization is considered self-evident. It is plausible, therefore, that this ancient Near Eastern cosmic geography is also shared by texts in the Hebrew Bible. 26 That is to say, passages in the Hebrew Bible may assume such a cosmic view, may implicitly or explicitly confirm it, or may contrast with it. In fact, many biblical texts testify to a tripartite cosmic view, in which: 26. Recent studies of the biblical world view in its ancient Near Eastern context confirm this, although some offer slightly different details and various degrees of specificity. These include (in chronological order): Keel (1985), Deist (1987), Cornelius (1994), Horowitz (1998), Janowski, Ego, and Krüger (2001), Keel (2001), Krüger (2001), Pongratz-Leisten (2001), J. E. Wright (2001), and Keel and Schroer (2002).

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Chapter 5 1. the tehom is conceived as the lowest cosmic level; it is described in a way comparable to the Mesopotamian Apsu or Middle Earth as the subterranean abyss filled with water; 2. the earth disk is conceived as the middle cosmic level; it consists of dry, material “earth” in the center and a sea or ocean surrounding the dry earth; 3. the heaven is conceived as the highest cosmic level; according to Gen 1:6–7, it consists of water and a dam of solid material separating the waters that is called the firmament. With regard to the first level, many texts in the Hebrew Bible give us a picture of how the tehom is conceptualized. Four passages in the book of Genesis (namely, Gen 1:2; 7:11 and 8:2 in the flood story; and the blessing of Jacob in 49:25) mention the tehom. The story of the flood—Gen 7:11 and the almost identical 8:2—presents the wells as the waters of the great deep or tehom coming up from below and the rain waters as the waters from heaven coming down from above, both relative to the earth-in-between. 27 In this text, the tehom profiles the subterranean waters on an inherently included base of closure. In Gen 49:25, Jacob blesses his sons, and the blessing comprises: (a) the blessing of the heaven above (l[m μymç samayim meºal), (b) the blessing of tehom below (tjt txbr μwht téhôm robeßet ta˙at), and (c) the blessings of the breast and the womb, which implicitly represent the blessings on earth. In (a), the preposition l[m meºal designates the relation of the trajector, “heaven,” from above the landmark, “the earth,” with a notion of motion. In (b), the preposition tjt ta˙at designates the atemporal relation of the trajector, “abyss,” under the landmark, “the earth,” and it does not include the notion of motion. Hence, the earth is the implicit point of reference relative to which the heaven is situated “above,” and the tehom is situated “below.” Deut 33:13 makes reference to this text in Gen 49:25 and also positions the heaven above and tehom below, meanwhile explaining the earth’s position more explicitly: “Blessed of Yhwh be his land with the bounty of dew from heaven [lfm μymç samayim mi††al], and [blessed be] the bounty of the deep [μwht téhôm] that couches below” (njpsv). 28 The perspective here is Yhwh’s, and the land is closely related to him as “his land.” The heaven is situated above this land, and the tehom is situated below it. In Exod 20:4, the term tehom is not used, but the tripartite cosmic division is self-evident. 29 The lowest level is viewed as being located under the earth and as a container of water.

27. Gen 7:11: “All the wells of the great tehom burst apart, and all the apertures of the heavens broke open.” 28. Targum Onqelos and two Hebrew manuscripts read in Deut 33:13: ‘With the bounty of heaven above’, l[m μymç samayim meºal for lfm μymç samayim mi††al, which is supported by Gen 49:25. 29. Exod 20:4: “You shall not make for yourself a sculptured image, or any likeness of what is in the heavens above, or on the earth below, or in the waters under the earth” (njpsv).

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Isa 51:10 describes the waters of the great deep (μwht téhôm) and the great sea monsters Rahab and Tanin who supposedly live in it. 30 Ps 24:2 entails in its meaning the existence of seas or an ocean under the earth and regards it as the place upon which the earth is founded.31 Ps 33:7 implies the existence of waters and also their storage in tehom. 32 Ps 36:7 presupposes a tripartite cosmic view in distinguishing heaven or sky, the mountains (on earth), and the great deep below. 33 Ps 135:6 summarizes the tripartite cosmic geography rather nicely: “Whatever Yhwh desires, he does in heaven and earth, in the seas, and all the depths [twmwhtAlk koltéhômôt].” Prov 8:22–31 presents an alternative creation poem, with wisdom in the position of first person. 34 Paramount is the tripartite cosmic view, with the tehom repeated three times, in vv. 24, 27, and 28. The first and third time, tehom is closely related to the waters. The second time it is described as the base of heaven’s horizon, fixed by Yhwh across the tehom. Thus the tehom, the earth, and the heavens constitute the tripartite framework of the created universe. In less detail, the tehom is presented in Prov 3:20, again in relation to the deep and the waters. 35 God’s speech from the whirlwind in Job 38 consists of two parts, which correspond to earth’s three levels (vv. 4–21) and heaven’s three levels

30. Isa 51:9–10: “It was you that hacked Rahab in pieces, that pierced the tannin. It was you that dried up the Sea, the waters of the tehom, that made the abysses of the Sea.” See also Ps 74:13–14: “[O God,] it was you who drove back the sea with your might, who smashed the heads of the tanninim in the waters; it was you who crushed the heads of Leviathan”; and Ps 148:7: “Praise Yhwh, O you who are on earth, all tanninim and all tehomot” (njpsv, with the exception of the Tetragrammaton, tehom, tanninim, and tehomot). 31. Ps 24:1–2: “The earth is Yhwh’s and all that it holds, the world and its inhabitants. For he founded it upon the ocean, set it on the nether-streams” (njpsv, with the exception of the Tetragrammaton). 32. Ps 33:7: “He [Yhwh] heaps up the ocean waters like a mound, stores the tehomot in vaults” (njpsv, with the exception of the Tetragrammaton and the tehomot). 33. Ps 36:6–7: “Yhwh, your faithfulness reaches to heaven, your steadfastness to the sky; your beneficence is like the high mountains; your justice like the great tehom” (njpsv, with the exception of the Tetragrammaton and the tehom). 34. Prov 8:22–31: “Yhwh created me at the beginning of his course, as the first of his works of old. In the distant past I was fashioned, at the beginning, at the origin of earth. There were still no tehomot when I was brought forth, no springs rich in water; before the foundation of the mountains were sunk, before the hills I was born. He had not yet made earth and fields, or the world’s first clumps of clay. I was there when he set the heavens into place; when he fixed the horizon over the tehom [μwht ynpAl[ ºal-pénê téhôm]; when he made the heavens above firm, and the fountains of the tehom gushed forth; when he assigned the sea its limits, so that its waters never transgress his command; when he fixed the foundations of the earth, I was with him as a confidant, a source of delight every day, rejoicing before him at all times, rejoicing in his inhabited world, finding delight with mankind” (njpsv, with the exception of the Tetragrammaton, tehom, and tehomot, and the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê [‘upon’ in njpsv]). 35. Prov 3:19–20: “Yhwh founded the earth by wisdom; he established the heavens by understanding; by his knowledge the tehomot burst apart, and the skies distilled dew” (njpsv, with the exception of the Tetragrammaton and the tehomot).

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Chapter 5 (vv. 22–38), respectively. 36 It begins in vv. 4–6 with the foundation of the earth, its measurement, the sinking of its pillars, and the setting of its cornerstones. Although v. 6 does not explicitly indicate into what these pillars were sunk, texts such as Ps 24:2 and ancient Mesopotamian texts express the view that the pillars or foundations of the earth were sunk into the Apsu or Middle Earth (Horowitz 1998: 336–37). Job 38:16 associates the depth of the tehom with the springs of the sea.

The ancient Hebrew cognitive world view is shaped and classified by categories of thinking that function as the Hebrew words’ points of reference. A study of ancient Near Eastern and biblical sources provides a sufficient quantity of information to grasp the ancient Hebrew categorization of the universe into heaven, earth, and tehom, which function as the point of reference for the semantic content of [tehom]. A matrix of cognitive domains translates this general category of thinking into distinct domains of knowledge. The material provided above allows us to construe an inventory of the possible cognitive domains active on tehom’s background: (1) spatial realm under the earth, (2) vertical depth, (3) horizontal expansion, (4) container of water, (5) source of springs, wells, fountains, and rivers on earth, and (6) foundation of the earth(’s pillars) and of the heaven’s vault or horizon. Based on the first two domains, the semantic content of [tehom] is considered in terms of depth and translated into English as ‘the deep’ or ‘the abyss’. Based on domains 4 and 6, the semantic content of [tehom] is considered in terms of water and translated into English as ‘waters’ or ‘(primeval) ocean’. The other cognitive domains are hardly ever taken into account in modern translations. Consequently, the lexical item μht téhôm designates a single spatial realm in the universe as a unity against the background of a tripartite cosmic division and the matrix of domains indicated. More precisely, it profiles the deep spatial realm under the earth on the inherently included base of waters. In this relational nominal, the deep realm under the earth is the trajector and the water mass its landmark. The English translation ‘the deep’ would fit this Hebrew word, once the included base of waters is clarified. Hence, the semantic content of [tehom] is the distinct profile-base relation of the deep on the base of water standing out against the cognitive domains mentioned above, which are conceptualized in the context of ancient Near Eastern cosmic geography. The integration of the designated items in the prepositional phrase ˚çjw μwht ynpAl[ wé˙osek ºal-pénê téhôm ‘and darkness was over tehom’ in Gen 1:2a depends on the correspondences between the semantic substructures of the 36. Job 38 describes the earth’s surface (Upper Earth) in vv. 4–15, the subterranean waters (μwht téhôm; Middle Earth) in v. 16, and the underworld (Lower Earth) in vv. 17–18. Job 38 describes wind and weather (Middle Heaven) in vv. 22–30, the stars and constellations (Lower Heaven) in vv. 31–35, and the hidden parts of heaven (that is, the High Heaven) in vv. 37–38. For an extensive analysis of the levels in Job 38, see van Wolde (2006, 2007).

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Fig. 5.4. The complex atemporal relation expressed by “over” in Gen 1:2a.

trajector [darkness] and of the landmark [the deep], which merge into one composite structure. In Gen 1:2a, the domain of [over] is equivalent to that of [darkness], since they both include the domain of extended space. And the domain of [over] is equivalent to that of [the deep], since they include both a vertically oriented space and a horizontally oriented surface. Hence, the composite structure [darkness-over-the-surface-of-the-deep] is an integrated concept equivalent to [over] in that it profiles a stative atemporal relation in a vertically oriented space with a horizontally oriented facade or plane, to which the darkness is related. In contrast to the schematic content of ynpAl[ ºal-pénê, that of the instantiation in v. 2a is fairly specific, for the preposition inherits all the specifications of [darkness] and of [the deep]. Observe, next, that the composite structure in Gen 1:2a is rather more specific than anything necessarily implied by its components. It shows the nominal [darkness] in its prototypical absence of light and in its belonging to the category of light (and not to that of a liquid, a gas, or a substance), and it shows [the deep] in its prototypical form of an endlessly vertical, deep abyss and a horizontally extended container of water located under the earth, with its surface on the upper side. These prototypical semantic substructures of trajector and landmark constitute the norm relative to which the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê is specified, so that we can conclude that this preposition expresses an atemporal relation in which the spatially indefinite trajector [darkness] is above and higher than [the deep] and is touching it so as to cover it. This atemporal relation is represented in fig. 5.4. 5.5.2. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:2b Gen 1:2b

μymh ynpAl[ tpjrm μyhla jwrw wérûa˙ ªélohîm méra˙epet ºal-pénê hammayim and God’s breath/wind was hovering over the waters

The second instantiation of the preposition type ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Gen 1:2b focuses on a noun, “God’s breath/wind,” which is the trajector and specifies

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it through a relation to the landmark, “the waters.” The preposition “over” expresses their atemporal relation viewed from an upper position. God’s wind/breath is the most prominent participant in this atemporal relation and the situation is viewed from its perspective and related to the landmark—that is, the (sur)face of the waters. The present participle tpjrm méra˙epet ‘hovering’ brings in the notion of movement with a potential path, which, if it were followed, necessarily includes an element of time. However, the path itself is not in profile. It would have been in profile, if it contained a finite verb form such as πjr ri˙ap or πjryw wayéra˙ep ‘God’s wind/ breath hovered’. The participle construes God’s activity as an atemporal situation that is internally homogeneous and progressive. In this way, v. 2b grasps God’s action in a complex configuration. The specific content of this spatial picture expressed by the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê depends on the correspondences between the profile of the trajector [God’s breath/wind], the profile of the verb type [hover], and the profile of the landmark [the-waters], because these are the semantic substructures within the composite structure of the participial phrase. The deity μyhla ªélohîm is conceived of as a unity, and the collocation μyhla jwr rûa˙ ªélohîm includes a notion of wind, storm, spirit, or breath in relation to a deity. It can be understood as a metaphor deriving from the transfer of meaning from the source domain of human beings to the target domain of deities, which would explain its anthropomorphic semantic content of spirit or breath. If so, the word jwr rûa˙ profiles the spiritual essence or life expressing vitality on the inherently included base of a human body. However, it can also be understood as a metaphor deriving from the transfer of meaning from the source domain of the earth’s meteorology to the target domain of deities, which would explain its semantic content of wind or storm. If so, the word jwr rûa˙ profiles the (strong) current of air that is commonly moving across the waters’ surface. The semantic content of the verb type πjr ra˙ap is somewhat difficult to ascertain, because it occurs only three times in the Hebrew Bible: once in the Qal qatal ( Jer 23:9, “all my bones are trembling”) and twice in the Piel, Gen 1:2 (participle) and Deut 32:11 (yiqtol). Deut 32:11 presents this verb in combination with the preposition l[ ºal: “Like an eagle who stirs up [ry[y yaºîr plus direct object] its nestlings and who hovers over [l[ πjry yéra˙ep ºal] his young.” The prepositional phrase wylzwgAl[ ºal-gôzalayw ‘over his young’ profiles a single spatial scene in relation to the flying action of a bird in the sky above his nest. The yiqtol forms of rw[ ºûr and πjr ra˙ap express modality: an eagle who protects his young would hover over his nest. In Gen 1:2, on the other hand, the participle of the verb πjr ra˙ap is used, and it is combined with the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê. It profiles, therefore, a complex spatial configuration implying either a movement such as “to hover” meaning “to stay in the same position in the air without moving forwards or backwards” (Collins Cobuild 708), or a movement of going back and forth

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Fig. 5.5(a) and (b). A complex atemporal relation (“over”) in two of its uses.

constantly. In the former, the trajector [God’s breath/wind] remains in the same position with regard to the landmark [waters]. In the latter, [God’s breath/wind] is a moving trajector and occupies a series of locations with reference to the landmark [waters]. In both cases, the participial form construes the movement as a unity and profiles it as a homogeneous atemporal progressive configuration. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in combination with the participle of the verb πjr ra˙ap in Gen 1:2b, therefore, profiles either an endlessly stationary, moving configuration of God’s breath or wind, represented in fig. 5.5(a), or a constant to-and-fro-moving configuration of God’s breath or wind, represented in fig. 5.5(b). In 5.5a, the trajector [God’s breath/wind] is conceived as a spatially defined entity that is hovering over the landmark, [the waters], in a way that is similar to the darkness covering the tehom in v. 2a, although it differs from darkness to the extent that God’s spirit or wind is not viewed as a spatially extended entity. In this atemporal relation, the trajector is not moving itself but is like a bird flapping its wings and staying in one location. In fig. 5.5b, the trajector, [God’s breath/wind], is conceived as a moving trajector that occupies a series of locations with respect to the landmark, waters. However, the profile movement of the trajector along the path is not followed, and the picture remains quintessentially atemporal. The landmark of the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê ‘over’ is μym mayim, which schematically profiles an amorphous and undefined mass of fluids, that is, [waters]. The definite article in μymh hammayim grounds this nominal in the context of the speech event. The essential property of a grounded nominal is that, it not only profiles an instance of a thing but also indicates the status of this instance vis-à-vis the ground. In this process of grounding, the semantic component [waters] is located in relation to the part of the context of speech that is construed as its ground. Thus, [the waters] designate an instance of the word type [waters], which is conceptualized against the

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previously introduced appropriate domain. What in the previous verses does [waters] include in its semantic component structure? Because tehom in v. 2a designates a vast expanse of water under the earth, it is likely that the waters in v. 2b include the waters of tehom. However, tehom is not the only water-including entity in Gen 1:2, for the first clause in v. 2a, wht htyh ≈rahw whbw wéhaªareß haytâ tohû wabohû ‘and the earth was unformed and indistinct’, seems to entail some reference to the waters as well. Some attention must be paid, therefore, to this clause, which has been left out of consideration so far. Gen 1:2a describes the situation preceding God’s command to the waters on the earth to collect and assemble and to let the dry land emerge. 37 This would imply that the waters were still covering the horizontally extended spatial realm of what will become the earth in vv. 9–10. The name that God gives to the dry area is “earth” and to the collection of waters is “seas.” Chapter 2, §2.7.3 contained a brief sketch of the ancient Near Eastern view of the seas, showing that the waters of the seas were considered to surround the dry material of the earth. The ocean or seas were believed to encircle the continental portion of the earth’s surface. Thus, the “world” was conceived as a flat disk consisting of a saltwater ocean with the earth as a swimming continent in the center (Horowitz 1998; Pongratz-Leisten 2001). This flat disk stands on pillars founded firmly on the ground of tehom under the disk of the earth. If this is an accurate description of the earth as a dry continent encircled by the waters of the sea, as Gen 1:9–10 suggests, the rhyming terms tohu wabohu would evoke the formlessness and indefiniteness of the earth under the water mass. That is to say, the nominal ≈ra ªereß ‘earth’ profiles [the dry material] on the disk of the earth against the inherently included base of [waters]. In fact, the term “earth” is a relational nominal in which the trajector [the dry] assumes its semantic content vis-à-vis the landmark [waters]. So far, we have two nominal entities, [the deep] and [the dry], both profiled on the base of [the waters] against the background of the ancient Near Eastern cosmic categorization. In conclusion, the mental picture that the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê ‘over’ in Gen 1:2b evokes is either of a stationary kind or a constant toingand-froing movement of God’s breath or wind, which hovers over the surface of the infinitely horizontal and broad mass of waters covering the earth and over the surface of the vertically arranged water container of tehom under the earth-disk. 37. As to the first movement, the verb hwq qawâ profiles a change in the temporal relation between the trajector “the waters” and the primary landmark “horizontally extended spatial area,” and the Niphal form used can indicate a reflexive or a passive form: ‘let the waters be collected’ or ‘let the waters assemble’. The second process expressed by the verb lets the trajector “dry material” emerge.

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5.5.3. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:20b Gen 1:20b

μymçh [yqr ynpAl[ ≈rahAl[ πpw[y πw[w wéºôp yéºôpep ºal-haªareß ºal-pénê réqîaº hassamayim and birds will fly above the earth across the expanse of heaven

The third instantiation of the preposition type ynpAl[ ºal-pénê ‘over’ in Genesis 1 is Gen 1:20b which designates a complex atemporal relation. It takes the birds as its trajector and locates them in relation to the earth (landmark 1) and to the firmament of heaven (landmark 2). These relations are expressed in one temporal process, marked by the Polel yiqtol of the verb πw[ ºûp ‘fly’. Although the verb form indicates the act of flying as happening on one occasion, its path is designated twice. The preposition l[ ºal ‘above’ profiles a single atemporal configuration in which the earth is simply the place relative to which the birds’ moving activity in the air is located. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê ‘across’ profiles a multiple configuration, in which the moving path of the birds relative to the expanse of heaven is indicated as a series of locations that collectively make up the appropriate spatial picture. This multiple configuration requires that the birds are construed as plural entities. In order to understand the semantic content of this configuration profiled by ynpAl[ ºal-pénê, we must analyze the semantic content of the lexical items involved. Analysis The point of reference of the conceptualization of heaven is the ancient Hebrew categorization of the universe into heaven, earth, and tehom. “Heaven” is conceived as the highest cosmic level. Gen 1:6–8 construes heaven, on the one hand, in reference to waters (this may also explain the Hebrew name of heaven, μymç samayim, as ç se and μym mayim ‘that which relates to water’) and, on the other hand, as [yqr raqîaº. 38 The verb [qr raqaº stands out in the cognitive domain of metallurgy, in which the trajector goldsmith or silversmith vis-à-vis the

38. Horowitz (1998) shows that in Mesopotamian texts there are two traditions concerning the composition of the heavens. According to one tradition, the heavens are made of water. “Explicit statements that the heavens are made of water are found in Babylonian Texts. Examples include Ee IV 137–46, where Marduk builds the heavens from part of the watery corpse of Tiamat, and Inamgisu-ranki, where the Akkadian name for heaven, samê, is explained as sa mê ‘of water’. In Ee IV 139–40, Marduk stretches out a skin and assigns guards to keep the waters of heaven from draining downward onto lower regions of the universe” (Horowitz 1998: 262). In the second tradition, the heavens are made of stone. “The tradition that the heavens are made of stone is found in KAR 307 and AO 8196, where the floors of the three heavens are made of luludanitu-stone, saggilmud-stone, and jasper (. . .). The traditions of stone heavens may derive from an observation that certain heavenly objects were the same color as minerals” (Horowitz 1998: 263).

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Chapter 5 landmark metal or solid material performs the action of “beating out,”39 or it stands out against a less-defined, general domain and designates the activity of someone who “spreads out” a plate or solid material.40 Based on a metaphorical structuring of this concept, God’s making of the heaven is either conceptualized as an entity that is the result of the “beating out” of solid material (translated into English as ‘vault’ or ‘firmament’) or of the “spreading out” of solid material that has been flattened (translated into English as ‘expanse’). In both cases, it profiles heaven as an entity between the water masses that functions as a kind of watershed or dam. A matrix of cognitive domains translates this general category of thinking into the following distinct cognitive domains figuring on the background of the phrase μymçhA[yqr réqîaº-hassamayim: (1) the spatial realm above the earth, (2) vertical loftiness, (3) horizontal expansion, (4) the vault’s or firmament’s solid material, (5) a dam or watershed, (6) source of the rain or downpouring of water on earth. Based on the first two domains, the semantic content of [heavens] is considered in terms of height or air and translated into English as ‘heaven’ or ‘sky’. Based on domain 3, its semantic content is considered in terms of expansion and translated into English as ‘expanse’. Based on domains 4 and 5, its semantic content is considered in terms of solid substance and translated into English as ‘vault’ or ‘firmament’. Based on domain 6, it is thought of in terms of water and resonates in English expressions such as ‘the heavens open’. Consequently, the lexical item μymçhA[yqr réqîaº-hassamayim designates a single spatial realm in the universe as a unity against the background of a tripartite cosmic division and the matrix of domains indicated. More precisely, heaven profiles a high-vaulted realm between the waters; this profile includes, therefore, the waters as its base. In this relational nominal, the high-vaulted realm is the trajector and the water mass its landmark. The English translation ‘heaven’ would fit this nominal, once the included base of waters is clarified. Remarkably, the cosmic levels expressed by the nouns tehom, earth, and heaven, which designate [the deep], [the dry], and [the high], all assume semantic content through reference to the waters.

The integration of the lexical items in the prepositional phrase πpw[y πw[w μymçh [yqr ynpAl[ wéºôp yéºôpep ºal-haªareß ºal-pénê réqîaº hassamayim in Gen 1:20b depends on the correspondences between the profile of the trajector [birds], the profile of the verb [fly], and the profile of the landmark [heaven’s expanse]. These semantic substructures merge into the composite 39. See Exod 39:3: “they beat out the plates of gold”; Num 17:3: “expansions of plates”; Num 17:4: “they beat them out as plating”; Isa 40:19: “a goldsmith beat it out”; Jer 10:9: “silver beaten out” (BDB 956). 40. See Ezek 1:22, describing a heavenly situation: “Above the heads of the creatures was a form: an expanse, with an awe-inspiring gleam as of crystal, was spread out above their heads.” See also Job 37:18: “Can you help him stretch out the heavens, firm as a mirror of cast metal?” (njpsv).

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time Fig. 5.6. The complex temporal relation expressed by “fly across.”

structure of the prepositional phrase. The semantic substructure of the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê [across] is equivalent to that of [birds] and [fly], since they include the multiplex entity whose various components can take a characteristic disposition of the movement of wings in the extended space of the sky, and it is equivalent to the semantic substructure of [the expanse of heaven], since it includes horizontal breadth. Hence, the composite structure [birds-fly-across-the expanse of heaven] designates a temporal process (and thus involves a change over time) of a continuous wing movement prototypical for birds in the sky. The difference between conceptualization presented in this verse and the conceptualization of Gen 1:2 is that, although both contain the same preposition, ynpAl[ ºal-pénê, the participle “hovering over” in Gen 1:2 expresses an atemporal relation. It designates a multiple configuration in which the evolution through time is left unprofiled, whereas the finite verb form “fly” (yiqtol) in Gen 1:20 expresses a temporal relation, “fly over,” which includes the path of the trajector birds relative to the landmark heaven. This profile includes a time segment of unspecified duration over which the temporal relation holds. Figure 5.6 represents this spatial configuration of v. 1:20b. 5.5.4. The preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1:29 Gen 1:29

≈rahAlk ynpAl[ rça [rz [rz bç[AlkAta μkl yttn nattatî lakem ªet-kol-ºeseb zoreaº zeraº ªåser ºal-pénê kol-haªareß I give you all seed-sowing plants over all the earth

The fourth and last instantiation of ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Genesis 1 is v. 29. This verse focuses on the trajector “plants” and specifies it through a spatial

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relation to the landmark, “the earth.” The participle [rz [rz zoreaº zeraº ‘sowing seed’ brings in the notion of movement with a potential path, which, if it were followed, necessarily involves the element of time. However, the path itself is not in profile. It would have been in profile if it contained a finite verb form. Instead the participle construes the plants’ activity as an atemporal situation that is internally homogeneous and progressive. In this way v. 29 grasps the plants’ action in a complex, atemporal configuration. The specific content of this configuration depends on the lexical content of the terms involved. Analysis The verb [rz zaraº designates the seed-producing, containing, and spreading activity of plants and fruit trees. The noun [rz zeraº ‘seed’ is used in reference to plants and animals, but mostly to human offspring. In the ancient Israelite understanding of plant biology, the prototypical scenario of plant reproduction (as deduced from the occurrences in the Hebrew Bible) is seen as: (a) (male) plants produce seeds and bear them, (b) (male) seeds contain life, (c) (male) seeds are spread over or planted into the ground, and (e) out of this seed new plants are germinated. Human reproduction in the Hebrew Bible is conceived in terms similar to plant reproduction, as has been convincingly demonstrated by Levine (2002). 41 Metaphors, terms such as [rz zeraº ‘seed’ in the sense of offspring, ynfb yrp pérî bi†nî ‘fruit of my belly’, ˚nfb yrp pérî bi†néka ‘fruit of your belly’, and a repertoire of botanical imagery indicate this clearly. 42 In this view, the female contribution to fertility is reduced to a role similar to the ground, a garden, or a spring: reception, bearing, and letting sown seed grow. 43 The prototypical scenario of human reproduction can, therefore, be described as: (a) male human beings produce and bear semen, (b) semen is a life-containing fluid, (c) semen is sown into the female womb, (d) out of this sown semen new life is germinated, and (e) the offspring is called ‘seed’ [rz zeraº. 44 41. See Levine (2002: 341) for biblical references. 42. In his study, Eilberg-Schwartz (1991: 8) compares the priestly conception of circumcision to fruit-tree pruning: “In the priestly understanding, circumcision is not an arbitrary sign of the covenant, as many interpreters construe it, but a symbol that alludes directly to the substance of God’s promise to Abraham, namely, to multiply Abraham’s seed. It is no accident that the symbol of the covenant is impressed on the penis. (. . .) Furthermore, the priestly writings suggest an analogy between an uncircumcised male organ and an immature fruit tree. They thus associate the circumcision of the male with pruning juvenile fruit trees; like the latter, circumcision symbolically readies the stem for producing fruit.” 43. For the consequences of this view on human reproduction, fertility, gender distinctions, and purity/impurity regulations, see chap. 8, §8.2.3. 44. Levine (2002: 342) formulates his conclusion as follows: “Once we determine that in the ancient Israelite mentality fertility, in humans (and animals), depended in substance solely on the male seed, with the role of the woman’s womb being regarded as that of a cavity in which the embryo grew and was nourished, it is hardly surprising that those Israelites were so obsessed with sperm. They identified their descendants as their ‘seed’, taking root in the Promised Land, a garden whose nutrients are provided by their God, who brings rain in due season.”

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In Genesis 1, the verb [rz zaraº and the noun [rz zeraº are used six times in the context of plants—three times in v. 11 and three times in v. 12 with regard to plants and fruit trees—and are twice used in v. 29 with regard to plants and fruit trees. Gen 1:11–12 runs as follows.

whnyml wbAw[rz rça yrpAhç[ ≈[w [rz [yrzm bç[ açd ≈rah açdt tadseª haªareß deseª ºe¶eb mazrîaº zeraº weºeß ºo¶eh-pérî ªåser zarºô-bô lémînehû Let the earth sprout vegetation: seed-bearing plants, fruit trees of every kind that bear fruit with the seed in it.

The Hiphil participle [rz [yrzm mazrîaº zeraº in v. 11 indicates the causative sense of the verb, in which the plants are conceived as producing seed, and the seeds themselves are responsible for the process of germination and production of new life in the ground. 45 It designates, therefore, the seed-producing activity of the plant. The nominal clause wbAw[rz rça (yrp) (pérî) ªåser zarºô-bô in v. 12 describes fruit as seed containers. Hence in vv. 11–12 the plants’ capacity to produce offspring is being described, and this offspring is called [rz zeraº ‘seed’. However, Gen 1:29 uses the Qal participle construction [rz [rz zoreaº zeraº and does not designate a causative action but a dynamic transaction. It is not describing, therefore, the seeds’ activities as subject or trajector on their own but is describing the plants’ action, with the seed as the direct object. This construed event in v. 29 thus enters into a valence relation with the nominal “all plants” (trajector), the preposition ynpAl[ ºalpénê, and the landmark “all the earth.” The trajector and the landmark are both conceived of as multiple complexes (expressed by the quantifier “all”), and the collocation [rz [rz zoreaº zeraº ‘sowing seed’ includes a notion of production and/or dispersion of seed. Owing to the multiple complexes, the process of dispersion all over the earth seems most likely. Hence, in Gen 1:29 the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in combination with the participle of the verb [rz zoreaº profiles a continuous or seasonal spreading of seed, as is visualized in fig. 5.7 (p. 168). In the complex atemporal relation “over,” the trajector [all plants] is conceived as a moving trajector that occupies a series of locations in relation to the landmark [all the earth]. However, the profile movement of the trajector along the path is not followed, and the picture remains quintessentially atemporal. It would have been in profile had it contained a finite verb form. The participle construes the plants’ activity as an atemporal situation that is internally homogeneous and progressive. In short, Gen 1:29 expresses the composite meaning structure of “the seeds of all plants that spread all over the earth.” It designates it as a multiple consistent configuration that displays a spatial extensiveness (all over) and a continuous (or season-related) progress through time that is not scanned temporally but atemporally. 45. See IBHS §27 and JM §54. BHRG §16.7 explains the Hiphil’s causative function thus: “the subject of the stem in the Hiphil causes the object of that verb to act as subject in the idea expressed by the stem.”

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tr lm

Fig. 5.7. A complex atemporal relation expressed by “over” in Gen 1:29c.

In sum, though the schematic content of the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê in Biblical Hebrew is lexically permanent or, more precisely, the result of cognitive routines, the instantiations of this preposition differ greatly, so that they represent distinct mental pictures, as is visible in figs. 5.4, 5.5, 5.6, and 5.7. Since the Biblical Hebrew lexicons and encyclopedias define only the word types in their schematic contents, they define the preposition ynpAl[ ºal-pénê schematically as an atemporal stative relation in the domain of a vertically oriented space, beginning with or without the inclusion of a motion of the trajector vis-à-vis the landmark. This is the preposition’s paradigmatically defined schematic meaning. Similarly, the lexical items [darkness], [tehom], [god’s breath/wind], [hover], [water], [birds], [fly], [heaven], [plants’ seed], and [spread] are paradigmatically defined. My analysis of the instantiation of these word types into syntagmatic relations—namely, the prepositional phrase in Gen 1:2a, the participial phrase in Gen 1:2b, the verbal phrase in Gen 1:20b, and the prepositional phrase in Gen 1:29—demonstrated the integration of these semantic substructures into the composite structures of [darkness-was-over-the-tehom], [God’sbreath/wind-was-hovering-over-the-waters], [birds-fly-above-the-earthacross-the-vault-of-heaven] and [all-plants-seed-sowing-over-all-theearth], in which the merging of the corresponding entities construes fairly specific mental pictures of situations or actions.

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Grammar as Cognition, Part 3: Temporal Relations

6.1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.2. Stative and dynamic verb types . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3. Stative and dynamic verbs in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.1. Definitions of terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.2. Survey of Biblical Hebrew grammars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.3.3. Verb types in Biblical Hebrew . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.4. Example: An analysis of the temporal and atemporal relations in Genesis 1 with an emphasis on the verb arb baraª . . 6.4.1. Atemporal and temporal relations in Genesis 1 . . . . . . . . . 6.4.2. The verb arb baraª in Genesis 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

169 171 176 176 177 180 184 185 197

What does it mean for an English native speaker to describe something with a verb? In order to be able to answer this question, let us summarize briefly what we have seen so far.

6.1. Introduction Compare the following expressions: (1) a. b. c. d. e. f.

“picture” “mother’s picture” “the picture above the sofa” “the picture hanging above the sofa” “the picture hangs above the sofa” “Joe left the office with the picture.”

The first two expressions, (1a) and (1b), designate a thing, “picture,” and therefore have a nominal profile. Whereas in (1a), the landmark of the relational nominal “picture’’ is left unprofiled, the landmark is elaborated and filled in by “the mother’s” in (1b). Both kinds of nominal profile have been discussed in chap. 4. Expressions (1c) and (1d) designate an atemporal relation; that is to say, (1c) designates the picture, and the preposition “above”

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profiles a spatial relation, the relation of the picture to the sofa. The preposition “above” expresses, therefore, a simple relational profile, and its conceptualization is reduced to a single, consistent configuration. Example (1d) also designates the picture’s spatial relation to the sofa, but the attributively used progressive form “hanging above” indicates that its profile consists of multiple configurations, and it expresses, therefore, a complex relational profile. Atemporal relations were discussed in chap. 5. Expressions (1e) and (1f) designate temporal relations, which operate over a span of time, and this is part of the expression’s profile. Expression (1e) profiles this relation as a stative relation, that is to say, it construes it as operative, without change, throughout the duration of the profiled time segment. Example (1f) designates a temporal process per se. Its profile includes a dynamic process that begins with an opening situation and leads to a concluding situation and includes the transformation in between. Temporal relations will be discussed in the present chapter. The key to understanding the differences between the verbal mode of cognition in contrast to the other nominal and atemporal relational modes of cognition is, according to Langacker, the distinction between summary and sequential scanning. These are contrasting modes of cognitive processing that serve to structure a complex scene in ways that are experientially quite different. Summary scanning is basically additive, and the processing of conceptual components proceeds roughly in parallel. All facets of the complex scene are simultaneously available, and through their coactivation (. . .) they constitute a coherent gestalt. This is the mode of processing characteristic of things and atemporal relations, even those for which conceived time is a central domain. Sequential scanning, on the other hand, involves the successive transformations of one configuration into another. The component states are processed in series rather than in parallel, and though a coherent experience requires a certain amount of continuity from one state to the next, they are construed as neither coexistent nor simultaneously available. This is the mode of processing that characterizes processual predications and defines what it means to follow the evolution of a situation through time. 1 In short, summary scanning is the ability we display when examining a still photograph, and sequential scanning is what we do in watching a motion picture. (Langacker 1987: 248)

For example, we perceive someone entering a hotel. We can either scan this event sequentially and use the verb “enter” to conceptualize it as a process: 1. Langacker (1987: 248) uses the word “predication” here, a term which throughout his work he uses as a synonym of “designation.” Owing to the possible confusion of predication in the sense of designation and predication in the sense of the subject-predicate relationship, and since in Hebrew linguistics and in biblical studies the term predication is very well known and generally accepted in the latter sense, in the present book I do not use the term “predication” in the sense of designation or in the sense of the subject-predicate relationship; in fact, I do not use the term “predication” at all.

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“she entered the hotel” or “we noticed that she entered the hotel”; or we can scan this event simultaneously and use the noun “entrance” to conceptualize what we saw and express it as a thing: “we noticed her entrance into the hotel.” In the first case, the component parts of a complex scene are conceived of as if distributed through time; that is to say, in using the verb “enter” we activate the various stages successively with the passage of processing time. In the second case, we activate the component parts simultaneously by superimposing on them a single mental picture and profiling them collectively as a thing (“entrance”). Hence, the noun is overriding the relational character that each of these component entities internally has. Verbs, by definition, designate temporal relations. These are relations that include in their profile a span of time over which the relation holds. A distinction can be made between stative verbs (or verbs that designate simple temporal relations) and dynamic verbs (or verbs that designate complex temporal relations).

6.2. Stative and dynamic verb types A bare verb or ungrounded verb is a verb that designates a type of activity. It profiles a temporal process but leaves the participants and the circumstances of the process unspecified. Dynamic verbs such as “walk,” “arrive,” or “leave” designate a type of activity that can be explained as a dynamic temporal process with a specified semantic content. Stative verbs such as “seem,” “think,” or “be” designate a type of situation that can be explained as a static temporal relation with a specified semantic content. As a type, active verbs schematically specify the temporal process of a trajector. For example, the verb “walk” specifies schematically a trajector that moves along by putting one foot in front of the other (human beings and animals that move along on two legs) or that moves along by putting two feet in front of the other (animals on four legs) vis-à-vis the landmark of “the ground.” The verb “drink,” on the other hand, inherently specifies its landmark as something “drinkable,” that is, as a liquid that can be ingested. It is this temporal process that determines the (proto)typical meanings of the verbs. Conversely, finite clauses, such as “she is walking” or “yesterday he drank too much whisky” contain instances of verb types, and these are expressed in finite verb forms (“is walking,” “drank”) that specify the participant, tense, aspect, and modality of a verb and ground it in the context of speaking. The difference between stative and dynamic verb types can be explained as follows. Stative verbs profile a relation that is construed as unchanged throughout the duration of the profiled time segment. The profile of these relations, therefore, consists of a single configuration. Expressions such as “he resembles his father,” “she is devoted to her mother,” “the lamp stands in the corner,” “The Netherlands lies between Germany, Belgium, and Great Britain,” “Joe thinks [that he is smart],” “she was ill,” “when we were young,” or “it seems nice” designate something as a simple temporal relation but do

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tr

lm time

Fig. 6.1. The stative temporal relational profile.

not involve a change in the relation over time. 2 Although these verbs—“resemble,” “be devoted to,” “stand,” “lie,” “think,” “be,” and “seem”—differ with respect to the content of the profiled relation, they each elaborate, in different ways, the profile of a stative temporal relation” (Taylor 2002: 211). This is represented in fig. 6.1. 3 A stative temporal relation holds over a span of time that is part of the expression’s profile. The relation is stative; that is, it is construed as holding, unchanged, throughout the duration of the profiled time segment (Taylor 2002: 210–11). Dynamic verbs, on the other hand, profile a dynamic event. They involve a change in the relation between trajector and landmark over time. In this way they express an action as a continuous series of states that represent different phases of the process in a conceived period of time. The profile of the verb consists, therefore, of multiple configurations. The span of time during which the evolution is tracked is referred to as the temporal profile of the process. 4 The complex temporal relation can be represented in a figure, in which a few states of the temporal process are shown explicitly; they include both the initial and the final state and the main transformation in between; a time arrow marked by a thick line indicates the temporal profile. Figures 2. These expressions are finite clauses containing grounded verbs. Ungrounded or bare verbs can only be found outside their contexts of use, such as in a dictionary or lexicon. However, in order to clarify the typical meanings of ungrounded verbs, the finite clauses in the examples inevitably must contain finite verbs grounded in clauses. 3. Figure 6.1 is Taylor’s (2002: 211) fig. 11.4. 4. See Langacker (1987: 246): “Categorization as a process thus requires that the profile not be restricted to a single state. However, it does not require that every state be put in profile.”

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tr

...

lm

...

time

Fig. 6.2. The temporal process expressed by the verb “enter.”

SPACE

tr

lm

...

...

...

...

time

Fig. 6.3. The temporal process expressed by the verb “arrive.”

6.2, 6.3, and 6.4 diagram the verbs “enter,” “arrive,” and “leave,” respectively. 5 The first figure, fig. 6.2, represents the temporal process of the verb [enter]. Langacker (1987: 244–45) explains it as follows: The essential import of this verb is that a trajector, through time, progresses from an [out]-relation to an [in]-relation with respect to some landmark. An indefinite number of component states are involved, but in practical terms it is possible to show only a few of them explicitly. Each of

5. Figure 6.2 is Langacker’s (1987: 245) fig. 7.2; fig. 6.3 is Langacker’s (1987: 247) fig. 7.3; fig. 6.4 is Taylor’s (2002: 213) fig. 11.5.

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SPACE

tr lm tr time

Fig. 6.4. The temporal process expressed by the verb “leave.”

these states consists of a relation between the landmark and trajector in the spatial domain; dotted correspondence lines indicate that the landmark is the same from one state to the next, as is the trajector. Moreover, the trajector is shown as changing position vis-à-vis the landmark, which is portrayed as constant in location.

The second figure, fig. 6.3, represents the verb [arrive]. This verb presupposes an extended path of motion on the part of its trajector, but only the final portions of this trajectory—those where the trajector enters the vicinity of its destination and then reaches it—are specifically designated by this verb. The remainder of this trajectory nevertheless functions as part of the base. The third figure, fig. 6.4, represents the verb [leave]. It shows the initial situation in which the trajector is located inside the landmark, and then it exits, during which time the trajector occupies a series of locations vis-à-vis the landmark; finally, the trajector ends up in a place outside the landmark. If the trajector were not initially inside the landmark, or if it did not end up out of the landmark, we could not use the verb “leave.” In using the verb “leave,” we track, as it were, the successive locations of the moving trajector vis-à-vis the static landmark (Taylor 2002: 212). These figures show that a dynamic verb profiles a complex temporal relation. The profile is complex in that it consists, not of a single trajector-landmark configuration, but of a series of relations that are tracked through time. Moreover, the time segment over which the complex relation unfolds is in the verb’s profile. In addition to this basic explanation of the verbs, Taylor (2002: 214–15) shows that a temporal profile can involve more than one landmark, one of

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which, the primary landmark, is more prominent than the other, the secondary landmark. And he offers the following example of the verbs “steal” and “rob”: (2) a. The thieves robbed the princess of her diamonds. b. The thieves stole the diamonds from the princess. The verbs “steal” and “rob” are understood against the same conceptual base. There is an event in which a person illegally takes a thing away from its rightful owner. The two verbs differ in how they construe the relative salience of the landmark entities: rob focuses on the relation between the thieves (the trajector) and the Princess (the primary landmark). The act of robbing primarily affects the Princess. The prepositional phrase of her diamonds specifies the way in which the Princess was affected by the act. It is significant that the secondary landmark (the diamonds) need not be mentioned: They robbed the Princess is a perfectly coherent statement. Steal, on the other hand, focuses specifically on the relation between the thieves (the trajector) and the diamonds (the primary landmark); the sentence tells us specifically what happened to the diamonds. The Princess is now the secondary landmark. Again, the secondary landmark may be omitted: They stole the diamonds is a perfectly coherent statement. (Taylor 2002: 214)

Whereas bare verbs designate a certain type of action that schematically specifies the process through time of a trajector vis-à-vis a landmark, grounded verbs or finite verbs relate the conceptual import of the verbal process to the ground of speech. In order to be able to understand the conceptual content of a finite verb, the entities that participate in the processes (usually, the participant(s), the place, or the course of the process) need to be stated explicitly. In the same way that a grounded nominal designates an instance of a thing (identifiable from the perspective of the speech-act situation), a grounded verb designates an instance of a process. This is effected by tense inflection on the verb, or alternatively, by modal auxiliaries. The prototypical value of past tense is to situate a process at a time before the moment of speaking. The tense inflection is the head of the finite or grounded clause. The fact that it designates an event or situation in relation to the speech event shows that it is this tense that lends its profile to the clause as a whole. The tense inflection designates a grounded instance of a schematic process; the clause inherits the profile of the tense inflection (Taylor 2002: 395). To study a verb means, therefore, to focus on a lexical item that designates a temporal relation between a trajector and one or more landmarks. (1) This profiled relation can be analyzed as a dynamic temporal process or as a stative temporal relation; (2) if the verb profiles a dynamic temporal process, (a) it can be temporally bounded, so that a study can be made of its beginning and end-point and of the transformation in between, or (b) it can be temporally unbounded, in which case the verbal profile does not make

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reference to its beginning or end; (3) if the verb profiles a bounded process, the designated event can be either punctual or extended; (4) if the verb profiles an unbounded process, the designated event can either be stative or dynamic; (5) in all these cases, the verb’s semantic content can be analyzed by a specification of the profiled trajector-landmark relationships in which the trajector and the landmark(s) specify schematically an entity in their own regions in a cognitive domain and in which their relationships specify schematically an event or situation through time.

6.3. Stative and dynamic verbs in Biblical Hebrew 6.3.1. Definitions of terms The verbal system of Biblical Hebrew (BH) is notoriously difficult. In discussions of the BH verbal system, various grammatical concepts are used that sometimes remain rather nondescript. For the sake of clarity, I will first include a list of definitions that are accepted in present-day linguistics. 6 1. Verbs are lexical items that profile a temporal relation as a stative or dynamic process. 2. The term clause is used to designate a verbal concept that has achieved conceptual autonomy through specification of its essential participants and circumstances. 3. Grounding of a clause situates a process (profiled by the verb) with respect to the circumstances of the speech event. Grounding is marked by a cluster of features pertaining to the verb and its subject: tense inflection, agreement in number of the verb with its subject, aspect, modality, and the nominative case of the subject. 4. Ungrounded clauses are clauses that lack tense inflection and correspond to the traditional category of nonfinite clauses. 5. Grounded clauses are clauses with tense inflection and correspond to the traditional category of finite clauses. 6. Tenses relate to the speech act time; tense locates a situation in time relative to the moment of speaking; in other words, the tense inflection of a verb locates the process (profiled by the verb) with respect to the ground at the speech act time; note, however, that although the tense inflection attaches to the verb, it is in fact the whole clause that is grounded, not just the verb. 7. Aspects relate to the event time; aspect is the grounding element that represents how the speaker relates an event or situation to what is happening at the speech act time or at another specified time. The relationship whereby one event is situated before another event or before speech act time is expressed by the perfective aspect. A perfective process is temporally bounded, that is to say, its characterization makes reference to its beginning and end-point. An imperfective process is one whose characterization does not make reference to its beginning or end. These 6. Based on: Taylor (2002: 391–400) and Dirven and Verspoor (1998: 96–98).

spread is 6points long

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categories of perfective and imperfective allow (in English) a number of subcategories: punctual, extended, stative, and dynamic kinds of processes. 8. Default forms and modal forms relate to the speaker’s attitude; the term modality expresses the speaker’s attitude to the event described. The modals offer a special perspective on the situation: default or indicative is the unmarked case, and modals are marked cases to express permission, obligation, possibility, or inference (in English marked by modal auxiliaries such as “may,” “must,” “will,” “would,” “can,” and “could”). 9. Moods relate to the speech act as such; the term mood is defined as the communicative function of a sentence. Sentences have different moods that express different communicative intentions: sentences in the declarative mood are used to express statements of facts; a question for information is usually expressed in the interrogative mood; to express an order, one may use the imperative mood.

6.3.2. Survey of Biblical Hebrew grammars Biblical Hebrew Grammars do vary in their opinions about whether Biblical Hebrew has a tense or an aspect system, or a combination of both, or whether it must be explained by something else. Older Jewish grammarians are of the opinion that the verbal system is primarily a tense system, while twentieth-century grammarians have come to prefer the notion of aspect or a combination of aspect and tense systems. 7 In the last several decades, narrative-syntactic or text-syntactic and functional approaches have developed a more text-related view of verb forms and their functions. 8 In this section, I will first describe in brief the views defended in three present-day standard grammars of Biblical Hebrew and supplement them with recent studies. Then, I will concentrate on the meaning of the Biblical Hebrew verb type alone but not on instantiations of the meaning type that are marked by the finite verb forms, because of a lack of consensus with regard to the system behind the finite verb forms in the Hebrew Bible. Joüon and Muraoka’s Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (abbreviated JM) is a substantial revision of Joüon (1923) and was published in 1991. A second edition appeared in 2006. In the first edition of §111c, the meaning of Hebrew temporal forms is described as “expressions of at the same time tenses and moods of action or aspects,” and in the second edition as “expressions of at the same time tenses and modalities of action or aspects.” 9 They distinguish two finite tenses in Biblical Hebrew: the tense with afformatives (first 7. See Waltke and O’Connor (1990: 31–40) for a historical survey. 8. For a survey of recent developments in Biblical Hebrew grammar, see van der Merwe (1997). 9. In both editions, the authors wrongly identify “moods of action” or “modalities of action” with “aspect.” Whereas moods refer to the speech act as such and modalities to the speaker’s attitude, aspect regards the events and the way they are related to each other. In addition, though JM2 has changed the terminology and opted for “modality of action” in §111c, the title of the chapter still remains “tenses and moods.”

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edition) or sufformatives (second edition)—that is, the perfect or qatal, and the tense with preformatives and afformatives/sufformatives—that is, the future or imperfect or yiqtol. The aspects represented by verbs are: (1) unity and plurality of action, according to whether the action is represented as unique and solitary, or repeated; (2) instantaneity and duration of action, dependent on whether the action is represented as being accomplished in one instant or over a more or less protracted period of time. The two aspects are seen as analogous and, generally, expressed in combination: unique and instantaneous vs. repeated and durative. JM §111f opposes attempts that have sought other kinds of aspect, “especially that of completed action and of incomplete action.” 10 Waltke and O’Connor published their Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (abbreviated IBHS) in 1990, in which they defend the view that Semitic languages are mainly aspect based, and they formally distinguished Aspekt through the conjugations and Aktionsart in the stems. With the German term Aspekt they refer to the way of viewing a process (perfective, progressive, habitual, etc.) rather than to the type of action or Aktionsart (which points to the inherent properties of a situation or event). 11 Hence, Aspekt is comparable to Cognitive Grammar’s grounded or finite verb forms, and Aktionsart is comparable to the bare verb forms or verb type. IBHS §30.1a considers the main distinction of Biblical Hebrew Aspekt to be seen in the qatal and the yiqtol, which are opposed as perfective and nonperfective, and this appears to me to be a characteristic of the verb type or Aktionsart. At the same time, IBHS presents some contrastive views on tense. On the one hand, it categorizes tense as referring “to the category of morphological phenomena that locate a situation in the course of time. Tenses always refer to both the time of the action and the time of the utterance” (IBHS §20.2). On the other hand, in n. 9 on the same page (p. 346), it defines a situation as “(1) a state, (2) an event (which is both dynamic and seen as a whole), or (3) a process (which is both dynamic and seen as ongoing).” And in the glossary, tense is defined as “the marking of a verb form to indicate chiefly the time of the situation described relative to the time of speaking.” That is to say, the glossary explains tense as related to the speech act; the main text (in §20.2, p. 346) explains tense as related to both the event time and the speech act’s time; and 10. “But this distinction, so important in Indo-European languages, does not explain the choice of tenses in Hebrew adequately” (JM §111f). 11. IBHS (§30.1 and glossary) defines the concept of aspect first in general terms as “the marking of a verb form to indicate chiefly the structure over time of the situation described” and makes a distinction between two concepts represented by the German terms Aspekt and Aktionsart. It subsequently defines Aspekt as “the way in which the internal structure of a situation is understood in relation to time, as either complete or not” or as “the contour of action (perfective, progressive, etc.)” and Aktionsart (literally, “type of action”) as “the way in which the structure of a situation is understood in relation to causation, voice, transitivity, reflexivity, repetition, and similar factors.”

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in n. 9 (on p. 346) it explains tense as a characteristic of the verbal type. I must admit, IBHS’s conceptual framework seems rather imprecise to me, and therefore I will not take it into consideration in the following sections. The most recent grammar, the Biblical Hebrew Reference Grammar (1999) written by van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze (abbreviated BHRG), opposes the theory according to which the verbal forms in Biblical Hebrew have a tense-function and defends the view that they express aspect. By using the perfect speakers describe an action from their perspective as completed. By using the imperfect speakers represent an action as incomplete or being in the process of completion. This explains why BH speakers can use an imperfect, which should refer to future events in terms of the tense system, to refer to a habitual action in the past (. . .). The dilemma with the perfect and the imperfect aspectual categories is that, as with the temporal categories, they do not cover all the nuances that can be expressed by the perfect and the imperfect forms. (BHRG §19.1)

BHRG criticizes JM’s identification of moods of action with aspect and describes aspect in Biblical Hebrew grammar—in accordance with modern linguistics—as related to the context of speech. The aspect of the Hebrew verb is the indicator of “whether the action is complete or incomplete.” 12 Aspect is but one of the elements that BHRG discusses. BHRG §11 also reflects on modality, that is to say, on the orientation of the speaker with regard to the actuality of a process (indicative, subjunctive, and directive), on time (past, present, future), voice (active, passive), conjugations, congruency features, and finite/nonfinite verbs. 13 Hence, BHRG’s explanation of the Biblical Hebrew verbal system mainly concerns the finite verb and hardly discusses the type of activity inherently expressed by the verb. In three recent articles, Joosten (1992; 1997; 2002) attacks the theory according to which the verbal forms of Biblical Hebrew have an aspectual function: “Evidence will be presented showing that, contrary to the majority opinion, the category of aspect should not be applied to the BH verb. The weak point of the theory is BH yiqtol. The view that yiqtol expresses imperfective aspect does not do justice to the function of this verbal form, nor does it contribute to a correct description of the way the verbal system is

12. The contrast between JM and BHRG is obvious: JM does not consider the category of completed/incomplete action applicable to Biblical Hebrew, whereas BHRG applies this distinction without much further explanation on the Biblical Hebrew verbal system. 13. BHRG §19: “The perfect form indicates that actions, processes and events have already been completed in the past. (i) In most cases events are presented from the perspective of the narrator and can be translated with the past tense. (. . .) (ii) Events in the past and/or completed events that are described from the (time or aspectual) perspective of the characters can be translated with the past tense” (§19.2). “The imperfect form usually indicates that events will occur in the future as definite events or as expectations. (i) In most cases the verb is translated with a future tense. (. . .) (ii) The events can be described as ‘future’ events from the character’s perspective” (§19.3).

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organized” (Joosten 2002: 51). Joosten argues that the basic opposition in the Biblical Hebrew verbal system is not between qatal and yiqtol but between modal forms (volitives and short yiqtol on the one hand, and wéqatal and x-long yiqtol on the other hand) and indicative forms (wayyiqtol, qatal, and predicative participle). Also wéqatal is clearly differentiated from qatal and not used to continue other verbal forms in temporal or logical consequences; instead it is used to express modality such as prediction, potentiality, conditionality, and obligation. 14 “This explains why very often a wéqatal form is used side by side with yiqtol-forms which also express iterativity” (Joosten 1992: 4). 15 Joosten’s examination prompts us to revise the verbal system once more. He focuses, however, only on finite verbal forms, or the grounded verb, and cannot be of any help for my exploration of the verb type. Thus it turns out that the Biblical Hebrew finite verbal system is still hotly debated, with JM opting for a tense-based system, BHRG for an aspectbased system, and Joosten for a modality-based system. Therefore, I will refrain from a discussion of the Biblical Hebrew finite verb as far as it expresses instances of the verb type grounded in its usage events and will relate only to the bare or ungrounded verb designating a type of activity or a type of situation. 6.3.3. Verb types in Biblical Hebrew Joüon and Muraoka deal more explicitly than any other modern grammar with the Biblical Hebrew verb type. They explain the Biblical Hebrew (proto)typical routines with which native users were able to construe situations or events (1) as unique and solitary or repeated (unity/plurality) and (2) as being accomplished in one instant or over a more or less protracted period of time (instantaneous/durative). Because the aspects figure analogously, a bare verb form is seen to represent either a unique, solitary, and/or instantaneous action or a repeated, continuous, and/or durative action. 16 Some (bare or ungrounded) verbs have in themselves either the instantaneous aspect or the durative aspect; other verbs have one or the other aspect according to the nuances of their meaning and according to the circumstances. Thus the verb awb bôª ‘to enter’, ‘to come’, ‘to arrive’, is sometimes treated according to the instantaneous aspect and sometimes according to the durative aspect. Likewise the antonym axy yaßaª ‘to go out’, ‘to depart’ can have either aspect ( JM §111d).

14. “In fact, wéqatal’s iterative function may also be viewed as a regular extension of its main modal function” (Joosten 1992: 12). 15. See, for example, Gen 29:2–3; 47:22; Judg 19:30; 1 Sam 16:23; 17:34–35. 16. JM §111h: “On the other hand transitivity and intransitivity play no part in it.” In contrast, BHRG §11 considers transitivity and intransitivity a fundamental distinctive feature of Hebrew verbs.

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Equally important, according to JM §111h, is the distinction between active and stative verbs—that is, between verbs of action and verbs of state—which accounts for a remarkable difference between Biblical Hebrew and English. Whereas in English, verbs are either stative or dynamic, in Biblical Hebrew sometimes an active verb is treated like a stative verb, that is, when its meaning comes close to a stative meaning; other verbs have both an active meaning and a stative meaning. “Likewise, it is not enough that a verb be logically or morphologically stative for it to be treated as a stative verb; it must also be taken in a purely stative sense, and not in an active or semi-active sense. Thus the verb dbk kabed, when it means to be heavy, is treated as stative, but, when it means to become heavy, is treated as active” ( JM §111h). 17 The treatment of the verb hyh hayâ in the Hebrew Bible is remarkable in this respect, too, because in its active meaning ‘to happen’, it is treated as an active verb, whereas in its stative meaning ‘to be’, it is treated as stative ( JM §111i). This explanation of the Biblical Hebrew verb type in JM §111 comes remarkably close to the explanation of the bare verb in Cognitive Grammar. The distinction between stative and active verbs in Biblical Hebrew coincides with the cognitive explanation of temporal relations in simple stative configurations and in complex dynamic configurations. For example, the verb axm maßaª ‘to find’ designates an instantaneous or unique action in a temporal process in which a trajector at some beginning point is not yet related to something that is construed as its landmark, while at the end of the process the trajector is related to it, and this temporal process is expressed as a complex processual configuration. Conversely, the verb çqb (Piel) biqqes ‘to look for’ designates a durative and/or repeated action as a temporal, stative relation; that is to say, it represents it in a simple configuration. Similarly, the verb rbd (Piel) dibber ‘to speak’ designates a durative action in a simple configuration, while rma ªamar ‘to say’ designates an instantaneous action as a temporal process in a complex configuration ( JM §111d). The key to the understanding of this cognitive processing is the concept of scanning: whereas stative verbs present an event through summary scanning, a dynamic verb or verb of action presents the event through sequential scanning and shows the action through sequential phases in time. In English, verbs are either stative or dynamic, whereas in Biblical Hebrew, the verb’s meaning plays an important role in the understanding of its modes of action: a verb used statively has a stative meaning; a verb used actively has a dynamic meaning. To determine the type of action that a bare verb designates, one must take into account both the way it is scanned and the semantic content of the verb type.

17. JM §111h also mentions ˚lm malak ‘to rule’, ‘to become king’ (‘to begin to be king’) in 2 Kgs 15:1; ‘to be king’ in 2 Kgs 9:13; 1 Sam 12:14; Ps 93:1.

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Cognitive Grammar offers an instrument to analyze how a verb type conceives of an event or situation. A number of questions must be answered. They include: 1. What is the cognitive domain against which the action/state and its participants stand out? 2. Does the verb designate a single summary stage or a series of sequential stages over time; that is to say, does it constitute a simple configuration or a complex configuration? 3. What is the set of salient participants? 4. Is there one or are there two (or more) landmarks in the construal? Those with higher salience will be called primary landmarks; those with lower salience, secondary (etc.) landmarks. 5. What is the relationship between the trajector and the landmark(s) involved? 6. What is the trajector’s beginning point vis-à-vis the landmark(s)? 7. What is the trajector’s end point vis-à-vis the landmark(s)? 8. What is the purpose and the focal area of use; is it the process itself or the resulting event?

An example of such a cognitive analysis of two Biblical Hebrew verbs, rqj ˙aqar and çqb biqqes, in the cognitive domain of searching, is based on data provided by James Aitken (2003), Pierre Van Hecke (2003), and Stephen Shead (forthcoming). These two verbs appear to designate a series of sequential stages over time and constitute, therefore, a complex configuration. The set of participants consists of a subject performing a search, a space that is searched, and an object that the subject hopes to find while performing the search. The act of searching implies a relationship between these three elements, and this relationship stands out as the profile against the cognitive domain. Van Hecke (2003: 148–53) identifies three “relational profiles” that broadly cover the spectrum of “searching” and labels these [to search for], [to search], and [to explore]. Shead (2009: 185) follows him but prefers to label the first [to seek] and to change the sequential order into [seek], [search], and [explore]; I will follow Shead’s terminology. All three verbs involve a purposeful, rational searcher as the typical trajector, but they differ with regard to the number and salience of their nontrajector participants. In [explore], the sole landmark is the area; in [search], the primary landmark is the area, but a sought entity is included as a secondary (lower-salience) landmark; and in [seek], the sought entity is the primary landmark, with the area as a secondary landmark. 18 This is represented in 18. For example, in English, [explore] is typically evoked by verbs such as “explore,” “scout (out),” “spy (out),” and possibly “search”; [search] may be evoked by “search,” “scour,” “comb,” and “explore”; and [seek] may be evoked by “seek,” “hunt,” “look (for),” and “search (for).” Typical expressions of these three are, respectively: “For three days we explored the countryside.” “The police combed the area for more bombs.” “I have unsuccessfully been searching for a pair of glasses” (see Shead forthcoming: 191).

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lm

tr

tr

[EXPLORE] (a)

[SEARCH] (b) lm

tr

[SEEK] (C) Fig. 6.5(a), (b), and (c). The temporal processes expressed by the verbs “explore,” “search,” and “seek.”

fig. 6.5. 19 Van Hecke (2003: 149–51) convincingly demonstrates that in Biblical Hebrew the verb rqj ˙aqar typically expresses [explore] and [search], as in fig. 6.5(a) and 6.5(b), but not [seek], hence not fig. 6.5(c). The paradigmatic Biblical Hebrew verb for expressing [seek] is çqb biqqes. Shead (forthcoming: 191–93) explains some additional differences between the three verbs. In [explore], the purpose tends to be general; typically, it is to become familiar with the contents or significant features of the area. Both [search] and [seek] also involve a purpose, but the purpose is 19. Figure 6.5 is from Shead (forthcoming: 188, fig. 29), who adapted figs. 1–3 from Van Hecke (2003: 149–52).

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much more specific: to locate or discover some sought entity (if it exists) in the area. All three verbs involve a searching/exploring agent (searcher, or similar) and an area that is traversed, with some purpose in mind; but the particular purpose of [seek] and [search] means that their frames also include a preconceived sought entity, which does not appear in [explore]. [search] and [seek] are alternate [seek scenarios] in which a seeker tries to find a sought entity in an area. In both perspectives, the seeker/searcher is the trajector; but they differ as to whether the area or the sought entity is the primary landmark. In other words, whereas [seek] terms primarily answer the question “what?” [search] terms primarily answer the question “where?” The difference in primary landmark is that [explore], like [search], focuses on an area as the primary landmark. Thus, both [explore] and [search] essentially profile the purposeful scrutiny of an area. They are both expressed in Biblical Hebrew by the verb rqj ˙aqar. The verb çqb biqqes, on the other hand, essentially profiles the purposeful scrutiny for an object in the area and expresses [seek]. As the relations indicate, with respect to the main participants and purpose, [search] is similar to [seek]; with respect to profiling, [search] is similar to [explore]. In sum, the Biblical Hebrew verb type or bare verb expresses (1) a unique and/or instantaneous action in which the tracking through time is considered relevant; this is commonly expressed by a dynamic verb or by a verb of action. This process through time involves a trajector and one or more landmarks; or (2) it expresses a repeated and/or durative action, in which the beginning and end are irrelevant. This is commonly expressed by a static verb or a verb of state. These two temporal relations involve a trajector and one or more landmarks and their relationship, which stands out against a cognitive domain. To explain the meaning of a verb means to analyze the relationship between the trajector and landmark(s) in the usage events in the Hebrew Bible, which stands out as the profile-base relationship against the cognitive domain.

6.4. Example: An analysis of the temporal and atemporal relations in Genesis 1 with an emphasis on the verb arb baraª In Bible translations, Biblical Hebrew dictionaries, and commentaries on the book of Genesis, as well as in detailed studies of (parts of) Genesis 1, the verb arb baraª is always understood to designate ‘create’, in the sense of an “act of bringing something new into existence.” In this section, I will investigate the type of action that the verb arb baraª expresses in Genesis 1 (Gen 1:1–2:4a) and see whether a cognitive study will indeed confirm or else will correct the conventional view. 20 20. In the analysis of Genesis 1 presented here, verse numbers refer to chap. 1. So v. 1 means, Gen 1:1. If, however, reference is made to one of the first three verses in Genesis 2, the chapter number will be included (hence, Gen 2:1).

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6.4.1. Atemporal and temporal relations in Genesis 1 6.4.1.1. The beginning The prepositional phrase tyçrb béreªsît ‘in the beginning’ with which the story opens is a very strong profile determinant indeed. It not only grounds God’s action in v. 1a in an atemporal relation, it grounds the whole story in primeval times. Some questions arise with regard to the contents of this action. If the verb baraª in v. 1 described the bringing into being of the heaven and the earth, God’s making of heaven in v. 6 and God’s action in v. 9 to let the earth emerge from the waters would have been repetitive: heaven and earth would have been created twice, or the narrator narrated this event twice. Another possibility is that v. 1 does not tell us at all about the bringing into being of heaven and earth. And still another possibility is that v. 1 is a caption or summary of what will subsequently be narrated. All we do know, at this moment, is that the trajector, God, performs an action in v. 1 with regard to two equally valued primary landmarks, the heaven and the earth, as the double accusative marker ta ªet shows, while no secondary landmark is involved. This profiled temporal process is grounded in the simple atemporal configuration of the beginning. God’s speech act in v. 3 is the first of a series of speech acts that are often read in their capacity of constitutive acts of creation. The idea then is that God speaks, and the next verse immediately shows the results, be it the creation of heaven, light, the plants, the animals, or the human being. This might be true for God’s first speech act in v. 3, but it is not true for his second (vv. 6–8), fifth (vv. 14–19), sixth (vv. 20–23), seventh (vv. 24–25), or eighth speech act (vv. 26–28)—that is, for 50% of the cases. In the latter cases God’s speaking activities are not sufficient in themselves, because they are followed by their actual implementation expressed by the verbs hç[ ºa¶â in vv. 7, 16, 25 and arb baraª in vv. 21 and 27. Consequently, the question arises whether the types of action expressed by hç[ ºa¶â and arb baraª are similar or distinct as to their semantic content. They both scan a temporal relation sequentially and track it through time, but the point is whether they profile the same relationship between the trajector, God, and its landmarks. 6.4.1.2. The making of light (vv. 3–4, 14–15) In vv. 3–4, the verb arb baraª is not used to express God’s making of light. Actually, no mention is made of any act of making at all; only the verbs rma ªamar ‘speak’, hyh hayâ ‘be’, and ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl ‘separate’ are used. The light’s coming into being in v. 3 is construed as a dynamic process that begins at a starting point that consists of nothing—no trajector, no landmark, and no relationship between them—and leads to an end situation in which “light” is the trajector and “existence” the landmark. The verbs of “speaking” and “being” construe the transformation between these two points in time. The jussive yhy yéhî ‘let there be’ shows that the transformation is subjected to God’s will, and the finite form rwa yhyw wayéhî ªôr ‘and light was’

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indicates its consequence, a simple temporal configuration, in which only light figures. Subsequently, in v. 4, this new entity, light, is opposed to the previously described, preexistent darkness. The question is how this process of “separation” is construed. In English, the verb “separate” indicates a temporal process in which initially two or more things are joined or connected to each other, but at the end these things are apart from each other; the transformation in between is marked by the verb “separate.” Does the verb ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl designate a similar process? If so, the light is thought of as an entity that existed in the same way that darkness existed, or they might have belonged to the same set, from which light would then have been set apart. However, this is not the case in vv. 3–4. Light is not differentiated from darkness but is something completely new. Light is first brought into existence and subsequently compared to and contrasted with the preexisting darkness. Hence, light is not differentiated from darkness, but God first makes the light and then contrasts it as a primary landmark vis-à-vis the secondary landmark, darkness. In vv. 14–18, the making of light is continued: “let there be lights in heaven’s firmament.” In v. 14a, the jussive yhy yéhî has the infinitive construct lydbhl (Hiphil) léhabdîl ‘[in order to] separate’ as its complement. It construes the plural entities, lights, as agent subjects that are to execute unceasingly the act of separating the day and the night, and it qualifies this as an intended temporal process that is still going on. As an infinitive construct, the temporal aspects of this separating activity are left unprofiled. This differs from the complex temporal relation in v. 4, where God was conceived as the trajector who separated the landmarks light and darkness and whose action was presented as a realized, finite, temporal process in which beginning, transformation, and endpoint were included. The conceptualization of the lights’ activities in v. 14 entails a temporal process that is not yet concluded. The heavenly lights that would continuously separate day and night are then sketched with regard to their double effect. This is marked in v. 14b and v. 15a by the verb hyh hayâ ‘be’, ‘become’, which expresses the expectation of the actions that will happen: the lights will become signs of the “set moments in time,” or the seasonal festivals, and of the “days and years,” or the (religious) calendar, and they will shine upon the earth. Verse 14bc expresses a simple temporal relation involving, not a change in the relation over time, but a continuous function of the lights in demarcating the seasons and regulating the religious calendar. In v. 15a, hyh hayâ with the infinitive construct ryahl (Hiphil) léhaªîr ‘in order to shine’ as its complement pictures a simple temporal relation in which the lights in the heavenly firmament are continuously shining on earth. Subsequently, vv. 16–18 tell us about God’s making and setting the lights in the firmament so that they will shine on earth, dominate the day and the

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night, and separate light and darkness. These divine actions appear to describe the same actions as those performed by the lights. However, in vv. 14– 15 the firmament’s lights are construed as the trajectors, whereas vv. 16–18 construe God as the trajector with the lights as the primary landmark and the earth as secondary landmark. And in contrast to vv. 14–15, which employ summary scanning so that the profiled relationship is three simple temporal relations, vv. 16–18 employ sequential scanning so that the profiled relationships are two dynamic temporal processes. The consequence of this difference is that God’s making and setting are profiled as a process including a beginning and end point, that is, a process which has been completed in the text, whereas the firmament’s activities are profiled in a simple stative configuration that does not include an end point, so that they, in their being realized, are conceived of as still going on to separate day and night. The only exception is the conceptualization of the heavenly lights that relate to festival seasons and fixed moments in time (v. 14b), which is construed as a one-sided process only. This points to the important position of the lights in the temporal conceptualization of the world and relates it closely to the weekly structure, the Sabbath, and the religious festivals. 6.4.1.3. The making of the heaven (vv. 6–7) In vv. 6–7, the verb arb baraª is not used with reference to the making of heaven. Two temporal processes are tracked through time, expressed by the verbs hyh hayâ ‘be’ in v. 6a and v. 7a, and ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl ‘separate’ in v. 6b and v. 7b. This time, the verb hibdîl expresses the dynamic process of setting apart two existing things, so that the English verb “separate” is a suitable translation. The other process of heaven’s coming into being is mentioned twice. Once, in v. 6a, the firmament is the trajector, and once, in v. 7a, God is the trajector. In the former, the temporal relation between the trajector “firmament” and the landmark “waters” is evoked by the jussive form of hyh hayâ, expressing the wish or exhortation that the initial situation in which the firmament does not exist vis-à-vis the waters will be changed into the end situation in which the firmament exists vis-à-vis the waters. The difference with the light’s being brought into being is remarkable. The light was brought into being, and no thing figured as the point of reference; the text merely said, “Let there be light.” Here, in v. 6, on the other hand, the calling into being of the firmament is construed in relation to the waters. 21 This explains the Hebrew name for heaven, μymç samayim, as ç se and μym mayim 21. In simpler words: what are we allowed to see and how are we enabled to build up a mental picture in our minds? In the case of the creation of light, we see nothing at first; then we hear a voice, and light is suddenly there. Subsequently, we are made aware of the light’s contrast to darkness. With regard to the creation of heaven, on the other hand, we see at first waters, endless masses of waters. We hear a voice, and then we notice that a solid material plate or “firmament” appears in these masses of water and is made to separate the masses of water above the firmament from the masses of water below the firmament.

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‘that which relates to water’. Hence, in Biblical Hebrew “heaven” is conceived as a relational nominal; it is construed as a unity that includes an inherent relation to its base “waters,” which is left unprofiled. It goes without saying that Genesis’ conceptualization of heaven stands out against the prevalent cognitive domain of cosmic geography. As was shown above, Mesopotamian texts testify to two traditions concerning the composition of the heavens: in one tradition the heavens are made of water, and in another the heavens are made of stone (Horowitz 1998: 262); Genesis 1 appears to share and combine both traditions. The image of heaven as [yqr raqîaº ‘firmament’ stands out in the cognitive domain of metallurgy. The verb [qr raqaº is used in the Hebrew Bible to designate the action of a goldsmith or silversmith (the trajector), who beats out metal or solid material (the landmark). It is also used in a less-defined, general domain to designate the activity of someone (the trajector) who “spreads out” a plate or solid material (its landmark). Based on a metaphorical structuring of this concept, God’s making of the heaven is conceptualized in terms of the beating out of solid plates of the heavenly firmament or as the spreading out of an expanse. Being a relational nominal, [yqr raqîaº leaves the temporal process unprofiled, but it does profile heaven as a huge, solid plate between the water masses and functioning as a kind of watershed. The other tradition, according to which the heaven is made of water, is expressed in the temporal processes in vv. 6–7. Clauses 6a and 6b twice sketch heaven’s relation to the waters: first, the jussive yhy yéhî ‘let it be’ has the relational nominal [yqr raqîaº as its complement; then the participial nominal lydbm mabdîl ‘separator’ construes the firmament as an agent subject that executes without interruption the act of separating. 22 Subsequently, v. 7 tells of God’s making (hç[ ºa¶â) the firmament and God’s separation (lydbh hibdîl) in a way that corresponds to v. 6, so that the verbs appear to describe one and the same action as the two sides of the same piece of paper. On v. 6a’s side, the firmament is presented as the trajector of an intended stative situation, being a dam between waters; while on v. 7a’s side, God is presented as the trajector making the dam. And on v. 6b’s side, the firmament is depicted in a simple temporal relation as the agent subject “separator” between two groups of waters, while v. 7b construes God as the trajector in the process of separating, with the waters as the primary landmark and the firmament (as the prepositions “below” and “above” the firmament show) as the secondary landmark. Whereas v. 6 employs summary scanning so that the profiled relationship is a simple (v. 6a) or a complex (v. 6b) atemporal relation, v. 7 employs sequential scanning so that the pro-

22. The prepositional phrase μyml μym ˆyb bên mayim lamayim ‘between waters and waters’ shows that the first-mentioned waters are viewed as more prominent and the latter as less prominent; this relative prominence is marked by the preposition l lé.

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filed relationship is a dynamic process. 23 The consequence of this grammatical difference is that the separation performed by God is profiled as a process including a beginning and end point completed in the text, whereas the firmament’s activities are profiled in simple or complex configurations that do not include an end point, so that they are presented as still going on. In sum, vv. 3–18 create a mental picture of the making of light and the making of heaven in two corresponding processes. The first process is marked by the verb hyh hayâ and expresses the coming into being of light and heaven as the result of God’s making. The second process is marked by the verb ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl and expresses God’s and the heavenly firmament’s separating activities and qualifies the heaven and the lights as a subject (trajector) in relation to other created phenomena parallel to God’s separating activities. The creation and separation of light and heaven are not, therefore, construed as actions that took place at the beginning only but are continuously performed by the waters, by the watershed, and by the lights, from the beginning and onward to the story’s present, while its completion is not included. 6.4.1.4. The making of the earth (vv. 9–10, vv. 11–12) In vv. 9–10, the verb arb baraª is not used with reference to the making of the earth. Two temporal processes are tracked through time in these verses: one relative to the act of ‘collecting’ or ‘gathering’ (hwq qawâ, Niphal)—“let the waters under the heavens be gathered into one area”; the other relative to the act of ‘appearing’ or ‘emerging’ (har raªâ, Niphal)—“let the dry land emerge.” Thus, God’s making of the earth is not recorded as “a bringing into existence” of a previously nonexisting phenomenon but as an effect of spatial movements. In order to gain an idea of this movement, one must be aware of both the horizontal and the vertical conceptualizations of this spatial realm. It is likely that the ancient Near Eastern tripartite cosmic view, with its three layers of heaven, earth disk, and tehom, is the cognitive domain against which the spatial realm in Genesis 1 stands out. In vv. 9–10, the verb hwq qawâ (Niphal) ‘gather’ profiles—as verb type—a temporal relation tracked through time that starts with an initial situation, in which the mass of water covers the entire earth disk. Then the waters withdraw, not, as one might assume from a modern world view, to different places between continents, where they separate these continents, or to a place in the center of the disk, 23. In simpler words: Say, you are surfing the internet and come across a Web site with pictures. The picture you’ll open shows you a still, not a moving, photo of a dam between vertical waters. This is similar to v. 6a. On the same Web site, a picture that is flickering all the time shows you an image of the same dam that keeps two groups of water apart. This is similar to v. 6b. In another window, a film shows running water on both sides of a dam; the dam keeps the two water streams separated; this is similar to v. 7.

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but to the outer bounds, and they leave in the center a dry area free of water. The instance of this type in v. 9, the jussive wwqy yiqqawû, shows that this action is not yet realized but is subjected to modality: it is God’s exhortation addressed to the waters (the trajector) to perform this horizontal motion toward one place (the primary landmark). In addition, the preposition tjtm mitta˙at ‘from under’ outlines the vertical spatial positioning of this gathering of water, while taking the lower point as its starting point: it relates the horizontal motion of these waters relative to the heavens. Thus, v. 9a represents the exhortation of the action of gathering as a complex temporal profile, with the waters as the trajector, “one place” as the primary landmark, and “heaven” as the secondary landmark. Although no verb of making or separating is used, the spatial horizontal movement unmistakably entails an act of separation. The actual realization and its completion are not described in vv. 9–10; only the consequent effect is made visible in v. 10 in the relational nominal hwqm miqweh ‘collection of waters’. This noun is, in accordance with the above-sketched world view, marked as a singular term representing the mass of waters surrounding the earth. More specifically, this nominal participle construes the concept of collection (profiled in v. 9 as a verbal action) in terms of a “thing”: the waters are conceived as the trajectors or agent subjects of the action “gathering,” although the temporal process is left unprofiled. The intended effect of this water assemblage is expressed in v. 9b by the verb har raªâ (Niphal) ‘to appear’, which entails both visibility, with eyes as its inherent base (presumably God’s eyes), and a spatial movement. Something emerges from underneath the waters. The nominal hçbyh hayyabbasa ‘the dry material’ suggests preexistence: it was an already-existing entity that only had to emerge. And it could emerge as a consequence of the waters’ gathering into one place. Again, the actual realization of this action is not described in vv. 9–10; only its consequent effect is presented in v. 10, in the name-giving of the dry material as ≈ra ªereß ‘earth’, an independent noun. Its profile does not include an unprofiled relationship to another entity. Verses 11–12 refer to the growth of plants and trees on earth. These are not presented as resulting from divine creative activities but as being brought forth by the earth only. The trajector, earth, is acting relative to the landmark, vegetation. These plants are in their turn construed as trajectors in the attributively used participle [yrzm mazrîaº ‘seed-bearing’, in which this participle defines the bearing of seed as a complex of sequential scenes, but it does not scan it sequentially during its evolution through conceived time; it scans it simultaneously in an atemporal relation. Thus, a situation is construed both as internally homogeneous and as progressive, or still ongoing, and the plants are considered capable of and in the continual exercise of bearing seeds for new plants or bearing fruit with seed in it for new trees. The finite verb form axwtw wattôßeª ‘and the earth brought forth vegetation’ expresses the realization of the prescribed action from the initial point to

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and including its point of completion. The nominal ˆym mîn (wnyml lémînô or whnyml lémînehû) is repeated three times in the temporal processes of the earth’s progeny of plants and trees and in the vegetation’s progeny of seeds. This noun is commonly translated ‘kind’ or ‘species’ but means, originally, ‘part’ or ‘partition’. 24 The bringing forth of plants and seeds and their differentiation into species apparently go hand in hand. 6.4.1.5. The making of the animals (vv. 20–25) In v. 20, God addresses the waters with the verb ≈rç saraß in the jussive, “let the waters swarm with/bring forth swarms of living beings,” and the waters of the sea are made responsible for the coming forth of animals in a way that is comparable to the earth’s responsibility for the production of plants. The relative clause in v. 21b, “which the waters [had] brought forth in swarms of every kind,” does not describe the waters’ action of making the animals as such at the moment of its realization but as being realized in the moment of speaking. In vv. 20–21, three groups of animals are mentioned. The first is the tanninim, who are not only not brought forth by the waters of the sea in v. 20 but are also not addressed in the imperative in v. 22, where God tells the animals to be fruitful and multiply. They stand out as special. Grammatically, the tanninim are a grounded nominal in which the definite article reflects the common viewpoint of both writer and reader, in that they share knowledge of the referent, which is designated by use of the nominal plus “the.” Hence, it is the shared knowledge that makes the referent identifiable. In this case, the definite article appears to be a reflection of the tripartite world view of “heaven–earth/sea–tehom,” each with its own inhabitants. The tehom inhabitants according to this view were considered to exist prior to all other animals and to differ from these other animals in their origin and procreative abilities. The second group of animals, on the other hand, is brought forth by the waters, as is shown by the jussive in v. 20 and by the subordinate clause in v. 21b. They are all those that swarm in the sea. They represent, therefore, the animals on the intermediate level. The third group comprises the birds that fly over the earth across the sky and are the animals in the heavenly realm. In other words, v. 21 profiles a process, comprising a series of component states that are scanned sequentially along the temporal axis, with God as its trajector and its landmarks tanninim, swarming sea animals, and birds, which represent the animate inhabitants of the tehom, the sea, and the firmament, respectively. The verb arb baraª designates this temporal dynamic process and cannot, therefore, mean ‘to create’ in the sense of making something new, because the sea animals originate in the waters of the sea, and 24. See the preposition ˆm min, ‘away from’, which indicates the basic spatial function of movement or separation. The noun ˆym mîn originally designates ‘partition’ or ‘separation’ (Barr 1961: 104).

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the tanninim already existed. It must designate something else. All we know, at this moment, is that in the subsequent v. 22, which deals with the same animals as those depicted in v. 21, the last two groups of animals are merely addressed and told to multiply and fill their own life spheres, which both keeps them distinct and secures their procreation. In this picture we miss but one element, the keeping apart of or distinction of tehom animals from the other animals and the necessity to stay apart. Might the verb arb baraª in v. 21 relate to this process of the distinction or keeping apart of the three groups of animals described? Still one other group of animals is not mentioned: those living on earth. They come out of (axy yaßaª) the earth in vv. 24–25, “let the earth bring forth every kind of living creature, cattle, creeping animals, and wild beasts.” In contrast to the making of the plants on earth and the other animals, the earth-bound creatures appear to be the result of God’s own making (hç[ ºa¶â). In this process of making, six times the term ˆym mîn ‘part’ or ‘species’ is repeated—three times in the modally construed clause addressed to the earth (v. 24) and three times in the indicative clause describing God’s making (v. 25). Every wild animal, every domesticated animal and every crawling thing or insect on earth turns out to be made “in its own kind.” Clearly, differentiation of the land animals goes hand in hand with their formation. 6.4.1.6. The making of the human being (vv. 26–31) In vv. 26–27, full attention is paid to the making of the human being, the last-made creature on earth. In v. 26, God expresses his intention, “Let us make, hç[ ºa¶â, a human being.” However, in v. 27a, in the actual realization of this intention another verb is used, “And God [arb baraª] the human being in his image.” Are hç[ ºa¶â and arb baraª used as synonyms here, or do the two verbs designate something different? A more detailed examination of vv. 26–27 is required, in which I follow partly the excellent study made by Randall Garr (2003). Garr discusses the references to God’s self-inclusive yet plural, first-person speech hç[n naºå¶eh ‘let us make’ in v. 26. First he demonstrates that the J and E traditions clearly acknowledge the existence of gods alongside God. 25 The deities form a group that has many anonymous members and, in conglomeration, form a collective. In Gen 3:22 and 11:7, these gods act as a panel that God may convene or whose counsel he may solicit 25. Garr (2003: 63) describes how these redactional traditions portray the gods alongside God in the Torah: “They may be called ‘angels’, according to the role they serve. Or they may be called μyhlah ynb [bénê haªélohîm ‘sons of God’], according to their generic species or, perhaps, after their leader μyhlah [haªélohîm ‘God’]. In either case, these gods exist as nonindividuated, masculine, and nameless beings. They are, however, potentially countable, as Gen 3:22 plainly states. For when J’s God affirms that ‘the man has become djak wnmm [kéªa˙ad mimmennû] like one of us’, the partitive grammar and phraseology imply that the nonsingular ‘us’ includes multiple members that, at least en ensemble, have a common divine identity.”

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when dealing with the affairs of his people. When Yahweh addresses them in Gen 3:22 and 11:7, he is appropriately seeking their advice (Garr 2003: 81). Second, he explains how in many other biblical texts nonforeign gods appear as well, and these latter texts tend to confirm the precedent set by J and E. Third, these biblical usage events also establish a wider context within which P’s lone divine “let us make” in Gen 1:26 can be evaluated. As a cohortative, hç[n naºå¶eh ‘let us make’ proposes an activity in which the speaker, God, addresses the gods or members of the heavenly court to enlist their approval and cooperation in his proposal to make humankind (Garr 2003: 87–88). Though the addressee’s response is not recorded in the text, the successful enactment of v. 26 presumes that the speaker and the addressee are in agreement. When God proposes to create the human race, he appends a complement clause (v. 26c) in which he sets the norm for what human beings will be like (the image and likeness of gods) and the goal of human creation (their rule over the creatures on earth). 26 Garr’s analysis of the prepositions k ké and b bé and the nouns μlx ßelem and twmd démût are just as illuminating. The preposition k ké expresses a similarity, likeness, or approximation between otherwise dissimilar and nonidentical entities, that is to say, an approximation between semantically different and referentially distinct entities (Garr 2003: 98–99). The preposition b bé is a locative; it marks the location in or at a point, on a surface, within an area, or amid a domain. It implies the idea of being or moving within some definite region. And it also implies limitation, because it designates a specific spatial location (‘in’) or it restricts the locus of a particular area (‘within’) or entity (‘consisting of’). The locative preposition, then, indicates (restricted) localization. 27 In Gen 1:26b the two terms wnmlxb béßalmenû and wntwmdk kidmûtenû are simply juxtaposed. Further, they have a common referent, God

26. Kee (2007) has recently published a study of the particular characteristics of the “heavenly council” in the Mesopotamian, Ugaritic, and ancient Israelite texts. In it, he discusses the following major passages related to the assembly of the heavenly beings in the Hebrew Bible: 1 Kgs 22:19–23; Isa 6; Job 1–2; Ps 82; Zechariah 3; and Dan 7:9–14. He shows that they all offer a visual description of the heavenly council, which includes “the high god at the centre of the council, surrounded by its members” and that this type-scene employs common phrases, such as “to sit down” and “to stand” (Kee 2007: 263–64). He also examines shorter passages in the Hebrew Bible that simply indicate the existence of the assembly of the gods, imply an event in it, or merely acknowledge the existence of a multitude of divine beings alongside Yhwh (Gen 1:26; 3:22; 11:7; Exod 15:11; Deut 4:19; 17:3; 32:8; 33:2–3; Judg 5:20; Isa 14:13; Jer 8:2; 23:18, 22a; Amos 8:14; Zech 14:5; Ps 25:14; 29:1– 2; 49:20; 58:1–2; 73:15; 89:6–9; 96:4–5; 148:2–3; Job 15:8; 38:7; Neh 9:6). 27. Garr (2003: 113) demonstrates convincingly that both Gen 1:26 and Gen 5:3 adopt the pattern of the two prepositional phrases in which the former of the two phrases is marked with the locative-proximate b bé, while the latter is marked with the similativeseparative k ké. The co-referential phrase comes first; the non-co-referential comparison comes afterward. Other texts (Num 29:18; Judg 20:39; Deut 28:62; Ps 102:4) reveal the same syntactic and grammatical pattern.

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and gods. God specifies two similative characteristics or attributes of the human creature: one proximate (‘image’), and the other distal (‘likeness’). The latter, twmd démût ‘likeness’, is a genealogical trait that connects humankind and divinity, especially the procreative role of (hu)mankind and the creative role of God. The former, μlx ßelem ‘image’, signifies a representation, copy, or fascimile; the referent may be human or divine or cultic. Through its ‘image’ and its ‘likeness’, the human race will master (Ab hdr radâ bé-) the world and exercise its mighty control over the earth and the many creatures that inhabit it (Garr 2003: 158). It is clear, therefore, that the two terms, ‘likeness’ and ‘image’, although different in meaning, share a basic semantic content and imply a basic comparison between humanity and divinity. They both express multiple degrees of referential similitude, implying that humankind is theomorphic (Garr 2003: 166). I am more reluctant to follow Garr’s implication that vv. 26 and 27 can be brought into line and that the verbs hç[ ºa¶â and arb baraª can be considered synonyms. Although he notices the difference between the plural gods who are invited to make [hç[ ºa¶â] the human beings in “our image” and “our likeness” in v. 26 and God’s twice repeated action to [arb baraª] in “his image” in v. 27, Garr does not elaborate on these differences. However, when one pays closer attention to the differences between v. 26 and v. 27, the following elements come to the fore: 1. In Gen 1:26, hç[ ºa¶â is combined with μlx ßelem and twmd démût, whereas Gen 1:27 combines arb baraª with μlx ßelem alone. 2. In v. 27, arb baraª is combined with b bé, not with k ké, and the preposition b bé is a locative that marks the location (with-)in a domain and expresses proximity and co-referentiality. 3. In v. 26, God’s and the gods’ making of the human being is expressed by wnmlxb hç[ ºa¶â béßalmenû. The verb hç[ ºa¶â designates their bringing into being the human race, which they cause to be and which they cause to be in a certain form, so that humans will have a certain quality or capacity in common with the gods: the capacity to monitor the earth and its inhabitants. 4. In v. 26, God’s and the gods’ making of the human being is expressed by wntwmdk hç[ ºa¶â kidmûtenû. The verb hç[ ºa¶â designates their bringing into being the human race, which they cause to be and which they cause to be like them. Yet, the shared feature (‘likeness’) is one that is shared by dissimilar entities: although similar to each other in their power over the earth, the gods and humans are apparently different as well. 5. In v. 27a and v. 27b, the singular deity God and his action with respect to the human being is expressed by wmlxb arb baraª béßalmô. Humankind contains the definite article because it has previously been introduced in v. 26 within the domain of gods. Here it is located for the second time, but this time uniquely in relation to God in the singular. The action expressed by the verb arb baraª begins, therefore, from the initial situation of inclusion in the set of gods and proceeds from it to locate the human

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beings in the set of God. Thus, God stresses twice the attribute shared by both God and human beings. 6. In v. 27c, the same verb, arb baraª, is used. It describes God’s differentiation of the human race into male and female beings. 7. In v. 28a, God orders these differentiated human beings to be fruitful and multiply. It seems plausible that this capacity to create or procreate is the image shared by both God and the human beings. 8. In v. 28b, God orders these human beings to exert power over the earth and its inhabitants. It seems plausible that this capacity to rule the world (as designated in v. 26) is the image and likeness shared by both God/gods and human beings.

In cognitive linguistic terms, two processes appear to be included in vv. 26– 27. In v. 26, God and gods (trajector) are involved in the process of “making” the human beings (primary landmark), who did not yet exist. This process includes two atemporal configurations, which portray the new creatures in their being made in reference to a secondary and third landmark, the image and likeness of gods. It is thus suggested that μda ªadam (‘humankind’) is a relational noun that profiles its meaning on the implicit base of a relation to God and gods. To understand humankind means to acknowledge their relation to the divine beings whom they represent. This base translates into human control over the earth and its inhabitants, which appears to emerge from their being made after gods’ image and likeness. Verse 27 displays a change in perspective: not God’s perspective (as in v. 26) but the narrator’s perspective is shared. If it had been represented from God’s perspective, v. 27 would have had “my image” instead of “his image.” The finite verb forms in v. 27a–b express the instantaneity of the actions at the moment of speaking, so that God’s actions of [arb baraª] with regard to human beings are recorded as processes that have been completed. Verse 27 records from the narrator’s point of view the humans’ distinction as a representamen of God. In v. 27a–b, the narrator uses the verb arb baraª twice to describe God as trajector and μda ªadam (humankind) as primary landmark, while the latter is a relational noun that includes the divine image in its base. God differentiates human beings from the other gods by emphasizing the feature that they share with him alone. This co-referentiality is indicated by b bé. This point of reference is twice stated in v. 27a–b. As an image of gods (v. 26), the human race shares in the gods’ capacity to rule the world; they are the deities’ representatives, both similar and dissimilar. As an image of God (v. 27a–b), humankind shares in God’s capacity to (pro-)create. Subsequently, in v. 27c, the narrator uses the verb arb baraª to describe God as trajector and “them” as primary landmark, designating the human race’s differentiation into male and female beings; hence the condition is met to execute this process of procreation. Finally, in v. 28, God as the trajector gives his commandment to the newly made and differentiated human beings to fill the earth and monitor it.

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In vv. 29–31, God gives plants to the human beings and animals as food. This time, God’s perception and perspective are fully shared, as both the particle hnh hinneh ‘behold’ and the verb ˆtn natan ‘give’ in the first-person singular indicate, and the gift is realized immediately. As a result, all recently made creatures on earth are related to each other as both distinct and dependent: the animals differ from each other and are distinguished as tehom animals, sea animals, sky animals, and land animals; they differ from plants and human beings, but at the same time they depend on plants for food and on human beings for monitoring; the plants on earth differ from one another as to their seed-bearing devices and their ability to keep apart and procreate into different species, but they also depend on the human beings that are set as rulers over them; the human beings vary in two sexes and are thus able to procreate, but are also said to be dependent on the plants that provide their food and whose seeds guarantee an ongoing food production, and are at the same time made rulers over the earth. A hierarchy of distinctions and dependencies therefore characterizes this story of creation. 6.4.1.7. The finale (Genesis 2:1–3) In the last section, Gen 2:2–3, God’s previous activities are summarized. Three subordinate clauses open with the relative particle rça ªåser and describe the divine actions as being realized. The first two clauses in v. 2 are almost identical: “On the seventh day God finished the work that he had been doing” (hç[ rça ªåser ºa¶â) and “he ceased on the seventh day from all the work he had done” (hç[ rça ªåser ºa¶â). A difference between v. 2a and v. 2b is noticeable, as well: in v. 2a, God’s finishing of the work is profiled, whereas in v. 2b God ceases from doing any further work. However, the grammatical construction of v. 3b–c is different. Genesis 2

wtkalmAlkm tbç wb yk

3b

kî bô sabat mikkol-mélaªkétô

twç[l μyhla arbArça

3c

ªåser-baraª ªélohîm laºå¶ôt

In v. 3c, the finite verb form arb baraª is followed by the infinitive construct twç[l laºå¶ôt. JM §124o explains the infinitive construct with l lé that is used after a verb “to express an action which gives more details about or explains the preceding action.” JM §124o: “it is then equivalent to the Latin gerund in -do, e.g., faciendo = Eng. by doing. Thus twç[l [laºå¶ôt] is quite often found after the verb rmv [samar]: Ex 31.16 . . . twç[l tbçhAta wrmçw [wésamérû ªet-hassabat laºå¶ôt] ‘and they shall keep the sabbath by celebrating the sabbath in all their generation’.” The infinitive construct twç[l laºå¶ôt in v. 3c, then, explains the preceding action of arb baraª. In other words, this

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clause is oriented around God’s activity of [baraª]. On the seventh day, God ceased from all the work that is characterized as [baraª ]. Consequently, vv. 2–3 evaluate the divine activities in two stages, first in v. 2 and then in v. 3. Verse 2 considers God’s work as making (“God finished the work of making” and “God ceased from all the work of making”), and hç[ ºa¶â stands for the making of something new that did not exist before; that is to say, hç[ ºa¶â designates the process of creation. Verse 3, on the other hand, assesses God’s other activity: “God ceased from the [baraª] work.” The distinction between the divine activities in these verses confirms, then, that the verbs hç[ ºa¶â and arb baraª are not synonymous. Instead, they designate different divine activities. 6.4.2. The verb arb baraª in Genesis 1 This study of Genesis 1 concludes with the following results: 1. The making of light is described in two processes of ‘letting be’ and ‘separating’, expressed by the verbs hyh hayâ and ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl. 2. The making of heaven is described in two processes of ‘making’ and ‘separating’, expressed with the verbs hç[ ºa¶â and ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl. 3. Heaven itself and its components are ‘made’ in their function of ‘separators’: the firmament is made to separate the waters; the lights in the firmament are made to separate day and night, to become the signs of the set moments in the calendar, and to separate light and darkness; these actions are expressed with the verbs hyh hayâ and ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl. 4. The making of the earth is described as the result of the seawaters’ ‘assembling’ into one place and the ‘emerging’ of the dry material called earth, an event that entails a separation between the fluids and the solid material; it is expressed with the verbs hwq qawâ and har raªâ. 5. The making of the vegetation on earth is described as the result of the earth’s ‘green forth-bringing’ potential; its continuation is the result of the seeds’ capacity to bring forth; the noun repeated three times, ˆym mîn, stresses that this making and continuation happens in distinct species; it is expressed by use of the verbs açd dasaª and açd axy yaßaª deseª. 6. The making of the animals is described in two stages. Sea animals are depicted as ‘coming forth’ from the sea, which is expressed by the verb ≈rç saraß, and the sky animals are exhorted to ‘fly’, expressed by the verb πw[ ºûp. As to the tanninim or tehom animals that are described as already existing at the time of narrating, their origin is not described. In v. 21a, the verb arb baraª is used to describe the setting apart of these three groups of animals. Their distinctiveness is confirmed in the subsequent divine imperatives: sea animals must reproduce according to their species and birds must reproduce themselves according to their species. The tanninim are not addressed and not asked to reproduce. 7. The making of the animals on earth is, on the one hand, described in v. 24 as the result of the earth’s procreative potential, expressed by the

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verb axy yaßaª, and it is, on the other hand, described in v. 25 by God’s actual making of these animals, expressed by means of the word hç[ ºa¶â. He addresses these newly made animals with the twice-repeated noun ˆym mîn, and in its realization the same noun, ˆym mîn, is repeated three times. The emphasis on the reproductive activities of the earthly animals in distinct species is absolutely clear. 8. The making of humankind is expressed in v. 26 by using the verb hç[ ºa¶â, and God enlists the approval and cooperation of the heavenly court (“let us make”). In this verse, human beings are defined in their relation to God and the gods (“make in our image, in our likeness”). 9. The overall process of making is marked twice in Gen 2:1–2 by the verb hç[ ºa¶â, whereas the other divine activity in Gen 2:3 is marked by the verb arb baraª. He finishes the first action in v. 2 and the latter action in v. 3. 10. Consequently, the creative process in Genesis 1 is conceived as ‘making’ and ‘separating’. The main verb used to designate the making of something new is hç[ ºa¶â. It expresses our idea of creation. The main verb used to designate the action of separating with regard to the cosmic phenomena is the verb ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl. And the main marker of the reproduction of both the plants and the animals on earth in distinct species is marked eight times by the noun ˆym mîn.

The question, then, is: What is the meaning of the verb arb baraª in the context of Genesis 1? As a verb, it designates a temporal process. It profiles a change over time in the relationship between the trajector God and two or three landmarks. This is in contrast to the temporal process expressed by the verb hç[ ºa¶â, which profiles a change over time in the relationship between the trajector God and one landmark (vv. 7, 26, and 31), three landmarks (vv. 16 and 25), or no landmark at all (vv. 2:2, 2:2, and 2:3). Hence, the valence relation of the verb hç[ ºa¶â does not require a fixed number of landmarks. The uses of the verb arb baraª in Genesis 1 show the following included landmarks: 1. In v. 1, heaven and earth are construed as primary landmarks, as the twice-repeated accusative marker ta ªet shows, while no secondary landmark is involved. 2. In v. 21, the tanninim, the sea animals, and the birds are construed as primary landmarks, as the accusative marker ta ªet repeated three times shows, while no secondary landmarks are involved. The verb arb baraª appears to designate the trajector God’s differentiation of three equally valued primary landmarks. 3. In v. 27ab, the verb arb baraª is construed with “the human being” as the primary landmark, indicated by ta ªet, relative to wmlxb béßalmô ‘in his image’. Three elements—namely, the preposition b bé ‘in’; the relational nominal μlx ßelem ‘image’, which includes in its base a relation to a person in whose image the human being is made; and the pronominal suffix “his”—indicate that wmlxb béßalmô’s point of reference is the divine

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speaker. God’s image is, therefore, the term of comparison against which the human being is classified; it is the secondary landmark. 4. In v. 27c, the verb arb baraª is construed with two equally valued primary landmarks, “male” and “female.” 5. In Gen 2:3b, no landmarks are included. The previously presented nominal, “all his work,” seems to function as the verb’s primary landmark.

It thus turns out that the valence structure of the verb arb baraª includes the trajector God and its relationship to two or three primary landmarks, or it includes the trajector God and its relationship to one primary landmark construed in reference to another, secondary landmark, and the path between these components. In the temporal process designated by arb baraª, the trajector God either (a) moves the primary landmarks along a path, at the end of which the primary landmarks are distinct from each other, or (b) moves the primary landmark along a path, at the end of which the primary landmark is distinct from the secondary landmark. This process corresponds to the two processes indicated in English as “to distinguish between two things” and “to distinguish one thing from another thing.” An example of the former is “the child was unable to distinguish between the letters b and p,” in which “b” and “p” are both construed as primary landmarks. An example of the latter is “during his illness he found it difficult to distinguish reality from dreams,” in which “reality” is construed as the primary landmark, and “dreams” is construed as the secondary landmark (examples from Collins Cobuild 410). In v. 27, God is the term of comparison against which the human being is valued. The starting point of conceptualization is God; better still, it is the aspect of God that is qualified as his image. In reference to this unique divine point of reference, human beings are differentiated: they share with God the capacity of (pro-)creation and are further distinguished from him by being plural, not singular. The difference signified by the other three instances of the verb arb baraª in 1:1, 1:21, and 2:3 comes down to whether or not there is a second correspondence—namely, the category norm that functions as the specification of the human being: its classification in terms of God’s image. The similarity between all instances of arb baraª in Genesis 1 lies in their designation of the process of differentiation. In the opening, v. 1, the differentiation of the heaven and the earth is highlighted. This verse functions as a caption to what will subsequently be narrated. The concluding verse, Gen 2:3, shows that God ceases from this work of differentiation, while the infinitive twç[l laºå¶ôt gives more details about this action of arb baraª. By making new phenomena, God was able to distinguish between the preexisting and the newly made phenomena, and among the newly made phenomena themselves.

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The conclusion of this cognitive analysis is that the verb arb baraª in Genesis 1 designates the types of action which in English can be translated by ‘make a distinction between’ or ‘differentiate from’. It includes the concept of classification—that is, the distinction of genera into species or the categorization of newly created phenomena and creatures into well-organized relationships. 1. Gen 1:1 can, therefore, be translated, “In a beginning God differentiated the heaven and the earth.” This verse functions as a caption to what will subsequently be narrated. 2. Gen 1:21 can, therefore, be translated, “God made a distinction between the big tanninim, all sea animals swarming in the sea according to their kind, and the birds that fly according to their kind.” 3. Gen 1:27a can, therefore, be translated, “God distinguished the human being with respect to his image.” 4. Gen 1:27b can, therefore, be translated, “With respect to the image of God, he distinguished them.” 5. Gen 1:27c can, therefore, be translated, “God made a distinction between male and female.” 6. Gen 2:3 can, therefore, be translated, “God ceased from all the work that he differentiated by making it.”

The emergent picture of Genesis 1 is that it is a story about making and separating, about coming into being and being differentiated, and equally important, that it is a story about the continuation of creation and the continuation of differentiation. Both processes characterize God’s work, his making of new phenomena, but also, and repeatedly so, his differentiations. Both processes characterize the created phenomena’s existence. Whereas the process of making is expressed by the verb hç[ ºa¶â, the separating activities are expressed by the verb ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl and the noun ˆym mîn, and the differentiating activities are expressed by the verb arb baraª. The process of creation is only completed when it is recognized by its distinctive features. In contrast to the verb ldb (Hiphil) hibdîl and the nominal ˆym mîn, the term arb baraª does not emphasize the separating aspect alone but profiles [differentiation] on the base of [classification]. God classifies all creatures into different types and attributes to them their own distinct positions. In short, Genesis 1 tells of [creation and differentiation].

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Chapter 7

Cognitive Method of Analysis 7.1. Reflections on the method of analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 7.2. Cognitive method of analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203

To make explicit the processes of reasoning, including and combining the results of experts in a verifiable and falsifiable way is one of the aims of this cognitive method of analysis. To reach this goal, I will focus on language usage as the meeting ground for a variety of academic disciplines.

7.1. Reflections on the method of analysis The method of analysis presented here is based on the theoretical concepts of Cognitive Grammar and is further developed for biblical studies. It may be characterized as a cognitive relational approach. It is meant to be an instrument of analysis to enable biblical scholars to examine in detail elements of meaning that emerge out of interactions among various sorts of data, such as material remains, historical sources, linguistic structures, literary arrangements, world views, cultural categories, and so on and so forth. It provides a tool to answer questions such as: Which concepts prevailing in the ancient Near East did the biblical author or redactor select and employ? How did the concepts he (or she) considered relevant or construed as relevant in these texts relate to cultural categories and concepts at the time? How did these views reflect individual or collective experiences and knowledge of the world? How can we take language usage events as the guidelines for our understanding of ancient concepts of meaning? The examination begins with cultural categorization and ends with a view on the specific reality of meaning that emerges from a single literary text. This meaning configuration is not the property of a single entity or reducible to it but is dependent on the collective behavior of the conceptual elements. The cognitive method of analysis itself consists of three main stages. The first stage is directed toward the ancient Near Eastern, Levantine, Palestinian, and/or Israelite cultural categories. It is a preliminary phase, in which attention is paid to relevant secondary literature. Depending on the state of the discipline, the views of experts may be taken as points of reference for the cognitive analyses that follow. In the end, it will be apparent whether the

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results of the cognitive analyses can be considered a confirmation, an elaboration, a specification, or a correction of these expert views. The concept of categorization explains how mental processing is conditioned by a cluster of previous ways of thinking or by a schematic network of categories relative to which the instances are judged. Thus, to know or understand words and their dynamic relations means to relate them to culturally entrenched routines or schemata. The second stage is the actual starting point of the cognitive analysis. It focuses on the mental processes expressed by words embedded in the usage events of the Hebrew Bible. Words stand out against the knowledge configurations that provide the context for their conceptualization. Parts of these configurations are included in the words’ inherently, intrinsically, and obligatorily invoked bases and in their matrix of cognitive domains. Hence, the aim of the second stage of the analysis is to make detailed studies of the profile-base-cognitive domain relationships in words and their occurrences in the Hebrew Bible. The leading questions are: What is actually profiled in a word’s usage in a particular biblical text? What is inherently included in this word as its conceptual base? And how do these bases and cognitive domains presuppose and express specific perceptions, experiences, and knowledge of the world? In order to answer these questions, first the textual units are studied in their own literary and logically coherent structure. Only then can the specific profile-base-cognitive domain relationships in each textual unit be examined and their results compared. Can we explain why Biblical Hebrew allows its users to employ one and the same word on these various occasions? In another step, the prototypical scenario(s) in which the word is used will be investigated. A word is not commonly viewed mentally as a separate element but as belonging to a complex set of experiences. The questions are, then: Do the instances of this schematic type figure in a more or less fixed sequence of actions or events? Or, upon hearing or reading this word, would someone mentally construe an image of the complex of actions in which this word performs its function? This will culminate in further questions: Which schematic type of meaning does the word designate, and which mental image emerges from the usage events? One might add to this as-yet ahistorical approach a historical examination of the possible changes in conceptualization. Because experience and cognition adjust to the historical context, the conceptual contents of cognitive domains may change over time, too, with a considerable effect on the base and profile-base-domain relationships of the word. It is, therefore, relevant to focus on the following historical questions. Do the instances of the word under investigation show historical differences in peoples’ conceptualization? Is it possible to relate these views to authors or to addressed or idealized audiences? Do historical syntactic and historical semantic analyses of these texts allow us to draw conclusions about their relative dating? If these

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questions have received a (preliminary) answer, one might try to formulate a hypothesis from the historical developments in mental processing as it is expressed by the word and its change over time. Thus, the historical linguistic data can be understood in relations of correspondence with the conceptual data of the word under investigation and can, in the end, be evaluated as expressions of historical changes in cognitive processing. The third stage of the analysis is related to a single biblical usage event, its grammatical manifestations of meaning, and its unique, new, and intricate composite configuration of meaning. Each text is a meeting ground for all kinds of information that is either construed as a unity or noun, an atemporal relation, or a temporal relation in which the perspective of a trajector vis-à-vis a landmark entity is shared and sometimes tracked through time. These construals do include in their bases cognitive domains and trajectorlandmark relations that presuppose and express a specific perception, experience, or idea of the world. The aim of this third stage is to answer questions such as: How does a writer or composer select or construe, while including perspectives? More specifically, which nouns does he (or she) use to express his idea in order to address his audience, and how are these grounded as nominals in the specific context of use? Which verb types does he (or she) use, and how are the temporal relations grounded in the text? Are there any correspondences traceable in the semantic substructures expressed by these nominals, atemporal, and temporal relations? How are the distinct elements of meaning integrated? And, finally, what general picture emerges from the text? Each stage in the textual analysis allows us to build up fragments of a composite mental image, which in the end will develop into a coherent picture. Thus, the lexical combinations and grammatical structures of a biblical text are understood and analyzed as manifestations of ancient cognition and experience. A study made with this analytical tool can be as elaborate and thorough as one may wish. The cognitive method of analysis itself represents three stages that all contain a series of steps. The application differs, of course, with respect to the nature of the material under investigation. In fact, through all three stages, one is able to open a narrower or wider window on biblical texts embedded in their ancient Near Eastern contexts and encyclopedias of knowledge.

7.2. Cognitive method of analysis The cognitive method of analysis will be presented in two forms. First, it will be presented in a more extensive form. This is the actual method of analysis itself. Then an abridged form will be presented. This will be used as the point of reference in chaps. 8 and 9.

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1. Culture: categories in their cultural contexts of use 1.1. Study of the cultural category/categories that figure on the background of the word under examination. Experiences of the world are shaped by and classified in accordance with the categories of thinking that function as the points of reference for the Hebrew words. A study of secondary literature will help in gaining a preliminary idea of these cultural classifications in the Hebrew Bible. One can include an investigation of cognate categorizations in ancient Near Eastern cultures. 1.2. These categories constitute the main reference points in the Hebrew “horizon of the mind.” They are translated into a large number of prepackaged associations or cognitive domains. The first inventory of the cognitive domains will be made on the basis of secondary literature. I recommend also including an investigation of cognitive domains in ancient Near Eastern categories of thinking. 2. Word: lexical meanings in biblical usage events 2.1. Literary and logical analysis of the biblical texts in which the word is used. A literary analysis considers the presentation, style, and structure of meaning of the literary unit, while a logical analysis considers its conceptual line of argumentation. 2.2. Analysis of the word’s profile-base-cognitive domain relationships in each biblical text that is examined: what is actually profiled and what is inherently included in its conceptual base? 2.3. Unification of the profile-base relations in the texts under examination that reflects the word’s nuclear semantic value, which figures in a matrix of cognitive domains. 2.4. Analysis of the prototypical scenarios in which events, actions, or situations are expressed and a description of the position of the word within it. 2.5. Construction of the mental image that emerges from the usage events, so that one arrives at a conclusion with respect to the schematic meaning of the word type. 2.6. When a word is widely used throughout the Hebrew Bible, it is advisable to incorporate a reconstruction of possible historical developments in conceptualization represented by the semantic contents of the word type. Such a study comprises a comparison of differences in included bases, of the concepts entailed in the cognitive domains, and of the differences in scenarios of use. It also includes a study of the syntactic and semantic proposals for the dating of biblical texts that have been offered in linguistic studies. It allows for a comparison of the historical linguistic data with the conceptual data and delineates the similarities and differences. 2.7. Analytical steps 2.1–6 can be applied to comparable ancient Near Eastern words that allegedly profile similar concepts in similar or distinct cognitive domains. 3. Text: composite meaning structures in a biblical text 3.1. Analyses of the text’s lexical items as in steps 1.1–2.6. 3.2. Analyses of the nominals, atemporal relations, and temporal processes and of the way they are conceptually grounded in the biblical text. 3.3. Analyses of the correspondences in semantic substructures of the nominals, and atemporal and temporal relations that combine into a composite meaning structure of the text. 3.4. Construction of the mental image that emerges from these grounded words and their integrated relationships, in order to arrive at a conclusion with respect to the text’s emergent picture of meaning.

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Abridged Cognitive Method of Analysis 1. Culture: Categories in their cultural contexts of use 1.1. Study of the cultural categories 1.2. Translation of the categories into cognitive domains 2. Word: Lexical meanings in biblical usage events 2.1. Literary and logical analysis of the biblical usage events 2.2. Analysis of the word’s profile-base-domain relationships 2.3. Unification of the profile-base relations 2.4. Analysis of the prototypical scenarios 2.5. Construction of the word’s schematic meaning 2.6. Study of the historical conceptual developments 2.7. Comparison with ANE words designating similar concepts 3. Text: Composite meaning structures in a biblical text 3.1. Analysis of the lexical items 3.2. Analysis of nominals, atemporal and temporal relations 3.3. Analysis of the correspondences in semantic substructures and the composite meaning structure 3.4. Construction of the emergent picture of the textual meaning

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Mental Processing Expressed by the Word amf †immeª

8.1. The category of purity/impurity and its cognitive domains . . 207 8.2. Eight biblical texts with amf †immeª . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 8.2.1. Leviticus 18 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212 8.2.2. Leviticus 20 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220 8.2.3. Numbers 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226 8.2.4. Numbers 35 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234 8.2.5. Deuteronomy 21 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236 8.2.6. Ezekiel 18 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 8.2.7. Ezekiel 22 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241 8.2.8. Ezekiel 33 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248 8.3. Language and cognition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251 8.3.1. The unification of profile-base-domain relationships . . . . 252 8.3.2. Prototypical scenario . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259 8.3.3. The schematic meaning of †immeª Piel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263 8.3.4. Language and history . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267

The following cognitive analysis is undertaken to clarify the method of analysis. Consequently, at the beginning of each section a shortened form of the method of analysis will be presented. In a frame, bold-printed letters will refer to the elements of the cognitive analytical method under investigation. In this chapter, I will concentrate on eight texts in the Hebrew Bible with significant usage events of the verb amf †ameª, which most frequently appears in the Piel, is vocalized as †immeª, and is translated ‘defile’. Chapter 9 will contain a cognitive study of Genesis 34, a text in which the very same verb, amf (Piel) †immeª, is used three times. It will transpire from this how important this verb is. Since the word figures in an extensive conceptual network of meaning in ancient Hebrew cognition, both chapters will be of considerable length. Owing to this length, I will refrain from studying related concepts in ancient Near Eastern texts or researching the historical concept.

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8.1. The category of purity/impurity and its cognitive domains 1. Culture: Categories in their cultural contexts of use 1.1. Study of the cultural categories 1.2. Translation of the categories into cognitive domains

An entire conceptual world resonates within the verb amf †immeª. It figures in the culture and religion, within which people, animals, and places are categorized as pure or impure. Biblical Hebrew dictionaries describe its meaning as an expression of the following symbolic relations between a semantic structure and a phonological structure: amf amf amf amf amf

Qal Niphal Piel I Piel II Hithpael

[[be/become impure or unclean]/[†ameª]] [[make oneself impure]/[ni†maª]] [[defile]/[†immeª]] [[make clear of impurity]/[†immeª]] [[defile oneself]/[hi††ammeª]]. 1

Although the verb is used in these distinct binyanim, I will refer to it in this chapter as “the word †immeª” or “the verb †immeª” or “†immeª.” The ancient Hebrew cognitive world is shaped by the category of purity and impurity, which functions as a point of reference in thought and daily life, and thus experiences are brought into an intimate relation with it to express meaning. In the Hebrew Bible, this general category is translated into a number of prepackaged associations—that is, into the conceptual schemata or cognitive domains in which the word †immeª appears to play an important role. To put into perspective the usage events in which †immeª functions, I will sketch a broader picture of the category as it is presented by specialists in the field. 2 Mary Douglas published a study on impurity in 1966 based on the Durkheimian view that the customs and rituals of a society, as well as its attitude toward animals are reflections of its values. 3 She applied this insight to her theory of dirt, which she defined as “matter out of place.” Dirt, then, is a by-product of the classification of nature found in each society: what it considers “order” is fine; what it considers “disorder” is dirt. She classifies the Israelite value-system and visualizes it in three tripartite figures, each

1. In the Hebrew Bible, the verb is used 162 times, of which 79 times are in Qal, 16 times in Niphal, 36 times in Piel I, 11 times in Piel II, and 15 times in Hithpael. The Pual and Hothpael are both used once (numbers based on Even-Shoshan 1990: 415–16). 2. Douglas (1966), Frymer-Kensky (1983), Milgrom (1991: 704–36, 763–67, 986–1004; 2000a: 1594–1725), and Joosten (1996). 3. This summary of Douglas’s research follows Milgrom (1991: 719–25); in Milgrom’s study, it is not always clear when it is Douglas’s views that are presented and when Milgrom’s.

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MANKIND

ALL ANIMALS (Mankind)

EARTH (Mankind)

ISRAEL

FEW ANIMALS (Israel)

LAND (Israel & GĒR)

PRIESTS

SACRIFICES (Lord)

SANCTUARY (Priests)

PERSONS

ANIMALS

SPACE

(a)

(b)

(c)

Fig. 8.1(a), (b), and (c). Classification of humans, animals, and land.

consisting of three embedded circles (see fig. 8.1). 4 Figure 8.1(a) depicts the classification of the human race into “humankind” (largest circle), “Israel” (middle circle), and “priests” (smallest circle). Figure 8.1(b) depicts the classification of animals as “all animals” in the outer circle, “a few” or “edible animals” in the middle circle, and “animals fit to be sacrificed” in the inner circle. Figure 8.1(c) diagrams the classification of geographical space, with “the earth” as the outer circle, “the land” as the middle circle, and “the sanctuary” as the inner circle. The three divisions are matched to each other: the earth is given to mankind, the land is given to Israel (including the resident aliens, or rg ger in its midst), and the sanctuary is given to the priests; all animals are permitted to mankind (except for their blood), a small number of edible animals are permitted to Israel, and of the edible animals, only the domesticated and unblemished animals qualify for sacrifice to the priests and Yhwh. Douglas’s publications exerted a strong influence on biblical studies, and the idea that the category of purity/impurity is an important mirror of the society itself has since been accepted. Frymer-Kensky (1983) is one of those who have applied Douglas’s categorization, although she criticizes her equation of impurity with dirt. Instead she develops the idea that within the Israelite classificatory system the distinction of purity and impurity is closely related to the vital distinction of sacred/holy and profane/common: “The protection of the realm of the sacred is a categorical imperative in Israel: it must be differentiated, not only from the impure, but also from the pure, 4. Figure 8.1 reproduces Milgrom’s representation of Douglas’s figures (Milgrom 1991: 722, 725, figs. 13 and 14).

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Fig. 8.2. Milgrom’s compound category of holiness and purity.

which serves almost as a buffer zone between the sacred and the defiling. Violating the distinctions between sacred and profane disrupts the entire system” (Frymer-Kensky 1983: 404–5). Milgrom (1991, 2000a, 2000b) also supports Douglas’s views to a great extent but is equally critical of her equation of impurity and dirt. He explains the category of purity/impurity as a compound category [holy/common] and [pure/impure], which he represents as in fig. 8.2. This compound category shows that persons and objects are subject to four possible states: holy, common, pure, and impure, in which purity is understood as the absence of impurity and commonness as the absence of holiness; the two of them can exist simultaneously (Milgrom 1991: 731). The terms expressing these concepts are çwdq qadôs ‘holy’ or ‘sacred’, llj ˙alal ‘common’ or ‘profane’, rwhf †ahôr ‘pure’, and amf †immeª ‘impure’. What is holy must be kept separate from what is not—for the sake of both domains—and in order to approach the holy, a human being must keep himself separate from what is profane or impure. 5 In fact, the concepts “holy” and “impure” function as antonyms that are not directly but indirectly related (Milgrom 1991: 722). The compound category of [holy/common] and [pure/impure] forms the basis of the classification system according to which the Israelites organized their experience of humans and animals that inhabited the world around them. By this system, they classified the entire world into three analogous concentric circles, as was described earlier by Douglas and portrayed in fig. 8.1. This category explains why the small group of Israel is set apart from humankind and why the elected priest is to take care of the sanctuary. It expresses Israel’s obligation to advance holiness in the world for all, to diminish the impure and thereby enlarge the realm of the pure (Milgrom 1991: 732). It shows at the same time that the concept of holiness is closely related to Yhwh: he is the source of holiness, and holiness is the extension of his nature. The obligation for Israel to adhere to the laws and regulations is, therefore, explained by an appeal to this holiness: “to be holy, as I, Yhwh am Holy” (Milgrom 1991: 730). 5. Distinguishing these four components of thought and behavior is one of the main tasks of the priest, as is evident, for example, in Lev 10:10, “You are to distinguish between the holy and the common, and between the unclean and the clean.”

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Joosten (1996) specifies this general category in his study of the Holiness Code (Leviticus 17–26) and shows that in the mind of the priests the concepts that are involved, constitute a coherent structure of ideas, organised around a sacral scheme: a god acquires a group of people, whom he settles around his sanctuary on land belonging to him, so that they may serve him. This conceptual structure is never stated explicitly, and yet it is presupposed throughout. It underlies the whole discourse and lends it its meaning and significance. All the main themes are connected to this basic scheme: the insistence on cult and ritual, the call to holiness, the dignity of the Israelites, the special status of the land, the demands it imposes upon its inhabitants (including the resident alien), the need to obey the commandments, the blessings flowing from their observance, the punishment in the event of disobedience, and Yhwh’s continuing faithfulness in spite of it. (Joosten 1996: 199–200)

The holy presence of Yhwh in the midst of the Israelites will not tolerate impurity or unholy behavior of any kind. Transgressions of the commandments must be punished swiftly, because the impurity generated by the transgressions of the Israelites will be projected onto the sanctuary, which in this way will be defiled. The final effect will be the withdrawal of the divinity from his earthly dwelling, for his holiness cannot coexist with impurity (Joosten 1996: 199). 6 1. Culture: Categories in their cultural contexts of use 1.1. Study of the cultural category/categories 1.2. Translation of the categories into cognitive domains

In the Hebrew Bible, the compound category of [holy/common] and [pure/ impure] constitutes one of the main reference points in the Hebrew “horizon of the mind.” It is translated into a large number of “prepackaged” associations or cognitive domains. 1. The cognitive domain of the deity, in which Yhwh stands in opposition to other deities. Its central semantic concept is [holiness]: Yhwh’s holiness requires appropriate behavior from the Israelites. 2. The cognitive domain of the sanctuary where Yhwh dwells. Its central semantic concept is [holiness]: Yhwh’s holiness requires appropriate behavior from the Israelites. 3. The cognitive domain of time described in terms of holiness/Sabbath and commonness/six days of the week. Its central semantic concept is [holiness]: Yhwh’s holiness requires appropriate behavior from the Israelites on the Sabbath. 6. Because the holy and the impure are dynamic qualities that may, under certain circumstances, extend their influence over the profane and the pure, respectively, both holiness and impurity are “contagious” (Joosten 1996: 124).

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4. The cognitive domain of the land with either a geographical, ethnic, or religious meaning. It is used in relation to Yhwh’s connection with it; or in relation to his people, the Israelites; or to its inhabitants, the Canaanites. Its central semantic concept is [purity]. 5. The cognitive domain of people, in which a distinction can be made between the Canaanites, or original inhabitants of Canaan, and the Israelites. Its central semantic concept is [impurity]. 6. The cognitive domain of idolatry, that is, worship of deities other than Yhwh. It is closely related to the first four cognitive domains: Yhwh, the sanctuary, the land, the Canaanites. Its central semantic opposition is [holiness/purity] versus [idolatry/impurity]. Owing to their deities, Canaanites are considered unclean and a threat to the unique relationship between Yhwh and his people. 7. The cognitive domain of sexuality described in terms of purity/permissible sex in opposition to impurity/illicit sex. Its central semantic concept is [impurity]. 8. The cognitive domain of food described in terms of cleanness and uncleanness: the distinction between clean and unclean animals is the basis of the food regulations. Its central semantic concept is [impurity]. 9. The cognitive domain of body and disease is described in terms of cleanness and uncleanness. Its central semantic concept is [impurity].

This sketch of the conventional schema of thinking and its predominant cognitive domains gives us a first impression of the conceptual framework in which the word †immeª figures and thus puts the uses of the word †immeª in the Hebrew Bible into perspective.

8.2. Eight biblical texts with amf †immeª In this long section, a more detailed analysis will be made of some of the most characteristic uses of the verb †immeª in the Hebrew Bible. The selection of the eight textual units is based primarily on a quantitative criterion. THAT (1:495) calculated that the books of Leviticus, Numbers, and Ezekiel contain over 85% of all uses of this verb. These three books will therefore be at the heart of the present study. Second, the selection is based on a qualitative criterion: the uses that are generally considered the most important representational uses of †immeª in the Hebrew Bible, Leviticus 18 and 20, Numbers 5 and 35, Deuteronomy 21, and Ezekiel 18, 22, and 33. 7 To be precise, the inferences made and the conclusions drawn reflect these textual uses only. The conclusions may function as hypotheses to be verified or falsified in the light of other textual data.

7. In these eight texts, †immeª is used 27 times: Lev 18:20, 23, 24 (2x), 25, 27, 28, 30; 20:3, 25; Num 5:3, 13, 14 (2x), 20, 27, 28, 29; 35:34; Deut 21:23; Ezek 18:6, 11, 15; 22:3, 4, 11; and 33:26. In chap. 9 below, another text, Genesis 34, will be discussed with another three occurrences of †immeª.

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8.2.1. Leviticus 18 2. Word: Lexical meanings in Leviticus 18:19–23 2.1. Literary and logical analysis of Lev 18:19–23 2.2. Analysis of the word’s profile-base-domain relationships 2.3. Unification of the profile-base-domain relations 2.4. Analysis of the prototypical scenarios 2.5. Construction of the word’s schematic meaning 2.6. Study of the historical conceptual developments

Leviticus 18 opens with Yhwh’s exhortation to Moses not to follow the practices of the land of Egypt and not to follow the practices of the land of Canaan but only to observe his rules and laws, and concludes with the formula, “for I am Yhwh your God” (18:1–4). The chapter closes in vv. 24–30 with a reflection on the practices of foreign nations and ends with the same self-identification, “I am Yhwh your God.” 8 Between these opening and closing sections, two series of laws are presented. The first series, in vv. 6–18, is directed against illicit sexual practices within the family, always described as “uncovering the nakedness of” and evaluated negatively, “[because] she is the wife of your father [mother, sister, son]” or “because they are kindred.” The second series of illicit sexual practices presented in vv. 19–23 contains the word †immeª twice. 9 Leviticus 18 19a You shall not approach a woman during her menstrual impurity to uncover her nakedness. 20a You shall not have sexual relations with your neighbor’s wife and defile yourself [†immeª Qal] through her. 21a You shall not dedicate any of your offspring to be sacrificed to Molek 21b and thereby not desecrate the name of your god: 21c I Yhwh [have spoken]. 22a You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a woman: 22b it is an abomination. 23a You shall not have sexual relations with any animal to defile yourself [†immeª Qal] thereby; 23b nor shall any woman give herself to an animal to mate with it; 23c it is a perversion.

In the first series of unlawful sexual practices in vv. 6–18, over and over again the reason that such a practice is illicit is explained: because the man 8. For a study of this clause, see Zimmerli (1963, 1980), Hartley (1992: 291–93). 9. The translation of Lev 18:19–23 and 24–30 is based on Milgrom’s (2000a: 1515–16) translation.

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and the person he has sex with are members of the same family. In contrast, the second series, in vv. 19–23, never mentions this reason. In the case of sacrificing one’s children to Molek, the reason mentioned is that Yhwh is Israel’s God, and he will not permit children to be sacrificed. On two occasions (homosexual intercourse and a woman mating with an animal), the practices are called an abomination or perversion. Sexual contact with a woman during her menstrual impurity is prohibited without explanation, yet neither the action itself nor the consequence is called “defiling.” 10 However, in two cases, in v. 20 and v. 23, the verb †immeª is used in an evaluative sense and in exactly the same syntactic construction, hbAhamfl lé†omªâ-bah ‘you will defile yourself through/in it’. Both uses judge a certain practice as defiling, but what exactly distinguishes this practice from other actions? In other words, what does †immeª profile, and which base does it include? A closer examination of the Hebrew verses is necessary in order to be able to answer this question. Leviticus 18

hbAhamfl [rzl ˚tbkç ˆttAal ˚tym[ tçaAlaw 20 wéªel-ªeset ºåmîtka loª-titten sékobtéka lézaraº lé†omªâ-bah

hbAhamfl ˚tbkç ˆttAal hmhbAlkbw 23 ûbékol-béhemâ loª-titten sékobtéka lé†omªâ-bah

Harry Orlinsky (1944: 37–40) has analyzed the most important terms in vv. 20, 22, and 23. He demonstrates that: 1. the noun hb:k:v‘ sékabâ (and its construct form Atb"k}v¥ sikbat-) derives from the verb bkç sakab ‘to pour, to be poured out’; it designates, therefore, ‘outpouring’ or ‘flow’; 2. the noun [rz zeraº means ‘seed’ in the sense of ‘offspring’, and not (as is commonly believed) ‘semen’; 3. the entire phrase [rzAtb"k}v¥ sikbat-zeraº means ‘outpouring [or, flow] of seed’, that is, ‘semen’; 4. the noun tb