Part II: Specifics

II§1. Despite the attestation of Greek as far back in time as the second millennium BCE, a chronological chasm remains between this language and the proto-language reconstructed as Indo-European. What I just said is most apparent on the phonological level. The necessity for positing a multitude of phases and patterns of phonology which must have been operative at some early point in prehistoric Greek but which reveal only residual traces in extant Greek is well illustrated by such Indo-European studies as those of Kuryłowicz (1956) and Szemerényi (1964).

II§2. Granted, the discovery that Linear В was a writing system for an early form of Greek that was spoken in the second millennium BCE brings us closer to Common Greek. And in some respects, the Greek of the Linear B texts, known to us as Mycenaean Greek, resembles the Common Greek reconstructed by linguists more than it resembles the attested forms of Greek in the first millennium BCE. For example, Mycenaean Greek still preserves such Common Greek phonological features as labiovelars and intervocalic -i̯-. [1] In other respects, however, the phonology of Mycenaean Greek makes us appreciate even more keenly than before the remoteness of Common Greek from all attested stages of Greek, including Mycenaean.

II§3. In some ways, Mycenaean Greek complicates our reconstruction of unattested phases of Greek, in that it presents idiosyncrasies that could only be suspected at best from the evidence of extant post-Mycenaean Greek. On the phonological level, for instance, the multiple and varied Mycenaean reflexes of the Common Greek syllabic sonorants *ṛ *ḷ *ṃ *ṇ point to more complications than we could ever have imagined from the reflexes attested in the first millennium BCE. The evidence of Mycenaean Greek now forces us to reckon with the conditioning of these sonorants on the following levels: (1) purely phonological, (2) morphological, (3) dialectal, or (4) any combination of the preceding three.

II§4. Nor is the linguistic evidence from the second millennium BCE appreciably more helpful than the corresponding evidence from the first millennium when it comes to elucidating the numerous problems involved in the Greek transmission of the Indo-European consonantal series known as the laryngeals. {33|34} {Such difficulties on the phonological level are only to be expected, since the primary evidence for reconstructing laryngeals is not phonological but morphological.}

II§5. Occasionally, the evidence of an archaizing medium like Homeric poetry, as attested in the first millennium BCE, reveals more about prehistoric Greek phonology than the evidence of Mycenaean Greek as attested earlier, in the second millennium BCE, by way of the Linear B tablets. For example, we have already seen in Part I the metrical traces of word-initial *s + sonorant in Homeric diction. There is even at least one instance where epic has preserved a phonological pattern traceable all the way back to a pre-Greek phase of the prototypical language that we reconstruct as Indo-European. The pattern in question can be described as the morphophonemic principle of Dehnungsgesetz. ◊My approach in what follows diverges from that of Wyatt (1969) and converges with that of Blanc (2008). [2] ◊

II§6. The basic formulation of Dehnungsgesetz goes back to Wackernagel (1889/1953), who used the comparative linguistic evidence of Greek and Indo-Iranian combined. Basically, Dehnungsgesetz can be defined this way: when two vowels come together as the final and initial elements of two compound-formants, the resulting contraction will entail the elision of the first vowel (V₁) and the lengthening of the second vowel (V₂):

II§7. A case in point is *στρατο + αγός, which becomes *στρατᾱγός > στρατηγός. A reflex like στρατηγός illustrates the anteriority of such a contraction to the type of contraction resulting from the Greek innovation whereby intervocalic σ is lost: here *οα becomes ω rather than η, as in θάττ-ω (< *…-οσα).

II§8. But the Dehnungsgesetz becomes extended, in that an initial vowel of the second compound-formant becomes lengthened no matter what the final element in the first formant may be. A case in point is *κυν + άγος, which becomes *κυνᾱγός > κυνηγός. Here we see the removal of one constraint in the natural language. But in the artificial language of the epic, there are further extensions of Dehnungsgesetz, as lengthening of initial vowel spreads from the second compound-formant to simplex nominals as well, and ultimately to any word. [3] One locus of diffusion is probably from compounds where the first constituent was an adverb: after the adverb evolves into a preposition (as well as a preverb) there is an opportunity for transition of artificial Dehnungsgesetz from (a) compound consisting of adverb + noun to (b) preposition + object of preposition. [4] Finally, even the constraint of word-initial vowel is removed. That is, not only does -VC+ ‖ V- become -VC ‖ V̄- but also, by extension, -V+ ‖ СV- becomes -V ‖ CV-. (In this formulation, the sign “‖” stands for word-boundary.) To put it another way, any word-initial syllable becomes subject to lengthening in the epic language. What results is a set of artificial vs. non-artificial pairs such as ἀ̄νήρ (II 553 / II 701, etc., with / without elision) vs. ἀνήρ (II 673, etc.), Οὔλυμπον (I 221 / I 497, etc., with / without elision) vs. Ὄλυμπον (I 402, etc.); also μείλανι (XXIV 79) vs. μέλανα (VII 265, etc.), Πουλυ-δάμας {34|35} (ΧΙΙ 60, etc.) vs. Πολύ-φημος (ix 407, etc.).

II§9. This artificial Dehnungsgesetz of epic was operative even after the Ionic phonological change whereby ᾱ became η had ceased. So we see ἀ̄νήρ rather than *ἠνήρ in II 553, vs. the compound-formant -ήνωρ showing the old product of natural Dehnungsgesetz and stemming from a period of Ionic when the phonological change ᾱ > η was still operative. [5] As for the type ἠνορέη (VI 156, etc.: instead of *ἀ̄νορέη), the artificial Dehnungsgesetz which produced it goes back to the same archaic period when the change ᾱ > η was operative; the ultimate morphological extinction of the configuration *ἀ̄νορέη in spoken Ionic has precluded the recent poetic creation of *ἀ̄νορέη, whence the survival of inherited and residual ἠνορέη. For more on ᾱ / η in Homer, this time with ᾱ-samples representing not an innovation but an old formation that is even older than than η-samples, see below under dialectology.

II§10. So much for instances where the obsolescence of a phonological rule in the natural language permits the ultimate extension of the same rule beyond its etymological confines, in the retentive poetic language of the epic. Retention can also be static, however, and subject to ultimate attrition. For example, let us consider the early loss of ϝ (= *ṷ or “digamma”) in a prehistoric phase of Ionic, the last major dialectal phase of Homeric diction. As Milman Parry points out, ϝ was lost in epic diction “neither sooner nor later than it was lost in the daily speech, but the singers who had to compose in a rigorous and therefore highly conservative verse-form, still used the old phrases and verses because that was their way of making poetry, because to have given up the traditional phrase wherever the loss of the digamma now caused hiatus or failure to make position, would have been to destroy the diction almost entirely.” [6] Thus in contrast to roughly 300 Homeric cases of elision despite digamma, there are still roughly 2,000 cases of non-elision because of digamma. [7] As Parry said, directly challenging Richard Bentley, “Homer’s language has traces of the digamma, but not the digamma itself.” [8] But although the formulaic language of the epic is an admirable preservative of traditional patterns dating back to a time when digamma was still extant, new patterns ignoring the etymological digamma eventually emerge—sometimes even in the most overtly formulaic expressions. To quote Parry again: “Just as we can show the metrical usefulness of the older phrase, and the fixed place which it holds in the diction, so can we do for phraseology with newer forms.” [9] For instance, before loss of ϝ, the following verse-type could refer only to a masculine speaker:

II§11. In the Iliad and Odyssey, there are 30 occurrences of this verse; but there are also 9 others where the speaker is feminine, and the necessitated elision is possible only without ϝ:

II§12. At times the same formulaic verse will entail both the presence and the absence of the digamma-factor in the metrical pattern, as in the following type of Homeric verse (IV 403, XVII 90, XVIII 5, etc.):

II§13. In sum, we have to contrast “the stability of the diction as a whole” with “the fluidity of the diction in the grouping of its elements” (the expressions I am using here come directly from Parry). [10]

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II§14. There have been thorough synoptic treatments of Greek phonology from both the diachronic and synchronic points of view. Especially useful are the books of Lejeune (1955) and Allen (1968a) respectively.

II§15. In the case of vowels, there has been a noteworthy contribution to our understanding of their system by Ruipérez (1956), who has applied the approaches of Martinet (1964) in interpreting the consecutive stages of the Attic-Ionic vowel-system with reference to the dynamics of pressure and counterpressure in that system. Bartoněk (1966) has provided further details, and Szemerényi (1968a), further refinements. In particular, Szemerényi has revised the relative scheme for the fronting of ū to ǖ and for an Attic Rückverwandlung of ǟ to ā.

II§16. As for consonants, efforts to establish their prehistory are adequately represented by the works of Allen (1958) on palatalization and of Stang (1957) as well as Diver (1958) on the prehistoric phenomenon of gemination before *-i̯-. Bartoněk (1961) has attempted reconstructions of the consonantal systems of several well-known dialects at several (including late) developmental stages.

II§17. Occasionally, certain latent features of a consonantal series become overt only within the framework of specialized orthographic conventions. For instance, π and κ are written regularly φ and χ immediately before θ as in the aorist passive constructions with -θη-: τέρπω vs. ἐτάρφθην, δέρκομαι vs. ἐδέρχθην, and so on. But the backwards-assimilation here is probably not from non-aspirated to aspirated (and in this sense the writing here is imprecise) but from tense (π κ) to lax (φ χ), and the feature of laxness in the Greek series of aspirated stops would not become apparent if it were not for this convention in the spelling of consonantal clusters. [11]

II§18. In any case, we may posit as a general principle that the constraints and licenses of the various Greek orthographic systems are the primary key to evaluating the nuances of the underlying phonological systems.

II§19. Conversely, the evolution of Greek writing-systems is inextricably linked with the {36|37} evolution of the Greek phonological system itself. Here I highlight the important contemporary trend of recognizing the extent to which linguistic conditions affect graphic conventions. We can illustrate this relationship by observing the representation of by way of in the post-Euclidian Attic alphabet, as opposed to the cumbersome representation of all three by <ε> in the pre-Euclidian Attic alphabet. The basic motivation for this eventual orthographic reform was not the genius of some εὑρετής, but rather, the accidental convergence of (1) the studious but mechanical application of the acrophonic principle of the alphabet and (2) phonological shifts in the Attic-Ionic vowel-system. Of the two Semitic aspirate-signs ḥēth and hē the former was apparently the closer approximation to the single Greek spiritus asper, whence the original generalization of Semitic ḥēth = <η> as representing Greek h- (or hē-, on the acrophonic principle). Consequently, there was no need for another aspirate-sign, and the initial element of hē is viewed simply as ē from a Hellenic standpoint: hence the original generalization of Semitic hē = <ε> as representing both short-e and long-e in Greek. With the onset of psilosis (loss of spiritus asper) in East Ionic dialects, however, the initial element of ḥeth / <η> becomes viewed as ǟ (which later loses its distinction from ę̄), whence now the restriction of <ε> to representation of e and ę̄ only, vs. the generalization of <η> for ę̄ (< ǟ).

II§20. There are Central Ionic dialects where ǟ and ę̄ are still distinct and still represented by <η> and <ε> respectively. [12] A case in point is archaic Naxian; in this case, there is the added complication that the orthographic systems of psilotic (East Ionic) and non-psilotic (Central Ionic) converge: hence <η> is used for writing both h- and ǟ respectively.

II§21. Finally, the Attic-Ionic monophthongization of *ei to ē in around the fifth century BCE leads to the opportunity of representing all instances of ē, whether etymologically diphthongal or not, with <ει>.

II§22. What, then, if this Attic-Ionic monophthongization had occurred, say, two centuries earlier? (Such was the situation in Corinthian. [13] ) In that case, the putative sophistication of a separate graph <ει> for ę̄ might have been regularized that much earlier in the Attic script as well.

II§23. I should add that the very introduction of a vocalic system into the Greek alphabet was no original invention but rather the generalization of a Semitic mechanism founded on the principle of matres lectionis. [14] We must acknowledge, however, that the practical improvement resulting from the separate representation of vowels and consonants is remarkable: it amounts to a shift from syllabary to alphabet, that is, a movement away from the constraint of representing only phonetically concrete segments toward the admission of such phonetically abstract segments as p t k (which cannot be produced in isolation, that is, without adjacent vowels or aspiration). [15] {37|38}

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II§24. Next we turn to the realm of accentuation, where we have to distinguish between intonation and stress. [16] It is intonation, not stress, that dominates the testimony of the ancient grammatical tradition. And it is intonation that preserves patterns of Indo-European accentuation. Jakobson (1937) has produced a most elegant synchronic description based on the interrelation between mora-structure and accent-limitation, and Kuryłowicz (1958) has added diachronic perspective. [17] Allen (1967) has added still further perspective on the mora-structure, indirectly raising the question whether recessive accentuation should be connected with generalization of intonational variants not in pausa. [18] For an approach to intonation using the techniques of generative phonology, I cite Kiparsky (1967). As for attempts to recreate ancient Greek intonation by training in pronunciation, I agree with Allen’s reaction: “A primary stumbling-block […] is not so much the inability to handle pitch, but rather to divorce lexical pitch from attitudinal intonation.” [19]

II§25. The present sequence of treating morphology immediately after phonology is appropriate because of the frequent interrelations between these two levels. It can even be formulated typologically, without specific reference to Greek: where phonology and morphology come into conflict, the resolution is generally in favor of the morphological level. An ideal example in Greek is the morphological restoration of intervocalic s in the future tense (hence λύσω), despite its prehistoric loss on the phonological level. [20] The key to such restoration is the factor of the morpheme-boundary. For the future tense, the morpheme-boundary is between verbal base and future-marker s. Here it is simply a matter of extension from base-final consonant + s to base-final vowel + s. What results is the re-establishment of s between vowels. Where the base always ends in a vowel, on the other hand, s cannot be restored: hence optative -οι-ο, -αι-ο (not *-οι-σο, *-αι-σο); elsewhere, the generalization of s from consonantal base-final to vocalic base-final is still attested in a state of transition, that is, morphological restoration of s has not yet leveled out the phonological reflex without it. Thus besides the morphological innovation μέμνη-σαι ‘уоu remember’ (XXIII 648), Homeric Greek also preserves the old phonological reflex μέμνη-αι ‘уоu remember’ (XXI 442). [21]

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II§26. Next I turn to morphophonemic rules, which I define as those phonological rules that apply only within a restricted morphological framework. In terms of this definition, I find that there are markedly few instances {38|39} of morphophonemic rules in Greek (or even in Indo-European), and this dearth is especially striking when we compare other languages of the world.

II§27. Among the few morphophonemic rules that can be singled out in Greek is the generation of ν ἐφελκυστικόν after word-final -ι or -ε, as in the dative plural -σι-ν (but not in dative singular -ι), in the 3rd singular or plural -σι-ν / -τι-ν, in the 3rd singular -ε-ν, and in a few isolated forms such as εἴκοσι(ν) ‘twenty’, πέρυσι(ν) ‘last year,’ ἄμμι-ν / ὔμμι-ν ‘for us’ / ‘for you’. [22]

II§28. Another morphophonemic rule is the predetermination of -ό- or -ώ- before the comparative formant -τερος, depending on whether the syllable preceding -ό-τερος or -ώ-τερος is long or short. [23]

II§29. Much research remains to be done on such phenomena, especially from the diachronic standpoint, but I make room here for some preliminary observations. In the case of the rule concerning -ό-τερος vs. -ώ-τερος after long vs. short syllables, I suggest that it can be connected with the avoidance of a sequence of three short syllables in various archaic Greek meters. Such a metrical pattern of avoidance may be a reflex of a purely phonemic rule that was once operative in the Greek language—a rule that later becomes specialized as a morphophonemic rule. Such a posited specialization from a phonemic to a morphophonemic rule may be described as an alternative to other types of specialization that are purely morphemic.

II§30. Relevant to such patterns of specialization is a phenomenon known as Kuryłowicz’s “fourth law of analogy.” This “law” predicts one of several things that can happen when a new form B and an old form A come into conflict for possession of the same function. In terms of this “law,” the new form B will acquire the primary function while the old form A will be relegated to a secondary function. [24]

II§31. Clearly, such a “law” predicts only one of several options possible after the new form B and the old form A converge upon the same function. For example, the old form A may lose its status as a functional subordinate of the new form B and become completely disconnected from its old function, which can become exclusively owned by the new form B; or the old form A may be ousted altogether by the new form B, so that A does not even survive; or again, forms A and В may both survive and remain equivalent, with their complementary distribution becoming determined not by functional factors (as is the case in Kuryłowicz’s fourth law of analogy) but rather by the factor of morphophonemic complementarity. {A striking example of the last of the possibilities here listed is the Hittite treatment of the Indo-European proclitic / enclitic morphemes *-o- and * -i̯o which show functionally distinct reflexes in several Indo-European languages; in Hittite, however, the reflexes of the two are equivalent (both meaning ‘and’) but morphophonemically conditioned, with -a (< *-o) in final postconsonantal position and -ya (< * -i̯o) in final postvocalic position respectively. [25] }

II§32. Similar explanations, then, might be developed for morphophonemic rules of Greek. In one case, the historically extant phases themselves suggest the broad outlines of an explanation. The case in point is the morphophonemic conditioning of the preconsonantal augment in Modern Demotic Greek: the general rule is that the augment occurs only where the accent would fall upon it: so ἔ-γραψα ‘I wrote’ vs. γράψαμε ‘we wrote’. Since the past-tense endings of and by themselves are functionally sufficient for the Demotic Greek verb, the augment is superfluous. That is why, I propose, the augment is susceptible to morphophonemic redistribution. But here the historical background is also relevant: in the earliest attested phases of Greek, attachment of the augment in past tenses was still optional, {39|40} by virtue of its function as a segmentable syntactical connective. [26] The regularization of augment as obligatory marker of past tenses in classical Attic-Ionic can be considered to be only transitional, as we can see from the newly-segmentable augment of Demotic past tenses, albeit caused this time by morphophonemic rather than syntactic factors.

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II§33. {Deserving of special mention are the general works about Greek morphology by Chantraine (1961) and Risch (1937). In some specific works, the chosen basis of inquiry is a given suffix, the attested distribution of which is then thoroughly investigated, leading to diachronic conclusions often extending in relevance even to Indo-European. Distinguished examples of this genre are Lejeune (1939) on -θεν, Holt (1940) on -σις, Redard (1949) on -της / -τις, Prévot (1935) on -θη-. Where the suffix in question is specifically derivational and not inflectional, many aspects of such studies may overlap with the factors of vocabulary (I will return to this point under the heading etymology / vocabulary). For a comprehensive treatise where this overlapping is continually illustrated, I cite Chantraine 1933 on the taxingly broad subject of Greek nominal derivation.}

II§34. {Specially to be noted for its cohesiveness in the simultaneous treatment of morphology, vocabulary, and syntax is Benveniste’s (1948) examination of nomina agentis / actionis and ordinals in Indo-European languages, with pivotal evidence adduced from Greek.}

II§35. {As for an exemplary treatment of suffixal formations that are inflectional rather than derivational, I cite Chantraine’s history of the Greek perfect (1926). For diachronic analysis of inflectional categories, the evidence of heteroclitics provides particularly valuable material, as demonstrated by Meillet 1926. [27] }

II§36. {Implications of a dichotomy between inflectional and derivational categories, as well as several other morphological typologies viewed principally from the standpoint of Indo-European linguistics, have been outlined by Kuryłowicz (1964), often with instructive references to Greek examples.}

II§37. For originality in conception and format, a book that stands out is Kastner’s investigation (1967) of simplex adjectives in -ος / -ον (instead of -oς / -η / -ον). In the compound adjectives of a dialect like Attic, the prevalent split from an originally unitary animate -ος into a binary masculine / feminine opposition -ος / -η has been repressed by an obligatory rule, which thereby preserves the archaism of an old animate / inanimate opposition -ος / -η inherited from Indo-European. In the simplex adjectives as distinct from the compound, by contrast, the new tripartite rearrangement into masculine / feminine / neuter = -oς / -η / -ον has prevailed; but the older arrangement -ος / -ον has been sporadically preserved for simplex adjectives as well, because of the archaism of certain inherited combinations of o-stem adjective + feminine substantive. It is these sporadic reflexes that Kastner {40|41} undertakes to examine in their attested collocations. His discovery procedure requires an intensive survey οf archaic expressions within archaic contexts, and this survey gives us a veritable panorama of archaisms in the social and cultural heritage of the Greek-speaking world. At the same time, this panorama is neatly delimited in scope by a single morphological factor.

II§38. Kastner’s indices are a revelation: in one of them (Die wichtigsten Wortfelder), for instance, we find a guide to the various semantic spheres in which the old combination of o-stem adjective + feminine substantive may be found. Among the rubrics of this index are: religion (sacrifice, hearth, festivals, oath, oracles), government and law, heredity, epichoric features, and so on. [28]

II§39. The novelty of Kastner’s approach, then, is that besides morphological archaisms themselves, the combinatory features of these archaisms are also taken into consideration; and this amounts to a survey of old contexts as well as old forms.

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II§40. {A notable example of a straightforward study on evanescent vs. incipient morphological mechanisms is the treatment of the Greek comparatives by Seiler (1950). Schwyzer’s critical comparison of Greek -άζω with Gothic -atja (1937), on the other hand, is an ideal illustration of the procedural need to examine both the derivational distribution and the functional exponents of a Greek suffix in terms of Greek itself before any attempt is made to compare it with an apparent formal cognate from the Indo-European standpoint. A similar lesson may be derived from the detailed analysis by Cowgill (1964) of two difficult forms attested in the Cypriote Edalion Bronze.}

II§41. On the morphological as also on other linguistic levels, the Homeric corpus frequently preserves archaisms lost elsewhere in extant Greek. For example, such Homeric expressions as ἱερὸν μένος Ἀλκινόοιο or ἱερὴ ἲς Τηλεμάχοιο, which at first seem like stylistically-motivated periphrastic constructs, actually turn out to be reflexes from a prehistoric period when the so-called Caland’s rule was still operative. This rule is of Indo-European origin and essentially entails the following distribution: suffix *-i- for adjective-root when it is the first constituent of a compound, vs. suffix *-ro- replacing *-i- when the root forms a simplex adjective and is not in compound formation (Caland 1893 and Wackernagel 1897/1953). Thus *῾Ιερο-μενο- or *ἱερο-ϝι- would be violations of Caland’s rule, since ἱε-ρο- is the non-compound variant; on the other hand, the phonological reflexes of the morphologically predictable *isǝ i -(meno-) or *isǝ i -(ṷ i -) would disrupt any overt formal connection with non-compound ἱερός (that is, *ἱει- or the like could no longer be perceived as related to ἱερό-). Hence the circumvention resulting in ἱερὸν μένος or ἱερὴ ἴς + genitive. But the very occurrence of this circumvention indicates that Caland’s rule was still operative at the time when these expressions became embedded in the epic formulaic system. [29]

II§42. Homeric diction, in fact, is replete with morphological phenomena long since replaced by new counterparts in alphabetic Greek. For example, let us consider the phenomenon, well-attested in alphabetic Greek, of n-infix present-tense formations generated from the old thematic (“2nd”) aorist: examples include

II§43. In many instances, the new n-infix present has ousted the older variant altogether: hence μα-ν-θ-άνω from ἔ-μαθ-ον (zero-grade root *mn̥ th-), with only a trace of the older present (full-grade root *menth-) in the nominal derivative μενθήρη· φροντίς (Hesychius). Elsewhere, the old present survives, because it was appropriated by the formulaic system of Homeric diction: hence Homeric present πεύθομαι, aorist ἐ-πυθ-όμην -> “classical” present πυ-ν-θ-άνομαι. Significantly, forms of “classical” πυνθάνομαι occur only twice in the Homeric corpus, vs. 16 instances of “pre-classical” πεύθομαι.

II§44. In the area of comparative syntactical analysis, the Greek language has provided raw material for some new strides. For example, the technique of employing the analytical criterion marked / unmarked (from the functional standpoint) has been applied by Kiparsky (1968) to specific phenomena of Greek syntax (see also Jakobson 1932/1964 on the Russian verb), with explanations deriving these phenomena as reflexes of an Indo-European process that he calls conjunctional reduction. In effect, his main discussion concerns reflexes of the so-called injunctive in Greek and other Indo-European cognate languages; this injunctive essentially entails a neutralization of oppositions in tense and mood, wherein the verbal forms after the ensemble of first verb + conjunction revert to the unmarked correlate of the oppositions in tense and mood, namely to the injunctive. Especially interesting is Kiparsky’s suggestion [32] that from the Indo-European standpoint tense and mood were originally adverbial constituents in the deep structure [33] and that they were in complementary distribution with certain functionally related classes of adverbs. For example, in the prohibitive constructions of Greek, μή is combined with the aorist subjunctive—qua reflex of the injunctive (= zero) mood—because μή itself is “the realization of the mood constituent.” [34]

II§45. In Greek, the principle applied by Kiparsky to tense and mood can be applied to the verbal constituent of aspect as well. We read in a familiar Greek grammar this definition of the aorist: “The aorist expresses the mere occurrence of an action in the past. The action is regarded as an event or single fact without reference to the length of time it occupied.” [35] This statement by itself provides an adequate description of the aspectually unmarked past tense, as opposed to the marked past tense called the imperfective, but it is contradicted by another statement found further on in the book, where the claim is made that the aorist can express the marked imperfective aspect as well: under the rubric empiric aorist, we read: “With adverbs signifying often, always, sometimes, already, not yet, never, etc., the aorist {42|43} expressly denotes a fact of experience (ἐμπειρίᾱ).” [36] A plausible way of solving this contradiction is to equate (1) often + unmarked aorist with (2) the marked imperfective without an overt adverbial adjunct but with an underlying adverbial implication of often by virtue of the aspectual markedness of the imperfect.

II§46. As for the gnomic aorist in Greek (expressing a general truth without implication of tense), it is an old remnant from a prehistoric phase when the primary function of the aorist was not yet temporal but still aspectual (specifically, zero-aspect vs. marked imperfective aspect). By the time we reach the period of alphabetic Greek, however, a primary opposition in tense had developed, namely, present vs. past, and the basic aspectual dichotomy had become a subdivision within the temporal framework: imperfective present vs. imperfect / aorist past; or, in traditional terms: present vs. past, with past subdivided into imperfect (marked) vs. aorist (unmarked).

II§47. {Alternatively, it can be argued that the aorist indicative is marked for aspect, while the imperfect is unmarked; both are marked for tense.}

II§48. Kiparsky applies the principle of conjunctional reduction to the declension of nouns as well as to the conjugation of verbs. [37] Given that the vocative is a marked nominative (see Part III below), Kiparsky adduces several Vedic instances of vocative + conjunction followed by unmarked nominative. Since the conjunction -ca is enclitic, the actual Vedic realization of this conjunctional reduction is Voc Nom + -ca. As for Greek, the cognate of -ca is enclitic τε, and, significantly, the same ancient construct as in Vedic is attested in Greek. The attestation in Greek, however, is limited to the Homeric corpus, and there too we find it only once:

II§49. That the type Ζεῦ πάτερ … Ἠελιός θ᾽ should still be extant at all is testimony to the preservative force of epic. As Wackernagel puts it, “So enthüllt sich in dieser minimalen Kleinigkeit die Macht der Gewohnheit und der Einfluss der Vererbung.” [38]

II§50. Aside from its preservation of such Indo-European archaisms as the one just discussed, Greek syntax is replete with phenomena appropriate for the synchronic study of linguistic universals. For example, let us consider Benveniste’s typological formulation of the 3rd person singular as the zero-person functionally. [39] Because of its function as zero-person, the base + 3rd singular ending is subject to formal reinterpretation as base + zero ending, with the old ending absorbed into the base, whence the constitution of new conjunctional paradigms on the now new base. That is, as Watkins points out, the productive endings of the other persons can now be added directly to what used to be base + 3rd person ending but which has become reinterpreted as pure base + zero ending. [40] Such a paradigmatic shift, based on a formal {43|44} resegmentation, is obvious in the paradigm of the verb ‘be’ in Polish (with the exemption of only the 3rd plural):

II§51. The same sort of paradigmatic shift is evidenced by Modern Demotic Greek, in the 2nd and 3rd singular of contract verbs like ρωτάεις, ρωτάει extant in Epirus, Central Greece, Ionic Islands, Peloponnesus. What we see here is the addition of the productive 2nd singular and 3rd singular endings -εις and -ει to the old 3rd singular form (ἐ)ρωτᾷ, still preserved elsewhere in Greece along with 2nd singular ρωτᾷς (the iota subscript in the preceding transcriptions is of course merely an orthographic archaism). [41]

II§52. Brief lists of noteworthy Einzelschriften on Greek syntax are readily available in a work by Löfstedt—despite his primary concern with Latin. [42] Singled out here as examples of syntactical treatises on Greek are the following: Denniston (1954), Burguière (1960), Guiraud (1962), Monteil (1963). Particularly illuminating insights into Greek syntax (as well as Latin and Germanic) are to be found in Wackernagel’s Vorlesungen über Syntax (1926, 1928). ⊛I predict that this collection of observations will remain useful for countless succeeding generations of linguistic scholarship.⊛ The book gives a precious collection of typologies, straightforward exposition, and intuitively appealing concepts. One example that stands out is Wackernagel’s discussion of the 3rd singular in terms of die unpersönlichste Form (with the adducing of forms like σαλπίζει ‘the trumpet is blown’). [43] We see here a forerunner of the definitive treatise on the 3rd singular by Benveniste (1946).

II§53. Aside from such synoptic works as Wackernagel’s, it is important to note that there are numerous trend-setting observations on syntax in such compendia as the Griechische Grammatik vol. 2 of Schwyzer and Debrunner (1950). What now follows is an illustrative selection of such observations, with commentary, from the first 150 pages of this volume.

II§54. Certain case-functions no longer current might still survive embedded in onomastic compounds, which are prone to special archaisms. One example is the genitive in Διόσδοτος ‘given from Zeus’, to be compared with the German plant-name Vergissmeinnicht ‘forget-me-not’ (with residual genitive mein) vs. the current syntagma vergiss mich nicht. [44]

II§55. Just as the French genitive de + noun springs from Latin dē + noun [in ablative], a construction restricted in classical Latin to just one area of functional overlapping with the genitive, namely the partitive, so also many of the Greek case-forms inherited from Indo-European might have originally borne a similarly restricted function, later subsumed into the broader functional categories of the evolving case-system. [45] In other words, just as French de + noun betrays a systematic removal of functional {44|45} constraints from the historical standpoint of Latin (inasmuch as the Latin equivalence of partitive noun [in genitive] with partitive dē + noun [in ablative] leads to the latter’s extension into the functions of possessive originally restricted to the former, and then to the ultimate displacement of the former by the latter), so also in Greek a case like the dative must have an Indo-European antecedent that is far more restricted functionally.

II§56. “Das Mundartstudium, das besonders fruchtbar ist, wenn der es betreibende Gelehrte selbst noch eine Mundart spricht, ist auch für die Syntax als Kontrolle und Anregung unentbehrlich.” [46]

II§57. A list of syntactical innovations in Greek, juxtaposed with those of other Indo-European languages, implicitly illustrates the principle of common innovation. [47]

II§58. Modern Greek compensates for loss of the dual by “die Anschauung der Paarigkeit” in nominal composition: e.g. ἀνδρόγυνον ‘married couple’, γυναικόπαιδα ‘wife and children’, etc. [48]

II§59. {Syntactically most versatile, from the Indo-European / Greek points of view, is the substantive: it may function as subject, object, attribute and apposition, predicate, adverb; the adjective is restricted to the functions of attribute, predicate, adverb; the verb serves as predicate. [49] }

II§60. In epic, the formal archaisms τοί / ταί (masculine / feminine plurals of ὁ ἡ τό etc.) are attested with the obligatory function of demonstratives: this is also the oldest function of ὁ ἡ τό etc. that we can reconstruct from Indo-European; on the other hand, the formal innovations οἱ αἱ (modeled on singular ὁ [ἁ̄ >] ἡ respectively) are only optionally demonstratives and are also attested in the function of definite article. [50] Since it is the latter function of ὁ ἡ τό etc. which ultimately prevails in classical Ionic, the pre-classical antecedent of which represents the last and most important major dialectal phase of epic, it is crucial that the very language of epic thus betrays, through its hierarchy of functional constraints, the functional progression of ὁ ἡ τό etc. from demonstrative to definite article in Ionic.

II§61. Likewise with τοῖο τά̄ων τοῖσι(ν): none of these has been retained in classical Ionic, and each is attested exclusively with the old demonstrative function in epic; by contrast, the corresponding forms of classical Ionic, τοῦ τῶν τοῖς, are attested in epic both as demonstrative and as definite article.

II§62. Nor are the constraints just functional; another sign of the archaism of τοῖο and τά̄ων is positional: τοῖο occurs almost exclusively in the first or fifth foot of the dactylic hexameter, while τά̄ων is in absolute verse-initial position everywhere in the Homeric corpus except XVI 833 (for more on the archaism of τά̄ων, see below under dialectology). No such positional restrictions hold for τοῦ and τῶν, which are the forms that have prevailed in classical Ionic, including of course Attic. [51]

II§63. It is such collocational evidence, by virtue of its cumulative impact, which has led to the following operational principle in formulaic analysis (as practiced e.g. by Ruijgh 1957 and Hoekstra 1965): the narrower the range of positional variation for any given word or phrase in the dactylic hexameter of epic, the greater the archaism involved.

II§64. The poetry of epic, of course, is not the sole repository for such archaisms; an equally potent preservative, mutatis mutandis, is the poetry of {45|46} “lyric.” Thus for example the poetry of Archilochos reveals a restriction of ὁ ἡ τό etc. to the pronominal usage. [52] Or again, in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazousai 100 ff, the absence of articles in Agathon’s lyrical outpourings is noticeable in contrast to their presence in the adjacent dialogue. [53] Legal formulae too provide an ideal context for petrified demonstrative usage of ὁ ἡ τό etc., as in the expression τῇ καὶ τῇ δὲ ἀτιμία (Plato Laws 4.721b). [54] Even ordinary Attic prose has sporadically preserved the demonstrative function, embedded in such phrases as ὁ μὲν … ὁ δὲ, τὸν καὶ τὸν, καὶ τὸν εἰπεῖν, etc.; a typological parallel is German dér Art, French de lá sorte. [55] In certain archaic expressions, precedent for the insertion of the functionally recent definite article has been consistently wanting: hence such inherited collocations as πόλιν καὶ οἰκίαν, παῖδες καὶ γυναῖκες, δεξιὰν διδόναι, etc.; [56] in some cases the collocation can be more precisely defined in terms of syntactical components: e.g. prepositional phrases like ἐπὶ θήραν, εἰς χεῖρας ἰέναι, etc. and possessive constructions like τέρμα τοῦ βίου (instead of τὸ τοῦ βίου τέρμα), περὶ φυλακῆς τῆς χώρας, etc. [57]

II§65. Finally, as an extension of Kiparsky’s already-mentioned theories on conjunctional reduction (1968), Ι cite the cancellation of the second article: a(b+c) instead of ab+ac; e.g. τὴν μὲν γῆν καἰ οἰκίας ἀφεῖναι, τῆς δὲ θαλάσσης καὶ πόλεως φυλακὴν ἔχειν (Thucydides 1.143.5). [58] It is significant that the marked exponent ac is the innovation and the unmarked c, the archaism. Likewise in e.g. Vedic, the unmarked injunctive (c) is formally older than any of the four moods (ac) from which it is conjunctionally reduced (from a synchronic point of view).

II§66. {Residually-attested suffixless cases such as αἰϝέν / αἰϝές are explained as reflexes of a caseless period in Indo-European. [59] }

II§67. In Attic, ὦ + vocative becomes the unmarked correlate of the plain vocative, which takes on the marked function of indicating “die Bedeutung des streng Sachlichen, Zurücksetzenden, Würdigen, Kalten, auch Unwilligen, Formlosen, Verächtlichen”; hence e.g. in de Corona, Demosthenes addresses his opponent exclusively as Αἰσχίνη, not ὦ Αἰσχίνη. [60] Or again, in Plato’s Symposium ὦ occurs 70 times with proper names and is missing only 8 times, while the Protagoras yields exclusively ὦ + proper name, ca. 100 times. [61]

II§68. The vocative is examined as a functionally restricted compartment of the nominative, from the diachronic point of view; thus a formal split between nominative / vocative may result from an earlier unitary nominative. Certain petrified expressions dating back to a period before this formal split may actually preserve the archaism of nominatives in vocative function and resist the imposition of a specific vocative form: hence e.g. the formulaically-preserved φίλος for φίλε, in φίλος ‖ ὦ Μενέλαε # (IV 189, etc.). [62]

II§69. Here is a most valuable statement on methodology in syntactical analysis: “Dem Sprachpraktiker, der in erster Linie dem Verständnis und der Übersetzung der Texte zu dienen hat, steht das Häufige und Eigentümliche im Vordergrund (so der Akkusativ des Objekts und der accusativus Graecus); dem Sprachhistoriker müssen {46|47} vielleicht Verwendungen zum Ausgangspunkt werden, die dem Praktiker nur Unregelmässigkeiten oder erratische Blocke sind (der Akkusativ der Richtung).” [63] Of course, the locus of diffusion (Ausgangspunkt) is often elusive as an operative mechanism, simply because the given grammatical category may no longer be productive, and such a condition leads to atrophy of old boundaries. Vestigial features in turn count as irregularities from the synchronic point of view, whence the difficulty in effecting an adequate diachronic perspective. Therefore it seems justified to modify the claim that “Jede Anordnung—und dies gilt nicht nur für die Kasuslehre—ist ein Kompromiss.” [64] The inevitable compromise may simply be the after-effect of jamming together the synchronic and diachronic perspectives. After all, Schwyzer himself succeeds in deriving the accusative of the object from the accusative of goal / direction. [65] Once this is diachronically achieved, a synchronic analysis may still justifiably be expected to induce new and different perspectives.

II§70. Certain transitive verb-formants which evolved within Greek, such as aorist in -σα-, aspirated perfect, and perfect in -κ-, may represent formal termini ante quem for genesis of the functionally objective accusative. [66]

II§71. On the syntagma known as σχῆμα καθ᾽ ὅλον καὶ μέρος, where a double-accusative construction specifies both person and part of body, e.g., τόν ῥ᾽ ᾽Οδυσεὺς … βάλε δουρὶ | κόρσην ‘Odysseus aimed and hit him with a spear on the temple’ (IV 501–502): “Die Entstehung des Schemas durch Zusammenziehung von zwei Sätzen ist im Musterbeispiel angedeutet.” [67] In essence, what has been contrasted here is “deep” vs. “surface” structure. [68]

II§72. {There are distinctions, in functional load, between various morphemes originating from Indo-European and ultimately belonging to the genitive case. [69] For example, *-ot / d had once been exclusively ablatival, not partitive; or again, *-om had once been exclusively partitive and possessive. [70] Such an accumulation of distinctions establishes in broad outline a relative chronology for the Entstehungsgeschichte of the genitive case as attested in alphabetic Greek.}

II§73. A functional opposition between genitive and ablative, despite their formal merger in Greek, can nonetheless be formally preserved—by combination. [71] Thus for example the formal contrast of comparative vs. superlative, combined with the formal genitive, makes overt an opposition between functional ablative and functional genitive respectively: σοφώτερος πάντων ‘wisest’ = ‘wiser than all’ (ablatival) vs. σοφώτατος πάντων ‘wisest’ = ‘wisest among all’ (genitival, specifically partitive).

II§74. That the genitivus auctoris of Greek was not originally ablative is readily demonstrable from other Indo-European languages: e.g. the type Διόσδοτος is paralleled in Sanskrit by the regular construction of genitive (indicating agent) + verbal adjective in -ta- ; since Sanskrit still preserves a formal distinction between genitive and ablative, its syntactical testimony is decisive. [72]

II§75. Despite formal collapse of the instrumental, locative, and dative in favor of the last in Greek, the alphabetic Greek dative never really became a syntactically integral entity: “vom echten Dativ und unter sich bleiben einzelne Anwendungen des Lokativs und {47|48} Instrumentals syntaktisch stets geschieden, und die Unterschiede werden auch wieder sichtbar durch den Präpositionsgebrauch (im allgemeinen ἐν u.a. bei lokativischem, σύν bei instrumentalem Dativ, Präpositionslosigkeit beim echten Dativ).” [73] Such lack of syntactical consolidation must have contributed to the formal loss of the dative in Modern Demotic Greek; even in Demotic, the instrumental function of the dative has gone on its own way, so to speak, from the formal point of view: “seinen eigenen Weg geht.” [74] Hence μετά / μέ + accusative, vs. εἰς + accusative for the functions of locative and genuine dative. Also to be consulted is Humbert (1930) on the loss of the dative in Greek.

II§76. A basic prerequisite of etymological studies in general, as Benveniste has pointed out, is simply “common sense”:

II§77. But the “sens” of a linguistic form must be viewed in the entire ensemble of its distribution. One of Benveniste’s most striking illustrations involves the Greek word πόντος ‘sea’ and its formal cognates in other Indo-European languages: Latin pōns ‘bridge’, Armenian hun ‘ford’, Old Church Slavonic рǫtǐ and Old Prussian pintis ‘path’, Sanskrit pánthāḥ, and Avestan pantå ‘path’. The problem is to bridge the semantic gulf between e.g. Greek πόντος and Latin pōns. Benveniste maintains that the key to the solution is to discover which, if any, of the cognates preserves the primary meaning, the least common denominator. [76] The secondary meanings of the other cognates could then be motivated as divergences from (or modifications of) the primary meaning. After arguing that the semantic spheres of e.g. hun ‘ford’, πόντος ‘sea’, and pōns ‘bridge’ must be secondary because they are mutually irreconcilable, Benveniste shows that the semantic common denominator survives in Indo-Iranian, most clearly seen in the Vedic usages of pánthāḥ, commonly glossed as ‘path’, ‘chemin’:

II§78. Thus it is from the basic notion of’ ‘chemin’ that the ultimate context of πόντος has developed, and it is this same semantic sphere which gave rise to such epic expressions as ὑγρὰ κέλευθα ‘watery pathways’. [78] As for the still more basic notion of ‘franchissement’, it is still preserved in the compound Ἑλλήσ-ποντος. [79]

II§79. The notion of ‘une étendue périlleuse ou accidentée’ is still latent in Homeric collocations of πόντος with the harmless-looking epithet ἰχθυόεις ‘swarming with fish’:

II§80. (There are other collocations of πόντος with πάσχειν, perhaps likewise relevant to pánthāḥ from the comparative point of view: Odyssey i 4, ii 370, v 377.) The original selection of ἰχθυόεις was probably motivated not by a striving for fanciful descriptions of the sea, but rather, by the implication of dangers lurking underneath the ship:

II§81. Of course it can happen that in a given set of cognates, the least common denominator of the semantic sphere is no longer extant in any of the Indo-European languages with relevant lexical evidence. For example, despite the formal correspondence between Greek δίκη and Sanskrit diśā, there is a functional anomaly between the two, in that neither can be motivated semantically in terms of the other: the Sanskrit word means ‘direction, celestial district’ vs. the basic notion ‘rule, ruling’ inherent in the Greek word. The ā-stem in both is irrelevant to this anomaly: it is just a formal renovation of the root-stem *dik-, and the latter is actually attested in Sanskrit diś-, with the same meaning as that of diśā; so also in Latin dic-is (causa) ‘(for the sake of) judicial form’, which has basically the same meaning as that of δίκη. But we may seek a more general functional relevance in the morphology—specifically, in the expansion of the root-stem by ā-stem here. It is significant that the ā-stem is an inherited formant of deverbative nomina actionis. Thus the nominal root-stem *dik- was also a nomen actionis until its replacement by *dik-ā-. And the founding verb is still reflected in Greek: it is δείκνυμι ‘designate’. Then, from the original root-stem nomen actionis *dik- ‘designation’, the specific notions ‘direction, celestial district’ (diś- / diśā-) and ‘rule, ruling’ (δίκη) can evolve. [80] And since there is no indication that a nomen actionis with the configuration *dik- was not already inherited from Indo-European, we may by extension call diśā and δίκη cognates. {49|50}

II§82. Often, however, the etymology given as the least common denominator of a word’s meaning may seem like nothing more than a conjecture, if the only criterion is the formal pairing of a given Greek word with an apparent cognate from some other Indo-European language. A case in point is the matching of Greek θέλγω ‘enchant’ with Lithuanian žvelgiù ‘look’. Here we might reconstruct the prototypical meaning of these two words, from the standpoint of Indo-European linguistics, as ‘enchant by looking at’. [81] Such a reconstructed meaning is fitting as a semantic least common denominator, in that the current meaning of Lithuanian žvelgiù could then be explained as involving the loss of an otherworldly connotation and the retention of a sensory connotation; as for Greek θέλγω, conversely, there would be a loss of the sensory and a retention of the otherworldly. Such an explanation is resisted by some (I note the doubts expressed by Frisk about the interpretation ‘Bezauberung durch den bösen Blick’). [82] But there is corroborating evidence available from the language of Homeric diction.

II§83. The formulaic system of Homeric poetry has insured the preservation of grammatical patterns stemming from such varied diachronic phases as to span about a millennium. In Homeric poetry, the following phrases are relevant to the etymology of θέλγω:

II§84. I have indicated here the metrical positions of the relevant phrases (‖ = ‘caesura’, # = ‘absolute verse-initial / final position’). In terms of their placement within the verse, both phrases belong to the formulaic system of Homeric diction. The phrase ὄμματα θέλγει occurs exclusively in the metrical space – ⏑ ⏑ – ⏓ situated between the bucolic diaeresis (‖) and absolute verse-final position (#). This space accommodates the so-called Adonic sequence, featuring a metrical pattern – ⏑ ⏑ – ⏓ that matches the pattern we find in the celebrated phrase of Sappho, ὦ τὸν Ἄδωνιν. As for the phrase ὄσσε φαεινά, it occurs in the metrical space – ⏑ ⏑ – ⏑ situated between the end of the first foot and the trochaic caesura (‖). As a rule, this space – ⏑ ⏑ – ⏑ allows interchange of its phraseology with phraseology in the space – ⏑ ⏑ – ⏓ situated between the bucolic diaeresis (‖) and absolute verse-final position (#). In fact, just such an interchange is attested for the phrase # (θέλξας) ὄσσε φαεινά ‖. A case in point is ‖ ὄσσε φαεινώ # in XIII 3, etc. (For the variation of innovative φαεινά vs. archaizing φαεινώ, I compare the use of ἧμιν before the trochaic caesura vs. ἡμῖν in absolute verse-final position, as discussed below under dialectology.) Given these formulaic connections between the word θέλγω and words for ‘eye(s)’, I argue that the system of traditional epic diction preserved the idea of ‘look’ originally inherent in the meaning of θέλγω.

II§85. At times the collocational patterns of a given word in epic may suggest an etymological connection with another Greek word, even without the additional aid of any comparative Indo-European evidence as in the case of θέλγω. An example is ἥρως. From the internal evidence of Greek, it is possible to compare the feminine proper names Πατρώ Μητρώ ‘Ηρώ with the masculine substantives πάτρως μήτρως ἥρως. [83] But beyond this point it is difficult to make further morphological {50|51} generalizations. In epic meter, the archaism of ἥρως is apparent from the highly restricted positional range of e.g. its nominative. Although the dactylic hexameter could have theoretically allowed eleven positions for this form, ἥρως is actually found in only three positions: (1) absolute verse-initial, (2) absolute verse-final, (3) paired with the preceding word γέρων, after the trochaic caesura. In one of these positions (2), there is an interesting precedent for substitution: whereas the formula αὐτὰρ ὅ γ᾽ ἥρως occurs after the bucolic diaeresis 7 times in the Homeric corpus, there is also one instance of αὐτὰρ ὄ γ᾽ Ἥρην (XXI 367) attested in the same metrical position. [84] According to one explanation, this formulaic interchange between Ἥρην and ἥρως was motivated by “l’association des sons.” [85] I argue that there is more to it. We may consider another instance of such substitution in absolute verse-final position: ἤγαγεν Ἥρη in V 731 vs. ἄγεν ἥρως in X 179; here too the explanation of “l’association des sons” could be invoked, but now we will see other instances of this association of ἥρως and ῞Ηρη that must have resulted from a deeper motivation. For example, the absolute verse-final ἤλυθεν ἥρως of iii 415 is matched by the common formula ἤλυθεν Ἠώς ‘dawn came’ of x 541, etc. To explain this match as a mere “sound-association” is an oversimplification, since there are attested further matchings that have nothing to do with sound-association, such as ἤλυθε μήτηρ ‘the mother came’ (VI 251) and ἤλυθεν ὄρνις ‘the bird came’ (VIII 251, xx 242) in the same metrical position. It is essential to note that there is a latent contextual link connecting these words Ἥρη, Ἠώς, μήτηρ, and ὄρνις:

II§86. In the passage from the Odyssey, the attributes of a hero are being conferred on Telemakhos by the goddess appearing as a bird. So also in the Iliad, Hera and Athena appear in a joint epiphany as birds for the sake of helping the Achaeans:

II§87. Thus even contextually as well as formulaically, the ἥρως is correlated with goddesses. And the fact that ῞Ηρη as the mother-goddess par excellence (even Athena is her surrogate: e.g. I 194–195), is included in these correlations with ἥρως now takes on a {51|52} formal significance, which is this: the language of epic betrays traces of an early period when the masculine configuration *hērōs was still synchronically motivated by a feminine *hērā. There may even be traces of stylistic juxtaposition, we see in these verses:

II§88. It is essential to note that the Hellenic ἥρως ‘hero’ par excellence is none other than Ἡρακλῆς or Herakles. If there is in fact a connection between ἥρως ‘hero’ and Ἥρη ‘Hera’ in the language of epic, then we see here a new corroboration of the theories of Nilsson (1921) about the evolution of the Mycenaean mother-goddess in general and of Athena in particular. On the basis of non-linguistic evidence, Nilsson posited that the Minoan mother-goddess had been a guardian-deity residing in the king’s palace; but then, with the advent of Mycenaean hegemony and the concomitant displacement of Minoan institutions, the goddess took to the field, as it were, in support of the warlike Mycenaean princes now in her charge: “Sie ist die Beschützerin und persönliche Helferin der Helden.” [87] While the god Zeus is the patron of a king like Agamemnon from a legal or even moral point of view, a goddess like Athena is a hero’s patroness from a personal point of view. The hero is the protégé of the goddess, and this relationship can be inherited from one hero to another, as in the case of Telemakhos, who inherits the relationship of Odysseus to the goddess Athena. In the light of the additional evidence provided by the language of epic, we can now see that the status of the *hērōs as a personal protégé of his divine patroness *Hērā is grammatical as well as contextual.

II§89. In view of these examples of establishing etymologies with the help of collocational evidence from archaic Greek poetry, it is important to add that collocational evidence from the archaic poetry of other Indo-European languages also occasionally helps settle the etymology of a Greek word. For instance, the derivation of νέκταρ ‘nectar’, a most ancient word owing its preservation in alphabetic Greek perhaps solely to its transmission in the language of epic, can be resolved only with reference to Vedic poetry. The central etymological problem in the word νέκταρ is the semantic connection between its components. There is little difficulty with the initial νεκ-: it is what Benveniste used to call “theme II” of the root, *h2nek- ‘death’, also seen in e.g. νεκ-ρός, νέκ-υς, νέκ-ες (·νεκροί: Hesychius), Latin nex, ē-nec-tus, nοxa, noceō, etc.; Hittite ḫenk-an ‘pestilence, death’ is an example of radical “theme I” *h2enk-. [88] As for the final segment -ταρ, however, Benveniste’s explanation in terms of a suffixal formation leads to semantic problems, since the Homeric contexts of νέκταρ / ἀμβροσία are associated not with death but with the negation of death. [89] Thieme proposed a solution to the problem: that -ταρ is not a suffix but rather the second constituent of a compound, from the root *tr̥h2- as seen in the Sanskrit verb tárati ‘overcome’: in terms of this proposal, the two components of this word would be reconstructed as *h2nek- and *trh2-, with prevocalic external sandhi-generalization of the zero-grade *trh2- into -ταρ. [90] The ideal corroboration of this proposed etymology would be the Indic attestation of a syntagma involving ‘death’ + *trh2- corresponding to νέκταρ, that is, corresponding to the Greek attestation of a compound originally motivated by this syntagma. Thieme could find no such combination in the Rig-Veda. [91] But his efforts were not in vain. Schmitt succeeded {52|53} in finding the combination in the Atharva-Veda. [92] In the refrain of a song of praise to the odaná-, the ‘rice-mess’ of the Brahmans, we read: Likewise elsewhere in the same hymn: Likewise in another source: The Homeric word νέκταρ, then, is a faint vestige of a whole nexus of related ritualistic terminology stemming from the indogermanische Dichtersprache.

II§90. There are instances where an etymological solution is achieved without direct use of the comparative method but rather with internal analysis of the relevant Greek morphology and syntax. In the case of the Attic-Ionic particle ἄν, attempts to connect it with Latin an and Gothic an have proved unsuccessful, simply because the formal plausibility of this connection is not matched by the functional. Neither the Latin nor the Gothic an is used as a potential particle. The problem is described well by Palmer (1963): Attic-Ionic ἄν, then, must be compared with its equivalents in the other dialects: Arcadian (κ)αν, Doric κα, Aeolic and Cypriote κε(ν). Το repeat, all these particles are syntactically equivalent to each other.

II§91. Now the zero-grade of a full-grade κεν would be *kn̥ > κα (in preconsonantal position) or καν (in prevocalic position). Then we can set up a proportion: As for Doric κᾱ (vs. κα), it can be explained as a metrically-conditioned variant. [96] At this point, only ἄν remains to be motivated. The solution of Forbes (1958) is that ἄν is a new positive to a negative οὐκ ἄν. [97] The etymologically false division of οὐκαν as οὐκ ἄν instead of οὐ καν must have been triggered by the morphophonemic alternation of prevocalic οὐκ vs. preconsonantal οὐ. The implications go further:

II§92. In sum, internal analysis forces us to connect Attic-Ionic ἄν not with Latin and Gothic an, but with e.g. Sanskrit ká m and Hittite kan, however unlikely this equation seems at first, on the surface. Final corroboration comes from such collocational matchings as Homeric νύ κεν vs. Sanskrit nú kám vs. Hittite nu-kan. [99]

II§93. As a conclusion to the discussion of trends in Greek etymology, it seems appropriate to cite some perceptive comments from the preface to Chantraine’s dictionary (1968).

II§94. On the reasons for the last three words in the title, Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque, histoire des mots (modeled on the title of the famous Latin etymological dictionary by Ernout and Meillet, 1959): “… l’étymologie devrait être l’histoire complète du vocabulaire, reflet de l’histoire tout court, que je me suis donné le plus de peine.” [100]

II§95. On the application of structuralist methodology: “Pour qu’une étymologie soit irréfutable, il est nécessaire d’une part que la structure du mot envisagé s’insère de manière évidente dans le système des alternances et de la morphologie indo-européenne, de l’autre que l’on trouve des correspondants nets dans plusieurs langues indo-européennes bien attestées.” [101]

II§96. On the controversial theories of a pre-Hellenic substratum sometimes designated as “Pelasgian”: “Le pélasgique est pour l’instant une vue de l’esprit et son cas diffère essentiellement de celui de l’indo-européen. L’indo-européen n’est pas attesté, mais c’est un système cohérent défini par les lois rigoureuses. Ce n’est pas le cas du pélasgique et cela ne le sera peut-être jamais.” [102] {For an analysis of the “Pelasgian” controversy: Hester 1965.}

II§97. On words stemming from the pre-Hellenic non-Indo-European substratum: “Il faut toutefois prendre garde que l’hypothèse de l’emprunt à une langue inconnue est une solution paresseuse et qu’il faut tâcher de tirer parti du témoignage des langues plus ou moins mal connues qui bordent les rives de la Méditerranée.” [103] {For exemplars in methodology: Heubeck 1961 and Neumann 1961.}

II§98. On the etymology of words traceable to Indo-European: “elle a donné naissance à une bibliographie accablante: examiner les multiples hypothèses qui sont venues à l’idée de savants d’ailleurs honorables et bien informés, c’est parcourir le plus souvent, comme on l’a dit, un cimetière d’enfants mort-nés.” [104]

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II§99. In the study of vocabulary, there has been some movement in the direction of internal investigation of word-formations and away from an earlier emphasis on Indo-European origins. {Representative of works about vocabulary which rely mainly on internal analysis are those of Fournier (1946), Laroche (1949), Trümpy (1950), Redard (1953), Chantraine (1956), van Brock (1959), Bader (1965), Corlu (1966), Casabona (1967), {54|55} Latacz (1967).}

II§100. Of course the research still to be done on Greek vocabulary from the Indo-European standpoint is boundless. Benveniste’s “Don et échange dans le vocabulaire indo-européen” (1951/1966) illustrates how rewarding such an approach can be. For example, the apparent semantic clash between Greek δω- ‘give’ and Hittite dā- ‘take’ does not invalidate the certainty that they are formal cognates, simply because both can be explained as verbal manifestations of a social institution called reciprocity, well-documented in anthropological fieldwork and in this instance deriving from an original Indo-European setting: the root *dō- actually means ‘hold in order to engage in a social transaction’, and its reflexes in Hittite and Greek merely show the generalization of one transactional option or the other, give or take. [105] Besides several other illustrations from Greek showing reflexes of this phenomenon of reciprocity (e.g. νέμω, δαπάνη, ἀλφάνω, etc.), Benveniste’s repertory of examples could even be expanded further: worth studying in this context, for example, is the usage of ὠνεῖν, which means ‘buy’ in most Greek dialects, in the sense of πωλεῖν ‘sell’ in the Cretan dialect of the city of Gortyn (cf. Willetts 1965).

II§101. Social implications derivative from the Indo-European perspective are invaluable in the study of such Greek tabu-constructs as λαγώς ‘hare’ < λαγ-ωός, diachronically traceable to the original meaning ‘floppy-ears’. [106] For a valuable diachronic study of a single Greek word, I single out the investigation of ᾿Ηλύσιον / Ēlusion (= Elysium) by Burkert (1960–61).

II§102. One of the most arduous tasks in the study of Greek vocabulary is to confront the elusive problem of early—even prehistoric—borrowings. There is an exemplary study by Émilia Masson (1967) on the oldest phases of Greek borrowings from Semitic languages. As for borrowings from the neighboring Anatolian languages, an important advance has been Benveniste’s establishing the ultimate provenience of ὄβρυζα ‘crucible’ from Hurrian-Hittite h̬ubrušh̬i (DUG h̬u-u-ub-ru-uš-h̬i) ‘vase de terre, terrine’. [107] Such links, aside from their linguistic value, are of profound significance from the viewpoint of cultural history as well. Accordingly, when factors revealing an ultimate Anatolian derivation appear in Greek epic itself, their import is all the more to be emphasized.

II§103. In this light, I draw special attention to an article of van Brock (1959) on Hittite ritual-substitution and on its relevance to the Iliad. The Hittite ritual in question is meant to transfer a miasma from the king to a substitute, preferably to one that is alive: le transfert du mal. The Hittite word for this substitute is tarpalli-. As for the conditioning on the selection of the surrogate, it is extraneously motivated, whence the range (or perhaps evolution) of the victim from relative to friend to stranger to criminal to animal to some symbolic object. But the basic principle is that the closer the surrogate is to the king, the more pleasing the sacrifice becomes to the gods. “Le tarpalli- est un autre soi-même, une projection de l’individu sur laquelle sont transférées par la magie du verbe toutes les souillures dont on veut se débarrasser.” [108] Now there are several by-forms of tarpalli-, among them tarpašša- and tarpanalli-; and van Brock has convincingly connected the forms tarpassa- / tarpan- as the ultimate sources {55|56} for the Greek forms θέραψ / θεράπων. [109]

II§104. ◊Janko (1992) resists the connection of Hittite tarpan- and Greek θεράπων, saying that he doubts that these two forms are “cognates.” [110] But the argument here, as is evident from what follows, is not that Greek θεράπων is a “cognate” of Hittite tarpan-; what is being argued, rather, is that the Greek word is a borrowing from the Hittite language.◊

II§105. Most relevant is the fact that the θεράπων par excellence in the Iliad is the hero Patroklos, who is killed wearing the armor of Achilles himself.

II§106. From the internal evidence of the Iliad itself and with an approach completely different from that of van Brock, Whitman (1958) has also noticed the same sort of surrogate-motif in the rôle of Patroklos, “who represents the human side of Achilles”; [111] “Achilles is indispensable, but Patroclus is dead.” [112] At the climactic moments of the onslaught of Patroklos who is taking the place of Achilles, even the epithet of Patroklos is switched from just the patronymic (Μενοιτιάδης) or qualifier (ἱππεύς ‘charioteer’) to the title δαίμονι ἶσος ‘equal to a god’ (XVI 705), even at the moment when Patroklos confronts Apollo himself (XVI 786), just before the god destroys him. Significantly, the epithet δαίμονι ἶσος is later applied to Achilles too (XX 447), whose onslaught is mirrored by the earlier onslaught of Patroklos. We can see in this mirroring a reference to an identity in rôles. [113] Whitman explains: [114]

Dialectology

Footnotes